#anyway looking forward to coop update

[mrkanman]

wow! what a healthy and functional family.

[sprite-writes]

gunmetal blue

chapter 1/?

Dale Cooper/Reader

Summary: Agent Cooper is saddled with a new partner–against his better judgment. She’s a mess–aimlessly stumbling her way through the FBI with a past shrouded in mystery. Grappling with this change, and a puzzling case in a small town, Cooper’s lost. He finds the path forward in the last way he’d expect. 

word count: 2,605

A/N: woah new fic! this is sort of my side project while I work on cloudy day, but it'll still have semi-regular updates! super self indulgent because I love twin peaks, even if everyone had moved on LOL. hope u enjoy <3 as with all my writing, special thanks to @lightning-writes

 Dale wasn’t the type to be needlessly anxious. He was the farthest thing from an overthinker, he was a pragmatic man, he kept his sensibility about him. So, admittedly, it was out of character the way his leg had started to involuntarily bounce, brow sweat, and chest tighten. Gordan Cole’s office had never felt so small. 

He should have known something was wrong with the way Gordan had called him into his office, hands clapping on his shoulders, guiding him into the room like a lost child. Now, with the announcement hanging in the air, he understood. 

“I’m sorry, a-a new partner?” 

“That’s what I said, Coop! Is your hearing going too?” Gordon’s deafening volume usually has no effect on him, but this time he flinches. Dale shifts, and the leather beneath him squeaks. Gordon doesn’t even look up from his computer, skillfully avoiding Dale’s appalled stare. 

“Gordon, with all due respect, I don't need nor want a partner. Has there been something unsatisfactory about my work? Or-” 

“Did you say something about a factory? Anyway, It's not up to me. She was sent here straight from the higher-ups. All I did was sign the paperwork.” 

Dale sighs, his frustration thickening in his chest. His captain's eyes flick to him. 

“I would’ve fought it if I thought it was such a bad idea, Coop. Don’t worry so much, She’s a sweet girl and a—how would you say it? A damn fine agent.”  

“Isn’t there anyone else she could be assigned to?” he asks, and it feels like begging. Windom is 3 years behind him now, but that's three years he’s spent adapting to solitude. The idea of someone next to him on the field again unsettles him deeply, drudging up feelings he’s worked hard to forget. 

“Agent, I know how you may feel about this. What, with your past and all, but keep an open mind. I think this could be good for you.” 

Could be good?

“Sir–” 

A knock on the door cuts him off, the frosted glass door swinging open without hesitation. The interruption leaves him with his complaints still sticking to his tongue. 

“Gordon! I brought you coffee – you still take it with two sugars, right? Because there’s a cane’s worth in there.” 

His vision is crowded by a woman in an oversized blue FBI jacket—besides her abrupt entry, she’s also out of uniform. Her denim blue jeans hug her waist and fray at the knees, with a jarringly casual t-shirt. The unprofessionalism rubs him the wrong way. 

Two milky-colored coffee cups get dropped on the desk. Despite the breach of protocol, Gordon seems pleased to see her. There’s an affinity in his eyes, but she's a stranger to Dale.

“Well if it isn’t Miss Blue herself! We were just talking about you.”

“We?”

Her hair flicks over her shoulder, and her eyes widen. 

“Oh! Hi! Sorry, I didn’t see you there. I’m Blue.” She sticks out her right hand for him to shake– and it knocks straight into the two coffee cups, sending one tumbling towards Gordan and the other into his lap. 

“Shit!” 

He bolts up as hot coffee soaks his trousers. He vaguely registers Gordon's laugh as if an Agent didn’t just waltz in, wreck his office, and Dale’s drycleaning. 

“Oh hell, I’m so sorry!” she shrills, peeling off her jacket frantically. The cheap polyester of the academy-issued zip-up presses against his wool-blend pants, the woman’s feeble attempt to clean the mess. 

Dale’s anger alights, but he breathes deeply to tamp it down. Patience is a virtue, he tells himself.

She continues to dab at his pants, he pushes her hands away, taking the stained jacket from her, and tossing it on the chair behind him. 

“It's fine, it’s fine,” he tells her tightly, despite the heat of his emotions, and the mild burns. When it rains, it pours, he supposes. 

She looks up at him, clearly mortified. 

“My bad, Sir,” she says lamely, and her expression scrunches up more. 

“A hand, Kid?” Gordon asks and she’s more than happy to take her attention away from Dale. Gordon wipes his desk with a handkerchief, and with her hands free, she begins moving damp papers from his desk. 

“Well, I’ll tell ya, Blue, you haven’t changed a bit since they shipped you off,” Gordon says fondly. Blue grimaces in a subtle way that Dale only notices because of the daggers he’s staring into her. 

“I don't know about-” she begins. Gordon steamrolls her, likely not hearing a thing she said. 

“Well, I suppose this is as good an introduction as any. Dale, meet your new partner, Special Agent Georgia Blue. Blue, meet Dale Cooper.”

He wanted to be surprised, really he did, but with fate’s track record, he didn't know why he would expect any better. 

-

Dale goes home late that evening. With him, a stack of manilla folders all relating to one Georgia Blue. He recognizes a level of invasion here. He justifies it simply; Blue is an invasion of his space, so this grants him a degree of invasion to hers. He tries not to think about the morality of it too much, mostly because he knows if he does, he’ll be returning the files unopened. He lets his curiosity win this battle. 

It doesn’t matter anyways; half the documents are redacted, large blocky sharpie lines interrupting every other sentence. He skims over what he deems unimportant– her physical description, age, schooling– when one thing catches his eye. Her bureau status, ambiguously labeled as ‘probationary warning: under review’ 

 The FBI files aren’t all. There are DEA reports, too, all titled Operation Architect. He whispers the words to himself, something familiar in the back of his mind, vague memories and mentions of this Operation Architect. From his understanding, it had been DEA business, just watercooler talk that had made its way down to his office. He reads what he can. 

January 10th 1988, SA Georgia Blue establishes contact with target, indefinite undercover placement to begin immediately.

Undercover placement? The rest of the paragraph is blocked out, and he’s left with more questions than answers. 

His day feels like a pill he can’t swallow. He had vainly hoped that by understanding who this woman was, it would give him some artificial control of the situation, maybe even make it easier to choke down. He doesn’t understand why the dread in his chest continues to bloom. 

He yawns, interrupting his thoughts. He supposes the rest of his investigation can wait for the morning, it wasn’t like the issue was going away anyways. 

-

There are a few blissful moments the next morning when Dale wakes up, where the nightmare of yesterday is just that - a nightmare. The redacted files are forgotten on his desk. He makes his bed and brushes his teeth, and it isn't until he’s halfway through shampooing his hair, while he’s mentally scaling down his to-do list for the day that he remembers his plans are meaningless compared to the derailment that is Agent Blue. That is, his new partner Agent Blue. Just rolling over the word in his mind causes a headache to bud. 

“Agents Cooper and Blue, partners, at your service,” he spits bitterly to himself. He gets shampoo in his mouth.

He’s bitter all the way to the station, questions and resentment swarming his mind.  

He doesn’t even bother to chirp his usual good mornings to the doorman. Anger fits him like a jacket two sizes too small, he has to squeeze his way into it.

Perhaps the comfort of familiarity would calm him, he thought. A warm cup of coffee and the sanctuary of his desk. That’s what he needed. 

“Good morning Dale,” Diane calls as he passes reception. He waves noncommittally. 

“Morning Diane, any messages?” 

“Not today, but Gordon wants to talk to you—he said to just come by when you have time.”

Dale sighs, and wonders what Gordon could possibly have in store for him this time. 

“Is that all?” 

“There’s just one other thing—I had to move your desk closer to the window to make room for the new girl – but don’t worry! I put everything back just as it was, and I was real careful too,” she smiles. 

His eye twitches. 

“Alright, Diane, thanks,” he mutters. 

His desk is a foot from the window now, approximately 3 feet from where he had it before. He recalls the day he requested it to be there—having carefully stood in each corner of the precinct to find the exact shade-to-light ratio to situate himself. 

It’s fine, he reasons, he’ll just squint. 

In the ideal 4-foot spot from the window sits a brand new desk, with his brand new partner. If she hears him approach, she doesn’t show it, eyes glued to her dark computer screen. It doesn’t bother him, not one bit. He had spent the last three years' worth of mornings enjoying his coffee in silence, and, new partner or not, he would like that to remain the same. Who cares if she ruined his wool pants–doesn’t mean she has to say good morning to him too. 

He sits down, much too close to the sun for his liking, and dives headfirst into paperwork. Still, he spares glances at her, in intervals, and mostly just wonders, why? Dale is a good agent, he knows this. His work and reputation precede him; a lone wolf, he thinks of himself. Then, out of nowhere, without warning, he’s saddled with a partner? An agent he’s never even heard of, who is apparently dipping half into DEA work. An agent who’s on probationary warning. 

Perhaps they want him to babysit, he concludes. A rookie agent with some kind of classified disciplinary infraction, and they want him to turn her around. The thought reheats his anger. He’s a federal agent, not an academy trainer, and he has half a mind to let Gordon know that fact. 

Five minutes into tense silence and deep thought, a hand smacks down on his desk. He startles but recovers smoothly.

“For yesterday,” Blue says tersely. His eyes follow her stony expression to her manicured hand. She moves and reveals a crumbled $50 bill she’d slapped on his desk. 

“Agent?” he asks, confused and exasperated. 

“For the pants, alright? Please, just take it.” 

He stares at the bill quizzically. 

“Ma’am, while I can appreciate the gesture, I assure you that it’s not necessary—“

She holds her hand up to stop him. 

“I don’t care. I’m not taking the money back.”

She returns to her desk, intentionally angling away from him, staring intently at the computer screen that he can now see isn’t even turned on. 

“...The power button’s on the back of the monitor.” 

“...right.” 

The computer screen comes to life, and she doesn't spare him a glance. 

Partners, indeed. 

-

When he finally has a moment to see Gordon, he’s gone over his speech 5 times in his head. Gordon, you know I respect you and your decision-making, but I am not a babysitter or some sort of camp counselor. I am formally requesting the reassignment of Agent Blue.

He says it again and again in his head, all the way to the door. He knocks loudly, in a way he knows Gordon will hear, and he gets back a muffled, “Come in!” 

He does. When Gordon catches his eye, his expression is uncharacteristically unreadable. 

“Close the door behind you, Coop,” he tells him. Dale shuts the door and takes his usual seat across from his boss. 

“I’m glad you had the time to talk, I’m sure you have more than a few questions after yesterday,” he says levelly. Dale notes Gordon talking quieter than normal, it gives him an odd feeling like he’s in trouble. 

“I do, Sir. I would like to firstly say that while I respect–”

“Now hang on there, Coop. First things first, I’m going to need you to return those files on Blue.” 

Dale freezes, and his puffed-out chest deflates. It takes him a moment to form a sentence again. 

“...May I ask why, Sir?” 

Gordon sighs and fiddles with the wires of his hearing aid. 

“You haven’t done anything wrong. This is all just a bit more complicated than I can tell you right now. I’m afraid I’m sort of left in the dark here, too. I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s not all that much. Anything else you learn is at the discretion of the bureau - and Blue. And I don't think either of em’ wants you poking around.” 

The situation feels much bigger than him all of a sudden, even though it felt like something he could hold in the palm of his hand just a moment ago. 

“Alright,” is all he can think to say. 

“I knew Blue when she was in the academy, and let me tell you, she is bright. A little prodigy in her class, a bit like you, I’d presume. Anyway, I met her through her field training, she was a NAT here for a little while. Wasn’t too interested in homicide investigation, though. No, she’d taken a real liking to narcotics. Nasty business, I always thought, but to each their own,” 

As he talks, he leans in close to Dale. Gordon’s inside voice is still quite loud, but Dale can tell he’s straining to lower it. 

“She graduated and went straight to doing investigative work with the DEA. If I know you, and I do, I know you’ve picked through her file already. Do you know what Operation Architect is?” 

“I saw the name, but I don't know much about it, no.”

“Neither do I, that’s DEA business, but I know she was on it, undercover for over a year. And I know it didn't go great. She was relocated here after the ordeal.” 

Dale was hoping for this conversation to be more enlightening. He still feels trapped in the dark. 

“I meant it when I said none of this was up to me. My boss wanted Blue assigned to you. I’d wager it's because of your good work, you’ve got a handsome reputation, but I couldn’t tell you for sure. Regardless, she's sticking around for a while, so make the best of it. She’s not quite how I remember her, but as long as she hasn't done a full 180 in a few years, I think you two could get along pretty well.” 

Silence weighs down the room. Dale lets the new knowledge permeate his skin. 

“Alright,” he says because there really isn’t anything else to say. 

“Alright,” Gordon parrots. 

Dale sits like he’s waiting for something else to happen. The crushing finality of it sits on his chest. All the determination he came in there with is withered away to nothing, just ashes of a once burning fire. 

There’s no shirking this now, he has a partner. Cooper & Blue, FBI. 

“I know this isn’t easy for you, and I wish there was more I could do. But to be completely candid with you, I don’t think it’ll be nearly as bad as you’re anticipating.” 

Dale nods absently, drained of anything else to say. Gordon understands. 

“You’re dismissed, Coop.” 

He gets up, politely pushing in the chair. 

Before his hand can touch the knob, Gordon grabs his attention again. 

“Well, one more thing, actually.” Dale tenses, and the dread in his chest that had gone numb begins to flare up again. 

“If I were you, I’d show her a bit of kindness. This line of work is messy, and I can't imagine what the hell happened for her to get sent here.”

Dale can’t imagine either. 

[jodilin65]

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 31, 2002 There have been no updates since the dolls left Hodgkins, Illinois at noon our time yesterday, but I’m keeping track. Tom sent me the email with the link for tracking it. It’s cool to be able to watch their progress. I can’t wait! I look so forward to getting these dolls.

Over the next few months, I’m still going to go ahead and get Mei Lin, Felicity and the Apache Woman. The only question is, do I get just one set of ballerinas and Dalene? Or all the ballerinas and no Dalene? I’m definitely going to work on getting the 3 or 4 Ashton dolls I want after getting Apache Woman. They’re so, so nice. I just wish they weren’t so expensive. They’re in between a cheap PG doll and a Bailey/Joy-type doll. It seems all their $70 - $80 dolls have stayed the same price, but the $100 dolls are now $130. Anyway, there’s another Indian woman and an Indian child I’d like. Also, a ballerina and a bride doll that’s really nice.

Another thing about Ashton is that I always got what I saw, but some of PG’s dolls didn’t quite look as good in person, except for one of them, which actually looked better.

I was thinking about all the shit the Indians and blacks went through years and years ago, and while they both got shit on big time, the Indians sure did handle it better. They moved on and didn’t harbor so much anger over the years as the black bums did. They didn’t join gangs, start riots, make a life of welfare, or cry racism when they’d have problems with others. Using race as a crutch for them is as rare as an infertile Mexican.

It just dawned on me that Scot has dropped one of his lines. He’s always had 3 lines. The one where he asks if I’m up to date on my payments, the one where he either asks or tells me how much time I have left, then the one where he says he’ll try to catch me at the house. Well, he hasn’t said that last one lately. Maybe tomorrow. We’ll see. I just hate the forced ass-kissing routine I gotta go through. If I had to kiss his ass for a doll, that’d be one thing, but to kiss his ass over this shit is another.

Later…

Still no updates after yesterday’s Illinois departure. I don’t know if the truck’s been moving or not since, but it better be moving somewhat if they want to make the scheduled delivery date of Monday the 4th. Tom says they’re pretty reliable, but we’ll see. You know how it is when I get dolls. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if one of the trucks broke down, a driver got ill, etc. There shouldn’t be any problem finding the house, though, cuz UPS does come out here regularly and they should have maps. With the furniture people, it was different. Furniture doesn’t come out here as often as packages do.

Even Jumbo has a missing leg, I just noticed. He’s missing a leg and Crabby’s missing a claw. I wonder what Hermy’s missing? I haven’t seen much of that one. It’s a pretty shy crab. They haven’t been very active, either. Hopefully, they’ll liven up a bit with just another day or two of adjusting to their new home.

It’s a lovely day for open windows. The front of the house is slightly warm and the back is slightly cool.

I forgot to mention that about a week ago I chased a little black dog and a medium black dog onto next door’s land. Tom says they weren’t theirs and that they have two little dogs which are so afraid of the world, they’d never leave their land, but I’m sure they were theirs. Tom’s always quick to defend a neighbor anyway.

It’s awfully hypocritical of them to let their dogs run around loose on other people’s property after they were so worried that it might’ve been our dogs that killed their chickens when we first moved in. What if we or someone else had a chicken coop? Would it be okay for their dogs to waltz onto someone else’s land and kill any animals they might have?

It still really bothers me that I can’t make dolls, though it doesn’t surprise me. Since when have I ever had control over my own life anyway? I tell myself that being bored is better than being in jail, but you know, being bored and being in jail shouldn’t be my only two choices!

Just changed the betta’s water.

The only new rule/demand Scot informed us of was that he wants his Stanfield/Maricopa people to report on the first and third Wednesdays of each month, and his Casa Grande people to report on the second and fourth Wednesdays, so there goes our choice as to which Wednesday we see him. This was when I muttered about it being a shame that at $40 a month, we can’t have some say as to what goes on, and oh, it felt so good to say that! I know Scot heard me too, even though he didn’t comment. In fact, he didn’t even mention how much time I have left! Or about seeing me at home. Just that we still have two months before we switch over to Casa Grande as if that’s any real consolation.

After we left, Tom pointed out that the good in us going on those set weeks is that we won’t have to wait in line forever. No, but I’ll still have to endure the humiliation between January and March. In fact, I’m so sure of it that I didn’t bother to report today with a full bladder.

He gave us next year’s schedule. It was nice reading the part where those reporting on certain dates in November and December had to report before noon as the office was to close early, knowing I’d be done before then. Done with these freeloaders for good! I’m gonna do everything they told me not to do, too. I’m not going to do drugs, of course, but I’m gonna get a gun and a 4-pack of wine coolers. I’m not going to vote, though, cuz I never cared to anyway. Nor will I ever do jury duty.

Then, when God replaces the freeloaders with other neighbors tormenting us, we’ll handle it right this time by either sitting back and taking it or getting the fuck out of here.

I still have to remind myself that what happened to me wasn’t my fault as far as the freeloaders/court goes. Just like a rape victim who knows it’s not her fault, she still tends to blame herself – if only I hadn’t worn this, if only I hadn’t said this, etc. Well, I have to remind myself that I never did anything to deserve this shit other than making a reasonable complaint and being Jewish.

Of course, Scot didn’t test me yet he had all the opportunity in the world in which to do so. The judge wasn’t even there, so the bathroom, which is off the judge’s office, was totally available. Why should he test me, though, when he knows he can just wait to do it when someone can gawk at me? The question then will be, will that really be the last one, or will he take advantage of the female eyes he’ll have handy in Casa Grande and do more tests? I guess I can believe it’ll be my last one, though, since my tests are always clean and since he’s kept his word thus far about the tests getting less frequent over time as they kept coming back clean. It wouldn’t make sense to have a year in between clean tests, then do one just a few months later. Tom doesn’t think the test will be in January, though. He thinks it’ll be more like February or March. I hope it is February or March because then there’ll be less time to do more tests if he does get it in mind to go back on his word and do so, but at the same time, I just want to get it over with!

I’d prefer to snap my fingers and have it be this time next year, but I’d settle for April. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going to survive the next year! I just want this shit over with once and for all! I just want to get on with my life! I’ve been wanting to get on with it, yet no one will let me. How can I ever move on if these people are going to have a hold on me and be allowed to victimize me year after year? The only difference is that they’ve been victimizing me through the courts for the last few years.

After Scot’s and before Circle K, we stopped at the PO. As expected, Tasha wasn’t in, but the sewing machine was. I told him there’d be no problem with a non-doll-related package. Tom’s going to call PG if Tasha’s not in by Monday. I am so fed up with them! I still don’t get why they can’t just send me the dolls we order. Why does it always have to be such a big deal for them?

I’m going to wait till Tom’s awake and available to go over the new sewing machine with me. It’s so small and lightweight! Only the big one with the adapter (though it can also use batteries) and other accessories came today. The palm-size portable one is still on its way. I still think it would be best if I had his mother available to walk me through my first few outfits. It’d be quicker and easier to have an expert on hand to guide me through the beginning.

Tom’s on vacation next week, then again in mid-December. That’s when I’ll be going to the doctor for prescription refills and ear referrals. I’m still not bothering with a pap, since I trust my instinct. I’m sure that intuition would tell me if something was wrong with my female parts and I’d probably have some symptoms, too.

I had to snort up a while ago. Oh, well. I should still need to see the doctor only every other year if I go 8 months in between the 3 referrals unless a new problem arises. The nasal sprays he gives me could easily last two years at the rate I’ve been taking them. If my inhalers run out before then, I can always get something over the counter.

Of course, there’s always the possibility that female or health problems of some kind are going to be my next curse since it wouldn’t be too convenient for God to bring neighborly trouble to a house sitting on a 10-acre lot that’ll be fenced-in by then. Anything to get me out of the house regularly. I’ve always got to have appointments.

Another good thing to look forward to next year, besides expunging the freeloaders from our lives forever, is going to Kingman! I hope the doll selection there is as good as I think it is. It should be several times bigger than JBS’s Mesa store. We decided to stop by there with the truck we hope to have by then on our way to Laughlin. We haven’t been to Laughlin since late ’96.

Later…

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! I can’t believe what I just saw out the window! Little Ratsy’s still alive! I’m absolutely astounded since she’s been out there a month. Maybe she’s survived because it’s cooler and the snakes are hibernating. Anyway, she’d never let me pick her up any more than she would when she was in here, but I saw her running to get some bread I threw out, along with some birds and bunnies. I put the water bowl back out there and threw out some salad and seeds. Then I got a damn good lizard picture. I just can’t believe a bird hasn’t gotten her. It’d be awesome if she got pregnant by some wild rat and if we could have a bunch of wild Fancy rats running around the land, but I don’t know about that one. She looks pretty healthy, though.

Anyway, I redid the letter Teddy Bear’s sure to never receive, but I’ll send it in any way. I shortened it a bit and restructured some of it. It’s a page and a half. I’ll make sure to ask Mary to ditch the first one so she doesn’t get the two confused if TB ever did show up, though I dated it.

I’m on days now and fell asleep in the early evening last night. Tom said that afterward, he could hear the crabs bustling about.

He also said he wouldn’t expect to see an update on Victoria and Karen’s progress till Saturday when they should be in Phoenix by then.

He picked up weather stripping for the front door, quarter-round trim for the skylight, and numbers for the front corner of the house by where we drive in. This should hopefully make it even easier for UPS, though UPS has been out here before with no problem.

It seems our voice messaging was scrambled for a bit yesterday. We got a couple of messages left for someone else, and they no doubt got the messages I left for Tom cuz he didn’t get them. It seems to be okay now.

Dear Teddy Bear,

Hi there. How are you? I hope you’re as well as can be. I’m sending this to Mary to give you if you ever return to Estrella while she’s still there. I didn’t want to risk sending another letter to you and getting you in trouble.

I’d like to think that the reason I never heard from you is that you didn’t get my letter and you lost the number that I gave you in jail, but I think it’s safe to assume you probably did get my letter. First of all, I want you to know I have absolutely no hard feelings towards you at all, but Teddy Bear, you have no idea how shocked and hurt I was to be ignored by you! After all, you seemed so for real, so sincere. I’d hate to think I was just one big joke to you all along. A simple little phone call or letter would’ve been nice, to let me know you wouldn’t be seeing me, but now I’m left to forever wonder what happened. Not only that, but I worked really hard at trying to breed you the mice you said you liked, so not hearing from you made me feel rather unappreciated.

Teddy Bear, you really had quite an impact on me! Not even I realized it at first. You see Teddy Bear, it wasn’t just about attraction. I fell in love with you. You may be wondering how this could’ve happened since I barely knew you, but I know how I felt. I still do too, and maybe I always will. I know I could never forget you, that’s for sure. I believe one knows when they love someone and when they don’t and there was no denying how I felt for you. You really don’t need to know someone forever or like a book in order to love them, trust me. Yeah, ich liebe dich, Teddy Bear, and I know what that means, even though Ida tried to confuse me at first and tell me it meant ‘how are you.’

I also knew you could never love me back and that I couldn’t just throw away 8 years of marriage, so if that’s the reason you decided not to see me (because I’m married or living so far away), or because you met someone else, I understand and accept this, but again, it would’ve been nice if you could’ve at least let me know. Or at least acknowledged my letter and simply told me you couldn’t make it.

I looked so, so forward to seeing you as often as possible and getting to know you. I had so much to tell and show you. I wanted to share my book with you, do email back and forth, learn your first name, what your life was like, etc,

What happened, Teddy Bear??? Did you meet someone along the way? Did you decide I live too far away to bother with? Is it me? Did I do or say something to make you hate me? It’d mean a lot to me if you could call or write and let me know what happened, no matter what the reason may be. I will accept and respect whatever it is, which is all I can do anyway, then we could continue on our separate ways. If you met someone, I hope she treats you well. You deserve the best. You’re a good person and I want you to be happy. It would deeply sadden me if I knew you weren’t. I’m by far a people person, Teddy Bear. I don’t take to just anyone and open up to just anyone. I trusted you. You were a very smart, easy-going person with a great sense of humor. How could anyone not love you? If it’s something I said or did that may’ve either offended you or got you in trouble, I am so very, very sorry and this was certainly not my intention.

Mary was the one who told me she heard you were at Madison. She contacted me about a month after my release, asking if I’d help her write a book, though I may have already told you this, then we just unexpectedly became pen pals from there. Don’t worry, no one else knows about this but Tom.

I believe things happen for a reason, and in the end, I thought you were the main reason I was meant to be there, but no, the main reason was that I lodged a city complaint against the wrong person with the wrong connections and because I was Jewish. They were everything they accused me of being – hateful, vindictive bigots. They turned it into a racial issue and cried racism all because of my complaint and because they were Muslims and Muslims often hate Jews. In case you care to know the story – Tom and I had a house in Phoenix. The people next door to us moved out, the city took ownership of the house, then a black/Muslim family moved in on Section 8. Only the woman and her kid were supposed to live there, but she had her boyfriend living there too, and a dog, also not allowed. I know the rules, Teddy Bear, because I was in projects myself back east back when I was getting SSI and was on disability because of my ear. I also have ADHD which means I get hyper and have trouble sleeping/concentrating.

So, in they moved in ‘96 and then the trouble began – non-stop cars coming and going at all hours of the day, music blaring so loud that the stuff on our furniture practically vibrated, trash in our yard, sexual notes in our mailbox slot. Like a fool, I never saved the notes that we received after politely asking them to tone it down. I figured they were stupid, childish notes and I wasn’t going to waste my time getting hot and bothered by them. I just wanted to ignore them, though most of the time they wouldn’t let me.

But we were getting fed up with the noise. We considered calling the cops but decided not to because we knew the cops couldn’t be there to monitor them 24/7 and that as soon as the cops left they’d be up to the same old shit. We needed to contact someone with a little more leverage than that, so we sent a letter to the city. It helped for a while and the boyfriend moved out and the barking dog disappeared. After a few months of peace and them not making their business ours and invading our house with the sound of their every move, they were back at it again, so we sent another city letter. This caused them to be evicted which wasn’t our intention. We just wanted them to shut up and leave us alone! But they wouldn’t, so they had to go. We wanted to move too, because of my asthma and because we wanted out of the city, but weren’t in a position to do so till a few months after they moved in ’99.

Meanwhile, when they were harassing us, I wanted to settle things with my fists, that’s how mad I was, but Tom made me promise I wouldn’t. So in exchange, I was going to send them “a piece of my mind” and go the non-violent way. I’ve been keeping journals since ’87 and I sent them parts of it, which of course were non-racial and non-threatening. Meanwhile, it would turn out that the woman would have a cop friend, also a bigot, who spited against me on her behalf by typing up a threatening letter. Then, when he got me in to interrogate me, he asked, “Have you seen this?” Then he handed me the letter, and not knowing any better, I took hold of it. Well, figure it out, Teddy Bear. That’s how he got my prints on it.

I must’ve had you confused at first, what with how I bitching about others hitting on me just to turn around and go flirting with you like I did! I’d have told you sooner than I did that I had a crush on you, but I was afraid to. It’s not that I was shy or ashamed for we can’t help how we feel. It’s just that I didn’t know what your reaction would be and if I remember correctly, you were the one with the can of mace, not me. But I have no qualms about telling you – I adored all 5 feet 10 inches of you. You were so vibrant, so full of life and energy. I loved your eyes, too. There was just something about them and the sound of your voice, and okay, I’ll admit you looked just fine in uniform!

So you can just imagine how cursed I feel what with being thrown in jail for something I didn’t do, then to have met and fallen for you only to end up never hearing from you! It really makes a person feel like something up there hates them, and furthermore, even if I was 100% guilty, no one should go to jail for something they wrote, and besides, actions speak louder than words. I can see if it was to a kid or many mailings, but guilty or innocent, I never should’ve been there and we never should’ve met, but we did meet. I wonder, Teddy Bear, do you ever think of me? Do you ever remember me from time to time? Remember things like our “dead friends” misunderstanding?

Anyway, I do hope to hear from you someday. I don’t know, maybe now’s not a good time for you and maybe you can call me sometime in the future, though sooner would be better. Or maybe you can tell Mary and she can tell me if you’d prefer not to call or write. I hope this letter, if you ever get it, doesn’t piss you off or make you uncomfortable in any way. I just wish I could understand what happened, that’s all. I’ll enclose my email, number and address. If I hear from you, great. If not, I wish you nothing but the best, my sweet Teddy Bear, and I promise I’ll never forget you. I hope you will never forget me, either. I’ll never stop wondering what happened if I don’t hear from you and am very sorry things have turned out the way they have. I certainly won’t count on it, but I do hope to hear from you one day.

Love Always, Dawn

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 30, 2002 Just one more year with the freeloaders, just one more. At first I started to fall into my usual thought process, but what if they and or the state prolong things? What if they do something else?

But then I said, no, next year is going to be it no matter what cuz I’m going to make it be it, even if they don’t want it to be it. One year from today will be the day I take my life back and when no one but Jodi says what happens to her. It won’t mean that I’ll be able to decide I want a million dollars and make it suddenly appear. It won’t mean that I’ll be able to jump to the moon if I suddenly desire to. It simply means that no one will ever again tell me where to go, what to do or how to live as far as a reasonable, general, everyday kind of way goes. I can’t fight fate and I can’t stop God from stopping me from doing some of the things I’d like to do in life, but you know what I mean.

Meanwhile, I gotta wonder – what kind of bombshell will Scot drop on me this Friday? Will I have to hear about the classes? Or just reminded of how much time I have left? The Casa Grande stress still hasn’t returned, but I don’t yet know why. Maybe it’s simply because I know that as long as I’m not going to wash my hands clean of this bullshit and walk away, I’m going to have to face the humiliation.

I’m just so sick of getting shit on by people in general! One of these days I’m going to surprise them and fling the shit right back in their faces!

I should’ve known something was up when Paul kept referring to the journals as “letters.” When we were all calling them letters I automatically assumed we were doing so cuz that’s a generic, overall term for sent mail. I thought it went without saying that we were all talking about the journals and not this damn letter, even though we were referring to them as letters.

Speaking of letters, I got 2 letters from Mary yesterday and was heartbroken over Todd’s dumping on her. She apparently got a letter from Todd’s “girlfriend.” She sent the letter to Todd with nothing else and then took down his pictures. I was also pissed. You could say he’s another one I could add to my list that I wouldn’t mind having 5 minutes alone with.

Anyway, I am so, so sorry for her, and yes, I know the pain of a broken heart. Teddy Bear taught me all too well, I’m afraid, but I can just imagine that the pain I went through on account of being blown off by her was nothing compared to what she went through. Teddy Bear and I didn’t really have a chance to get much started, but she and Todd go way back, so I can see how hurt she must be. For whatever it’s worth, I told her, she’ll get used to it with age. Losing friends/lovers does get easier with time. I wish there was something I could say/do to ease her pain, but unfortunately, it’s just going to have to run its own course and work itself out in its own time, and it will. Time really does heal all wounds, and while she may never forget Todd anymore than I’ll ever forget Teddy Bear, it will get easier to deal with. Time’s her best friend right now. She’s also too young to be closing doors on the many different opportunities that may present themselves once she’s free. I also wouldn’t rule out the possibility of being with a woman someday, but if it’s not her cup of tea, it’s not her cup of tea. My point was – keep an open mind. I also told her that anytime she needs a shoulder to cry on, she’s very welcome to use mine. There’ll be times when I’ll be crying on her shoulder, too!

Damn that bastard for wasting 3 stamps of mine for those convent excerpts she wanted to send to him!

This is when I wonder how she can believe and trust in God. How could he let this happen to her on top of everything else she’s been through? And doesn’t she feel ignored when she prays? She’s into yoga now which seems to help a lot more than anything, from what she’s told me. I’m sure writing and listening to music helps, too.

When I first pulled out what she enclosed in her letter, I was like, why is she sending me, of all people, religious stuff? Well, it’s based on religion, but it’s not. It’s actually a book of inspirational poems and she dedicated a really nice friendship poem to me, telling me she loves me and appreciates what I do for her. Yeah, if there’s one person who would never take what I do for granted, it’s definitely her. I know she cares and is as grateful as I am to her for being my friend, my pen pal, and for doing me favors like investigating a certain someone we both know. In fact, I think I’m going to redo that certain someone’s letter and shorten it a bit, even if that certain someone will probably never get it.

I wonder if Pérez will ever return so she can find out for sure whether or not she got my regular mail.

In email news, she asked me to send a few pages to her friend Shirley, but I just attached the whole book file. I thought it crashed at one point and I ended up sending it twice.

She said she’s had a miserable time going to court and all for nothing. There’ll be nothing else going on till January, either. As I told her, I’ve heard that going to court is a miserable ordeal. And how asinine it is to be pulled 6-7 hours before court! I’m glad I never had to do that. I had enough shit to go through as it was.

The prairie dogs are completely gone now. I haven’t seen any. Haven’t heard any hunters on weekends, either. Just during the Labor Day weekend and the weekend after that. There were a few sonic booms yesterday.

I decided what weight I want to get down to next year which is 105. If I lost 10 pounds and got down to 115, it’d make a huge difference overall at my height, but it’d make even more of a difference in the face, neck and chest if I got to 105. It won’t be easy, but unless I change my mind and decide to stay as I am between now and after New Year’s, I’ll do it.

My hair is now to the crack of my ass. Maybe ¼ inch away still. It’s such a bitch. If it were thin and straight, that’d be one thing, but I get so sick of it that I think about cutting it to my shoulders. I know I will within the next few years for sure.

The day I sent out Paula’s letter, which was Monday, she left a message by phone saying she didn’t know what was going on, she wasn’t receiving email or regular mail from me. Also, to let her know if Justin’s doing anything wrong.

What he’s doing wrong is he’s not notifying her when I send an email. The kid’s a nut. I know he can’t help the people he was born from or his environment, but the kid’s a flat-out nut and a half, destined to spend his life in and out of jail. At first I wasn’t going to send any email about it, not sure if it was the right thing to do, but you know, I’m sick of doing right when all it does is get me nowhere. So I sent him a quick message letting him know that it’s a damn shame that he’s too lazy to let his mother know when she’s got mail.

Anyway, I’ll send her a regular letter every once in a while, but I really would’ve preferred to keep in touch by email to save a little money. If Paula could listen to one thing I tell her, then she might’ve remembered that I said I’d be sending email on the first of each month so she could look for it then.

Anyway, I started to write about this earlier but never did. Tom and I were talking about what we’d do if we suddenly had limited time. Well, I’ll tell you one thing for sure and that’s that if I suddenly knew I only had a year or two to live and that there was nothing I could do about it, I’d write the biggest “fuck you” letters the world’s ever seen to everyone responsible for landing me in jail and where I am today! Then the media could say I was prejudiced towards law enforcement people as well, not that that’d be a lie.

Some lady was giving away work shirts and a coupon for a different satellite provider that he wants to switch to. His plans for tuners, satellites, computers, etc., confuse the hell out of me. He says it’ll be easy to use, though, and a worthy investment.

The crazy rat really likes the fleece bed. She tore the seam that joins the outer, decorative material to the fleece and she burrows between the two.

I’m still far from updated. I haven’t even gotten to the printer and crabs yet. The printer’s great. I get a lot of paper jams where it doesn’t feed all the way through, but if it’ll do thousands of pages at a fraction of the cost, then great. I can’t believe how fast it is! The thing prints like 8 pages a minute, whereas the other one does one page in two minutes. You can kind of feel the print too, which is slightly raised, cuz it’s a powder that’s melted onto the paper and not ink that becomes one with the paper. So, I hope Mary doesn’t mind all-black text.

Yesterday morning we left at 8:00 and headed for PetSmart in Chandler. They had a good selection of crabs there. Like nearly a dozen. I picked out 3. One’s a jumbo, one’s average, and one’s small. I sent pictures to both Marys. I know Tom’s Mary won’t like them, but I don’t know about my Mary. She hates snakes, but she has no problem with rats, so it could go either way when it comes to them. I’ll just wait to hear from her about it. I’ll powder up a letter with the pics today. I better not get them back, either!

Jumbo’s the shyest. Hermy, the smallest one, is sort of shy. Crabby’s my favorite and the bravest, too. I feel sorry for her/him too, as it’s missing its large claw as well as a digit at the end of an outer leg. Must’ve been in a fight.

I have them in a little terrarium in the kitchen. (we have so much counter space in here that not even this tank leaves us short on space!) The tank’s a foot tall and almost two feet wide. It’s probably about a foot deep, too. In it, I have really nice colorful gravel that has even more colors than the fish have, but I think it was a waste, cuz I think they like the paper pellets better. They can burrow in it and dig through it easier. It’ll also absorb their pee. Another dumb buy was the two small plastic balls I got them. When I put them in them, they don’t seem to move much. I’d be better off letting them walk around loose just as long as I kept an eye on them. The last dumb buy I made was the spare shells. They’re way too big for them, and the more I think about it, the more I doubt they’ll ever change shells. These are Caribbean crabs and they change shells much less than Ecuadorian crabs.

The smart thing I bought and set up for them, besides food, of course, was a shallow plastic heavyweight bowl. If the bowl’s too deep, the crabs will drown. I also bought a sponge that you place in the middle of the bowl to provide a little bit of moisture. That way their gills won’t dry out. The reason they’re in the kitchen is that I’ll have to change the water bowl and dampen the sponge every day.

I took a strip of squared wire and placed that in there for them to climb on, as well as a wheel without its base. I made it stationary by covering the bottom of it with gravel. This way they can have things to climb on.

Tom made some measurements and determined that our fish tank is a 20-gallon and not a 15-gallon tank. We lost another fish, too. The green glass fish died.

For the fish, we got some fake neon plants for the babies to hide in and hopefully survive too, but now I’m not so sure we’re going to have any babies. Guppies have them every 3 weeks.

They had a huge selection of fish, but no glass fish. The neon tetras Tom was telling me about were just so-so. I like the bigger fish better, too.

Tom checked online and so far there’s been no problem with our order for Victoria and Karen. They had this really cool UPS tracking site that lets you track your packages. They processed the order at 5 PM on the 29th. They packaged it at 7:30. It left New York at 10:15, and by 2 AM they were in transit in Illinois. They say they’ll be here Monday the 4th.

Now, why can’t PG and Ashton be this fast? I’ll still be completely blown away if they really do get here that fast and without a problem. If it’s dolls, there’s always a problem unless they take forever anyway like Ashton does.

Speaking of Ashton, they must be psychic and knew I’d soon be ordering from them cuz I just got a catalog from them. I decided to dump Dalene and the PG fairies as soon as I saw this new Indian doll they have. She’s very beautiful and very realistic and she’s in a rather unique pose, too. She sort of leans against a carved rock base with one knee bent and the other straight for most of her weight to rest on. I just wish she wasn’t $130! She’s referred to as The Legend of the Apache Teardrop. Tom told me the story behind the legend. I think I’ll just call her Apache Woman. She’s 16” posed, so standing straight up, she’d probably be about 20”.

So, it looks like I’ll be getting the little ballerinas, Apache Woman, Mei Li and Felicity. If I don’t like the ballerinas, I’ll cancel the subscription and put Dalene back on the list. I’d still like to have the PG fairies eventually, though I don’t have to. They’re nice, but I can live without them. Besides, I’m sick of PG’s stupidity. I was supposed to get Tasha a month ago. A month ago! Why should it take a whole month to send a doll?

Guess you could say I’ve done enough writing, so I think I’ll go read now.

Later…

I wonder where Victoria and Karen are now. Well, I’ll find out when Tom gets up. He said he’d look before leaving for work.

Another year with the freeloaders and with being forced to bite my tongue, kiss ass, and basically be everything I’m not. I swear to God, though, after this next year, if I’ve got something to say I’ll say it, and no one, in any way shape or form will ever order me around again. I’m a little too old to be taking “orders” from anyone anyway, I would think. I’ll never again be anyone’s slave. No one will stop me from being myself and saying what I have to say within reasonable expectations. I’ve always been against ass-kissing. I’ve always felt it was degrading to the human spirit and it is. Oh, how bad I wanted to say, “I’m your client, you work for me, my $40 a month goes towards your pay, and therefore, I think I should be entitled to have some say in how often I see you.” Who knows, I still might speak my mind on the issue if he brings it up, but I’m sick of being made to feel like a child who has to seek the approval of an adult so she doesn’t get hit with any more abuse. Having to kiss ass like this really is a very degrading experience. I wouldn’t say just anything, anywhere, to just anyone anyway, but this is a little extreme. How is it that so many people have had such a hold on me throughout my life? It’s been nearly as bad as an adult as it was when I was a child for real! And how is it that I couldn’t put a hold on anyone myself if I tried? Putting a hold on someone isn’t want I want, though, I just want them to let go of me!

It still blows my mind, and it no doubt always will, how so little could turn into so much. How could this have gotten as far as it has and for so long?!?! All I wanted was for them to shut up. That’s all I wanted. Just for them to keep their music for their ears only. It’s like my whole life is either kissing ass or suffering the consequences for trying to do/achieve what’s right, and that’s a decision I’ll be faced with having to make as soon as this shit’s over. Do we let the next set of neighbors blast their music, hang out on our land or trash it? Or do we risk going to jail for complaining about it? There won’t be an in-between. There’ll be no “fighting back” and winning. At least they won’t be able to terrorize us from just 3’ away!

My life is just about in the hands of the freeloaders at the moment as it’s coming up on 10:00. That is if Scot comes. If he doesn’t show up today or tomorrow, that’ll be 12 glorious weeks without him here. It’d be a bummer if he did, not just for obvious reasons, but because that’d mean he’s still only skipping one month between drop-ins. His last visit was on August 8th.

You’d think it’d be so easy being on standard probation, just putting the $40 in the mail and showing up twice a month, but it’s not. It’s really not. I have the stress of home visits waking me up when I’m on nights, I always have to worry about some new demand or inconvenience coming up, and now I’ve got the threat of being degraded and humiliated over my head with a much longer drive. The freeloaders don’t just punish me, they punish him, too. He needs to sleep during the day, not be on the road for two hours.

Once again, I wasn’t kidding when I said I knew God would punish us for moving. He never approved of or wanted me to leave the city and that’s part of why I kept getting dragged back into it to the hotels and then jail. As much as I want to get out of here, I can’t help but wonder what the price for doing so would be. Nothing would happen if we moved to a city, but I’m not moving back to a city. Not on my own, not by force. I have come to completely despise cities! I’d rather the horseshit smell than to be back with all those freeloaders who would only live to make my life miserable.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 27, 2002 I’ve been writing for 15 years as of today!

I just finished a clip that was supposedly of Mary’s, yet it had a little twist in it. In it, I was her celly and I made her gifts that were seized. I made her a doll out of cotton and linen and someone else made her a dog figurine out of cotton and soup and an address book out of a deck of playing cards. Before this, she talked to Todd’s parents about her court fears. Todd’s father encouraged her to keep her chin up. Anyway, I would cry in her arms for real if they took gifts I made her, and I’m sure she would be looking at the bright side of it while I was bitching about how unfair it all was.

I’m a bit confused, though, cuz I thought Todd’s family was abusive to him yet she made it sound otherwise. If they feel like real family to her, I’m glad. A family isn’t those who are blood-related to you. A family is those who love and accept you as you are without violence.

She also had me confused when she and Gary were talking about “getting those bastards.” Bastards as in the plural sense? I thought only Justin was charged with Gretchen’s murder. And what did she mean by Justin pulling stunts to scare her? How the hell could he do that from where he is?

So Mena’s one of her favorites? I’m surprised. A few others said they liked her but I never did. Reminded me too much of my mother. I always got the feeling that she wasn’t overly fond of me either. I don’t know, maybe she was brainwashed by the media.

So a lot of DOs are quitting cuz of the conditions? Well, good for them. Yeah, Joe’s a real little shit, that’s for sure. And what makes it even scarier is that he could decide to one day up and cut out all meals and have only those who can afford to buy food eat, and there wouldn’t be a damn thing anyone could do about it. The man’s got the power of Hitler. Of God, it seems. I’m as shocked that he’s still alive as I am that Saddam Insane is. I mean, don’t people like him, the media, the pigs, the public pretenders, and the judges ever get a little nervous what with the way they play with people’s lives as if they were playing with paper dolls? I know I wouldn’t have the guts to do any of those jobs, and certainly not in the manner that most of them do them. I wouldn’t want anyone shooting me on my doorstep. I’d always be looking over my shoulder in fear if I were pushing people around like that. And Arpaio’s full of shit to say that that food is donated. It’s not donated. First of all, no one wants to donate food to a bunch of convicts, and if it’s donated, then why did he say he was going to cut from 3 meals to 2 to save money? The contradicting bastard put his foot in his mouth and I don’t care who reads my opinions of him. I wouldn’t say anything that I wouldn’t say to his face. He cut the meals simply cuz he’s cheap, even if the food costs next to nothing in the first place, and cuz he’s high on power and control.

And as far as her mom saying God’s gonna deal with that man – oh, how I wish! I wish, but sadly, this seems to be the type God only goes out of his way to protect, from what I’ve seen. If God “dealt” with those who wronged others, the freeloaders would be doing time and my folks would be in funny farms. In other words, I really think he does have a better chance of getting shot than having God deal with him.

I agree with her mom about him needing to be thrown in his own cell, but you know what? He’s such an arrogant little fuck that he’d say, “But this is right. This is what someone who commits crimes should get, including me if I were a criminal. It’s all okay and correct. If you don’t like it, don’t do the crime.”

We had our first fish casualty. One of the guppies died. It was weird too, cuz it was lying on the bottom. I thought dead fish were supposed to float.

I was like, “Oh please!” when I read back on a reference letter Tom wrote for the courts prior to my sentencing. I was like, “Oh my God. He’s made it sound like I’m totally, totally guilty, saying that I’m not perfect, this isn’t the norm for me, I let anger bubble up due to the moving stress, etc.”

This is as bad as how I handled the pigs!

I did nothing wrong. I know he didn’t know what was going on at the time, but he knew enough to know I did nothing wrong and to stand by me and defend me even if I had. The freeloader’s boyfriend never would’ve said or implied that she did anything wrong, so what have we got here? The guy with the guilty woman playing like she’s all innocent while the guy with the innocent woman implies she’s guilty? He would never do such a thing to her. He would never come out and tell his bitch that if she had just handled things differently, none of this would’ve happened, or imply in any way shape or form that she either asked for what she got or that she did wrong in any way, so how could my husband do so to me? The letter’s already been given to the wrong people and I can’t change what Tom believes, but I was always the victim in this case. I’m the one who the hate crime was committed when they perjured themselves and when I was dealt such an insane sentence. Nobody should get 3 years for a letter. Period. Whether they wrote it or not, what happened to me was wrong and it was not my fault. My only fault was complaining about the wrong person with the wrong connections might think about it, but and looking too Jewish, and he never should’ve written any such thing. Not cuz of what they because it was the wrong thing to say. Even if I had been guilty, you don’t admit it. If I shot someone in cold blood, he should still stand by me by insisting I’m innocent. It’d be the proper thing to do and it would be what I’d do for him. I want the same support and treatment I’d give him.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 26, 2002 I’m making us a roast right now. Something I haven’t done in a while. Meanwhile, today’s the first day we didn’t have to use the AC. It was rainy and cloudy. Tom said there was even some thunder, but it obviously wasn’t too loud, since nothing woke me up. I had a nightmare where a bunch of birds were pecking at the back of my neck which jarred me awake, but I fell right back to sleep.

I have a bad feeling that I’ll be celebrating this next birthday without my Little Buddy. He’s less and less active, eating less, moving slower, having to take breaks, etc. He sits for several minutes at a time and lets me pat him, which isn’t like him. He loves attention from me, yes, but he also loves to run around and explore and he hasn’t been doing much of that. He’s hardly at the door begging to be let out these days and he even feels old when I hold him. He’s lost some weight. My bouncy, agile, playful little puppy dog rat has turned into a sluggish little thing that does nothing but sleep most of the time. Tears sting my eyes just thinking about it. I thought Scuttles and Houdini hit me hard when they died, well, there’ll be no comparison!

I thought I was supposed to be receiving daily jokes from this site, but I haven’t gotten today’s joke from them, so I don’t know what the scoop is. That’s okay, though. I can go to them.

As I go through late ’96, I realize that the best part of reading back through the shit I went through with my family is knowing that it’s all over. Oh, how I wish I could read back on the freeloaders and be able to say, “At least it’s over!” Maybe someday. Maybe. They can’t victimize me forever. After all, we can move if that ends up being the only way to shake them off.

Last night I realized that the stress over pissing for someone stopped as quickly as it began which was as soon as Scot mentioned Casa Grande. Could it be because I won’t have to do so after all? Or is it simply because I’ve come to accept the inevitable? I doubt it’s cuz he’s gonna stay in Maricopa.

We ordered 2 of the 3 Playboy dolls. The one we didn’t order isn’t available yet. It’s to be manufactured at the end of this month, though. That’s the Dalene doll. Meanwhile, Victoria and Karen are on their way from New York via UPS, but I’m sure there’ll be some problem, as usual. They’re dolls, so there has to be.

Last night I got a wallpaper picture of the Cher doll and it’s really, really nice, though I’m not a Cher fan. I emailed it to Mary, asking her to be on the lookout for it in department stores so I could see if it ends up being marked down after the holidays. I told her it’d be in the Barbie section. I also asked that she look for Barbie as a brunette ballerina in white from Swan Lake. That one’s usually around $30, but I don’t know about Cher.

I heard from Mary today. She said her birthday (her third one in custody) was so awful that she wrote a clip on it. It’s a small draft, but I haven’t gone through it yet. I guess I’m included in it from what she said, and I told her I hoped she didn’t mind if I corrected the spelling of my name! She spells it with a y at the end like most people do.

Anyway, I remember how horrid my birthday was in there, expecting my first commissary order that I never got when I was moved from M to A.

She’s been rolling with laughter over the jokes.

She said Hope’s gone and has an appeal going in regard to her 40-year sentence, but she’ll never get a reduction. Not in this state. She should put her energy into adapting to prison life, not fighting hopeless battles. Better yet, she should try to escape. I think Mary should run too, once she’s free, but that’s mainly cuz she’s going to be looking at so many years of probation. Intense probation.

She said she was stuck with some girl who was trying to kick a speed addiction for a while. Sounds like creepy, gross, commissary-begging Charlotte! Now she’s in with that Virginia girl she mentioned getting in with after Hope left.

Damn, I wish I had had that much control over whom I celled with and for how long, but I did get them to let me spend a third or so of my sentence alone. That’s the beauty of having DOs you like that likes you back. You get stuff from them, and every little favor goes a long way in that dive.

She liked the lipstick kiss I enclosed for her. This time I put on my glittery Chapstick and gave her a glitter kiss. It’s light, but you can still see it. Yeah, we give each other kisses every now and then. Ooh! Aren’t we such naughty girls?

She’s had bettas before and said they look really cool under fluorescent light. I wonder what she’ll think of the crabs I intend to get. The money’s now there, so maybe we’ll hit the stores Monday morning.

She said her allergies are driving her nuts, but mine have been fine. I’ve only had the spray twice in well over a month now. Maybe I did cure myself with the power of wishful thinking. If I can go another few months, then yes I did, and that’d be a hell of a power to have! What a gift! If only I could “cure” my life of something else, too.

She sent another picture to scan/store/print, but as I reminded her, color ink is still pretty expensive, so I don’t want to print too many pictures, though I can store as many as she likes.

Speaking of pictures, I explained to her that I’ve been making our own calendars, using pictures like what I use to make her address labels with – animals, flowers, scenery, etc. I told her I’d hang onto them after we’re done with them and that I’d send them to her in prison if she’d like. I doubt they’ll have any rules about how many pictures an inmate can get and how big they can be as long as they’re not explicit, violent or gruesome. This way she can decorate with them and either ditch or give away the ones she doesn’t like. They’ll have monthly grids and some writing on the backs of them, but they won’t show through.

I don’t know what bothers me more, the twisted unfairness of this world, or the fact that not one single solitary person who’s fucked me over has ever paid for it, be it by the courts, by God, etc.

If you beat up a black person and call them a racial slur, they call it a hate crime. If you beat up a big person and call them a fatso, they call it what it is. All these “minorities” have to do is say you called them this or called them that, and they’re the ones who are automatically believed which changes everything.

Tom and I were talking about how they’d simply have dealt me a decade in prison if I had beat the sick bitch up in a fit of rage, despite how this state tends to go harder on the lesser, non-premeditated crimes.

Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it. But the fellow black or the male or the non-Jewish person would’ve gotten the one-year probation I was supposed to get, and even that’s ridiculous for a letter. In other words, as long as Jodi’s involved, it doesn’t matter what the state, the colors, or the religion is as long as she suffers dearly. If she falls the hardest it all doesn’t matter. No details count. Makes me wonder this – if someone in Maricopa got down on their knees and begged God to let them rip off or assault someone and get away with it, would God answer by giving them directions to this house?

Another thing I wonder is – when I think of the system that fucked me over, the Nancys who threatened to “show” me how to shut up, the contractors that took us for thousands – well – what are all these people gonna do when little Jodi stops caring about consequences? I’ll snap the next time and I know it, and like I said before, I’ll owe myself that much. I won’t be able to restrain myself if I try cuz people just don’t realize the long-term accumulative effect this shit has had and is having on me. I say I’ll just sit back and take it so I won’t have to go to jail, but will it really be that easy when the time comes? And it will come. If God and the system won’t protect me, then who will? I guess I’ll have to be the one to do so, even if doing what’s right and taking a stand for myself means I have to suffer the consequences for it in the end. Like a soldier who died at war; at least they died trying to do what was right and by defending themselves.

If God didn’t put me here to realize most of my past/present/future dreams, then can I at least not be society’s whipping boy?

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 25, 2002 Well, I’m back to being right on, as I usually am, with the negative vibes. Tom said our stock money should have been deposited last night, but it wasn’t, which would be the only way could afford to get crabs the next day (today).

“No, it won’t. The money won’t be there cuz I want to get crabs tomorrow,” I told Tom on Thursday, and sure enough, it didn’t post last night. So he called them up and they said it’d be there early next week, so we may get the crabs then.

He also called about the sewing machine and about Tasha. The sewing people said it was shipped on the 23rd, so it’s going to beat its deadline big time without any problems.

Of course, it’s not a doll.

Tasha was shipped on the 18th and the stupid fucks sent her to Tempe, even though we put the new address on the envelope and checked the ‘new address’ box.

Great. Now we have to deal with doll packages in Tempe yet again. Tempe will just throw her on a shelf and consider her delivered. As I told Tom, I am so, so sick of PG, but he said, “We’ll see. Maybe I’ll get you something for your birthday.” Well, if we’re ever dumb enough to use them again, we need to call them and very slowly, as if we were talking to a small child, tell them to wipe both PO Box addresses out of their computer completely, so they can ship the dolls straight to the house by UPS.

Anyway, my vibes say there probably won’t be a truck in November, but there’s a slight possibility around the 23rd.

Last night I changed the betta’s water, but this time, I poured new water in first so the current would stir up shit, before scooping out several cups of water. Then I filled the bowls to an inch below the rims.

I love the turquoise betta. He’s my favorite. I love the way he’s so alert, curious and brave. He sometimes moves from side to side like an anxious dog that is excited about going for a walk or something.

We noticed that the mollies, particularly our very pregnant Molly, were rocking back and forth from side to side, so I did some online research. They call it the shimmies and say it’s usually done when they get stressed out over water conditions. I added more salt, which mollies like and which is okay to do since they’re in with other livebearers, and it’s calmed the shimmies a bit.

The more I think about it, the more I know I’m right about how God will sic new neighbors on us after the freeloaders are finished with us. Not only do old patterns tell me that’s what he’ll do, but notice how Dan’s engine-gunning sprees were during that lull when we thought the freeloaders were out of our lives for good? It recently dawned on me that that’s why it’s been quiet around here since I left jail. Why use new neighbors to harass us when he’s not yet through with using old neighbors?

Anyway, when we do trade in the old ones for new ones, I’ll know to do nothing about it but just sit back and take it cuz I’m not going to jail for anyone else ever again.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 23, 2002 I’m doing some fine-tuning at the moment, and damn, ’96 sure was a bad year for us! I still wanted a kid, his parents were stealing our lives and money, and the freeloaders were driving us crazy.

Today, no family members steal our lives and money, I no longer want a kid, but the freeloaders are still driving us crazy. They’re just doing it from a distance, in a different way.

Later…

Now that’s a man who loves his wife. Tom told me that if I were framed and sent to prison either for life or very many years, he’d immediately work on ways to bust me out. I don’t see how the hell he could pull it off or how God would even let him, but it’s nice to know he’d at least try. Meanwhile, I’d kill myself for damn sure.

I decided to surprise Paula with a regular letter, but that’s mainly only to use an envelope in which the return address picture didn’t come out too well, and to try to stress to the dumb ditz that we have blocks. That’s what I want her to believe so she doesn’t nag me, but then again, how much can she be a nag from across the country? All I have to do is ignore her, and unlike the freeloaders, she couldn’t stop me from doing so.

I’m just sick of her, her man troubles, her games. She can’t get mail to me and now she can’t get email to me.

Anyway, I didn’t enclose any jokes, knowing she probably wouldn’t get them, but I did tell her that I don’t think that kid of hers is letting her know when I email her, and I told her I had sent her journals for August and September, as well as from the late 80s and early 90s. I also told her that unless I got a message telling me otherwise, I wasn’t going to bother sending anything else since she may very well not get whatever I sent.

I decided that Tom and I should write down our answers and swap them at the same time so we wouldn’t be influenced by each other’s decisions as far as what to do about the beds. I opted to keep things as they are but get a new bed. He opted to go with two twin beds of some kind side by side. Then, I opted to go along with him, since there was an alternative to doing it his way. Meaning, if he starts snoring too much, all we have to do is kick him out and into the guest room, but as it is, there’s no alternative cuz I can’t sleep through his movements in this bed, whether he snores or not.

I don’t know if I’m going to like two side by sides. I’m just so used to the way things are and I’m not thrilled about the idea of having to deal with his bad breath stinking up the room, either. Guys really do stink compared to women. At the same time, though, if he truly does want to do this, then I’m naturally going to want to try to please the one I love.

They caught the sniper. Naturally, it’s black. So they’ll plead him down to life in prison instead of the death sentence all for being black and that’ll be that. That way they won’t have to deal with a riot on their hands for doing the right thing by executing the piece of shit.

“They wrote about me and published it,” I told Tom, “We ought to write about them and publish it” (freeloaders, pigs, Paul, judge).

“That’d be stupid. That’d just bring attention to ourselves.”

That’s true. And of course, if it were me doing the writing there’d be consequences to pay. I’m now allowed to do what others can do.

I asked Tom, “Remember how you said that once it was March you felt the end of the jail time getting closer? Well, do you feel close to the end of the whole thing at this point?”

Yes, he said, but after being bullshitted left and right in regard to these freeloaders, I can’t afford to be too optimistic. I wonder, though, is this November that’s just a week away really going to be the last November with them as a part of our lives? Will December be the last December? Is ’03 the last year with them connected to 90% of our everyday lives? Or is my “calling” in life really to be fucked over by one source after another and to do for others at my own expense? Doing for others cuz you want to and cuz you care is different from doing for others cuz you have no choice, and while you’re at it, you lose so much.

Come next year I’ll need a good 6 months to a year with no subpoenas or pigs at our door in order to rest assured that it’s truly “over.”

I had started to see a slight ray of hope at the end of the tunnel till Scot informed us of this Casa Grande shit. We can’t even go more than a few months with things running smoothly. On probation, there’s always something coming up. Something else we have to do, some issue that might have to be dealt with, some kind of change, etc. A few months into Casa Grande and there’ll be some new bullshit to arise. Maybe they’ll want more money per month or maybe he’ll switch to Phoenix and we’ll have to go there which is twice as far as Casa Grande.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 22, 2002 This morning, before 10:00, Tom parked the car in back. Fortunately, at 76’ long, this house can conceal the car well. Since he’s on vacation and isn’t going to be going anywhere till the end of the week, I decided we should park it there to make it look like no one’s home should Scot stop by. From the direction he comes in from, he shouldn’t see it parked there. Whether or not he’d snoop around and look in back if he came by and got no answer, I don’t know, but I’m on nights right now and no answer is exactly what he’ll get if he does come by this week.

Tom said that if we were questioned, he’d say it was back there cuz he wanted to be near one of the hoses to deal with a radiator leak. That’s what we’d say, but I wouldn’t like it. It’d make me feel like a child all over again having to explain my actions. Scot’s not my father and I’m not a minor, so as far as I’m concerned, I really don’t owe him any explanations, but that’s the problem with most people; they think you do owe them explanations. It’s only been recently, I’m sorry to say, that I’ve put my foot down as far as that goes, excluding with friends and loved ones, of course. I mean, why did I ever think for a minute that I owed Stacey any explanation as to my problems with other residents there? Again, I know the past can’t be undone, but it’s at least taught me how to better handle things in the future.

As far as who to say what to, Tom advised me to say, “I want a lawyer present before you question me,” rather than, “Charge me or release me,” should the cops ever pick me up again. They’ll try to manipulate me, of course, but I owe them absolutely no explanations whatsoever and I’m not obligated to say a word. It’s also okay to discuss probation-related issues with Scot, for example; it’s if he suddenly were to ask me where I was at certain times that I need to keep my mouth shut. Personally, I don’t think I even owe him any explanation if he came by, saw the car and got no answer. It’s just that I get paranoid about making him paranoid cuz that could cause trouble. A little paranoia or a little misunderstanding could cause things like this house getting torn apart, etc. As always, he’s the one with the hold on me. I mean, I could embarrass him in the end by writing to his boss and saying he raped me and that I was too afraid to say so as his client, but that wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t undo whatever was done to me and he wouldn’t lose his job over it.

Tom and I were talking about law-related things earlier. It’s so race, gender, and money-biased. Take bail for example. Think it was created so people could have a chance at being free for a while longer out of the goodness of their hearts? No, of course not. It was created as an opportunity to make more money.

Some sniper is on the loose in the Washington DC area. They’re still not even sure if it’s one or two people or terrorists but the person(s) obviously wants to get caught cuz they’re now sending letters and making calls to the cops.

“Why don’t they just turn themselves in if they want to get caught?” I asked Tom.

“Cuz it’s a subconscious thing,” he told me.

Subconsciously or not, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to get caught and go to jail for any reason. I also can’t imagine how this whacko’s gotten this far without yet getting caught, with or without calls and letters to the cops. See, that’s the difference between me and most people. I could magically be in the state of Maine in one second, pick up a gun lying in the middle of the street with a gloved hand, shoot someone dead, be back here at home in the next second, yet still get caught. Somehow, someway, God would lead the authorities to my door.

Something up there really wanted me to go down for these freeloaders, that’s for sure. It was like something was possessing me to handle the black pig in every way I knew I shouldn’t. After all, I did it right back east by ignoring that detective lady from Northampton when she came over wanting to talk to me about the shit going on with Maliheh.

One really needs to be aware of who they tell what to, that’s for sure. The amount of information one shares with others is amazing. Take that little presentencing interview I did over the phone with that guy for instance. When Tom and I met with Paul on sentencing day, I found that he had typed up everything I said. Not that I said anything I wouldn’t say to anyone else, but I felt betrayed nonetheless. Not that this matters either or changes anything, but I’m sure Scot has a copy of every single grievance and tank order I filled out while in jail, plus anything the DOs might’ve said/written in regard to me.

If only I could earn just $5 measly dollars a week. I’d settle for just that, yet asking for so little is asking for so much in my case, as it usually is. With $5 a week, assuming it wasn’t needed for anything else more important, I could get $25 in 5 weeks and a $300 doll in a little over half a year.

Our land still continues to be a regular haven for the neighborhood dogs, though they haven’t torn anything up lately, so that’s good.

I’m really surprised that the cooler weather hasn’t brought the renters outside on a regular basis, but it’s still a bit warm. We’re still needing the AC for about 8-10 hours a day.

Paula’s playing her games with me again, but I’m just ignoring her. She left a message, and without mentioning the email I sent the last time or the time before saying we got long-distance blocks, she said her phone number might be changing at that she’d mail it to me.

Can’t she leave it on the machine? Besides, she can’t get mail to me. Doesn’t she remember this?

Now that ink isn’t going to be an issue once we get a laser cartridge, I could start writing her by regular mail again, but I highly doubt I will. I have a hell of a feeling, though, that she hasn’t gotten the journals I sent her over the last few months.

Anyway, last night’s shopping was fun. I tend to save my better news for last – well – we set the bombs off at 5:00, then took off for Circle K. I got my coffee and a candy bar and he got soda and cupcakes.

We went to the Petco in Ahwatukee. I first got the rats a cute little colorful fleece-lined bed and then I got a brightly colored pagoda for the fish tank. It’s only a few inches tall with little windows that only the tiny fish could swim through. It’s mostly neon pink and it really adds more color to the tank.

The fake plants in the betta’s bowls never grew, but the ones in the tank are doing really well. In fact, I’m amazed at how fast they grow. You can see them growing by the hour! I wonder how big they’ll get.

Anyway, they had a huge selection of fish, but a shitty selection of glass fish so we didn’t get any of those. They had some gorgeous neon-colored fish, but they were saltwater fish, so we couldn’t get those. Instead, we got a Chinese algae eater (which can grow to 6” - 12” and is a dull-looking, long skinny gray fish), and a couple of Dalmatian mollies (one female, one male). These mollies, Molly and Ollie, are a good size. About 4” like the bettas. I added a little salt for them as they recommended, but they are freshwater fish. I checked online, and they’re live-bearers too, like the guppies. I was wrong in calling them ‘black Dalmatian mollies.’ They’re just Dalmatians. There are 4 different kinds of mollies, according to my research - black, gold, fintail, and Dalmatians.

These mollies can really eat, and Molly sure is a fat one. I don’t know if it’s cuz she’s pregnant or if that’s just the way she is.

When I was around 15, I had these land crabs. They’re these crabs that live in shells. They have gills just like fish and no lungs, but like with bettas, they’ll drown if submerged in water for long periods of time. These crabs need no water at all other than to drink.

Anyway, all this time I thought they didn’t sell them out here for some reason and was confused because here they call them hermit crabs and not land crabs. Last night, though, I was quite happy to learn that they do sell these same crabs here, but Petco was sold out of them. Friday we’ll probably get some. They’re fun pets, though not as cute as rats and mice. They’re nocturnal too, and love to climb on things. I’m going to put them in the wire cage I got when I got Ratsy. They cost next to nothing to maintain just like with the fish. They’ll eat almost anything as long as it’s not dairy, acidic fruit or potatoes. They very rarely pinch, and if they do, it’s usually only cuz they’re scared or hungry, so you should let them get to know you before you handle them much and keep them well-fed. All they need, besides their basic food which will last forever, is a small hamster ball to run around in so they can’t get lost under furniture, a spare shell to grow into, gravel or sand for the floor of their cage, and a shallow water bowl that they can’t drown in (since they like to climb into the water bowl).

They’re pretty dumb, though. They’ll walk off tables, let you rip them apart if you try to pull them from their shells, and they don’t have sense enough to walk around things. Instead, they have to walk over or under things.

Tom’s doing what he usually does when he’s not on vacation – watching TV and tinkering with computers. We read together for a little while, too.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 21, 2002 Oh, this man really frustrates and confuses me at times! We were talking about the different possibilities for putting two twin beds side by side in the master bedroom. I asked him what was most important to him, sleeping in the same room, having a setup that would allow us to get close, both, or does it not matter at all? Meaning, would he be indifferent as to whether or not we created some sort of setup or kept things the way they are? His answer to this was that he was just going along with what I wanted, as usual, not knowing he had a choice in the matter.

That’s bullshit, I told him. His desires and opinions have always mattered to me and I always try to factor them into my plans. Buying dolls is one thing, this is another. If he didn’t like the Playboys, I’d still get them anyway. But if he’s happy keeping things the way they are, then so am I, and in that case, since I don’t particularly care for this bed, I’ll either get a memory foam mattress or a waterbed.

Anyway, we weren’t going to do anything bed-wise till we had next year’s stock, so I told him to take the next few months to think about what he wants, and I’ll base my decisions on that.

We were also talking about the different ways we see this freeloader shit. To him, the freeloaders have nothing to do with us anymore, they’ve been out of this shit for some time now, the state’s taken over, etc., but that’s not the way I see it. Yes, the pig, lawyer and judge are just as guilty, bad and responsible as the freeloaders, but anything I have to do that somehow stems its way back to them is every bit a reminder of just how much they are still connected to us. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t be having to pay monthly fees, report, etc, so they are not gone from our lives and they do have something to do with us still. They have a lot of something to do with us.

Anyway, today’s been another wonderfully blackless day. Most days are like this, as Tom pointed out. Yes, they are. It’s just that those days are spent stressing out over what might come up and anxious anticipation of what will come up.

The guppies have turned out to be little beggars. As soon as I put my hand over the top of the tank, they float up to the top in anticipation of being fed.

At about 5:30, we’re going to bomb. The spider count’s on the rise again. Once it gets to where I’m seeing them every day for nearly a week, I know they won’t go away, so we’re going to bomb, hit Circle K, then Petco.

In other news, we may be finding a house across the way real soon. A couple of hours ago there was a knock on the door. My immediate instinct was that it was Scot, but I thought the knock didn’t quite sound like his. It was longer. When I opened the door, I found a very conservatively dressed guy who said he was looking to buy the 10 acres across the way. I’m not sure if he meant across from us, across from next door or what, but anyway, Tom and I spoke to him for a few minutes. He introduced himself as Michael (great, another Michael!). He asked about the surrounding roads, mentioned having someone drill him a well after we told him not to use Southland, asked how deep our well is (which Tom says is 885 and not 785), how it works, if we liked it out here, how long we’d been here, and that’s basically it.

If we have to have someone across the way, I get the distinct impression he’d make a good neighbor. He’s white, seemed very polite and considerate, and like he may be either gay or a dedicated family man, possibly Mormon. Now, I don’t dig the idea of having a shitload of Mormons so close, but you can bet your ass I’d take that over a shitload of minorities any day. Mormons don’t go blasting music like blacks and Mexicans do which is much, much louder than a group of screaming kids, of course.

No, I don’t like the idea of seeing a house out front where we once saw nothing for the 3 years we’ve been here, and I know they’ll hang out front and that I’ll probably hear the kids and dogs somewhat, but it’ll up the value around here. Especially since he said he was getting a manufactured house. We need newer houses to make up for the crappy rentals we got in back.

I’d rather kids screaming first, then dogs, then music. Obviously, I picked music to be last cuz it’s the loudest. I picked kids over dogs cuz the dogs are out there 24/7. The kids aren’t. Being 300’ away instead of 3’ away helps too as does not having a block wall so close to the house to enhance the sound.

I checked out a handful of joke sites last night, wanting to even the score. For every one joke I send Dave, he sends me a dozen, so I thought I’d balance things out a bit. Most were dull, but some were funny. I printed a good 20 or so out for Mary, too.

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 20, 2002 Little Buddy’s starting to show his age. He isn’t going bald like Ratsy did, but he’s slowing down somewhat, needing to rest more often during playtime.

Tomorrow we’re going to the fish store to see what they’ve got. We also have to get that algae eater. The purple glass fish’s color is starting to break up a bit, but the pink and green ones are still solidly colored. Perhaps the purple one’s older.

Tom and I discussed the pros and cons of skipping, transferring, and sticking this freeloader shit out. The main issue is the humiliation of having to piss with someone gawking at me. The only place there’s an opening at the bank to transfer to is Dallas, but Texas would certainly do the same thing, being so much like Arizona.

If we ran, we’d have to give up our whole lives and not own property or houses, and so we both agreed that the freeloaders aren’t worth giving that up for. We’ve been made to give up enough for them as it is. I know how to handle the pigs now and I know much, much more about the law. Therefore, if they did start a whole new round of shit with me next year, we’d know how to handle it and keep this from happening again. My problem was mainly pleading guilty. If I’d just told the black pig that I wanted a lawyer before I was questioned, and had I gotten a real lawyer, I’d have been alright. The interrogation would’ve been taped, and if the lawyer didn’t tell me to keep my mouth shut, which would’ve been the best and proper advice to give any client, we could’ve gotten me off on faulty representation.

I have so many conflicting emotions. Last night I was saying to myself, you’re the one who won’t walk away. You’re the one who keeps playing into this shit and their abuse by paying the $40 a month, by going to Scot, etc.

On the other hand, this house simply isn’t worth giving up for them. At least not yet. If I were looking at a decade or more of this shit, then yes, it would be. We’d more than likely head to a country with no extradition laws.

So, after weighing the pros and cons I told myself, it’ll probably be just one test, you’ll have just 10 months left, then you’ll more than likely never hear from the freeloaders again. I don’t want to go to states like Texas or go back to living in apartments in cities. Not for the freeloaders, not for anyone or anything. Besides, wherever we go, there’ll always be something going on. If the freeloaders weren’t our problem, something or someone else would be.

Tom’s not only sure it’ll be over at the said date next year, but that the freeloaders moved out of state as well. Especially since they had no careers or houses to hold them down. Well, I’d move if I fucked someone over the way they did with me, but at the same time, I wouldn’t count on it. They’re so fucking arrogant. They think they’re invincible when it comes to me, which sadly, has more than a grain of truth to it. They are invincible where I’m concerned. They can do anything they want to me and get away with it and they know it. Makes me wonder if they stuck around, hoping I’d make a move on them just so they could take me down again. These are the kinds of people who’ll risk their safety and put themselves out to get at those they hate.

What is it with the pigs in this world, though? How do they sleep at night knowing they’ve tricked and manipulated so many people into losing so much and going through so much hell? Is it an inferiority complex they have that makes them feel they’ve got to lash out at others? Were they so fucked over growing up that makes them want to use and abuse their authority? What is it? I asked Tom, who said there are all different reasons why they do the things they do, though obviously, in my case, a certain black pig did a service to his very hateful, vindictive friend.

Tom’s not sure what to make of Mary’s case, but for some reason, I think she’ll actually end up having an easier time here than in Florida. In Florida, as Tom pointed out, it’s just the opposite of how it is here and it would actually help if she was Jewish.

Tom said he’s still not convinced Scot will stop working here, but trust me, it’ll happen. He says that like most people, he’s saying what he wants to happen. “He more than likely lives in Casa Grande, so that’s why he’d want to work out of there only.”

“But he still has to come to Maricopa to do home visits,” I said, and he reminded me that his visits have spread out.

“But that’s only because I’m towards the end of the sentence and haven’t been a problem,” I told him. “I’m sure there are others with years ahead of them that are much more likely to fuck up.”

So basically, if we want to hang onto this house till we’re ready to move on, and we will someday for sure, I have to hope I’m only humiliated once, hope the class issue doesn’t come up again, then get off pro in 10 months and hope for the best. When it comes time for the test, I’ll just have to tell myself I did it once, I can do it again.

From what I’ve read, in case I forgot to say so before, I think the Playboy dolls are made mainly of a rubbery material. That would explain why they’re supposed to feel like they have real skin, and I think they may move a bit, though not much. They’d never be as poseable as Tyler. Especially with no joints.

Since we agreed to get the Playboy set with this year’s stock and Felicity with next year’s stock, I decided to think about what to get with my holiday/birthday money. Anything to keep my mind off Casa Grande! Plus, we’re almost down to just a couple of months now. So, I told myself, well, I could order from PG, but they’re not reliable. I could get the Barbies, but they’re too small and not very realistic looking. Why don’t I check Ashton-Drake? They take forever (3 weeks), but they’re reliable.

So I checked them out, not expecting to find anything too affordable, then I found the Vive le Ballet collection. It’s a subscription plan where you get 3 sets of 3 fairy ballerinas every other month for $30 and you can cancel anytime. They’re absolutely beautiful! They’re small (5”) yet quite realistic looking. Ballerinas are one of my favorite themes. I only saw a picture of the first set and each one is posed differently. One wears white, one’s in pink, and one’s in purple. They have wigs and real clothes, which is rare on ballerinas this small. At this size, they usually have molded hair and their outfits are part of the sculpt, too. They’re actually Christmas tree ornaments, but I think I’ll hang them by hooks under the kitchen cabinets. That’d look way nice.

The first set consists of Swan Lake, The Nutcracker and Sleeping Beauty. The second has Giselle, The Firebird and Snow White. The third has Midsummer Nights, Les Sylphides and Cinderella. Never heard of 3 of these.

It’s hard to tell by their pictures what color hair they have. I think their eyes are closed to create that dreamy look. Besides, I don’t know that they can do inset eyes on dolls this small. The question is, would I consider them to be figurines or dolls? I guess I’d consider them to be dolls because, to me, figurines don’t usually have wigs or real clothes.

I wish people would take better pictures of their dolls. They’re either too blocky, too small or not complete. For some reason, unlike the other two, the Dalene doll is only shown to just below the knee.

Then again, Little Buddy could’ve fooled me as far as his age goes tonight. This is the fourth time he’s wanted to be out running around.

Later…

We saw a fighter jet when we went into town the other day, so although I only heard booms for a couple of days there, they are still around.

I’m going to be doing myself, Mary, and animals a favor. I decided to send the Humane Society $10. Not only will it help animals, but they send gorgeous animal cards that I know Mary would just love. They’ll also send us address labels, something we haven’t gotten yet for the new address. They’re good for bills.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2002 Well, that’s interesting. I’ve eaten a ton of ice cream in the last two days, yet I’m down 1½ pounds.

Dave still sends jokes regularly, but a lot of them aren’t very funny. I put the good ones in my joke file and enclosed them in Mary’s letters.

Tom is now on vacation and we’re going to sit down, after we enjoy a relaxing weekend, and decide what to do about this Casa Grande shit. The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced he’ll never test me again here. Especially with the way he was telling me to “be prepared.” In other words, prepare my bladder. It’ll probably only be once that I’ll have to endure the humiliation of that all over again, but what we’re going to do is decide if it’s worth it.

What are the freeloaders worth giving up, and how far should we go as far as taking precautionary measures are concerned? We talked about moving out of state and researching which states have what as far as their probation goes, but that’s just it – are the freeloaders worth moving a little sooner than we normally would’ve and taking the chance that we may be losing even more money, or are they worth pissing in front of someone?

Should we move before 10/30/2003, or should we take a gamble, stick around, and hope that the freeloaders will let me out of their clutches once and for all?

Should I sit back, roll with the punches and tell myself that life’s full of bullshit and people having to do what they don’t want to do anyway? Or should I be like, no, this is too extreme? Every day people aren’t made to piss in front of others. They’re not made to lose their freedom and so much money by their very own perpetrators.

What about Tom? Tom loves this state, regardless of its crazy laws. How would he feel about leaving it and moving away from family?

Is it safe to assume that our “punishment” for moving out of the city will end if the freeloaders do give us our lives back, or will God inflict something else upon us to keep the punishment going?

I wonder if Scot would’ve tested me more than he has if Maricopa was as convenient to do so as Casa Grande?

Other questions to discuss will be things like whether or not I should transfer my pro the legal way like I did when I moved to Connecticut and then out here if we do move, or should we just run? I guess that since I’ll have 10 months and not years come January, we would transfer it.

Are there any alternatives to both moving and going to Casa Grande, be it legal or not?

Later…

I forgot to mention that Mary said they started with just two guppies 5 years ago.

Anyway, I’m now almost done with the other Mary’s stuff. She’s really turning into quite a talented writer. Getting better and better all the time. She’s definitely got a lot of smarts for her age.

I can finally put in a good word for her mother for pulling her out of the convent on account of sister Larene’s abuse. But I don’t understand the hypocrisy. If it wasn’t okay for Larene to beat her, why was it okay for her to do so? Even so, I wish someone had gone to bat for me like that, and I wish God would chastise just one of my abusers, just one like her mother believed he would with Larene.

It’s funny how we can sometimes trust the very people that hurt us. In some aspects, my folks were very trustworthy. When it came to getting me checked into the hospital for ear surgery in Boston, I knew I could count on them to know what they were doing. I know I could trust them, for example, to find me a suitable kiln, too.

They weren’t crazy, just mean. Nor were they stupid, but they were ignorant. They didn’t quite have the experiences that one would have living alone and childless for as long as I did. Wisdom comes more from experience than age. This is why I consider myself to be smarter than them despite the fact that they’re over 3 decades older.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 18, 2002 And the punishment goes right on. My day started off wonderfully, but as always, the freeloaders had to come and ruin my peace and happiness. It never fucking ends! God’s going to victimize Tom and I with these people forever! They just won’t fucking go away! They are an inextricable part of our lives. Oh, I am sooo pissed right now!

My day starts off great with Tom telling me that the stock sold this morning, then I see Scot and he comes out and tells us there’s a 90% chance that starting in January, we can only see him in Casa Grande, cuz of a new judge coming in and not having the space and privacy to meet with people. Naturally, the first thing that came to mind was, great. Now I’ll have to endure the humiliation of pissing in front of someone. The second thing that came to mind was the longer drive. It’s about 14 miles to see him here in town, but Casa fucking Grande is more like 24 miles. Almost twice as far.

I can’t believe how much of my life, time and money I’ve lost over a fucking letter! I just can’t believe this shit. There’s always something more we gotta do for these freeloaders. Always. It’s been one thing after another and it’s never going to end. Never! Always with me, always with them. The next thing I know he’ll be saying they made a new rule demanding everyone to be tested at least once a month. If we had to switch to Casa Grande with just 3 or 4 months left, it wouldn’t be so bad, but we’ll be talking 10 come January.

Then, when I brought up the subject of seeing him just once a month, he said he makes everyone see him twice a month and that those who see him only once a month see him that little cuz they came from POs that lowered them to that.

Well, I appreciate the fact that he’s kept his word so far and hasn’t used or abused his position, but he’s gotten to be a little too by the book. I think it’s pretty asinine of him not to have a little compassion for those with long drives who haven’t been a problem. It’d be less paperwork for him if he did, but I guess the control is worth it to him. Tom said that he thinks they’ll consider keeping him around somehow since most of his clients live here, but that’s bullshit and I know it. They don’t give a damn. They don’t have one stitch of empathy for Maricopa’s probationers, trust me. He also says I may never be tested again since I have a clean track record, but that doesn’t mean shit and I know it. This state doesn’t give a shit about track records, long drives and good behavior. All it cares about is money, power and control.

These freeloaders have really killed my dream of living out here. They’ve totally marred the whole moving experience, the land, the house, etc. This place is going to be forever connected to them and I can’t stay here. As I told Tom, “I can’t live here anymore. I can’t just sit around and let ourselves be victimized year after year. You think a year from now’s gonna be the end? Well, even if it appeared to be, I’d still always be looking over my shoulder with paranoia, wondering if they were going to either rehash this shit or start over on me with something new to frame me with. Or maybe they’ll just come and shoot us or torch our house down. I don’t want to stick around and find out. Fuck the big beautiful house and making money off it. I don’t want it if this shit is the price we have to pay for it. I want out and I’ll live in a teepee in the woods for all I care! Let’s just take the money and run and get the fuck out of this shit state. It’s the only way we’re ever going to be able to move on cuz this state sure as hell won’t let us.”

See, I should’ve killed myself two years ago. At the time I had nearly 35 years of experience to know that it’s just going to be one thing after another for the rest of my life. Either some person or fate is going to interfere with my life while God just sits back and lets it all happen.

When Tom mentioned paying off the balance all at once, Scot said he didn’t recommend it cuz Tom could get a new job in a new part of the country and it’d be hell trying to get the money back. In other words, don’t pay it off in case I get thrown in jail.

There’s always some kind of change or new thing I gotta do for these freeloaders and I’m so fucking sick of it! aaarrrggghhh!!! “If only we could torture and kill everyone involved in causing this to happen to us!” I told Tom.

“Well, all I can say…” he started to say till I cut him off with, “Is that we can’t because we’d go to prison for the rest of our lives for it while God protected them.”

The only good thing about going to Casa Grande, the only good thing, would be that it wouldn’t matter which Friday we went to see him, although that’s going to change, too. Friday might become Wednesday.

Tom said we’ve got 2½ months to work something out and that there’s no sense in getting pissed off about it now cuz nothing’s happened yet.

But it will. He said there’s a 90% chance it will and that’s good enough for me. As far as I’m concerned, it’s a done deal that’s as inevitable as the sun rising and setting.

I tried to tell myself, oh just relax. You know God loves to see you get all worked up and worried over nothing. Just maybe you won’t be tested there.

But maybe I will be. I don’t know this for sure and I don’t want to stick around and find out. I want out! I haven’t been tested since mid-February. That’s 8 months. If he tested me here before the year’s out, then I might be tempted to believe he wouldn’t ever test me again, no matter where we were. Then the only issue would be the longer drive, though we’d be able to be a bit choosier about when we went.

All in all, even if they came out and kicked me off probation today, I still think we should get out of here as soon as we can. This is no place to live, be it in a big city like Phoenix or rural Maricopa. Any state that can have such ludicrous laws is no place I want to be. And I don’t like the idea of living in this kind of society. People may be people wherever you go, but this is way worse. I can’t live in a place where the people react like butchy Andi and like the freeloaders did, simply because I asked them to quiet down.

I can’t believe all this shit started over loud music! If they had just shut up, none of this shit would’ve ever happened, but see, that’s what you get in Arizona; you politely ask someone to do something that’s reasonable, appropriate and correct, and this is the shit you get for it. They use their connections to get at you, they torture you more, or both. These people can’t handle shit out here and they’re so fucking vindictive!

As I said, our stock sold. I wish all my negative vibes could be wrong. Tom said that maybe my vibe was due to the fact that we’re not going to be able to get as much as he had hoped, though we can take part of our pension plan money to make up for it, then pay it back in time, since he’s still 10-15 years away from retirement.

He still thinks it’d be a good idea to get a kiln and that dollmaking might still be possible, but I don’t know. Even if it were, what’s the point of getting all into that just to have the freeloaders disrupt me? They always have to come first. The freeloaders take precedence over everything. I’m afraid to even think of doing something I want to do, cuz every time I do, someone or something comes and either stops me altogether or ruins it for me if I do start to succeed.

PG’s pissing me off again, too. I swear I mean it this time when I say I’m through with them as soon as I get Tasha. First they said she was to be shipped immediately on the 13th, then today I got a message saying she was released from their warehouse on the 17th and would be shipped to me right away, and I’m like – just put the damn doll in the mail and send it to me! What is so fucking hard about that? What is it about that they just don’t get? Oh, and now it’s 7-14 business days rather than 7-10 that I should get her in.

I can’t speak for Florida, but the more I think about it, the more I think Mary’s going to get off fairly easily. That’s because in this state, as Tom and I discussed before, they tend to go harder on the lesser charges as well as those that weren’t premeditated. As twisted as it is, if I had beat the shit out of the black bitch in the heat of the moment as I should have and like I wanted to, I probably would’ve been charged with a misdemeanor (most violent crimes here are considered to be misdemeanors) and gotten the one year of probation they said I’d get. But because the letter was supposed to be planned and because I used the government to deliver it, that’s what made it a felony, and felony or not, that’s why I got such a harsh sentence.

Mary may be as innocent as I am, but child neglect is seen as a more serious thing than threatening letters, and it wasn’t “planned.” Therefore, I don’t think she can get much more time than I got. Nancy I. told me about a guy who put his girlfriend’s kid’s hand on a stove only to get just 5 years probation and absolutely no jail time. So, with the exception of child molestation and cold-blooded murder, the more serious your crime, guilty or not, the lighter they’re likely to go on you. Take the case of that loud-mouthed Laticia; she got 7 years of intense probation just for drugs, according to Mary. That’s a bit overkill for drugs, but that’s the point – she planned to take the drugs. She didn’t just one day suddenly happen to have cocaine fly up her nose in a split second. She knew what she was doing and had time to think about what she was going to do from the moment she went to buy the drugs till she took them.

Even if Mary was totally guilty, it’s a serious charge and no one could prove that she sat back and decided one day that she was going to neglect her kid. So, although I’m no expert, based on just the Arizona case, I’d say she has a good chance of getting let go as soon as the testifying’s done, but what happens in Florida is a complete mystery to me. I know how the southwest is and the northeast, but I don’t know the southeast. Maybe things will balance out. Meaning that if Florida’s got their priorities straight and isn’t as harsh in general, maybe she’ll get the same thing in Gretchen’s case as with James. In both cases, I think the probation is going to far outweigh the jail time. It’s not a sex-related crime, so I doubt they’ll keep her on probation for life, but she’s gotta be looking at least 10 years of probation. I asked her about that, but she hasn’t answered me. Maybe she doesn’t have a clue. Both my vibes and guesses tell me that after she testifies here and stands trial in Florida, she’ll be out between 2005–2008 and she’ll be on probation for 10-20 years.

Hope may’ve been given 40 years, but I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if she were out in a decade but then had to do 20-40 years pro.

If standard probation can be this stressful and frustrating, I’d hate to see myself on intense pro! Imagine a lifetime of intense pro? You just might as well stay in jail/prison!

The closer Mary gets to closure with both cases, the more likely I’ll be to get vibes, though Florida’s gonna be harder. Cross-country vibing is a bit tough. If she’s still at Estrella in a year and we’re still in this warped state, I’ll read what I can on her when I go to see her.

Another issue is money. Law enforcement is mainly about 3 things. Power, control and money. That’s another reason people get such insane probation time. It’s a business just like any other. The only difference is that this business can get away with being unfair and unreasonable. Nonetheless, the more people they can get on probation and the longer they’re on it, the more money they make.

With my shit luck, I’ll stick around, breathe a sigh of relief once I get down to the last few months, then be told I have to take those bullshit classes.

I totally gotta put my foot down someday. This can’t go on and on and on. I’ve got to fight back. Somehow, someway, even if that means having to give up a lot of things. I mean, I would never complain if we did get rowdy renters, cuz I know that all it takes is one wrong connection to really ruin our lives, but I feel like I’ve done absolutely nothing but let this system walk all over me. There’s got to be something I can do. Doesn’t anyone out there who could help me care? I guess I’m just going to have to help myself. I mean, they’re pushing me over the edge of a cliff here and I can’t take much more of this shit. We all have our breaking points and the harder I’m backed into a corner, the more likely I am to snap. God, I wish I could take society as a whole in the palm of my hand and squash the life and existence right out of it! Excluding those I love, of course. See, it isn’t life that’s been a problem for me so much as other people. It’s people who make my life hell.

The fact that everyone else but myself has any say in my life and what happens to me really pisses me the fuck off. Oh, how I want so bad to tell Scot, “Look. You’re just going to have to compromise with me and meet me halfway. You can have your way about the twice-a-month visits, you can have your way with Casa Grande, but under no circumstances will I be humiliated and made to feel like I’m being molested by having someone watch me piss. It’s a non-negotiable deal. Take it or leave it.”

But I want much more to get the fuck out of here. The only way to end this shit is if I walk away and detach myself from it myself. It’s not going to go away on its own, and if he didn’t test me there, it’d just be something else.

I just want to do things to those fucking freeloaders sooo badly. Things I won’t bother mentioning that are just a fantasy anyway.

I changed half of the betta’s water today and rotated them, which I’ll do weekly. The one that was in the bedroom is now in the kitchen. He’s my favorite. He seems more active, curious and alert. Braver, too. At least it doesn’t matter if any of them are as crazy as the Rat Runner, cuz I’ll never have to handle these fish, and they can’t escape.

Later…

Made it all the way to now without having to run the AC. After that initial cool spell, it warmed back up to where we needed the AC from the late mornings to the early evenings.

I had a dream Teddy Bear sent me a letter. Mean anything? I doubt it, but does it matter?

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 17, 2002 Week 10, no Scot. Tom’s had a few days where he’s been out during part of the time he normally stops by, too. I don’t know what I feel stronger; glad that he didn’t come around at all, or bummed that I didn’t get to say no, though I can technically say no any time I want to. This is, after all, our house, even if the state of Arizona seems to think it owns me, the house, my life, etc. I guess you could say I’m gladder that he didn’t show up in the first place, given how far into the sentence I am and the nature of the so-called crime, which isn’t really a crime, but rather a violation of my civil rights.

Anyway, the stock came within 35¢ of selling today. Just maybe it will sell this year after all. The question is will we find a truck?

I decided to chuck the Barbie dolls off my list for now. They’re very nice dolls and I’d very gladly take them if they fell in my lap, but to shell out the $100 the 3 I had picked out would cost would be too much to spend right now on dolls that small. They’re just too damn small. If there weren’t other dolls I want more, then maybe I’d get them, and maybe I’ll get them in the future anyway. For now, I’m going to concentrate on getting the four $40-$50 16” fashion vinyl dolls I want, then I’ll get the 28” $162 porcelain Felicity doll next year.

One of the sites that sells the Playboy dolls sells all 3 of them as a set, which I’ve decided to get. I really do like them all. It’d be cheaper that way too, and then I’d only have to fight for 1 package and not 3. The whole set costs $135, plus shipping. Hopefully, they’ll have more of these dolls at this time next year. Then I can have a collection within a collection, so to speak!

I can’t believe I’m still seeing prairie dogs out there. This is the day we came here exactly 3 years ago and there were no prairie dogs in sight.

And now for some more good news. I got a laser printer! They were selling stuff at work to raise money for charity (United Way) and for just $10, Tom got an ’89 model. He says they’re very reliable and will save us a fortune. That’s cuz this thing doesn’t use ink. It uses toner, which is a form of powder that melts onto the paper. It doesn’t do color, but still, I’ve been dying for one of these things. We don’t have a toner cartridge for it yet which will cost about $40. But the wonderful thing about it is that for just $40, I can print up to 4000 pages of text. A $30 black ink cartridge will only do about 250 pages.

So, while I still can’t afford to print tons of graphics with the inkjet printer, I won’t have to worry about plain black text! Once Mary moves, I can send her everything she’s sent me as far as her story goes and the only real cost will be paper and stamps, and that’s not much compared to if I printed her stuff from ink cartridges. Right now, it would take half a cartridge to print her whole story file.

I’m amazed to find I can still run. The rower gives me backaches, so until I get my bike, I decided to jog as a warm-up prior to working out. You’d think that after all this time of not being consistent with it, I’d either fatigue real fast or get calf burn, but nope. I ran as if the devil himself were chasing me!

I’ve felt much better over the last few days. Not that I was depressed. As long as I can stay home with my husband and never go back to wanting a kid, I shouldn’t get depressed. That doesn’t mean, of course, that I won’t cry my eyes out when Little Buddy dies and things like that. Anyway, although I wasn’t sad, I felt like things were at a standstill. It was like we were in a car that broke down and we were waiting around till someone could give us a lift.

I began tackling Mary’s drafts and I feel so, so sorry for her! The poor girl’s been nothing but brainwashed and abused, so it seems. How can she believe that her mother ever loved her with the way she treated her? You don’t show someone you love them with your fists. You just don’t. Supposedly it was cuz she thought Mary looked like her father, whom she hated, but I think that was just a crutch. If it weren’t that it’d be something else. Maybe she’d say she looked like her old schoolmate who teased and taunted her. It seems people pick some excuse and they latch onto it for dear life.

And how the hell can this father at her old convent insist that God loves everyone, cares about their desires, and answers all prayers? I’m sorry, but that is absolute bullshit. Just pure wishful thinking, if you ask me.

I can relate to how she sought out her mother’s love and acceptance or at least tried to when she was younger. I went through it too, where you try and you try and you try, then by the time you hit your 30s, you just don’t give a damn anymore. But Mary’s only 25. Time will tell how she’ll feel in the future. She has a right to feel and believe whatever she feels and believes just like I do, so if she believes her mother loves her and if she has faith in God, more power to her. I, on the other hand, could never trust and have faith in a God who’s allowed me to go through what I’ve gone through. I can see some of it being a lesson, a test and a strengthening period, but there are limits. There’s a difference between testing and downright punishing!

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 16, 2002 Got a 50-page draft from Mary, who says she’s working out extensively, there’s no new news pertaining to her case, Hope’s still there, she has a cold, and almost lost this thing she’s making for Todd. She’s being really crafty, and when the DO came in to search, she found what she was working on, but let her keep it, saying she didn’t see it.

I’m both happy and surprised that Amelia finally arrived. I didn’t expect her till the end of this week, but more likely next week. Now all I have to do is hope Tasha gets here without incident, then I’ll send Mary pictures of both dolls, plus a cute shot of a guppy resting on top of a round flower. Of the 3 fake plants, one’s leaves, the other is grassy, and one has round flowers that face upwards, creating a little bed for the fish.

To my utter surprise yet pleasure, both the stock and the earnings did better than anyone expected, but this doesn’t yet mean my vibe won’t be wrong. I hope this is the 20% where I’m wrong and that the stock does sell. Tom said it very well could sell this week. The sooner it does, the sooner I can order Victoria!

I’ve been right on so far about it being hard to find the truck we want, and I wonder if we ever will. Most people don’t sell junk like we want. Especially if it’s a vehicle where nothing works. Vehicles that are completely dead are usually sent to junkyards to be either dismantled or crushed.

Anyway, although Amelia didn’t look bad in her original outfit, a pastel pink dress, I put her in Twinkle’s outfit and she looks much better. It too, is light pink, but it’s satiny instead of cotton, and it consists of pantaloons and a long-sleeved top with feathers at the shoulders. The outfit goes with her red satin hair ribbon and her fancy satin slippers perfectly, though I decided not to have her hold the parasol she came with. It was a cool parasol too, so I saved it. It’s almost big enough for a real person to use.

Amelia’s 22” tall with blue eyes and very long blond hair that falls to her knees and can be pulled to her feet. She also came with a really nice pendant that I left on her. It goes with Twinkle’s outfit just as well.

My only complaint is that her eyes don’t look quite as nice as they did in her picture. I don’t know if that’s cuz these eyes are different or what, but they’re not Real Eyes like Bailey has. They’re still nice enough, though. Had the Gods allowed me a career making dolls, I’d use Real Eyes. It’d be worth the extra money. The eyes are what really make the doll.

The other thing I got that I love is a single-brew coffeemaker with a permanent filter. It’s much more convenient. I also won’t have to worry about running out of and buying filters anymore.

I told Tom to look for this nail polish I saw in Casa Grande, that I should’ve gotten, that changes colors with movement, but he couldn’t find it. Instead, he got this shiny purple polish that promises rainbows, but the rainbow effect can only be seen when looking at the bottle. On my nails, it just looks like light purple nail polish with glitter. It dries a sort of rubbery feeling too, so I won’t be buying it again. I like the chrome stuff the best.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 15, 2002 Today’s Mary’s 25th birthday. Another 5-7 years and she too, will know the agony of a slower metabolism! Nonetheless, I hope she has as good of a birthday as one in jail could possibly have. Hope’s probably out of her hair by now. In her last letter, she told me she was sentenced to 40 years, which I think really means about 12, so by now DOC would’ve come and swiped her. I hope she gets along with her next celly and that they stay together long unless Mary leaves.

I decided what the hell? So I’m redoing my photo albums now.

The weekend was nice. We spent more time together and even laid in bed reading. We haven’t done that in a while. It seems we do most things in spurts, but it makes it all the more special when we do end up doing something we haven’t done in a while. We still have no desire for sex.

I’m also redoing my allergy test. I don’t know, I guess it’s just that I’m so determined to get my way with just one thing regarding my life/body for once. I’ve only taken the nasal spray once in 3-4 weeks, and that in itself is pretty damn good.

Just two weeks and hopefully – hopefully - I’ll have just one more year of dealing with these fucking freeloaders. And of course, no one with the proper authority will give a damn, step forward and say, “Hey, enough is enough. She’s done two years for something she shouldn’t have done two minutes for. Leave her alone and let her get on with her life.”

Instead, I’ll have to be punished with the black bitch for no reason at all for yet another year.

When I think back on the jail experience in general, I can’t believe God would allow me to be treated like such a child all over again in my mid-30s. My mid-30s! If he could let me fall victim to such experiences at that age, he could let it happen at any age, and that’s a really scary thought.

As Tom put it last night, today’s the critical day when the earnings come out and we should get an idea of whether or not we have a shot at the stock selling this year, but I don’t need to see what I already know. I know it won’t sell this year. The vibe is too strong for me to be wrong. Besides, it’s so us. Fate would fuck us over in that department.

Some psychics are good at predicting love, some are good at careers, and I’m just one of those doom psychics, who sees mostly negative things coming. I can’t help but see what I see. I don’t ask to see it, either.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 14, 2002 The guppies are here. There are about 20 of them and one looks very pregnant. They don’t lay eggs. They’re livebearers. They also have more of a variety in colors, shapes and sizes than I remembered, though their dominant color is orange. They’re not as nice as the glassfish or the bettas, but they’re nice enough. They range in length from about a half-inch to two inches.

Mary, not surprisingly, sent home pizza and candy.

I deleted all online photo albums except for the land one cuz it’s the most popular and to keep things open and going. Then, once we get a 2-way satellite connection, I’ll redo them.

PG really irks the hell out of me. I am so sick of them and so done with them once I get Amelia and Tasha. They emailed me to tell me they canceled the other Tasha, but would ship the first one out immediately, and I was like, immediately? Shouldn’t that have been done a week ago when the check was cashed? It’s like, just take my damn orders and send me the damn dolls!

This ought to kill any lingering doubts anyone may have as to whether or not there’s a doll curse on me.

At the end of the month, I’ll have been journaling for 15 years!

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 13, 2002 From what I just learned about bettas, they can actually drown if not permitted to get periodic gulps of air! They’re labyrinths. They live 2-3 years, which seems hard to believe.

The plants are already beginning to root in the tank, but not in the betta’s bowls. Perhaps this is because air isn’t being pumped in regularly.

True to vibed, there was a problem with attempting to fix the leaky shower in the master bath. So, when Tom realized he wouldn’t be able to take the panel off without doing any damage, we decided to wait till it came time to sell, then he’ll cut a hole in the panel, fix the problem, then we’ll caulk and cover the seams with wallpaper. I want to paper that room anyway. And maybe the other bath and the kitchen, too. We’re not going to do this anytime soon, though.

I’m also beginning to vibe that the stock’s not going to sell this year, and sadly, I know I can count on there being an 80% chance that I’m right.

Although the house is under a 5-year warranty, we both agreed on not calling Palm Harbor out. Those stupid, illiterate Mexicans would only make matters worse.

I have 552 views and still 10 downloads.

I tried out my coffee bean grinder yesterday and the coffee does taste better, but not as much as I hoped it would. Hopefully, it’ll stay tasting the way it does for longer. That’s the main point. With ground coffee, it starts tasting muddy after a few days to a week, even when it’s kept refrigerated.

PG finally emailed me. They had me so furious and confused for a while there till Tom got up and we spoke. They said Amelia was re-shipped on the 8th, but showed no records of my order for Tasha and would process the order immediately. So I replied back saying, “We seem to be having one problem after another and I’m getting rather frustrated. Either dolls are out of stock, there’s a problem with the delivery, it takes days to get replies back when I leave messages, and now you have no records of my order for Tasha? Forget about processing Tasha’s order if it’s going to cost the regular $40. I mailed you a special offer for her for just $20 that I received in the mail because of my membership. Either charge me the special membership price of $20 or forget it.”

Then when Tom got up he explained to me that they probably showed no record of the order cuz they were looking under my name and not his cuz when we sent in the check for her, it was ordered under his name. Then he checked online and found that they did in fact receive and cash the check on the 7th, so she could very well be on her way. Just hopefully not via UPS.

Anyway, I emailed them again explaining that I misunderstood that they were separate orders and not in my name, and to please cancel ordering a Tasha doll under my name.

Tomorrow’s Columbus Day so I get an extra day off from the freeloaders!

Later…

Tom’s gone to Mary’s to get the oodles of guppies she says she has for us.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 12, 2002 Naturally, I haven’t heard back from Paula, but I did hear from Mary. She says she’s been crafty lately, making dream catchers. I assume she’s making them out of frayed blanket fringes. She asked what my two favorite colors are. I don’t know for sure if it’s related to the dream catchers. She wouldn’t say. All she said was that it was a surprise. Anyway, I told her pink and purple were my top two favorites.

She sent more pictures to scan, including a note and a poem from Murphy. I have a few picture sheets to send her of both hers and my pictures, but I have to send them one by one, of course.

I told her, after she asked, that I decided it’d be best to forget about the dollmaking venture and just keep on collecting. I’m so used to doing what others/fate tells me to do that I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if I suddenly could do what I wanted to do anyway. I’ve learned from experience that it’s best for me to just go where fate leads me. There’s less trouble that way. At least I can still get dolls. I just won’t be able to get as many of the expensive ones as often. Besides, every time I make plans, they fall through. Life really isn’t what we plan it to be, that’s for sure! But most of the unplanned things have been good, so I can’t complain too much. I didn’t plan on meeting Tom and he’s a wonderful thing. So I’ve been as blessed as I’ve been cursed. If I’m not destined to be more than a homemaker, that’s fine as long as I have Tom, animals and hobbies.

She’s going to be in for a real treat over the next 2-3 years, wherever she is. I just printed up 175 envelopes with a zillion different pictures. Naturally, I only put the return address on, since she could move anytime. I printed 1 chipmunk, 1 guinea pig, 1 tiger, 1 cactus, 2 coons, 2 butterflies, 2 canyons, 2 skyscapes, 2 forest, 3 swans, 4 squirrels, 4 rabbits, 4 bears (assortment of regular, polar, panda, koala), 6 rats (mine), 6 waterfalls, 7 birds, 8 mice (mine), 10 ocean, 16 palms, 20 dogs, 32 cats, and 38 flowers.

Still being ignored by PG. The question is, are they intentionally ignoring me, and if so, why? And when am I going to get these damn dolls? The Amelia problems are my compensation for the discount I wasn’t supposed to get, no doubt. I just worry that they’ll recharge us for her when they re-send her. And of course, who knows what trouble I’ll have to go through to get Tasha here. Like I said, I’ll be taking a break from them for a while. They just can’t seem to be able to stick the dolls in the mail and send them to me, though not all of the screw-ups are their fault. If something up there wants me to fight for dolls, then I’ll go through the same shit when it comes time to order the fashion dolls.

The stock very well might not sell this year. At least if worse came to worse and January’s stock fell through, we could always use our tax refund to buy fences, though that would stall it a few more months. Then they really wouldn’t be up till the end of the freeloader’s reign.

I asked Tom, and he thinks that Anne and Harry simply sold their business and moved. They’d be coming up on 70 by now and definitely retired. Where they would move to, other than Florida, is a mystery to me.

Yesterday’s trip to Walmart in Casa Grande was fun, though we didn’t find everything we wanted. They didn’t have any glass fish.

They only had one nice $30 ballerina Barbie, but I said no to it cuz there are other dolls I want more than that right now. I also said no to a coffeemaker that brews by the cup and has a permanent filter, but I do intend to get it eventually. It was only $15. I did get a coffee bean grinder, though. When we go grocery shopping this morning, I’ll pick out some flavored beans. I am sick to death of regular ground coffee! It’s so boring.

We didn’t get an algae eater yet, but we got 3 beautiful bettas for 3 or 4 bucks each. We also got them their own half-gallon bowls, since they can’t live together. They’re also known as Siamese fighting fish. They’ll kill females too, after mating, and not just other males.

Just like at Walmart, they came in tiny plastic cups with lids. The cups were the size of juice cups, smaller than yogurt cups. They don’t need much space, though we wanted to give them more than what they had.

The one on the kitchen island is mostly royal blue with hues of dark red, the one in my office is lavender and red, and the one by the bed is turquoise with traces of green. They’re a good size, too. Like 4 inches long and I love how they appear magnified when looking into the bowl at them at certain angles. They have long shimmering fins and tails. They have long fins (if that’s what they’re called) streaming from their undersides, too. It looks almost like velvet fringes hanging from them. They’re easily 3-4 times bigger than the glass fish. They’re much braver too, swimming up to the top when I stick my finger just through the surface.

The one in the kitchen is the most skittish, the one in the office is the bravest, and the one by the bed is the most active. Every now and then they break through the surface and take a gulp of air for some strange reason.

They only eat a few pellets a day. They can even go days without eating. These pellets are tiny, too. Smaller than coffee grinds. They cost virtually nothing to maintain. The bottle of food I got them will last forever. All I have to do is change 1/3 of their water weekly.

We also got a packet of 6 live plant bulbs, guaranteed to grow in 20 days, so they say. I stuck one in with each of the bettas, and the other 3 in with the glass fish, along with the 3 fake plants I got that are weighted down with plastic bases. I buried the bases under the gravel and took Barbie out. Now it looks more like an aquarium is supposed to look.

We got colorful gravel that’s similar to the glass fish’s gravel, and even more colorful beadlike gravel for added colors. I think they really are tiny beads. Sometimes a few even float.

The renters are definitely still in back. We passed a guy and a little boy in the white van as we were returning home yesterday morning and we waved to each other.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 11, 2002 Paula left a message yesterday asking how I was doing. She said she tried emailing me, but couldn’t do it.

What does she mean, she couldn’t do it? Can she be that dumb?

I emailed her a message as she asked me to, asking her if she’s gotten/read my journals and what dolls she likes best, but I’m sure I won’t get any answers. No one’s answering me lately! Not PG, not Mary, no one.

I considered maybe writing a letter to Anne and Harry, updating them on my life since leaving Phoenix (omitting the freeloaders, of course), but to my surprise, I couldn’t find them. I remember the street they lived on in W. Springfield, but I can’t remember the house number. I can’t find them listed at their house in W. Springfield or at LaRagione’s in Springfield. I even checked Florida, knowing that like most older people from that area, that’s where they’d go upon retiring. So unless they moved to Florida and got an unlisted number, it’s like they don’t even exist. I wonder if something might’ve happened to them. I’ll do a reverse number lookup later on and see what I can come up with.

I was surprised to see an iguana munching on a piece of bread I threw out yesterday. I didn’t think they ate bread. The prairie dogs are still out, but not much.

There were horse tracks in front. I guess someone’s horse got loose. Either that or someone came snooping by on a horse. Well, I’ve seen them run loose before. If they let their dogs run loose, why not their horses, too?

Over the weekend at some point, Tom’s going to go to Mary’s to pick up some guppies. At nearly $4 each, we can’t get 20-30 glass fish, so to up our population, we’ll just take some of Mary’s many guppies. Having just a few fish is too little, even in a 15-gallon tank. It’ll look better with more fish in it. We still plan to get some more glass fish, though, and bettas. In fact, Tom will be in any sec, then he’s going to sleep till around 9:00, and then we’re going to hit some stores in Casa Grande, rather than Phoenix cuz Phoenix is nearly twice as far.

I put one of my Barbies in a swimsuit and stuck her in the tank. She looks so cool floating at the top of the tank and the fish seem rather infatuated with her. They like to hang out under her. They like her more than the mouse tube that sits on their floor.

So, we’ve made it through week 9 of no home visits. It seems logical, though, that there’d be at least one more this year if he does have a quota, cuz 7 visits seem like a rather odd amount and that’s how many times he’s been here so far this year. The quota, no doubt, also depends on the charges, the length of the probation, and how much time the person has left.

I asked Tom if he thought Ma was stingy or cheap to only give $100 for Christmas when she’s got as much money as she does. He feels that in light of how many people she pays out to that’s a reasonable amount.

Yes, I agree. However, $25 for anniversaries is a joke. What much can two people get for $25 these days anyway? He said that idea was based on going out to eat, and most couples can eat for $25.

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 10, 2002 As usual, I didn’t hear back from PG, yet they had all day to reply to me. I doubt they could really be that busy, either. I think they’re just a bunch of lazy, incompetent people. That’s no doubt part of why their prices are so low. If I don’t hear from them today, I’ll email them yet again to get my two lousy questions answered. I’d just call them if they had an 800 number, but they don’t. Meanwhile, someday Amelia and Tasha will be here. Someday.

Tom said he’s seen the fish eat, but I have yet to see them do so. I did see one take in a flake, make like it was munching on it for a sec, spit it out, then repeat this scenario two more times. They must be eating, though, since it’s been nearly a week unless they’re surviving on water alone. I suggested to Tom that we feed them just once a day, cuz when I went to pour in a pitcher of water like I do every few days as the water evaporates, it stirred up tons of food that had settled on the bottom.

I asked Tom if I really looked the 130 pounds I’d weigh on a doctor’s weight-balanced scale (this scale says 126) and he said no. I agree. I think I look more like 120 and he says 110. So I asked him, is it really the working out and the building of muscle that’s put weight on me? He said that was most definitely it and that also, when you get older, your bones and muscles increase in density but then decrease when you get old. Once Ma got into her 70s, she lost like 30-40 pounds, after spending most of her adulthood at 200 pounds.

I still think I’m what most people would describe as chunky. Not fat, but chunky. 120-130 pounds is still too much for someone my height to carry even if it’s mostly muscle, and yes, my weight jumped a couple of pounds as soon as I upped my weights (I up them in 5-pound increments.) I’m up to 50 pounds on my biceps curls and 60 pounds on the incline bench press. That’s a lot of weight to push and pull at my height. I’m sure there are a lot of people closer to 6’ that couldn’t do it.

Still no bad vibes as the 10/30 progress report nears, but if there is, I probably won’t know it till early November. It still wouldn’t surprise me if the class issue was brought up again. After all, it’d be something I don’t want to do, so why not?

I still think that the right thing for Scot to have done would be to recommend early release to the judge, despite the freeloader’s protests, simply because it’d be the right thing to do in light of how harsh the sentence is for such petty shit, even though his recommendations would fall upon deaf ears. In other words, the judge would gladly listen to Scot if he had something bad to say about me, but if it were in my favor, he wouldn’t want to hear it.

The sad thing about it is that I know I’ll just have a whole new slew of appointments after this shit. I see a definite pattern since being on my own. First there were the regular therapy, asthma and allergy appointments, then the ear appointments, then the braces, and now the freeloaders. What’s next? It’s like something wants to keep me getting out regularly, and because I’m more isolated here, the appointments are more frequent.

So, I have mixed emotions about getting the freeloaders out of my life. Sure I want them out of my life once and for all. It’s been 6 years. But I don’t want to be trading in one problem for another like I always seem to do. I don’t want a whole new source of trouble that I’m powerless to fight and that’ll occupy so much of my life for so many years to come.

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 9, 2002 What a frightening world we live in. I know it’s just TV and that anything said could be bullshit, but the more I watch the court channel and its featured cases, the more I see that the “justice” system really doesn’t have a damn thing to do with justice for the most part. It’s about winning. It’s about power, control, who you are, where you are, etc. Like it or not, financial status, race and gender really do matter for those involved. It’s always been that way and I think it always will be. Having money and being male certainly helps, and of course, being a minority helps too, whereas that used to hurt. It’s like society’s trying to make up for the way minorities were treated a century ago by giving them the upper hand which makes absolutely no sense to me. It can’t and won’t change the fact that we stole the Indian’s land, that we made slaves of blacks, etc. We’ve simply got too many people living in the past. Judges feel like they have no choice but to let guilty blacks get off or else they’ll cry racism and start riots like they did 10 years ago in LA. They’re such poor losers who can’t handle shit. Instead, they lash out at the whole world, no matter how many innocent people they may be taking their anger out on along the way and hurting. So many people want to blame the wrong people for their troubles and life’s unfairness. In North Carolina, a billionaire woman got only 57 days in jail for killing her boyfriend cuz she was rich, and the other inmates wanted to harm her cuz they got years for drugs and writing bad checks.

But it wasn’t the billionaire’s fault. They should be pissed at the jury. They’re the ones who gave her the sentence she got.

Anyway, if I were black, I’d be pissed too, at seeing white pigs get off after beating a fellow black on tape, but to take it out on the whole city would be no way to handle the ordeal. If they wanted to go after someone, they should’ve gone after the people involved.

We really fucked up by letting those blacks stick around after they were freed. Yes, they should’ve been freed. No one should be a slave. However, didn’t they know they’d just lash out at us and cause us a legacy of hell by not deporting them back to Africa where they belong? Of course they were going to take all their anger out on us and kill us and rob us and so on and so forth.

What’s scary isn’t just the fact that too many innocent people are getting convicted and or receiving overly harsh sentences for their crimes, guilty or not, but the amount of incompetence on the part of the investigators, lawyers, judges and other law enforcement personnel, and the biased nature of the people involved. People are gullible. They’re going to believe what the cops tell them. So, if you tell a reporter that so and so’s guilty, they’re going to believe it without question and they’re going to do everything they can to taint and hurt their case, even if they just may happen to be innocent. Cops, lawyers and judges also don’t have the balls to stand up and admit when they’ve screwed up, and furthermore, wouldn’t be held accountable if they did. Instead, they’re all concerned with how they’d look and with covering everyone’s asses, including their own. Image is everything to them.

It’s really scary how so many people are being convicted for the wrong reasons. You’re supposed to be convicted on evidence, but instead we have so many people being convicted on their behavior, their beliefs, their appearance, their jobs, the things they eat, etc. This puts the defendants in a tough spot, cuz then they have to decide whether or not they should give up who they are and be somebody else, somebody that they’re not, just to try to please those that hold their fate in their hands, and be made to feel like ass-kissers. Or do they stand by their right to be themselves?

I hear so many convicts who insist they’re either innocent or were simply given too much sentence for so little crime, say that they once believed that the right people would step forward and help them.

Yeah, that’s what I thought too, only to find out that after bending over backward for this state, giving them this, giving them that, doing this, doing that, none of it ever mattered. Just why did they have me get people like Mary to write a character witness statement for me if they knew damn good and well that it was useless and not something that would even be considered, let alone used?

No, we can’t always help us help ourselves, and no, the truth won’t always set us free.

I decided it’d be best just to forget about the kiln and the whole dollmaking idea. I know when something’s not meant to be and when to give up, and this is one of those times. It’s so obvious that something up there doesn’t want me making dolls. Something more powerful than I could ever be and that I’m not about to mess with. I’ve learned from past experiences what can happen when I try to rebel against fate. I still don’t understand why I’m not allowed to do what I want to do with my life when it comes to jobs that go beyond my usual role as a homemaker. It’s like society wants me to get with the times and God doesn’t. I just can’t figure this one out any more than I can figure out the one where he allows people to get away with wronging me and protects them, but all I can do is just hope he has his reasons, though I can’t imagine what justifiable reasons he could possibly have. I don’t know, maybe there is an afterlife and in that life, I’m going to be able to do what I want with my life. Or maybe there was a past life where I had it all and now I’m being compensated for it.

Anyway, I simply couldn’t get the stuff. I’d be spending more time fighting for supplies than using them. Even if I could snap my fingers and have everything I could possibly need, then what? It’s a bit of an overwhelming, complex thing when I think about it. There’d so much to learn, so much to do. It’s not that I’m not capable of learning. I’ve learned a lot about a lot of things, and at the risk of sounding stuck-up, I know more about more things than most people ever will.

But having many skills, talents and the ability to learn fast and well doesn’t necessarily mean one’s meant to be more than just a homemaker. Being a homemaker is great. I love it and I wouldn’t trade it for the world just cuz I was suddenly doing something else, but having more to do with my time would’ve been nice. And that doesn’t mean spicing up my life with wrongly being thrown in jail, either!

I’m afraid to bitch too much about boredom (though I don’t get bored too often) cuz every time I do the shit seems to hit the fan. It’s like something up there seems to think that just because I could use a little more activity in my life at times it has to be negative, wrong, and unfair activity.

Anyway, I think I’m going to put off PG’s fairies for a while. Not only do I want to take a little break from PG, though I still have my membership and another free shipping and 25% off coupon, but I also want to concentrate on fashion dolls for a while. They’re really nice and I really dig them lately. Aside from Felicity, which I hope to get with January’s stock (if there is a January’s stock), there are 5 $45 fashion dolls I’d like to have. The two 16” Playboys, a couple of Barbies (though one’s of some black or Hispanic pop singer I’ve never heard of), and 16” Mei Li.

I emailed PG, who’ll hopefully reply tomorrow and not after I email them a second time, asking exactly when Amelia was re-sent and when and if Tasha’s been shipped yet. Of course, she should be on her way, but you just never know. Either way, I’m sure there’ll be a problem. Of the 10 PG dolls I have, only one got here right away. All the others had delivery screw-ups or were out of stock. It was like this with the HSC, too. Only Ashton-Drake was reliable, but their dolls took forever anyway. Like 3 weeks.

MONDAY, OCTOBER 7, 2002 There’s been another picture download from one of my photo albums, but I can’t say which one, of course.

I’m wondering if these fish are going to starve themselves to death. They don’t appear to be eating. I throw the food in and they dart towards it but don’t eat it. Yet they seem healthy and energetic enough. Maybe they wait for it to break down or something.

It’d be nice to get the other colors they have, bright orange, yellow and blue, and then find out about breeding after we find out what these fish are. After doing some online research, we think they may be some sort of tetrafish. He says these fish are probably males because, in the animal world, the males tend to be more colorful and nicer looking (which God made up for with the human species).

When Tom gets up, he’s going to stop at the Maricopa box to see if poor Amelia’s been stuck on their shelves. If not, I’ll email PG, of course, and play yet another game of catch-the-doll-if-you-can!

Then, Tom will swing over to Casa Grande to pick up a few groceries and stop in Pick-a-Pet to see what fish/supplies they carry. I doubt they’ll have what we’re looking for. I think that if we want a good variety of fish and supplies we’ll have to go to a major chain store like Petco.

As soon as I’m awake when the doctor’s office is open, I have to make an appointment to have my ear canal cleaned. Oh, why couldn’t I have been born with two normal ears?! I hate seeing this guy. I hate having to spend hours just to get a procedure done that takes a couple of minutes, but there are not many people I can go to that does what he does. He’s a specialty doctor.

Now for my incredible news of the day. Well, let’s just say I’m kind of glad our seemingly hopeless stock hasn’t sold yet, cuz you won’t believe what I found online! I never even knew such a thing existed. Well, as I’ve written, my 16” vinyl fashion doll Tyler makes Barbie seem phony as all hell, but the 16” fashion dolls I saw tonight make Tyler herself seem phony as all hell! They’re Playboy dolls that are not only extremely realistic-looking but they’re said to have skin that feels realistic, too! They’re anatomically correct with no visible joints (unlike with Tyler) and come fully dressed, with stands and papers. And all for an amazing $40-$50!!! I won’t be getting those PG fairies or the Mei Li fashion doll anytime soon, that’s for sure!

If they’re anatomically correct, though, does that mean they come with rooted pubic hair too, or what?

These dolls are so realistic that Tom insisted the one I liked best was a picture of a real person, but after reading the words and finding a site that has the real Playboy model holding the doll, I can assure you it is a doll as realistic as it is. And is it ever! The definition of muscle tone and body contours are amazing. Something that Tyler has absolutely none of. She’s better proportioned and more realistic than Barbie but has no real definition of any kind. You’d never see a picture of her and think she was a real person. You can see she’s a doll; just a damn good one.

Anyway, the one I liked best that I can’t wait to get if this stock would just hurry up and sell once and for all, is Victoria Silvstedt. I never heard of her, but I don’t care. The second one I want to get and whom I also never heard of is Dalene Kurtis. Their faces aren’t great and they’re both blondes with blue eyes, but they’re fabulous nonetheless. They also have a Karen McDougal doll, who’s got auburn hair, but I don’t know if I’ll get this one. These are the first 3 in a series. Seeing that these dolls are vinyl, I would think they’d have rooted hair.

Victoria has medium-length hair and is posed with one leg out to the side and one hand on her hip. The other hand’s at her mouth, sort of touching her lip suggestively. She wears a black bikini, which I assume is a G-string, and an open maroon satin robe, and she supposedly comes with black shoes, a necklace, a stand, and papers. I’m emailing them to verify that yes, she does come fully dressed, etc. This one’s $40.

Dalene’s $50 with massive boobs, but they both sure are unique to anything I’ve got and will add major variety to my collection. She wears a halter with short denim cut-offs. The halter represents the American flag. The bodice has red and white stripes and the thin shoulder straps are blue with white stars. Her hair is shoulder-length. Her pose is a bit harder to describe. I’ve only seen her picture from the side. She looks towards the side and I guess she has one leg slightly behind her, one hand on her hip, and the other arm is bent a quarter of the way at her side, making her hand about chest level. This one I hope to get in December or January.

I can’t wait for that damn stock to sell!

This site had several different lines of fashion dolls ranging from $25 to over $100. They even had a full-figured doll that was both nice and realistic.

Of all the different sites I checked that sold the Playboy dolls, one of them said that each doll came in a “unique environment.” Whatever the hell that means, I don’t know. This same site said the dolls came with several accessories too, but they didn’t say what they were. Probably just the stand, shoes, and necklace.

Got up at 3:30 which means I’ll be going to bed right around the time I hate the most. I’d really appreciate it, though, if the flyers and freeloaders would let me sleep so I can go to the pet store sometime this week.

Later…

It totally, totally figures. I mean, it never fucking fails! Tom had to call PG cuz the doll was returned! They don’t know why. I know why. Cuz I’m cursed with trying to get dolls and I’ll be totally damned if I’ll even think of trying to make them. Like whatever’s cursing me would let me? Like it or not, I’m here to serve others and do what they want me to do. Sometimes I’m okay with it, sometimes it’s at my own expense, but I have no choice, and if I try to fight it, that’ll only be making more trouble for myself. There’d be no way I could get all my supplies in person, be it for myself or for others. And not that God would allow me to go into business, but if I did, it wouldn’t look very good if I had to tell 9 out of 10 customers that their doll was going to have to wait due to having trouble chasing down their greenware in the mail. Most people don’t understand curses and when they saw there were delays time and time again, they’d naturally assume it was my own lack of competency. Meanwhile, I’ll just remain a struggling collector.

This all happened when I was asleep, so I hope he thought to have her shipped via UPS. A curse is a curse, though, so I’m sure there’ll be problems with that, too. It’s just that I feel I’ve got to do something. I wonder if he asked about Tasha. I emailed these questions to him. After I get the 2 fairies, 3 fashions, and Felicity doll I so have my heart set on, I’m going to stop the mail-order dolls and make periodic trips to DBS and maybe even San Diego where PG’s store is.

Tom says Walmart sells bikes for as low as $100. Good. Now I can revise my list.

He said the store in Casa Grande does sell fish, but they won’t have any live plants till Wednesday. What we have are glass fish and they’re not naturally colored (I figured as much). They’re injected with color. How utterly painful it must be for such tiny things to be injected with needles! I wonder if this means we could have a mix of sexes and if their colors fade over time.

They replied about the Playboy doll, saying that yes, the doll comes with everything.

I went to make the ear appointment only to learn my 3 referrals had expired. The doctor would never renew them without seeing me first since it’s been over a year, so once these inhalers run out, since I know I’m forever stuck on snot spray, I’ll see him and get new referrals.

Later…

Well, I’ll be damned. From what Tom says in his reply, it wasn’t the PO’s fault. Tom received a letter in the mail from PG saying the doll was returned to them and this is what prompted him to call them. I guess maybe they tried to use UPS to deliver to the PO Box. He had them resend it to the PO so as not to confuse the already very confused idiots with changing addresses while two dolls are on the way. We’ll probably get some sort of coupon for the fuck-up. Yeah, free shipping which is no biggie. It’s better than nothing, but $5-$10 off each of the two $25 fairies I want would be nice! Then again, shipping’s $5-$7, so that’s close enough and good enough, I guess, but it’d be even nicer if I could just order dolls and get them!

Who’ll mess up with Tasha? The PO or PG?

Tom also said that the pet store people said the colors in the fish would fade but didn’t ask how long it’d take. What do we do then? Get ink and syringes and refill them like with cartridges?

Also, the store had some decorations but no tank backgrounds. I don’t really need backgrounds, though. Also, they had bettas in various types of bowls but says we’d be better off getting them at Walmart or K-Mart.

Lastly, he watched the fish closely and says they’re definitely eating. Well, I guess so. They’re still alive after all.

Later…

I took my small crying Indian doll and undid her two braids. Then I wrapped the hair in two plaits. Plait weaving looks cool. It’s so Indian, too.

I’m working on the ’96 file now, and boy was I confused over the sexual bullshit I was going through with Tom at that time! At the same time I was confused, I always felt he was deliberately holding back cuz of his own lack of desire to be a father. I think I still believe that and that I always will. He just made one excuse after another about changing and seeking help and was just too content to be the way he was. I still believe that at the same time, he didn’t want a kid, didn’t want to change his sexual ways, and didn’t want to get help, a part of him also got some sadistic pleasure in seeing me turned off and unsatisfied.

SATURDAY, OCTOBER 5, 2002 I’m pretty tired right now, but can’t sleep yet. I hope the United States Air Force will let me sleep tomorrow. I barely slept 7 hours, which of course, is like 5 for me. I’m sure I’ll sleep 10-11 hours tomorrow. At least I know it’ll be easier to fall back asleep in the comfort of my own home and bed, versus on a joke of a mattress in jail with people screaming non-stop. Believe me, I never take my freedom for granted and neither will Mary when she’s free. I may not have total freedom, but I have a lot more than I did in Estrella Jail!

I look so forward to going to the pet store! I want a total of about 20 neons and 3-5 bettas. I just wish they all weren’t nearly $4 a pop. That adds up.

What a boring life these fish must have. At least rodents can go wheeling and can play with each other. All these things can do is just sit there and exist. The bettas were in single small jars. They barely had room to move.

Anyway, it won’t matter how timid the fish may be since I don’t have to handle them and since they can’t escape and run around the house loose. I ended up getting some good shots of them. At first I thought they’d be hard to shoot as small as they are.

I am so fucking sick of having to chase down dolls. I’m beyond sick of it! The question is, who fucked up this time around? PG or the PO? Maybe this PO throws their packages on their shelves till the people ask for them like they did in Tempe. I’m sure there’ll be a problem with Tasha too, but of course there’ll be no problem whatsoever with getting the sewing machine. I’ve never had a problem getting any packages other than dolls, so I know it’s a curse connected to the dolls. Of course, this excludes bogus packages Paula claimed to have sent that she never really did. Some friend she’s turned out to be. I haven’t heard squat from her, so I don’t bother. All she could do is say she liked the stuff, after I had to ask, then bullshit me about calling. Believe me, though, I’m actually glad she didn’t call. I don’t want to hear the same old shit and not be able to get a word in edgewise. At the same time, she’s been frustrating to deal with and I’m sick of her, I feel sorry for her. The woman’s never going to change and she’s going to be the same old sorry loser all her life, asking for most of the problems she has. I know it may sound cruel, but after all this time, you’d think she’d have matured a bit and learned from some of her many dumb mistakes. Instead, she’s just going to continue her life on Section 8, abusing her kid, and hanging out with one loser after another. These are criminals who use and abuse her in every way possible. Why is she so into that shit? I just don’t get it. Does she really have no self-respect?

Later…

Although I slept wonderfully and didn’t get up till 3:30, my day hasn’t been off to a great start. First of all, the experiment is a bust. I wasn’t sneezing literally non-stop, but it was bad enough and I had to go back on my spray. At least they have a spray for this shit.

Secondly, Little Ratsy’s gone. I’ve had it with this psycho bullshit. She and the Rat Runner aren’t pets, they’re animals. Wild fucking animals and I don’t need their shit. I hung onto the Rat Runner for Little Buddy’s sake, but the instant he goes, she goes. I was able to grab the Rat Runner by the tail to move to the tank for cage-changing, but I had to play tag with Little Ratsy for a while in order to move her and that’s when I was like, fuck this bullshit! And she would’ve gladly bitten me if she could have, too.

I let Dave know, in regard to some of the gay jokes I sent him, I have nothing against gays, of course, not that he’s necessarily one to read things in that aren’t there or blow things out of perspective.

I’ve decided that I’ve had it with PO not being able to deliver most of the dolls without some sort of problem. Even a small PO can’t handle a simple task like this, so after they’ve had enough time to fuck up with Tasha too, I’m going to have PG use UPS from now on. A doll is worth being woken up for, if I’m asleep when they come, and it’s not like I’m getting dolls every day or even every week. That’s the only way around this doll curse that I can think of. If that doesn’t work, nothing will. Unless PG sent the damn thing to the wrong address, it should’ve been here by now, and I know that if it isn’t here by now, it’s not going to be here by Monday either. If it is there, then it’s sitting on their shelf cuz they were too lazy to fill out a slip and notify us if they didn’t misdeliver it. They don’t have lockers there, unfortunately, either.

PG might be confused as to where to send catalogs, but I’m not worried about that. I don’t need the catalogs cuz I can see what they have online.

Getting MP3s is getting harder these days. Not because there aren’t plenty of them out there, but because MP3s get more and more popular, you have to wait forever to get most songs. Sooner or later there’ll be no one left buying CDs from which to rip the tracks in the first place.

FRIDAY, OCTOBER 4, 2002 And so it’s been half a decade today that I’ve been smoke-free! Yeah, and 20 pounds heavier, too. At least I can breathe. I’d probably be around 110-115 pounds if I still smoked and was still alive, but not 95-100 cuz of my age. Instead, I’m a non-smoking, middle-aged person between 120-125 and I probably always will be, but like I said, I can breathe!

There were a couple of booms at 11:15 today, an hour after I got up, and nothing else between then and when we left at 1:30. We returned at around 5:00 and had to run the AC for a while when we got in, but now it’s off for the night.

Anyway, I don’t like this booming. Especially if they’re going to go back to doing this 2-4 times a week. I hope not! I could never learn to sleep through that shit. I’m not like Tom. I thought Maricopa was too built up for that shit these days? There’s yet another new house, but it’s pavement that matters. Until these nearby roads are paved, the houses won’t double or triple in value. We talked about splitting our land and selling off the 5 acres between us and the renters before we sold the 5 acres in front around the same time. Who knows how or when we’ll go about doing it for sure, or where we’ll go from here? Only time will tell.

Although I’m doing well so far with my no-nasal-spray experiment, it’s too soon to tell Scot about it, so I said no when asked if there were any changes. I am sneezing a little more, but if I can go a month or two with no 24-hour sneezing fits, then I’ll tell him about it.

Anyway, after informing me of how much time I have left like he almost always does as if I don’t know how to read a calendar, we jumped across the street to Circle K. There I peed, since he didn’t test me yet again, then grabbed some water. He grabbed soda and a cookie bar, then we hit the road to have fun shopping. Of course the car had to give us shit along the way and cost us more money than we planned on spending, but it kind of did us a favor in the end by saving us an extra stop. Originally, we were going to go to the bookstore, Walgreens, an office supply store and a pet store, but instead of Walgreens and the pet store, we went to Walmart, though we do still intend to go to a pet store.

Our first stop was the bookstore and it may be the best one yet! They had an awesome selection. The only other author whose books I like besides authors of horror and suspense is VC Andrews. Most of her books are 5-book series, and normally, I can’t find the whole series whenever I go to stores. This place, though, had not only the full series, but a series I didn’t even know existed! She’s a very repetitious writer, but she’s good. I enjoy her soap-like sagas.

They don’t give much credit for books you bring in, though, so we may use a couple of different stores. A lot of the books I got today were on sale for a buck. I got something like 20 books, too.

Our second stop was an office supply store where I was really surprised to find they didn’t have any ink refills, so I restocked my white and colored paper. The colored paper is the same 5-color pack I had before with pink, blue, yellow, lime and orange.

So I grabbed some M&Ms and we headed for the car. That’s when Tom noticed the leak and found water was leaking from the radiator. Because we knew Walmart was close by, we stopped there so he could get water and other stuff to pour into it.

We split up and agreed to meet by the restrooms. I went and grabbed two 3-packs of flavored Chap Sticks, so I got 6 different flavors. I love this brand. There’s no rollerball to get stuck, and I dig the glittery tubes they’re in. They even come with colored plastic jewels on top of the caps! I think I’ll save them to decorate something with.

The puzzles and porcelain dolls were boring (I’m not surprised the porcelain dolls were a bore), but I apparently meant it when I said no more Barbies unless I found any spectacular ones. This one’s way cool! It’s Barbie as Rapunzel. I now have a total of 20 Barbies, even if they’re all not literally Barbies. Some are brunettes, some are redheads, and of course, I have a black one and one that looks sort of Indian.

Anyway, this one’s got really long hair. After I got her out of her box, I noticed the hair in back was only to her waist, something I couldn’t tell when she was in her box. She came with a hair extension attached to a band with Velcro, so I clasped it onto the ends of the hair in back so her hair was the same length both in front and back. The long part is adjustable. You can pull it long or wind it shorter with a rope in back that pulls it in through the crown of her head.

She came with a musical hairbrush and pink pumps. Because her beautiful gown is so long, I took off her pumps and gave them to another Barbie in a short pink dress that needed them. Her dress is stunning. It’s pink and lavender with gold accents to match her gold crown. There’s a chiffon-like layer hanging in front that’s speckled with gold glitter. Even the sheer frosted sleeves are nice. The pearly sleeves are just as shiny as the rest of the dress. The sleeves are tapered in at the elbows with rosebuds. There’s a rosebud at her chest too, and a rosebud attached to a pink ribbon that covers the Velcro band of the hair extension.

I wish I could send Mary pictures of her and the fish, but I can’t for two reasons. One is that I don’t want to get it back, and two is my color ink is shot. The cartridge is simply too old and we don’t have the extra money right now for new ones. I emailed pictures to the other Mary.

After Tom grabbed ink and car stuff, we headed for the fish section. There I got clear plastic jewel-like rocks to scatter across the bottom of the tank. They don’t show up all that great cuz they match the mix of neon colors in the gravel, but they still look cool.

Then he showed me their fish and I became pretty certain we wouldn’t be getting guppies. Guppies are dull-looking compared to what we got and what we’re going to get! I never knew such fish existed. I forgot the name of the ones we got, but for nearly $4 each, we got 3 small neon-colored fish. We only got 3 cuz we want to make sure they live before we get anymore, but oh how colorful they are! I got a pink one, a lime green one, and a royal purple one. The whole fish isn’t colored. Just the outer top part and part of their undersides. It almost looks like someone tried to trace them with markers. The rest of the fish are rather transparent. They all only have one color, but they’re so neat! They go so well with the gravel. They also had blue, yellow and other colors, too. It’d be nice if they were a little bigger, but I totally dig them. I never thought I’d get into fish, though they could never replace rats. In fact, if the only two animals I could have were fish or guinea pigs, I’d take the pig.

Then there were the bettas. They were way cool and I intend to get a few of these. These are bigger colorful fish that need no filters or pumps. They even need to live alone or else they’ll fight. Only the males are colorful, from what we saw. They have some that are solid metallic blue colored, some are aqua and royal blue colored, some are emerald and blue, and some have reds in them. All they need is a small little bowl like what you’d stick goldfish in. I thought I’d throw one in the office, one on the kitchen island, and one in the bedroom.

We have to wait about a month before getting the algae-eater so there’ll be enough algae build-up for them to eat.

We still have to get stuff for them to swim through and hide in and maybe some sort of backing for the back of the tank. Tom said they have these really cool reflective backings. We might get them a live plant to nibble on too, though we can’t stick too much in there. The tank’s only 15 gallons.

As always, I hated the city noise and the crowds so it was so nice to know we were leaving the city and didn’t have to stay and live in it. It was also nice to be able to see pregnant women and not feel a stitch of depression or envy like I would’ve 5 years ago.

When we left the store, I noticed a couple of Mexicans sitting in a car next to ours with their hood propped open. I was like, oh great! Just what I need! To sit in this city a few feet away from them all over again. Just when I thought they’d blast base while Tom propped our own hood to pour the stuff in, the guy in the driver’s seat relieved my fears by letting me know when he made a call with his cell phone that his key had broken off in the ignition. He wasn’t about to thump no base through my skull!

I went through my closet and drawers and pulled out things that are too small, yet nice enough material to use for sewing. Once I had it all accumulated, I decided I had enough and didn’t need to stop in a sewing store for material. I thought I was going to have to stop for closures, but nope. Tom beat me to it. It was actually at the grocery store that he found hook-and-eye clasps, snaps, elastic and Velcro. This Velcro, however, isn’t recommended for sewing. That’s okay, though. I’m sure it’ll come in handy for something else one of these days.

I decided to make a ‘joke’ file and keep all my jokes together in one place. Mary’s going to be in for a ton of laughs!

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3, 2002 When Amelia isn’t here by tomorrow like she’s supposed to be, I’ll email PG Monday. This will be the first time an out-of-stock doll had problems getting to me, but you know, I’m really getting sick of this and it’s not making me want to even think about making dolls! Why can’t I just order a doll and get it? Why am I so cursed with getting dolls? If I have to fight tooth and nail just to get them, I’m certainly not going to be able to make them. Meanwhile, just like with every other non-doll-related item, the sewing machine will have no problem getting to me.

They’re still working in back. I guess the renters are still living there, too. Maybe I just can’t see the shit they’ve got strewn all over as much since that big rainstorm we had made the trees and bushes denser.

I’m also sick of these two big brown dogs that come traipsing onto our land regularly and I think they’re connected to the renters, too. But how did they go from having one dog that was tied down to two that are constantly on the loose? Are these the worker’s dogs? Other renters? Or could they live entirely somewhere else?

Since it’s not cloudy today, it’s a little warmer out. Earlier, it was actually cooler outside than inside. It was 73° in here when I got up at 11:00.

I’ll probably sleep till 2:00 tomorrow, then we’ll leave at 3:00. We’ll stop at Circle K after seeing Scot, then we’ll go to the pet store, the bookstore and Walgreens. We’ll have to stop at an office supply store too, cuz he was too tired to stop today for ink and paper.

I’ve been asking myself what bothers me about this platonic relationship we’ve got going here, and I’ve finally realized that it’s not the platonic part of it that bothers me, it’s the fact that I always enter into his reasons for why he can’t or won’t do something pertaining to sex. Sometimes it was cuz of his being sick or sore, but the bulk of the time, as I said to myself, notice how the word “you” usually applies when he’s explaining why he can’t or won’t do something?

Why can’t he just admit, like I did, that he simply isn’t in the mood? Simply isn’t interested? Why must he put it on me and say it’s cuz I’m not interested? Why is it that it’s almost always me? Something I wear, something I say, something I do, etc. What did he marry me for if I was such a turn-off in one way after another?

What bothers me more than us being just “damn good friends,” is the risk he’s obviously willing to take. I know he has nothing to worry about, but doesn’t he ever worry about losing me over this? Most women, though I’m certainly not most women, would walk on account of all these reasons he finds to avoid her that’s supposedly her fault, be it directly or not. He says he accepts me as I am and that’s all well and good, but this situation makes me feel as if he’s taking my existence for granted.

I never blamed him for my lack of desire, so why must he do so to me? Why must he be so stubborn? I told him the truth – that it just got old. Not bad, but old. It’s nothing he did, it’s not that I don’t love him or find him attractive, it just got old. The only thing that would be different now if we were getting it on would be that I wouldn’t utter a complaint about the not cumming. Naturally, though, back when I wanted a kid and he said he did too, that was different. Then I had every reason to complain, and that’s another example right there; whether or not he wanted a kid, instead of saying he’d seek help in 3 years if he still wasn’t cumming, couldn’t he have said either, “I’m happy the way I am,” or, “I simply don’t want to change?” Instead, 98% of it was because of me. I pressured him, wore a too-short skirt in public, said this, said that, etc.

I just don’t understand why so many people need scapegoats, be it illnesses, injuries or other people as their source of excuses. Can’t people be honest about their reasons or say “I don’t know” if they don’t know for sure what the reason is?

If he had told me it was cuz of work-related stress, fearing the black bitch would jump out at us again, worrying about Mary or Mom getting ill, that’d be one thing. But no, it’s always my fault. Meanwhile, I’m supposed to sit back and just accept that. Well, I don’t. I accept his lack of interest, though. That I accept. Any normal, red-blooded man, or any normal, red-blooded human being, for that matter, would not simply sit back and take this platonic arrangement so damn well if they didn’t want it that way. I’d think there’d have to be a hint of unhappiness, some complaining.

Well, I’m not going away and I’m virtually positive I’ll never have a woman side dish cuz of the excuses and bogus dates they make, and of course, then the ones that do show up are hideously ugly.

I appreciate the fact that he’s cut way down on the snapping at me, now I just wish he’d level with me.

No booms today. Hopefully, they’ll remain few and far between and will never be like they were between January and March of 2000!

WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 2, 2002 It is absolutely gorgeous out now. I can’t believe it’s cool and it’s only October 2nd! It doesn’t usually start cooling down till mid-October to early November. We really lucked out this year. Especially with a car that’s AC is broken. I can see how right Tom is when he says it’s chilly late at night. It’s getting down into the 50s. By 10 PM last night, we could shut the AC off for the night and it hasn’t been on yet today and I doubt it will be. We’ll save a lot of money this way. It was 77° inside the house when I got up at 10:00 and it’s cooler outside. I opened the windows and put the fans on and it’s cooled down a couple of degrees in here. The breeze is perfect, too. There’s not a sound and not a trace of horseshit in the air whatsoever. Today’s one of those days you wouldn’t know you were in a farming community.

Tom’s still not in yet. I know I’m blowing my chance to say no to Scot with the place wide open like this, but it’s a worthy sacrifice. You just don’t get too many chances to open your windows in Arizona. It’s usually too cold or too hot and in the city, it’s definitely too noisy. Sometimes it’s too smelly out here. I’ll probably keep things open till sundown unless it does get smelly or it rains. It’s pretty cloudy out there.

Now I have potentially bad news, and I said this would happen, too. I saw it. Well, the renters are gone. They may have been an eyesore and I didn’t like having to always see them hanging outside, but what if what we get next is worse? What if I have to hear and see them? What if they’re freeloaders? I still say it’s only a matter of time before we get some lazy-assed off-brands, sitting at home 24/7 on Section 8, hanging outside working on old junkers and blasting music while they’re at it.

Later…

Maybe not. I just looked out back and the white van’s there. But why aren’t they all hanging outside? It’s been good weather for that lately, but I haven’t seen them. And why is most of their shit gone?

Who knows for sure what’s going on yet? After all, they have their front light on all night.

I don’t miss seeing them as much. It gives me more of a feeling of isolation and privacy.

Later…

Still cloudy, breezy and beautiful out. Still have the windows open too, and the inside temp is holding steady at 75°. To think that we only had to wait till October 2nd to turn our AC off is like, wow, though we may have a couple of warm spells before it cools down for good. I’ll definitely have to close up the place come sundown.

If Scot doesn’t make it this week, I’ll begin to wonder if we just might beat that 16-week, 4-day record where he didn’t come between September 13th – January 7th, but I won’t quite hold my breath on that one just yet. We’re on week 8; only halfway there.

Finally heard from Mary. She sent a quick note asking me to scan the 5 pictures she sent, so I did. I sent them back since she didn’t tell me to hang onto them.

She asks that I keep sending her book drafts as I type them as they’re motivational to her. No prob. I’ll just stick to text.

She surprised me by asking about the dollmaking cuz she should’ve gotten the letter by now where I told her about skipping classes, getting a kiln (one of these years), and striking out on our own. Maybe she meant – had we gotten the kiln yet?

Tom’s getting me black ink tomorrow. None of my colors will print, even though I’m not on empty. The cartridges are just too damn old, but it’s cheaper just to refill my black cartridge than to go out and get all-new cartridges. He’s gonna grab me some white paper too, as I’m a little low on it.

Today he got fish supplies, but no algae-eater yet. They recommended we wait and let a little algae build up so the fish will have something to eat, which makes sense. Another thing he didn’t get was a cover with a light cuz they were a ridiculous $35. We can either make our own, get a cheaper one somewhere else, or do without. I can pour water in as it evaporates.

He got really cool neon-colored gravel that’s really pretty. He got two bags of hot pink, then a mixed bag with pink, green, yellow, orange and blue. No decorations yet, since I’m going to be picking them out myself, probably on Friday.

We got a temperature strip that sticks on the outside of the tank. It’s a digital one, too. Then, we got a really cool bubble bar that breathes little air bubbles into the tank to put oxygen into the water and a really cool waterfall filter. It pumps water up then it spills down over the top. It pours out, actually. It’s quite a soothing sound too, that’s soft enough so you can still hear the TV. Lastly, we got fish food.

It’ll be hard not sending Mary pictures of the whole setup once all the fish are living in it and Amelia if she could ever get here. I have a feeling that damn doll’s not going to be here by Friday.

Later…

It’s actually starting to get a bit chilly at the front of the house. Heard a few sonic booms, and was like, no! Please don’t tell me they’re going to start up with that shit.

I’ve opened the den’s shades halfway and taken the grille out of the skylight.

The white van left shortly after I noticed its arrival, then that lime green pickup was there for a while. I haven’t seen any people. I’m still not sure if they moved or if they’re temporarily staying elsewhere while they’re fixing something. There’s been a ladder leaning against the front, and the screen door’s been propped open.

TUESDAY, OCTOBER 1, 2002 It’s nice out but pretty windy. It hasn’t been this windy in a while. I don’t know if this wind is fronting a storm or not. Probably not at this time of year. It tends to be windier during the winter, then during the summer it usually only gets windy when a storm’s coming. This is the time of year when any day now, a storm will roll in during the daytime, instantly cooling things down till March or April.

Still nothing from Mary. I hope she’s okay, wherever she is.

Still no Amelia, either. Today starts the 7-10 business day deadline. I still think she should’ve been here last week. She’s only coming from San Diego.

I said I’d take till the end of the year to decide, so I will, but I’m leaning toward canceling getting the kiln and all that. Yes, I still want to make dolls, but if it’s not meant to be, it’s not meant to be, and I don’t want to get punished for trying to do it.

Later…

Oh, those fucking dogs! I noticed the cover was off the burn bin. When Tom went out, there was a ton of garbage in the wash to gather up. I was like, how the hell could even a huge dog move that thing?! There’s an umbrella stand on top of it that’s filled with water. Tom said the wind couldn’t move it, but an animal could if it was determined enough. He thinks it was a coyote cuz of the way remaining food was dragged into the wash and eaten there, whereas a dog wouldn’t do that.

As long as we’re unfenced I really want a gun! The only problem is that dogs and coyotes move too fast to be shot. These animals are like blacks and Mexies; they pick at you and pick at you, but there’s not a damn thing you can do about it!

For now, Tom’s not going to let any garbage sit out there.

I really worry about this getting overrun with minorities in a decade or so. They’re running us out as it is, and this means that this country’s going to get poorer and slower in the advancement of technology. They are the dumbest people in the world! Their sheer stupidity and laziness are going to put this country in shambles. And what do we do when they start being the ones to make all the laws?

[spencers-dria]

Turn for the Better

Someone To Stay Ch. 1

Spencer x fem!reader

Spencer POV:

I open my eyes and glance around the room. It's darker than I remember. I must have fallen asleep reading on the couch again. I glance down and see a pile of books on the rug. Oh yeah...I only made it through about four books this time before I nodded off. I sigh in frustration that I'm awake. Might as well get up I suppose.

I wander into the kitchen and pull open the fridge only to be met with a jar of peanut butter, week old left overs, and a half empty jug of juice. Next.

I try again with the pantry. Almost completely bare. I guess this is what happens when you stop going to the grocery store. I settle on a cup of apple juice and a bag of chips... better than nothing right?

I slump back down onto the couch and pull my green wool blanket over me. As I stare up at my ceiling, as I begin to let my mind wander. But this was dangerous territory. I have to keep my mind occupied, I just have to. So I quickly sit back up and turn the TV to one of my favorite Dr. Who episodes. They say that anxious people re-watch the same shows because they find the familiarity comforting. I could definitely understand the feeling.

It was the weekend, which meant I wasn't called into work. Cases had been slow lately, as we spent quite a bit of time doing paperwork back at the office. Unfortunately for me, this meant less distractions. Distractions were good. Distractions were necessary. They are the only way I make it through the days anymore.

Things had finally returned to normal for me back at work. I was going into the field, and it felt like my coworkers were no longer tiptoeing around me. I hate when they do that, and it bothers me more than any amount of teasing ever could. I'm not so delicate, so easily breakable. Look at everything I have been through, everything I have endured. Yet here I am, still alive, still doing my job. I didn't need to be babied. So it was a relief when I felt the regular rapport I shared with my friends return. They had gone back to the sarcastic remarks and silly nicknames. I was grateful for it. They did, however, continue to check up on me. This was something that I did appreciate. They've seen me go down a dark road once before. I have no intentions of ever returning. I was stronger than that... I think. All I know is I have held on this long without resorting to any unhealthy coping mechanisms.

Coping mechanisms...oh how I wish I had something to make the healing process easier. Having a fairly empty social calendar left me alone often. Normally I would find comfort in the peace and quiet of my solitary apartment, but not quite so much lately. I couldn't very well make plans to go out, and I wouldn't even know how to begin to do that. Who would want to hang out with me right now anyways? I'd be a damper on the fun, and everyone knows it. That's probably why my friends stopped inviting me to the nights at the bar.

There I go again, letting my mind slip into a dark hole of anxiety. Its not a safe place to be. I quickly turn my attention back to the show in front of me, letting it drown out all other thoughts.

The ring of my phone quickly draws my attention away. Finally...another case! I jump up to answer, seeing the name on my screen: Derek Morgan. That's odd. Usually Hotch or Garcia call to notify us of a new case.

"Hello?" I answer, confusion lacing my voice.

"Pretty Boy! Buzz me up!"

Well now I'm even more confused. Derek never comes to my apartment. I quickly press the button letting him into the building and opening my apartment door, waiting for him to arrive.

As he comes up the stairs, he gives me a grin shouting, "Come on man! Get dressed. We're goin' out!"

I roll my eyes and retreat back into the apartment, Derek close behind me.

I sink back onto the couch, my eyes glued to the television as I tune him out.

"Aw c'mon. Don't be like that. How long have you been sitting there watching TV? Have you done anything else today, at all?"

I don't answer, I don't even look at him.

"Oh, let me guess. You've been reading all day, huh?"

"Wow, can't get anything past you huh?" I say dryly, regretting my tone as soon as the words left my mouth.

"Alright that it. You've been cooped up in here too long. Like I said before, we're going out. And I'm not taking no for an answer" he says sternly, raising an eyebrow at me.

I finally look up at him as I roll my eyes.

"You know I can kick your ass right?" Derek smirks.

"Fine" I concede. "Well...where are we going? I don't know what to wear unless you tell me what our plans are."

"Don't pretend you don't wear the same fancy button ups no matter where you end up going."

I let out a small laugh...he's got me there.

"Dinner at Rossi's. I know pretty boys are high maintenance but, hurry up or you'll make us late!" I smile at the nickname. Same old Derek.

Y/N POV:

You let out a sigh of relief as you watched your coworker approach you, ready to receive report. It had been a particularly busy shift, and you were ready to get some much-needed rest. You walked to each patient room, giving Clementine summary of the day and the latest updates on labs and vital signs. You stepped into each room with her, checking one last time to make sure each of your patients was doing well and didn't need anything else before you left. Normally you and Clem would spend some time catching up and making jokes, but she could tell you were tired and needed to be home more than anything. You wished her good luck on her shift as you made your way to the break room. After putting away your stethoscope and the large collection of pens, pencils, and markers you kept in your pockets, you finally headed towards the elevator to leave for the day.

You opened the door to your apartment to be greeted by your dog, Juneau. She was a rescue you adopted a few months back. She still needed to make progress, but she had really warmed up to you and your friends and seemed much more comfortable in her new home. After feeding her dinner and taking her for a short walk, you heated up a quick frozen dinner and sunk into your couch.  Curling up in your blanket, you spent a few minutes browsing through different streaming services only to land on The Office, as usual.  Your mind drifts to what your next few days might consist off. You just so happened to land 4 days off in a row, but you had no idea how you would spend your time. You glanced down at your phone as it lit up.  It was your Uncle Will.

"Hey, whats up!" you chimed, glad to hear from your favorite uncle.

"Hey, (Y/N). I'm actually calling to invite you to a dinner some friends of mine are having tomorrow night. I know your schedule is real busy. But I haven't seen you much since you moved up here to Virginia! I know you haven't met many people here yet, but I think I can help you make a start. "

The kind gesture made you smile. You had always been fairly close with your father's side of the family. He had grown up in Louisiana and met your mother at a college in Texas. You spent your childhood in Houston but frequently visited the Cajun half of your family. Uncle Will had moved away once he fell in love with Jenifer Jareau, his now wife, and you hadn't seem much of him the past few years. But as luck would have it, your nursing career had lead you to a hospital in Fredericksburg, VA. You felt extremely lucky to have family nearby, or else you would have been completely alone. But sometimes you still felt that way, which is why you were so grateful for his offer.

"That actually sounds great! I am off for the next four days, and I didn't really have anything planned. Who will I be meeting at this dinner?"

"Well it's some of JJ's coworkers. They're like a second family to us, and I know they'll be just as welcoming to you. I already told them you moved up here, and they've been begging to meet you."

"Aww I can't wait to see Aunt JJ and my sweet little cousin, Henry! Its been so long since I came to visit you guys. I think Henry was barely two years old the last time I saw him."

"Well we all hope to see you a lot more now that you're here. You're like a daughter to us, Y/N. You are welcome to visit any time you like. I know nursing is a stressful job, and it can take a toll. Its important to have family and friends around you when things get tough." You could hear that this was a genuine offer and you fully planned to take him up on it in the future. Being alone in a new state was taking its toll.

"So where and when should I plan to meet for dinner?"

"I'll text you the address real quick. Everyone is planning to meet around 6. It shouldn't be too far of a drive. It's one of JJ's coworker's houses. David Rossi. He's a real easygoing guy, and he loves cooking for everyone. He loves meeting new people even more, so you should feel right at home!"

"Sounds like a fun time. Thank you again for thinking to invite me. I'm really looking forward to it!"

"Alright boo, talk to you later."

You smiled at the pet name used by the entire Louisiana side of your family. I guess the north had yet to steal his southern roots. You hung up the phone. You finally had plans. It would be nice to talk to someone who wasn't a coworker.  It would also be your first excuse to dress up since moving and starting your new job. Too excited to wait, you jumped up from the couch and began to rifle through your closet for something to wear. You didn't want to be too over or underdressed. You grabbed a black spaghetti strap fit and flare dress and throw it on with some black panty hose, a lightweight maroon cardigan, and some black heels. You snapped a quick photo in the mirror and shoot a text to Aunt JJ.

Y/N: Apparently I'm joining y'all for dinner tomorrow night...is this too much???

Aunt JJ: I heard! I can't wait!

And oh my goodness, no! You look gorgeous! It will be perfect.

Also...Henry is so excited to see you!

You smiled, more confident in your choice. Aunt JJ had great taste. You had only had the chance to meet her in person a couple times, but the two of you had clicked right away and stayed in touch over text and Facetime. Sometimes she felt more like the sister you never had.

Starting to feel the effects of your particularly difficult shift, you start to get ready for bed. You wanted to be well rested for tomorrow. You say goodnight to Juneau and crawl into bed, snuggled under all the blankets. You fall asleep with a smile on your face, with the feeling that things in your life are about to take a turn for the better. You couldn't explain it...but somehow you just knew.

[wonderland-in-bloom]

wolf!male!reader confessing to the savanaclaw boys w/ baked goods

@nikis-restaurant asked: yo yo yo! if possible i'd love to request hcs of the Savanaclaw boys with a wolf!male!reader who's in the same dorm, is v cheerful, enjoys baking sweets and ends up confessing to them with a cake (or another baked good of some kind) in their favorite flavor? i've thought this was a super cute lil' idea and i've had it in my head for weeks but w/o any idea how to go about requesting it to someone ww

this is so cute aaa!! tysm for requesting this!! i’ll do my best to make you all die over how incredibly cute the savanaclaw boys are (even though they’re supposed to be the most manly lololol)

♡

leona kingscholar

you’ve been crushing on your senpai for quite sometime now

being a first year, you didn’t see him often in classes, but you saw him plenty in the savanaclaw dorms and early magift practices 

due to having such a hard time approaching him, you decided it was best for you to bake something for him (one of your specialties!)

you weren’t too sure if he was going to like sweets or any kind of fruit pie (seeing as he hates vegetables you figured he wouldn’t be such a big fan of fruits too) and so you baked a meat pie especially for him

you delicately placed the pie in a basket along with a letter

luckily he was currently in magift club so you sneaked into his room and placed the basket on top of a table (after moving all of his cluttered stuff)

before you left, you quickly cast a spell on it so that it would stay warm throughout the day and so that it doesn’t spoil

you then quickly made your escape and retreated to your own room

that afternoon, leona came back from magift club with a sore body and honestly, he was just ready to pass out 

however before reaching his bed, a heavenly aroma filled his nose and it led him all the way to a table (which he actually forgot he had because he dumped basically all of his stuff on top of it)

he saw a basket he never saw before and just decided to see the contents inside. it was a perfectly baked meat pie with a letter resting beside it

dear: leona-senpai, you may not know me...that much...well, this is (y/n), a first year. senpai i look up to you a lot! you’re an amazing magift player! you’d do anything to reach your goals! i aspire to be like you senpai! i...like you a lot senpai! please accept this meat pie i baked especially for you! we don’t have any classes together, and i know how busy you must be being the dorm leader, so i decided to bake this for you! you must be tired so why not wind down and enjoy :)) signed, (y/n)

was this a confession? he thought to himself but smiled anyways. he folded the letter carefully (something which would shock ruggie if he saw him do this) and placed it in his pocket

all the savanaclaw students had the daily, early morning magift training and you were lined up with all the other students

unlike usual where he would just be watching by the sidelines leona stepped forward and stood in front of all the students

“(y/n) (l/n).” you flinched “follow me.” you followed him with a confused look while he left ruggie to take care of the rest of the students

once you two were in the bleachers, he sat down and pulled you down to sit beside him. “thank you for the treat yesterday. it was amazing.”

“ah, it was nothing.” “by the way...the letter...” your eyes widened. “you’re right...i don’t know much about you.”

he then suddenly rested his head against your shoulder and slowly started to drift off to sleep “let’s change that”

was that an indirect reply to your confession..? oh well, that didn’t really matter. all you could do was stay perfectly still while your crush leaned their head against your shoulder and well, of course you stared at his beautiful, sleeping figure multiple times

ruggie and jack would be like wtf but eh they’d be chill with it 

ruggie would lowkey highkey take pictures to blackmail leona lol

ruggie bucchi

you were cooped up in the kitchen, currently making donuts for your senpai and crush, ruggie

you planned to ask him later that afternoon when he’s done with all his tasks to enjoy donuts with you 

as soon as you were done with the batter, you heard the door to the kitchen creak open 

“oii! (y/n)! nice seeing you here!” your eyes widened and you tried your best to come up with a decent lie if he asked

“uwaaaa, what are you making?” “just some batter to fry some things later!” you were a horrible liar “what about you senpai? what are you doing here?” “leona-san asked for some recipe they used to cook at the palace all the time. so here i am.”

he got started on cooking the meal and left you a little confused, dazed, and flustered

the whole kitchen was quiet and it was that way for the remainder of the time you two were there

you put the donuts in the fryer and had prepared the icing, by then ruggie was almost done with whatever leona asked him to make 

when you were done dipping all your donuts in various different icing, ruggie was about to leave the room before you called out to him “uhm, ruggie-senpai! if you don’t mind...do you wanna join me for some donuts in the botanical garden...?”

he looked shocked for a while before chuckling. “sure! i’ll meet you in ten minutes!” he then scurried off to give the dorm leader his order

you started to make your way to the botanical garden and set a little picnic-like setting for both you and ruggie

“wow (y/n)! this looks amazing!” “eheh, thanks!”

you both started to munch on your homemade donuts and ruggie was complimenting you after every bite he could

“you know ruggie-senpai, i could continue doing this for you if you want. i’ll do even more things than just bake for you. i’ll be there every step of the way!! because...well...i like you...” you whispered the last part

ruggie paused before he bursted into laughter

“you sure are an interesting fella, (y/n).” his laughter died down. “but...i’ll consider...”

jack howl

being jack’s best friend all your life, you knew something was wrong with him throughout the week. he was much more moody, quiet, and distant.

you wanted him to forget whatever he was thinking about and just make his mood better

so you took it upon yourself to bake a pear compote pie especially for you best friend...and crush

you admitted that you had this ‘little’ crush on jack since you were both really young, and you decided to confess today out of all days to just hopefully make him think about something else than whatever he was thinking about

you happily skipped to your shared room with the pear compote pie in your hands. once you entered, jack’s ears twitched and his tail started wagging

this made you smile and chuckle slightly. “i made your favorite...” you took a seat beside him in your shared work table. you started to cut pieces of the pie for him and just admired him while he was eating

“what?” “eh? what what?” “you’re staring” “OH! sorry!” 

“jack, what’s wrong” he looked up from the plate. “huh?” “you’ve been kind of...off this past week. is everything alright?” 

jack placed the plate down and scooted closer to you 

“i’ve just been really homesick...” but his little frown turned into a smile. “but (y/n), you being here reminded me that...a little part of home will always be here with me. from your amazing, signature, pear compote pie to...well...you being here beside me.”

“and i’ll continue to be with you every step of the way, jack.” you placed your hand on his cheek. you took a deep breath. you were finally going to tell him. after all these years. 

“jack...listen...i really think--” you felt a pair of lips crashing onto your’s, the taste of pear compote infiltrating your mouth

when you both pulled away, jack started to chuckle 

“you really think i wouldn’t know? after all these years? come on (y/n), i know everything about you. besides, you really need to improve your lying skills.” 

“NO FAIR! IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SAPPY AND CHEESY AND--” “there, there. at least you got a kiss.”

he was right. at least you got a kiss from the love of your life :))

♡

its 12.50am here and im screaming over the latest chapter of owari no seraph omg ;-; mika and yuu AAAAAAAAAAAA MY BABIESSS anyways enough of me rambling lol,, i will update ‘wish upon a star’ chapter 2 tomorrow! have a good morning/day/noon/afternoon/evening/night/early morning wherever you are in the world! and remember to stay safe!

love, a♕

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

Firelight

Gerlion Rated T and up for minor swearing and minor nudity.

Also, I'm sorry I'm bad at technology and I've only got mobile and they updated it and I dont know/can't figure out how to put a read more break in.

Geralt and Dandelion reunite after a long time apart. Its fluff, complete fluff. They're so soft with one another.

This lovely piece was inspired by art created by @johix with permission I'll figure out how to link it. But I recommend checking out all the art.

It had been nearly nine months since he last saw his bard. It wasn't unusual for their paths to cross and diverge like the threads of a tapestry twinning around one another; close but never consistantly together. Dandelion was often called away to court, to Oxenfurt, or some festivity or other and he always went where he was wanted. Geralt never stopped him; though he often wanted to reach out, grab a slender and deceivingly muscled arm and say, "stay you're wanted here more than they want you anywhere else." But his lips stayed stubbornly shut as he watched the blond ride away on his muleish stead. He would turn his back and tend to the nearest contracts he could find. At first he'd been glad for the others departures, now they left him aching in a way he feared to define. So he would focus on his work, on the Path and push all thoughts of the Bard away until he was alone with inky night and moonlight for company. Then and only then he would wonder what his friend was doing.

This year he had been eager to get back on the path and left the keep far to early. The others had warned him but he was restless, concerned even. He hadn't heard anything from the bard in the three months leading into winter. It was May now. Summer had yet to grace the continent and snow continued to stick stubbornly to her. He hadn't made it to town, and that was okay. He was freezing but he'd dealt with worse. He stoked the fire up and leaned against the tree behind him. He flexed his fingers in his gloves to keep them from growing stiff.

He knows he should have found a cave or some other shelter but he'd been loath to leave the road. The more time he spent on it the more likely he was to run into Dandelion. Instead he began to meditate and wrinkled his nose at the scent of rain permeating the air. He hoped it would hold off until the morrow. He didn't mind rain when he didn't need to be out in the path. Meaning, he liked the rain if he was cooped up in an inn with Dandelion. He always tried to keep him from getting sick, despite the need to be on the oath. But tonight he wasn't in an inn with Dandelion. He was in forest clearing bustled against a dry spot beneath a tree with snow and ice all around him. The thought of being at a warm inn with his musician made his chest ache desperately. Slowly he managed to meditate. Meditation turned to sleep as soon as he chose to lie down in his bed roll. Roach shifted to his left to keep herself warm but never went far.

 

He woke cold and stiff to blue grey light. If he were a normal human and not so fucking cold he'd have probably rolled over and gone back to sleep. But instead he was a witcher and rain scented heavier on the air. That alone is enough to incline him to get a move on with the day. Carefully he stood rolling his joints, they cracked and popped at the movement sore from the last hunt and the cold. He breathed through his nose and set about feeding Roach. Then he turned to begin gathering his supplies. His heart jumped in his chest at the sound of distant music. There was a troupe, if the noise was anything to go by, traveling up the road. They were a ways off and he couldn't make out individual instruments yet. The music was to far away. Still, he forced himself to slow and methodically work through packing everything up at a more subdued pace. He had no way of knowing if Dandelion was with them, but he hoped he was. It was safer for the trabedour to travel with a group and more to his and the bards liking as well.

Satisfied that the group would catch up if he kept Roach to a walk he rejoined the road. This way he would be far enough ahead not to bother them, and close enough that if Dandelion was with them he'd be able to see him. He kept Roach at a careful pace and she seemed content to meander. His coin purse was currently full at his side, and the season was early. He could dally a little. Still he wondered at the futility. It would have been better to write to Oxenfurt or go himself. They would know where to find the poet. He listened as the music drew closer. There were several lutist. Which he could say wasn't uncommon as it was one of the preferred bardic instruments. He strained his ears none the less, Toruviels lute had a specific sound and he was well aquanited with it. He smiled and forced himself not to turn back towards the musicians. He was a witcher, he'd scare them off. He slowed Roach as much as possible. And then he heard it, the stutter of a chord gone off tune and forgotten. They way it would if he complimented the musician while he was playing. He always made the best faces.

"Geralt." He kept Roach moving, gripping the reigns hard in anticipation. Then he heard the murmurs of surprise as Dandelion ran ahead and called out,

"Geralt of Rivia, you gigantic oaf, I know you can hear me!" The indignant tone of Dandelions voice pulled him over the edge of his little game and he stopped. His heart beating a little faster, a little stronger than it ought, as it always did around the poet. He dismounted his horse and held out one hand to give or receive a hug. Something he was growing accustomed to doing with Dandelion. The bard rushed forward unabashed and wrapped his arms, one hand still holding his lute firmly, around Geralt and squeezing with all his strength. Geralt returned the favor, one armed, the other still outstretched to hold Roaches reigns.

The hug lasted longer than it ought to have, and then some. When they finally came apart Geralt raised an eyebrow and absently reached a hand out to brush shoulder length blond curls. He smiled softly amusement curling in his stomach with something far more dangerous.

"What are these?"

"Curls Geralt. You've seen them before."

Dandelion notes with brightness in his eyes. Geralt is being very tender he thinks as he flicks his eyes to the hand still in his hair.

"I know. But I've never seen them on you before. Nobles. Whores. The like."

Geralt says simply and something like sadness tugs at Dandelions heart. He was prepared with a quip but it slips from his tongue and instead he whispers out a breathy,

"You don't like it."

He looks to the ground, body language changing. Geralt smells the acrid scent of disappointment on him almost instantly. Even if he hadn't he'd have realized his mistake. He brushes his hand down and catches the lutists chin pushing it up and then dropping his hand to his shoulder. They have an audience.

"That's not what I said, nor is it what I meant, Dandelion. Introduce us?"

The poets meets his eyes and blinks. Right. Okay. He smiles,

"There isn't much to be said in introduction. I only met this lovely group last night. I don't even know all their names yet."

A short brunette in bright colors hands him his geldings reigns. They know he won't be continuing with them.

The brunette nods to Geralt and speaks softly,

"It was a pleasure to play music with you master Dandelion."

And with that the group turns down the path to the right. Geralt must have worked hard to time it so he'd be seen before they had a chance to turn down the other path. Though Dandelion would not have gone that way anyways.

Geralt looks him up and down again and and he flushes under the scrutiny and then speaks through a genuine smile.

"What is that on your face?"

He nearly reaches up to brush his hands against the white beard. He refrains barely as Geralt does it himself. He's fairly certain the man had forgotten all about it.

"Left the keep early this year. It's warmer like this."

Then he watches Geralt glare at the sky and take a deep breath.

"You'll want to put that in it's case. Smells like rain."

Dandelion moves quickly to follow his instruction and nearly jumps when thunder claps across the mountain range. He shivers and mounts Pegasus.

"Where to?"

Gerlat hesitates a moment. He shouldn't be caught off gaurde but he is. It's always this easy with Dandelion. Easy in a way it has never been with Yennefer, or with anyone else. It's natural almost to the point of being dangerous. He knows that Dandelions will follow him anywhere. Hen wont ask questions, but will walk beside him loyal and true.It eases something in his heart to see the other man beside him again. He settles something in him the way Yennefer never did. He realizes Dandelion is looking at him with raised eyebrows and a cheeky grin.

"That glad to see me?"

He swallows and clears his throat ignoring the second question.

"There is a village up ahead. If you're mule moves fast enough we may make it before the rain gets bad."

Dandelion laughs and the remnants of tension in him depart. They ride in companionable silence for a while before he asks,

"What are you doing all the way out here? The roads and weather are hardly fit for traveling, even for me."

He glances over and meets pools of bright blue sky. The poet is quiet for some time and it's only broken by the wind picking up around them and whispering through the woods as boughs bend beneath its force. The rain comes next and Dandelion finally speaks. Geralt remains facing forward carefully neutral.

"I hadn't heard anything about you in months. I had no idea if you even made it to Kaer Morhen. So, I thought to myself, Dandelion if you get closer to the keep you might hear something. Now, here I am hoping to find out if you're still alive. Figured being close would increase my chances of running into you too. And I suppose it worked."

He seems almost embarrassed Geralt thinks. Only embarrassment isn't an emotion he's ever seen on the musician. He was shameless and full of mirth. He felt deeply, certainly had had bouts of sorrow at times. But embarrassment… no this had to be something else. He seemed sombre. Almost sad as he fell into a silence that meant his thoughts had hold of him. Geralt shook his head, grateful when Dandelion did not ask him the same. Unfortunately he fell unusually quiet, normally he would grumble or speak his thoughts allowed. The silence upset him and he could sense the poet growing morose and gave him some space until he noted the bards teeth chattering. He looked miserable, lips pushed together to keep his teeth from chattering, curls gone limp with the rain. His fingers were probably just as cold as Geralts own. He slowed Roach.

"Wheres your cloak?"

" Forgot to pull it out of my bag."

He laughs. Gerlat could kick himself for not reminding the bard, but then, he was a grown man. Still the thought of him sick…. Absently he removed his outer cloak and handed it over. It wouldn't do to much now but it was a kind gesture none-the-less.

"Geralt, no sense in both of us being cold."

He simply cast Dandelion a withering glance and the trabedour smiled as he took the cloak. Geralt returned to his normal speed and missed the way Dandelion smiled into the fur and breathed deep. He almost missed the whispered "thank you" as well, but the wind carried it to his ears and he held it close.

By the time they passed through the archway of a sleepy little village he didn't know the name of, Dandelion was shivering from the cold. It had started as a thunderstorm and quickly devolved into a snowstorm. And while he had already been soaked through he was grateful for Gerlat's cloak around him. Though he was sorry too. He knew how cold Geralt often got, likely from having a slower heart rate.

They made their way with practiced ease to the local inn. Dandelion watched in slight awe as Geralt made arrangements with the matron. She had known his name, no one had so much as even batted an eye at the witcher. He shivered and tried to focus on keeping his feet warm.

The matron knew the witchers who passed this way every spring and winter. She'd been quiet young when Geralt had first met her, now she was a mother who had aged kindly.

"I'll have the boys tend to your horses. Jason's getting a fire going for you. He'll bring up some more wood in a bit."

As if on queue, summoned by his name, he came around the corner of the desk and nodded at her before heading out the back door. She smiled and handed Geralt the key. "Go on go get warm before your friend catches a cold "

"Thank you."

He handed the key to Jaskier who moved quickly forgetting his bag in his rush to get himself and his lute dry. Geralt smiled a toothy grin and shook his head shifting his own bags to gather Dandelions.

"Oh dear, I had better ask, will you be going out for supper or shall I bring some up when it's ready?"

" If it wouldn't be any trouble. And maybe a demijohn?"

She winked,

"Vodka?"

"Please."

"No problem, off you go. He's waiting."

He would have blushed if his biology allowed it. There was something about the way she looked between them and spoke that made Geralt feel vulnerable.

He followed damp footprints to their room and stepped in the door left slightly ajar. Dandelion had already hung his cloak up and stripped out of his shirt and boots, and was currently putting his lute on the chair a good distance from the fire to draw out any moisture.

"Finally Geralt! I was half naked before I realized I forgot them. And the fire was so nice I couldn't bare to go back and get them. What kept you?"

He stepped back as the bard reached for his bags and started removing his armor. He shook his head,

"Supper arrangments." He says simply.

"Then were staying in?"

"Yes."

"Excellent!" He watches the musician swap a change of clothes for his night clothes.

Although he was fairly dry beneath his armor and cloak Geralt was freezing. He removed his boots and looked up only to freeze. Breath stilling in his lungs as he swallowed tightly. He followed bare leg, muscled and lean, from floor to hip, over the curve of the poets ass, over the dip of his back and up the curve of his shoulders. He let out a breath and pointedly averted his eyes. His armor needed cleaning, he was sure of it.

He hadn't thought it possible to make Geralt uncomfortable at this point. But what he'd seen out of the corner of his eye told him otherwise. Though he'd only caught him looking away. He could have looked for a moment, or minutes he'd never know. Slowly he dressed in his sleepwear. The fire had been nice against his skin and he hadn't wanted to dress damp. You got sick when you did that. He dried his hair out with a thin towel from his pack. He'd need to replace that. He made his way back over to Geralt as he pulled his shirt on.

"The fire is nice." He says gently as he sits beside him. Geralt looks up at him from his armor and nods. They stare at one another for a moment then Geralt speaks.

"You seemed upset earlier. Was it just the weather?"

Oh. He wants to lie but he would never. Besides, Geralt can read him like a book, never mind the enhanced witcher senses. He'd never stand a chance. Instead he looks away, towards the crackling fire and let's silence reign while he thinks through what he means to say. The truth but not all of it. Just enough. The only noise is the wind rustling the shutters against the walls and the gentle crackling of the fire.

"I wouldn't know." He starts voice gentle and far away. "If you died. I wouldn't know. And if I ever did find out it would be from some rumor in a tavern passed through far to many drunken mouths to hold much truth. There's no one to tell me if you die while I'm not there Geralt. And that… scares me a little. I worry for you and it would pain me to never know or to find out so late. And know that I'll never know the truth of what happened." He looks to the witcher now and meets molten sun with ocean depths.

"But," he continues, "we're both here now. No sense in dwelling on something like that."

Something shifts in Geralts face like he wants to argue. He's already working out some way to change the topic so he doesn't give himself away. He loves the man next to him that's why it scares him. The knock comes loudly from the door and he moves to open it grateful for the matrons timing.

He smiles and opens the door wide.

"Thank you." He says to both the matron and her husband as he drops wood near the hearth and she places supper and a flagon of something on the table.

"No problem. Enjoy, its roast." With that they leave them to their dinner and Dandelion is grateful for the distraction. Geralt joins him at the table but neither speaks.

Geralt presses his lips together. What Dandelion said nearly ruins his appetite. He won't press but it makes his gut twist to think of the pain his friend would be in. The agony of not knowing. Though those same thoughts run through his head when he doesn't keep them in check. He knows if anything happens to his poet there would be hell to pay. He shakes his head and focuses instead on eating. The quiet of the room is unsetteling. They should be talking, reminiscing about their time apart and it's almost grating that he can't move past the last conversation. But then Dandelion uncorks the vodka and pours them both a generous amount. He hands a cup to Geralt and raises his own.

"To reunions." Geralt smiles and clinks their glasses together. Grateful that they're falling into their rhythm.

Dandelion asks how the winter went and Geralt sighs. It's always the same. His brothers are great but he always find himself missing his poets softness and sound. He wont say this of course. He wont say he lays awake wondering what he's doing in Oxenfurt. Who hes with. If hes happy. He won't admit that loneliness creeps in on him when they're apart, that he misses pulling the bard close to his chest when they sleep.

Instead he tells him that they repaired the battlements, the walls, the stables. That Vesimir had made them clean and catalogue the library. The library he knows Dandelion wants to see and would have to be forcably removed from and he knows that the poets only joking when he says "you'll have to show me one day" but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to grab him by the wrist and take him there. He talks of training and running the trail with Lambert and Eskel like they did when they were young.

"And what of you Dandelion? How was your winter?" The musician smiles and takes a drink straight from the bottle.

"Boring Geralt. This bach of students don't care. They have no heart and less inspiration. It's like they're only there to please their parents or something. To mingle. They don't care about learning what the truth behind folk tales are or why they're wrong. The composition courses are a bit better I suppose," another drink, his face flushes pink in the flickering light of the fire," at least they can make things rhyme even if it's meaningless. And it was so lonely Geralt. I missed traveling. I know it's better for my purse, retirement, and the like to work straight in the winter and travel in the summer months but honestly, I regret it this winter. Not that I could have traveled much alone."

He's rambeling now and Geralt loves it. Loves listening to him talk about nothing and everything. The way his face goes soft and his eyes grow bright and he can only be described as whimsical. How his voice dances always lulling and pulling him in. He takes the vodka and drinks a long pull from the bottle, he shouldn't let Dandelion have much more if they want to start out early. Though if the storm keeps up they might be stuck a few days.

He acknowledges the ard with a soft hum as he gets up to stoke the fire and add a few logs. It's gotten late. He makes his way back towards the bed and brushes his hand down the poets shoulder and his arm before passing on. He crawls to the far side of the bed and waits wondering if he'll understand the invitation and join him or take the other bed. He hopes that the Dandelion understood the gesture. The poet stands and looks at him.

Dandelion takes a breath to steady himself. There are two beds and he desperately wants to join Geralt, help him stay warm, bury his face against his chest, breath in leather and earth and musk. He blinks looking at Geralt for any sign of what he's supposed to do and just as its growing uncomfortable long in his slightly tipsy mind Geralt reaches out and hand and he knows he's wanted.

"It's cold."

Geralt offers quietly as he shuffles under the blankets next to him. He needn't have bothered Dandelion doesn't need an excuse. But if it makes him feel more comfortable he'll roll with it even as it feel like lead on his chest. He rolls onto his side and buries his face into the blankets between them. The bed is small for two but they'll make it work, they always do. He watches as Geralt lounges beside him thinking about how beautiful he is with shadows dancing against his skin as hes bathed in firelight alone. Then Geralt sits up so abruptly and swallows so that Dandelion joins him instantly.

"Is everything alright Geralt?"

"Yes. Just. Don't move."

And he laughs gently, breath coming out calmer now. He catches the way Geralts throat bobs as he swallows and the shadows dance across his throat. He both wants to kiss it and compose about it. Instead he shifts a leg underneath himself and leaves the other outstretched. He's not sure what's going on but he will do as told. But then Geralt moves and lays his head in his lap and when he looks down comatose pools of cooling gold meet his own cobalt depths and his breath catches. He stutters in another one and then smiles fondly. Geralts eyes flutter shut and he can't help himself as he places a hand in white hair and runs his fingers through it. He's certain it's been months since he had physical contact that wasn't violent.

He doesn't hum or sing. This moment is precious. It will be locked in his heart, witnessed only by the firefight and remembered in the lonliest of winter nights. But then Geralt looks at him again so he smiles softly and starts to open his mouth but theres a hand in limp gold locks by his face and he stops. Heart rate picking up, but not in fear and distantly he knows Geralt knows the ways he's affecting him. But he makes no move to pull away even as the calloused hand in his hair moves up to cup the back of his head and pull him down. Instead he closes his eyes and smiles. The kiss is everything he imagined it would be and then some.

[terresdebrume]

The Witcher - Favorite Reads Masterpost

So, the previous one was getting really super long and Tumblr refused to save the latest update three times, which I’m taking to mean I’ve reached some kind of length limit. In view of that, and with a poke to @nyliekeo​ who asked to be tagged, here’s the second volume of my Witcher fic-reading adventures!

(Pretty much all Geraskier, because I’m only a multishipper in the sense that I have many ships across many fandoms.)

Volume 1

Last updated: April 10th, 2020.

Non geraskier fic

Her Current Is Pulling You Closer - TheMarvellousMadMadamMim

Specs: 1 900 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Eist/Calanthe - Swimming, shameless flirting

Summary: After nearly three years of marriage, Eist Tuirseach realizes there are still things to learn about his wife.

Becoming Water - Orockthro

Specs: 3 456 words - Mature - Trans woman!Geralt, curses, happy ending

Summary:  When Geralt was a child his mother kissed his forehead, wove flowers in his hair, and let him dance around the campsite they shared with the other druids. He loved dancing, the way his body moved and flowed; he was like water.

And then she left him in the road, spilled water on his feet, and a faint trail of dust where she and the cart were no longer. And a man came and took Geralt and made him into something new.

“Were you short? Waifish? Did those witcher mutagens turn you into, you know, the hulking sexy man that you are? At least they gave you such male perfection, what with the stubble and the jaw and the--”

“Shut up, Jaskier.”

(Or, Geralt is cursed with a female body during their travels. Only it's not so much a curse as a gift she didn't know she so desperately desired until now.)

of cockroaches and men - Potrix

Specs: 1 442 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Yennefer & Jaskier, Getting to know each other, BAMF Jaskier

Summary: As if being stuck waiting for her supplier in this sorry excuse for a town full of narrow-minded, superstitious simpletons isn't already frustrating enough, the first familiar face Yennefer spots when she walks into the grubby tavern is that of her least favourite bard.

Or, alternatively; sometimes you misjudge people, but there's nothing some badassery and booze won't fix.

all cooped up - alittlebitmaybe

Specs: 4 205 words - Mature - Polyamory, Pandemic 2020, Non-explicit sex, instigator Yen

Summary: Geralt's old university roommate, Jaskier, needs a place to ride out the pandemic. Geralt and Yennefer conveniently have a couch and Geralt, inconveniently, has a crush.

Cover it over and write it out - TheArcheologist

Specs: 3 214 words - Mature - Dyslexia, implied child abuse, Dandelion is a noble

Summary: There is something Geralt has noticed, after traveling so long with Jaskier. It is nothing major, nothing world ending or even warranting bringing up, but it is there, nonetheless, a funny little habit he can’t unsee.

“You’re better at this stuff than me, Geralt, you read it.”

Geraskier fics

pride - Besully (Briar_Elwood)

Specs: 737 words - Teen & Up - Trans Jaskier

Summary: Geraskier Week Dealer's Choice

He only manages to get the shirt untucked from the bard’s trousers when Jaskier’s smile disappears, and he scrambles backwards, holding the edges of his shirt down.

Do It Again - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 6 771 words - Explicit - Time Loop

Summary: By the twentieth time Geralt has gone through the loop, he decides to just throw himself off the cliff’s edge after Borch.

He wakes up to his twenty-first attempt.

“Fuck.”

Interlude; The End of All Things - TabbyCat33098

Specs: 3 496 words - General Audiences - Growing Old Together

Summary: Geralt realizes Jaskier is growing old and tries his best to return the rest of Jaskier's life to him. If only Jaskier would cooperate and take it.

//

How much longer will Jaskier be content with weathering the elements and contending with the uncertainty of mercenary work? How long until Jaskier realizes that in devoting himself to crafting a legacy for Geralt, he has forgotten to create a legacy of his own?

After all, he does not have a wife or children, for their nomadic lifestyle is conducive to neither. He has no home to return to between stints with Geralt, whether a sprawling mansion vaunting his wealth or a comfortable cottage replete with souvenirs from his varied exploits. How many experiences has Jaskier sacrificed because some contract or irate nobleman drew them elsewhere? How many untouched fields of snow has Jaskier never seen; how many harvests at Novigrad has he yearned to celebrate from halfway across the Continent—

“You’re staring,” Jaskier points out.

“You wanted to go to the Kovirian coast,” Geralt responds. 

a tapestry of scars - splendidlyimperfect

Specs: 7 688 words - Mature - Modern AU, Birpolar disorder, self harm, references to previous suicide attempt and car accident.

Summary: Jaskier comes into Geralt's life on a sunny afternoon in May - wide smiles and baby blue eyes; breathtaking stories and half-written song lyrics. He's mesmerizing and full of life, and Geralt can't look away. But sunshine doesn't last forever, and when Jaskier disappears, Geralt learns that beautiful things have dark and broken pieces, and even damaged people can help fix them.

Summer Mornings - The UnamazingTrashKing

Specs: 3 241 words - Mature - Fluff

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier are sort of a couple. They definitely wake up together and talk about spending the rest of their lives together.

An Incomplete Happiness - BlossomsintheMist

Specs: 22 497 words - Mature - Serious injuries, injuries recovery, unresolved sexual tension, unresolved romantic tension

Summary: Jaskier is traveling with Geralt when a hunt goes badly wrong and Geralt ends up injured.  Geralt soon realizes that the bard can take care of Geralt better than he'd realized, in his own way.

Hide Behind The Mound of Dead Bards - Bones (Doctorbones)

Specs: 17 296 words - Explicit - Temporary character death, Graphic depiction of violence

Summary: Jaskier is really bad at two things: shutting up and staying dead. Luckily, he can do both at the same time...for a while.

faith in transience - unconscious

Specs: 12 532 words - Explicit - Monster of the week, Service top Jaskier, attempted mind control.

Summary:  “I learn stuff about you to enrich my songs, thanks very much.”  Geralt starts.

“Like what?”

Jaskier strums a chord. “Plenty of things. You always ask the contractor if they want the head or not instead of just showing up with it, because you don’t want to shock people. You eat normal amounts of food when eating in public, instead of your usual awe-inducing giant amount. You sleep more when you’re hurt, but that’s the only way I’d ever know. You’re a bit weird about your potions and you count them a lot.” He glances up and grins. “Shall I continue?”

A handful of contracts go sideways. Recovering is easier with Jaskier there.

when midnight breaks their sleep - SummerFrost

Specs: 16 736 words - Mature - Modern setting, polyamory, polyamory negociation

Summary:   The first Snapchat that anyone ever sends Geralt is a picture of his own irritated face.

shrike_princess: can u believe this dumbass finally got a snapchat bc a cute boy asked him nicely

"It wasn't even that nicely," Geralt says flatly.

AKA: The one where Geralt is a bartender and Jaskier sings karaoke.

he, who i love - kinneyb

Specs: 1 279 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Summary: Jaskier looked forward to these nights the most; he was playing in a rundown tavern in a small town near the coast, coins gathered at his feet, knowing that at any moment Geralt would come bursting through the door.

He spun on his heels, strumming his lute with nimble fingers, the mark of a practiced player.

Jaskier had thought he’d reached his peak when he was younger. He had been proven wrong, of course, practice truly did make perfect. He was getting more attention than ever, and only half of it probably had to do with his new songs, all depicting the Witcher’s love story with a bard of the human variety.

He never directly mentioned himself, but the people had made the connection fairly easily, anyway.

Near the Coast - IantoPace

Specs: 2 164 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Dresses

Summary: Geralt finds out some of the feminine things Jaskier likes. This is inspired by the images of Joey Batey & Madeleine Hyland in the woods wearing each other's clothes.

Shoot First, Ask Questions Later - Ladivviniatravestia

Specs: 3 427 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Defining the relationship

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier fuck, then try to define their relationship.  Too bad Geralt has no idea what he really wants and Jaskier has been hiding something.

parry, riposte - plutoandpersephone

Specs: 5 230 words - Explicit - Established relationship, competence kink, power dynamics

Summary: "How about it?"

Geralt looks at Jaskier like he’s just started to speak in some long lost, foreign tongue.

"You want to take me on in the sword ring?"

-

Jaskier challenges Geralt to a bout in the fencing ring. They both get more than they bargained for.

The Coast - NinjaSniperKitty

Specs: 1 856 words - General Audiences - Established relationship, overly protective boyfriend!Geralt

Summary: Geralt takes Jaskier up on his offer to get away and go to the coast for a while. While Geralt sees danger hiding everywhere along the coast, Jaskier hasn't been to the sea in years and only sees a good time!

Sweet, Silky, Soft, and Shiny - Girl_in_Red_Crossing

Specs: 3 251 words - Mature - Inappropriate use of candy

Summary: Just a couple of bros, sucking on sweet things... sharing silky things... lying in soft beds together... (kissing)...

The Witcher Wolf 2: Geralt’s POV - im_fairly_witty.

Specs: 15 338 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Animal transformation

Summary: It's been two weeks since Geralt drove Jaskier away from him on that mountain top and Geralt's been doing his best not to think about it by accepting every contract he comes across. But when a job goes badly he find himself cursed into the form of an injured wolf and is then saved by none other than Jaskier himself, who has no idea that the animal he's taken under his wing is his own witcher. Geralt must now try to alert Jaskier to his real situation and adjust to his new life traveling with the bard, learning several hard but very much needed lessons along the way.

Shadowplay - sospes

Specs: 26 539 words - Mature - BAMF!Jaskier, Espionnage

Summary: Geralt returns to Oxenfurt on a bright May morning to find flowers laid outside Jaskier's rooms and a fresh grave in the cemetery.

Except, as Geralt is about to learn, in Jaskier's world things are never quite what they seem.

An Old Man’s Tale - NotebooksandLaptops

Specs: 1 448 words - General Audiences - External POV, Old age

Summary: At the edge of the village, in a house surrounded by wild-flowers and weeds - re-built from its former crumbling foundations – there lived the Old Man. He’d earnt the rights for the capital O, capital M off of the rest of the villagers barely a week after he’d moved into their humble world. For he had not grown up here, like everyone else did. Yet he settled and settled as if he had always been there. He wandered the cliffsides, the beaches, the streets. He strung shells together and gifted them to the ladies of the village with a wink that betrayed the charming young man he once must have been. He bought the little ceramic pots Alicja sold on the market, and he filled them with weeds as if the weeds were flowers worth showcasing. And – most importantly – he sang.

-///-

Or, Jaskier settles in a costal village towards the end of his life.

For The Joy Of It - vvitchering (Witchering)

Specs: 848 words - Teen & Up Audiences - self esteem issues, body image

Summary: After spending years on The Path together, Jaskier and Geralt finally settle down. Jaskier notices one day that his new sedentary lifestyle has changed him in ways he fears Geralt won't accept.

The Silence Between Heartbeats - anarchycox

Specs: 7 969 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Jskier knows Geralt better than anyone

Summary: Geralt faced off with a sorceress, only instead of her magic killing him, it stole his voice. But this should be an easy fix, he knew many women who could heal this. But that would mean anyone noticing something wrong. He knew he was quiet, but seriously, did no one wonder why he wasn't saying a single thing? Months he traveled silent, no one noticing and it was driving him mad.

Until he runs into Jaskier, who notices immediately that something is wrong.Because of course it is Jaskier.

Who else in the end would it be, who properly saw the White Wolf?

tailored - jeannie_tangerine

Specs: 4 874 words - Explicit - Geralt has a kink and Jaskier is absolutely into it.

Summary: in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt has a kink and is more than glad to indulge it.

oh darling please be mine - kickassfu

Specs: 749 words - General Audiences - Introspective, fluff

Summary: Geralt’s head turns to him just as he’s jumping into his arms. Obviously, he catches Jaskier, in his very strong, very big arms. Still probably processing what’s happening, Geralt’s body is tense, unmoving. Jaskier doesn’t care.

New Monsters Stories - Kathkin

Specs: 20 209 words - Explicit - Urban fantasy, mutual pining

Summary:  “So do you have a name?”

“Yeah.” The man who had saved his life less than an hour ago – the white-haired, absurdly buff, weirdly sexy man Jaskier might have called taciturn if he was feeling charitable and surly if he was feeling less so – dug into his second burger.

Jaskier waited. “Are… you going to tell me what it is?”

The man paused mid-bite, and looked at him reproachfully as if to say how dare you. How dare you interrupt me. Can’t you see I’m enjoying my cheeseburger. Can’t you see this cheeseburger is the most important thing in my life right at the moment. He swallowed, and said, “Geralt.”

It turns out almost getting eaten by a werewolf can make your whole life go careening off in a new, terrifying, wondrous, artistically flourishing direction. Who knew?

Professor Pankratz - martistarfighter

Specs: 1 147 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Established relationship

Sumary:  “Come teach my class with me tomorrow.” He whispers in the witcher’s ear. He’s sporting a neatly trimmed beard these days, and it tickles Geralt’s neck in the most tempting way.

Geralt chuckles dryly, but the lack of an immediate quip tells him that Jaskier is serious. It’s a little scary how often they can read their minds by now.

“Don’t think so. You’re the teacher, Jask. I’ve got nothing to tell them.”

“But you’re the reason I’m still alive and teaching in the first place. Besides, you can just sit there, look pretty and answer some questions. My students have heard a lot about you, they’ll adore you.”

As someone pointed out, there's too much 'witcher watching out for his idiot' and not enough 'the witcher is a himbo who loves his college educated bard husband, who is qualified to teach' content out there. So I'm fixing it with a self-indulgent ficlet!

and i plan to be forgotten when i’m gone (yes, i’ll be leaving in the fall) - Stockholm_Syndrome

Specs: 18 083 words - Mature - Discussion of assisted suicide, discussion of suicide, depression, curse, no MCD

Summary: “That was more emotional than I expected.” He finally said “I didn’t think I’d have time to share this with you, and I.” Jaskier interrupted himself, as if unsure if he should continue. “I suppose I didn’t think it would upset you so.”

“Jaskier” Geralt growled, not able to express how ludicrous that idea was.

“Yes, I suppose I was wrong there.” Jaskier replied with a helpless shrug.

---- Or, Jaskier is cursed to turn into a monster. He doesn't think this is important information to mention.

Chopsticks - thisgirlsays22

Specs: 12 175 words - Explicit - Piano teacher!Jaskier, friends to lovers, modern setting

Summary: “Yennefer sent me a check for eight lessons for you,” Jaskier said the following weekend, wearing a beige button-down with--

“Does your shirt have owls on it?” Geralt asked, caught somewhere between amusement and horror.

Jaskier looked down and tugged on the front of his shirt as if he had to remind himself what was on it. He beamed at Geralt. “Yeah! Do you like it?”

“Not particularly.”

The smile swiftly disappeared.

“It’s not terrible,” he amended, stepping back to let Jaskier inside the apartment. Then Jaskier’s initial words sank in. “Wait. Yen did what?”

Hanging up on Yennefer was always a mistake.

what’s in a (pet) name? - janie_tangerine

Specs: 1 415 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, pet names

Summary:  "So," he clears his throat one evening, having just rinsed Geralt's now clean, soft white hair, and damn how he wishes the man would just take care of it somewhat decently, "I was wondering."

"What?" Geralt says after he doesn't go on for a bit. It didn't sound particularly annoyed. Right on.

"This is a very broad question, but I was just curious, no need to answer if you don't want to -" Jaskier starts, having learned that giving the man a way out is always a good bet.

"Just get on with it, won't you?"

Jaskier clears his throat, leans down, puts his elbows on the rim of the tub. "How do you feel about pet names?"

Or: in which Jaskier has a question for Geralt. It doesn't get answered the way he had assumed.

As Long As You Were Mine For A Little While - whisperedstories

Specs: 12 815 words - Explicit - Friends with benefits, mutual pining

Summary: It starts with Jaskier offering a helping hand when Geralt needs to let off some steam. The thing is, Jaskier likes taking care of Geralt—however he can—and Geralt lets him, so he just keeps doing it.

And as long as they never talk about how he's in love with Geralt, they're both happy with the arrangement, right? Right.

Of Debt and Debtors - sp_oops

Specs: 5 136 words - Explicit - Semi-public sex

Summary: Two bros, chillin' in a ta-vern, five feet apart ‘cause they—fuck, they really missed each other, not that Geralt will ever admit it—and anyway, in a minute here, they're gonna have to get closer than they ever thought possible. (Or, sometime after Episode 6, they meet again, Jaskier’s in trouble again, and Geralt saves them. Again.)

This One I Shall Choose - DorkMagician

Specs: 3 751 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Quiet pining, the exact moment Geralt falls in love

Summary: Geralt falls in the river fishing for a djinn and winds up soaked. Jaskier sees the opportunity to do as his mother told him a long time ago and takes the first step when he offers Geralt his handkerchief.

Skin Deep - Sospes

Specs: 8 935 words- Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, getting together, non consensual tattooing, implied/referenced rape, implied/referenced childhood abuse

Summary: “What’s that?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier blinks. “It’s a tattoo,” he says. “Have you never seen a tattoo before, Geralt?”

Geralt fights the urge to roll his eyes. “I know it’s a tattoo,” he says. “What’s it a tattoo of?”

They say there are 5 ways to show your love (and I don’t know any of them) - Mayathelittlebee

Specs: 5 989 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Fluff, humor

Summary: May be if Geralt stopped being so dramatic for a moment he'd finally realize that loving Jaskier is not as hard as he thinks.

I don’t mind if I’m with you - janie_tangerine

Specs: 11 152 words - Explicit - In which Jaskier has to quelle his murder instincts concerning how much Geralt’s life sucks

Summary: or: five times plus one in which Jaskier finds out that Geralt is missing on good life experiences and promptly sees to fix it.

Fill Me Up - Mysticmajestic

Specs: 402 words - Teen & Up Audiences - Romance

Summary: Geralt only knows how to give, and give, until he's empty. What is he to do with Jaskier, who only wants to give back to him?

Little Things - QueenForADay

Specs: 3 315 words - General Audiences - Domestic fluff, Ciri ships it

Summary: In the first few months of knowing the Witcher, he experienced first-hand how shut-off Geralt could be with the world around him and those within it.

At some point, and he can’t pinpoint where, that shroud started to slip away. He saw how much Geralt could, and does, actually care. It’s as fierce as the way he fights.

They spend a great deal of time watching each other; when they finally fell into a bed together, they spent most of their nights learning what the other liked, mapping the plains of skin and muscle underneath the other.

But it’s the other things, the little things, that Jaskier thinks about the most.

O, Empathy - almostnectarine

Specs: 32 624 words - Mature - Body swap, friends to lovers, questfic

Summary: “How did you manage,” asked Geralt, with infinite patience and only a desire to know the facts, and not at all a little meanhearted glee, “to insult a sorcerer while his tongue was down your throat?”

“Don’t make me recount the entire sordid affair, Geralt,” said Jaskier, with a surprising note of desperation breaking through his gruff monotone. “I’m already having a rather shit day and all I’ve done so far is wake up.”

“In my body,” said Geralt.

“Yes,” said Jaskier, with the insolent cadence that was unmistakably Jaskier’s, but in Geralt’s voice, emerging from Geralt’s face and frame.

“And I’ve got yours,” said Geralt, from Jaskier’s.

and for that love to be with men - sebviathan

Specs: 6 734 words -Mature - Emotional constipation, self discovery, self acceptance, geralt is a whole ass gay man who doesn’t know what being gay is

Summary: Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it—living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling.

The enormity of Geralt's desire disgusts him.

at last, at last, at last, oh I thought you’d never ask - elegantwings

Specs: 15 040 words - Explicit - Arranged marriage, slow burn, trans!Jaskier, in this house we love Yennefer of Vengerberg

Summary: Geralt is given firm instructions from Vesemir: He is to get married to a Redanian noblewoman in the hopes of improving relations between witchers and the rest of the world. Once the ceremony is over, he plans to drop his new spouse off at their new home and carry on with his life as he always has. Little does he know, his future wife is not a woman, and not so easily left behind. He's not really sure he'd like to get rid of Jaskier, either. Over the next several years, they learn to navigate their new relationship, first while Jaskier completes his degree, and then when Jaskier insists on accompanying him on the road. And no matter what anyone else has to say about it, Geralt is absolutely not in love with his husband.

it’s what my heart just yearns to say - chasing_the_sterek

Specs: 1 071 words - Teen & Up - Slice of life, Jaskier: what if I found a way to make Geralt admit when he needs things

Summary: "If you could have one blessing," Jaskier says, eyes lit green by the fire between them, "What would it be?"

Geralt looks at him. The whetstone is smooth and friction-warm in his palm, edges rounded from use. It's been with him for a long time: almost four years.

Jaskier has been with him for even longer, but he's never done this. Geralt squints at him, but only thing different to this morning is the yellow firelight changing the colour his eyes appear.

"What," he says.

not a goodbye, a thank you - Potrix

Specs: 2 915 words - Mature - Graphic depiction of illness, near death experience, talk about death, found family

Summary: Somewhere further in the courtyard, Lambert yells out a colourful curse while Ciri cackles maniacally. Eskel is taunting the former through his laughter, and Vesemir’s voice joins in with barked commands and corrections once the clang of steel against steel continues. Somewhere above them, on one of the balconies overlooking the yard, Geralt can hear the scratch of quill against parchment as Yennefer works on her correspondence, interrupted every now and again by the tapping of nails against an inkpot.

He realises what’s wrong an instant before everyone else grows suddenly, eerily still; Jaskier is quiet.

After Summers of Fasting (I Feel Hunger At Last) - Artemis_Unbound

Specs: 3 793 words - Teen & Up Audiences - A six pack you can see is not a good thing, Jaskier tricks Geralt into Not Being Starving anymore, Love confessions

Summary: Defined six-pack abs are a sign that someone has been starving and dehydrating themselves, not a sign of incredible strength. It's just not healthy.

Jaskier sees Geralt shirtless for the first time, sees all that defined musculature, and is Horrified. He's slept with enough warriors and soldiers to know what that means. And he decides, this stops now.

Tunes Without Words - foxy_mulder

Specs: 22 021 words - Mature - Self-esteem issues, past abuse, miscommunications, misunderstandings

Summary: The plan is this:

He will note all the things that annoy Geralt, and he will stop doing them, and then Geralt will want him around. It will work.

It has to work, because Jaskier cannot be left behind.

The Path Not Taken - sospes

Specs: 40 149 words - Mature - Extraordinarily bad misunderstanding, Idiots in love, Explicit sexual content

Summary: Jaskier comes across an injured witcher in a backwoods town, months after the events of the dragon hunt. It all just sort of escalates from there.

.

[troutpopulation]

Baby updates 10

- they have almost completely lost their baby fluff and are growing their big girl feathers I'm so so proud

- I kinda get why toxic moms use their 8 year olds ad therapists now. /j I've been venting to these chickens for the past few nights to get them used to my voice because I'm. Basically constantly silent but I don't want them to get startled by human voices. It's been nice

- Prue decided that my pant leg just Had To Go and she will make it happen. It's still there. Keep trying maybe, Prudenxia.

- They're chilling under my leg rn, they were running around foraging and etc but it looks like quiet time is an order.

- They're expected to get much friendlier once they start laying which is something i definitely look forward to

- bc as much as they like to perch on me and cuddle under my arm if I try to pick them up or god forbid pet them they throw a tantrum and scream

- they're getting used to being picked up since i have to put them inside at night while their coop is a WIP

- Maggie is the chillest with being pet so far

- I'm. Assessing them on how much they're bonding with me. When i pack up and run off I'm only going to take 2 with me. They'll be fine, my family loves raising chickens and they'll be taken care of until they pass of natural causes. They abuse people, not animals lol

- so far I'm thinking I'll take Prue and Maggie. But i also want to take Miel. Olga technically doesn't even belong to me I'm just her surrogate, and Mythra i think we might need to get rid of Anyways because. She might be a rooster and those are illegal here.

- god what if Prue is too.

- i hope not but also like. I'm desperately trying to leave but I want to take them with me so bad. If it narrows down the options then god let some of them be boys.

- Olga is eating grass while laying down it's. Really cute.

- Upon further inspection I think Miel might be a rooster and I'm already grieving

- Prue finally found dust for a dust bath look at her go.

[stina-is-a-punk-rocker]

disney’s ‘the hunchback of notre dame’, early 2000s kid nostalgia, and other midnight musings

“What the fuck, Stina? I thought this was a blog for book reviews!” you say.

“Books, amongst other things. Hence the -ish suffix,” I say. “And all my mediocre ‘reviews’ are hit-or-miss in terms of engagement, so I’m pretty much free to post whatever the fuck I want.”

I toss my head. My hair whacks me in the face.

The first time I watched Disney’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame was been circa 2006, in the ‘movie room’ of my preschool, huddled around a CRT TV with the rest of my five-year-old classmates. Not much about the film particularly stood out to me at the age.

Fast-forward fifteen years later; I’m cooped up in quarantine, hundreds of thousands of miles away from that first viewing. I’m living my best life, rejoicing in my introverted tendencies and having a laugh at the expense of all the suffering extroverts. I haven’t moved from my bed all day, except for the bare necessities, and I’m bingeing YouTube videos. All is well.

I discovered Lindsay Ellis’s channel quite recently- embarrassingly enough, through her videos on Omegaverse and the whole Addison Cain fiasco. I stumbled down the rabbit-hole of her channel, and here I am, a few dozen videos later, and I find her one on this film.

Which, of course, led me to want to re-watch the film, with the eyes and mind (supposedly) of an adult. And it went far beyond and above my expectations.

The film is dark, much darker than the average Disney film of today- not just thematically, but the graphics too. Except for the first parts with the Festival of Fools and the last scene, the rest seems to have a dark filter put over it all. Obviously, given its themes (I’m pulling these out of my arse; I’m a STEM major and I have zero to no knowledge about film) of freedom and equality, acceptance of those different from us, corruption and lust- all that good shit, in other words- you can’t exactly have sunshine and rainbows. But it’s such a stark contrast from what I’ve been accustomed to from Disney; Frozen has Hans about to decapitate Elsa, but the background remains bright and light; Simba sobbing next to Mufasa’s body in The Lion King is heart-wrenching, but a few scenes later, we have an anthropomorphic meerkat-boar duo singing about eating bugs and farting and all that classy stuff, so it’s not as traumatizing.

The themes are a lot more on-the-nose than a lot of other kids’ movies (forgive me if I err, I am aged and forgetful)- cue la Esmeralda saying, “What do they have against people who are different, anyway?”- you get what’s essentially the same ‘accept others regardless of their differences’, ‘prejudice is bad’ morals from, say, Zootopia, but having given the main characters fursuits makes it less obvious than in this movie.

(Or maybe I’m just a dumbass. I have no elaborate notes for this; I’m high on sugar and deprived of sleep so I might be spewing bullshit.)

Admittedly, the resolution is a bit… unrealistic. The citizens of Paris = sheep, essentially; they go from throwing fruit in Quasimodo’s face because the guards started it, to helping defeat them. Maybe there’s something about mob mentality in there, but I find it hard to believe that people who showed up to watch Esmeralda burn to death were suddenly totally cool with not getting what they didn’t pay for. But then again, this is a Disney movie, and you can’t make kids too cynical too early on. Let them have their innocence and ‘people will be with the heroes in times of peril because humanity is inherently good!’ before they realize that humanity kinda fuckin’ sucks.

The characters are some of the most human from those I’ve seen in Disney (other honorable mentions: the main characters of The Emperor’s New Groove, Moana, Tangled, Anna from Frozen). Quasimodo’s the main character (lol DUH, will I ever say anything not obvious?), and he’s so lovable, but not without flaws- he’s biased against gypsies in the beginning because Frollo’s the literal scum of the earth. To borrow from the K-pop fans’ dictionary: UwU he’s so pure!

Esmeralda sparks a bit of controversy because she’s another POC leading lady from a Disney film of the 90’s (a list including Jasmine, and, sigh- Pocahontas) who’s markedly more sexualized than the white Disney princesses. It’s not something I particularly noticed nor cared about until I saw it being brought up- I mean, the woman shows a bit of cleavage and then dances for a couple of seconds- but. I’m just putting that out there.

She’s an empowering heroine without having to belt in in your face (not me making a dig at Naomi Scott’s Jasmine from the Aladdin live action film), and I also love how her role in taking down the Big Bad doesn’t have to do with her ‘power of seduction’ (the scene in the animated Aladdin film where Jasmine kissed Jafar truly traumatized me as a kid).

Phoebus is… well, he exists. Kind of a Regulus Black archetype, but not exactly. The guy on the bad side who turns good and all is forgiven. Well, at least it’s not the ‘her love made him a better man’ trope. And he is a good guy. Even if he did spend a considerable amount of his adult years on the side of the bad guys.

Systemic oppression? Nah, it’s one or two corrupt baddies. But again, it’s a Disney film, we need everything to work out for the good guys in the end.

Let’s get the gargoyles out of the way. To reference Lindsay Ellis’s video (she’s a lot smarter than I am and breaks this down better than I ever could): yes, the comedy’s oft ill-timed and inappropriate… for an adult audience. And the primary demographic of Disney films, especially princess ones (obviously Esmeralda isn’t a princess, nor does she marry into royalty, nor is she included in the group of princesses in the dumpster fire that is Ralph Breaks the Internet, but I had a book imaginatively titled ‘Disney Princess Stories’ as a kid that included Esmeralda’s story alongside Belle’s and Ariel’s, so I’m calling her a princess), are kids. And kids love fart jokes.

Additionally, I have a theory-that-is-not-really-a-theory-but-a-pretty-obvious-thing-that-happens that the gargoyles are figments of Quasimodo’s imagination, and the, at times crass and ridiculous things they say are just the voices in Quasimodo’s head (THIS IS OBVIOUS, STINA, YOU HAVEN’T STUMBLED ACROSS A STARTLING NEW REVELATION); maybe what he imagines normal townspeople to act like.

And then we have Judge Judy Chrissy Teigen Frollo. This dude is the embodiment of pure evil. He’s bigoted and rapey and abusive and one of Disney’s most successful villains- even better than Mother Gothel, who previously held the crown. It’s rare that a villain genuinely terrifies me, especially a cartoon one. Frollo, unlike your typical fairytale antagonist who wants power/fame/fortune/to overthrow Olympus, is far more sinister; driven from deep-rooted hatred instead of plain greed. He’s so much closer to people in positions of power and authority even in the modern world, and that element of reality makes him so much better as an antagonist instead of a literal sheep who hates carnivores (seriously, Disney, enough with the twist villains- they’re not working out).

Also, Hellfire slaps. In fact, the entire soundtrack does.

Speaking about Hellfire, I love the contrast between that and Heaven’s Light; how Esmeralda is viewed by Frollo (an object to possess, “Destroy Esmeralda, and let her taste the fires of hell; or else, let her be mine and mine alone”) as opposed to Quasimodo (someone with free will, “I dare to dream that she might even care for me”).

Another argument brought up, and admittedly one I had as a child was, ‘but if the whole point of the movie is acceptance and love as opposed to lust, why didn’t Quasimodo get the girl?’ Which, years later, I realize is an extremely misogynistic way to look at it. As Princess Jasmine said four years before The Hunchback was released, she is not a prize to be won. Quasimodo is Frollo’s antithesis; he lets Esmeralda choose, and she chose Phoebus. And Quasimodo accepted that, because he is good and kind and sweet and loving. Severus Snape, take note.

On a sidenote, I’m always kind of caught out of left field when the plot in films moves really fast- I’m really not a movie-watching type; I prefer to read, and books usually indicate how much time passes from one main plot point to another, and there are little slice-of-life, filler parts that tie in to character development and moving the plot forward, but at a snail’s pace. So, whenever I’m watching a movie and it’s one important event after another, I usually haven’t had enough of a refractory period to process it.

Let’s pretend that I segued smoothly into the next part of this (already tedious and long drawn out) review.

The Hunchback is the darkest film I’ve ever seen come out from Disney. Re-watching it as an adult made me pause every so often and wonder why the hell I wasn’t traumatized by it as a kid. I mean, the whole movie kicks off with Frollo about to throw an infant down a well. And then there’s that horrifying shot of the stone renditions of the Israelite kings on the church walls. Frollo falls to his death into fire. I mean, good riddance, but still. I guess it’s because the kids’ shows of today are awfully censored and polished so kids don’t have nightmares forevermore.

Update: tried to watch The Hunchback of Notre Dame 2. Exited just as fast as I clicked on it. Disney sequels really ain’t shit (yes, I’m looking at you, Frozen 2).

[uhgoodmoni]

Nothing That Lasts Forever

Summary

Jung Hoseok; in an attempt to have a relaxing weekend with Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook, he invites them to stay at a cabin he has rented. The BTS boys aren't exactly in for the relaxing weekend they hope for after a series of strange events start to occur. The three of them are terrified of an unknown horror, as Hoseok wakes up to Jungkook standing in the dark. Updates: will update every other week on Tuesdays. If you want to stay updated with my progress follow my Twitter: @uhgoodmoni or Instagram: @jooniethemooni

Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, Demons, Fighting, Verbal and Physical Abuse, Mention of marijuana, Death, Cursing, Fire, Unintentional Self-harm, Gore. Yoongi's injury

Ao3 link - Wattpad link - Soundtrack

Part One (Trailer) - ch1 - ch2 - ch3 - ch4 - ch5 - ch6 - ch7 - ch8 - ch9

Hoseok's POV

Plopping my chin on my hand I scroll through the cabin rental page. Phone number, phone number. There. My finger pokes my place on the laptop's screen as I type the digits into my cell. I smile as it begins to ring. What a blessing for this cabin to have so many openings during the season we are off. Shame we will have to wait so long for the holiday. It'll be worth the wait I'm sure. I hum as it continues ringing in my ear. If Jin were available he would love to come with us, Joon too. It's a shame that both their schedules are booked. If only all of the members could come. Then I would be happiest, but that's just not how it works.

Always busy, whether we are on our own or not. Solo work... dance practice, meetings, recordings, and much much more. I roll my head around the kitchen, impatiently tapping my foot on the chair. The metal rings along with the phone. Where are all of them anyway? There is no sign that anyone has been in the kitchen since last night, otherwise, someone's dishes would be left on the counter. The computer screen tells me that it is 12:33. Lunchtime, mhm. Yoongi is probably cooped up in his cave, maybe I'll get him something. My butt slides from the chair, my feet finding the floor. They are taking quite a long time to answer. I circle the island as it rings. Come on pick up.

"Hello, this Eun Soo?" A feminine voice sings from the speaker. Though I barely hear them over the sound of the wind howling on the other side. She must be outside if it's so loud.

"Oh, hello, I'm Jung Hoseok, and I'd like to rent one of your cabins?" The whirling stops. The line goes quiet. I stand, awaiting her response, but she doesn't, the silence wells up around me.

"Helloo?" I pucker my lips, twirling around. I look at myself in the reflection of the microwave. My fingers find the fringe of my split ends. It needs another dye soon, and definitely a trim. Mhm... what color should I do next? Army is always missing red. Maybe a more natural shade?

"Which cabin would you like to rent?" She coos, "We have many different options."

I raise my eyebrows, moving on with the conversation "Well I was looking at Cabin 189 and..."

"Oh, lovely!" She giggles, breaking my sentence. "Do you have any particular time frame?"

I clear my throat, going back to the counter, and placing my elbows on it. "Well, I was thinking about the dates 21-23 of this Septem..."

"Wow, we have those dates available!" I nod, waiting for her to continue.

"Okay well, can I confirm my dates?" I spoke up since she wasn't going to. The line went quiet again. I raise a lip, what the heck? Maybe there's some interference or something. Still a strange phone call.

"Yes we prefer to do the payment process over email, may I get yours?" "Oh yeah, It's J u n g h o s e o k 9 4 @ N a v e r .com" I sang out, "and if you need me to repeat anything I will be glad to."

"No." My eyes widen at her bluntness. Am I sure I want to rent here? She sounds nice but so strange and informal. I shrug, sitting back down at my chair, and leaning into the plastic backing. "That is fine." She finally finished making me almost laugh. Maybe she's a foreigner.

"Okay, when can I expect an email?" My foot begins to tap on the footrest once more.

"Oh, today certainly." The wind in the speaker starts once more, as she speaks. I miss what she says, only hearing static.

"I'm sorry I missed that last bit, miss."

"Oh, today certainly." The wind in the speaker starts once more, as she speaks. I miss it, only hearing static

"I'm sorry I missed that...'' I shake my head realizing I was about to repeat myself. "Is that all you needed maam?" Clearing my throat I spin around in my seat.

"Yes! We hope you will look forward to your stay." The wind halts again making the phone go quiet. "There is nothing that lasts forever in this world." My brow curls at this, but she doesn't add anything more.

"Thank you..." The phone beeps as I press the end call button. That line sounds oddly familiar, though maybe she was talking to someone else before I hung up. The strangest phone call I've had in a while, but at least I made progress on our trip. I return to my laptop, taking note of the location. Hopefully, the others will be looking forward to it just as much as I am.

[jackdawyt]

One of the most alarming statements made by anonymous BioWare employees currently working on the next Dragon Age has been the remark that the next game is “planned with a live service component, built for long-term gameplay and revenue.”

Like me, I suspect you have questions regarding what exactly a live-service Dragon Age 4 may entail. While we don’t have all the answers currently, thanks to Jason Schreier’s article on “The Past and Present of Dragon Age”, we certainly have an idea on what the next Dragon Age may look like.  

Regardless, I feel like it’s even more necessary to have this conversation on BioWare’s live service future having watched the debacle of Anthem’s post-launch content, and what BioWare hopefully learned from Anthem’s experience going forward with Dragon Age 4.  

You see, Anthem’s live service model was originally going to follow story-based content after the base game launched. The content would forward the main narrative in many different directions with new areas, bosses, dungeons, characters, stories, and of course, cosmetics.  

In pre-production, Anthem's story had been produced with live service in mind, so the developers could easily write, change and create many different plot points and narratives in future content to come.  

“They had a really strong belief in the live service,” said one developer. “Issues that were coming up, they’d say, ‘We’re a live service. We’ll be supporting this for years to come. We’ll fix that later on.’” (How BioWare's Anthem Went Wrong, Kotaku).

The game was originally planned to follow a deep content road map, that would have players still engaged with Anthem ten years after launch.  

"Anthem is a social game where you and your friends go on quests and journeys. It’s a game that we’ve been working on for almost four years now, and once we launch it next year I think it’ll be the start of a ten-year journey for us." (Patrick Soderlund)

However, Anthem’s original ‘idealistic’ live-service model didn’t come to fruition due to only 18 months of development time. The content road map we did eventually get for Anthem, didn’t prove to be successful.  

[Anthem] was in development for nearly seven years but didn’t enter production until the final 18 months, thanks to big narrative reboots, major design overhauls, and a leadership team said to be unable to provide a consistent vision and unwilling to listen to feedback. (How BioWare's Anthem Went Wrong, Kotaku).

The post-launch content was staged in acts. The first act was called “Echoes of Reality” and would last around three months, providing constant new missions, strongholds and world dynamics. The act would end on a huge update called “The Cataclysm”.  

Unfortunately, this road map was too idealistic, and was cancelled after heavy delays of “The Cataclysm” event.  

With BioWare’s first live service model not going according to plan, hopefully, the unsuccessful launch of Anthem’s live service-model speaks volume for future BioWare’s titles, and the developers have learned from that experience.

It's worth stating that Anthem isn’t dead and BioWare haven’t abandoned ship. They’ve remained adamant on working out how the game can stay afloat, as a small production team at BioWare Austin work on the preliminary design of Anthem 2.0.  

BioWare and parent company EA have been planning an overhaul of the online shooter, according to three people familiar with those plans. Some call it “Anthem 2.0” or “Anthem Next.” (Sources: BioWare Plans A Complete Overhaul For Anthem, Kotaku).

In spite of that, I know for a fact, every Dragon Age fan can look at Anthem’s style of a live-service model and say that this model wouldn't cross-over into a Dragon Age game.  

Anthem is a multiplayer game with a heavy emphasis on gameplay as opposed to story. While the game does have a main narrative with all the BioWare trimmings of lore and a codex, the general reason you play Anthem is to kill, loot and customise your javelin suit.  

This gameplay loop can be easily continued with a live service model adding new content like levels, enemies, worlds, cosmetics, etc.  

Whereas for Dragon Age, the player’s experience is deeper than the gameplay - there are many reasons we play Dragon Age - for instance my experiences have been driven by the story as I, solely, make impacting choices and consequences throughout the world.  

Anthem’s live service model reflects a very different perspective, so, what could a Dragon Age live service-model entail?  

Well, according to Jason Schreier: “we not sure about the details, and in fact they’re likely still being decided, as the game is still very early in development and could evolve based on the negative reception to Anthem. If it does turn out to be an online game, which seems likely, it would be shocking if you couldn’t play the bulk of it by yourself."

"One person close to the game told [Jason] that Morrison’s critical path, or main story, would be designed for single-player and that goal of the multiplayer elements would be to keep people engaged so that they would actually stick with post-launch content."

"Some ideas [Jason] heard floated for Morrison’s multiplayer include companions that can be controlled by multiple players via drop-in/drop-out co-op, similar to old-school BioWare RPGs like Baldur’s Gate, and quests that could change based not just on one player’s decisions, but on the choices of players across the globe."

“They have a lot of unanswered questions. Plus, I know it’s going to change like five times in the next two years.”

The trouble with Dragon Age 4 being live service is that the game is predominantly single-player, and while there is a multiplayer mode in Inquisition, no one plays Dragon Age for multiplayer. As I said before, there are many personal reasons each of us play the series from escapism to fantasy fulfilment and everything in-between.  

Diversification of a live service model or multiplayer in the fourth entry of a single-player RPG just sounds like a recipe for disaster in my opinion.  

While in theory, the idea of a drop-in/drop-out coop system in Dragon Age 4 sounds somewhat okay, everything else that multiplayer implicates is not okay.  

If this sort of coop system is embedded into the game, then Dragon Age 4 could be an always online game running on servers. If Anthem serves as an example, that means no offline play, long loading screens, and an almost unplayable launch day.

How can Dragon Age 4 follow a live service model, and at the same time appeal to the majority of the single-player fans? That’s not a rhetorical question because I have three approach's BioWare could likely follow:  

The Andromeda Approach

In Mass Effect: Andromeda, Ryder has a small unit called Strike Teams, they act like Inquisition’s war table mechanic where you can send out groups into the world for rewards. However, in Andromeda as a secondary option, the player can actually take over these missions themselves in the multiplayer mode to assume full security over the mission’s succession.  

Dragon Age 4 could have a new war table that enacts live service content. Perhaps you’re given an incentivise to take on side-missions in multiplayer with other people, however, like Andromeda’s method, if you’d rather not, you can just send NPC’s to do the task with a longer time limit.  

The multiplayer mode while connected to the single-player would be a dispatched component. This sounds like the most okay approach for the majority of fans.  

The Anthem Approach

Anthem’s approach follows a single-player hub-based world where many key choices and story scenes can play out. Then once you enter the world, or choose a quest, the player is automatically put into a lobby. While you can play the missions and explore the world solo, you can’t play offline, it’s always online play on servers.  

Hypothetically, if Dragon Age 4 followed this exact approach, the player would have a single-player based hub, like a castle, fort or camp where we could engage with our allies and further the plot. However, when continuing the main missions, or exploring the world, we’d then have to go through a lobby to continue the adventure solo or with friends on always online servers, with no offline play.  

This wouldn’t be a good experience in my opinion.  

The “Ideal” Approach  

My ideal approach to live service is, of course, way too optimistic, but I’m throwing it out there anyways because Ubisoft did it, so that means anyone can do it. I’d love Dragon Age 4’s live service model to follow many post-launch story-based DLC’s adding to the narrative post-launch.  

Perhaps smaller content added monthly like new enemies, quests, areas, etc.  

And larger, story-based content perhaps 3-4 months after launch, and onwards.  

This is exactly what live service should be, the game is kept alive with more quests and story DLC’s giving the game breathe. If done successfully, this could be a live service RPG done right, with more content coming for months.  

Final Thoughts  

I may sound cavalier about the whole live service Dragon Age 4 ordeal, but I trust in the developers and their knowledge of their games and more importantly, their fans.  

This is something I haven’t stopped talking about, but it’s worth reiterating that the BioWare developers are looking with an eye to what the fans love about Dragon Age. The main team working on Dragon Age 4 created the Trespasser DLC, that’s John Epler’s narrative direction, with Patrick Weekes as the Lead Writer.  

Yes, I do get worried when I hear the terms “live service Dragon Age 4”, and “Anthem with Dragons”, but ultimately that’s just unplaced fear. In reality, the BioWare developers know their fanbase more than anyone, and will most certainly cater to our needs for the next Dragon Age game.  

I know this topic is rather baren at the moment, we don’t have a clearer picture of what Dragon Age 4 will look like. We’ve just got to trust the epic developers who’ve been at the studio since Dragon Age: Origins and are working on the next instalment to the best of their ability.

I’m sure we’ll touch on this topic in the future, but for now, let’s just focus on supporting the people creating the next Dragon Age, rather than fear what may or may not transpire in the next game. When we know more about live service, I’ll be sure to have another chat about it with you all then.  

Let me know your thoughts on how BioWare can handle Dragon Age 4’s live service model.  

[attract-mode-collective]

Time To Fly The Coop And Say Goodbye To Tumblr

tl;dr version: Due to technical issues that are finally out of control, I have decided to stop updating the Attract Mode blog on Tumblr. From this point forward, all new posts will be published on Medium.

Here's the address "version 3.0": https://medium.com/attract-mode

And don’t forget "version 2.9 SHIN CE UPPER MAX FOR MATCHING SERVICE": https://twitter.com/attractmode

[UPDATE: 11/17/22] ... Actually, maybe not? Due to the imminent death of Twitter, am looking to maybe revive this blog, not 100% certain.

In the meanwhile, keep this handy, a list of all the other places where Attract Mode can be found: linktr.ee/attractmo.de

Alright, the full story...

Last night (or should I say, earlier this morning) at around 4:00am, after spending nearly NINE HOURS to publish what I consider to be one of the most research-intensive blog posts I've produced in recent memory, I had to throw in the towel.

Fellow longtime users of Tumblr know all too well what a goddamn mess this place has become. The final straw was an image that took (no joke) 30+ attempts to successfully upload. Nowadays, it essentially requires brute force to make changes or additions to a post for it to stick.

Perhaps I was playing with fire, composing something with so many words and so many images, 55 to be exact, all high res. And given how said quirks are not entirely new, I was maybe asking for trouble as well, by stating that said post was "a work in progress"... one that I would constantly update if new information ever materialized.

But after (once again, and I'm not exaggerating) OVER THIRTY ATTEMPTS TO UPLOAD A SINGLE JPEG, which finally stuck... only to realize that it appeared in the wrong spot (due to a bug that I'm all too familiar with, and am usually on the lookout, yet after nine goddamn hours, I let me guard down)... which of course I couldn't fix, I decided to hit that trash icon and finally call it a wrap.

Tomorrow is actually the eight-year anniversary of Attract Mode's "reboot"; it became the Attract Mode Collective and also introduced "version 2" of the blog.  Notice how the post is kinda broken? Well, 2.0 was built with WordPress, and version 2.5 signified the switch to Tumblr. All previous 2.0 posts were translated flawlessly.

Yet as time went on, things began to fall apart. Cory’s custom theme got broken, as did all the legacy content. Oh, also, the Attract Mode Collective is no more; it's just me at this point. Even Adam has moved onto other things, who was gracious enough to offer me the captain's chair; guess this point also allows me to the chance to finally make that public!

As some might recall, there exists a version 3.0 of the blog, found over at Medium, which I had been using mostly as an archival repository. Well, it's now the lead SKU as they say; all new posts will be found there moving forward. Lots of older content as well.

Meanwhile, everything on Tumblr will be staying put, but considering the current status of this platform, especially its projected long-term health, who knows how long that'll be. Hopefully I'll have archived every post by then. A full back-up will eventually be found on my personal homepage, fort90.com, as well.

It's been my plan to do a total overhaul of attractmo.de proper, but with state of things at this moment, it's hard to say when I'll find the time and resources to fully commit. Until then, please be sure to bookmark version 3.0, which includes the post that I wanted to share here, but could not: me tracing the steps, towards the creation of The Flying Luna Clipper.

And don't forget; I spend more time composing tweets than writing blog posts anyway, so please don't mind me blowing off steam. Guess I'm still just pissed about last night. Oh, so have I completely given up on this place? Not quite, there remains countless Tumblrs that contain treasures that you can't find anywhere else! It's thus a shame the powers that be are allowing it to wither on the vine, causing them to disappear as well…

[captainillogical]

Devil’s Ballroom Ch.6

A year after the events from the earth’s final attack, Little Homeworld is finally complete, and there’s a new jazz bar where gems and humans mingle and drink. - As you’re typing back a reply, someone pulls the stool out next to you and takes a seat. You see a sliver of pink out of the corner of your eye as you try not to actually Look. Oh god. It’s her. God can’t help us now.

Spinel/Reader

collab with my lovely wife @firstofficertightpants

(have some tooth rotting fluff ya sluts)

You spend your weekend lazing about the house and playing games with Alex, trying your best to not obsess and overthink everything that happened with Spinel. The both of you agreed to hang out in another 3 days, and you’re really eager for the next couple of days to pass. She didn’t tell you what she wanted to do, so you’ve been waiting on a response for nearly a full day by now. She wasn’t kidding when she said she didn’t use her phone much. You try to spend your time concentrating on building your tower in your minecraft server with your friends, when you hear a rustling noise from your headset, indicating Alex was back from grabbing food. You hear him set a bowl down on the desk and he picks his headset back up.

“Ugggghhhhhh.” He starts. “I was gone for like, 5 minutes and some creepers blew out the side wall of my fucking chicken coop..” You hear him chew whatever the fuck he was eating.

“That’s what that was? I thought I heard something in the distance but ignored it. I’m too far away anyway.” You reply. “I’m adding more floors to my tower. Wanna go get me more wood soon? Because I’m starting to run out.” You hear him scoff.

“Why do you always make ME go and get more wood? I wish Harper was here so she could be your supply bitch instead. Do I not look fucking busy here? First of all. I’m eating, Y/N, you brat. Second of all, I’m trying to repair my STUPID CHICKEN COOP. There’s like 60 chickens all LOOSE here and homeless!” He cries. “I have some acacia if you want it, but that’s all I’ve got to spare.”

“Yes, I’d totally love some ugly orange wood to break up all the NICE colors I have going on in here. Fuck off with your acacia.” You say, checking your inventory to see if you even have an axe. You hear your phone chime 2 times, and quickly grab it off your desk to see what it is. It’s just 2 texts from your dad asking you to pick up his prescription from the store. You sigh audibly.

“Whoooooo was that?” You hear Alex say. Nosy bitch.

“Just my dad.” You roll your eyes and say. “Wants me to pick up his prescriptions tomorrow.”

“Why’d you sound so disappointed, then?” He asks, and you can tell he’s up to something. Bastard.

“I’m not disappointed, stop trying to read my emotions.” You say. “You always do this when you think you’re onto something.” “I am onto something!!” He whines. “I can tell you’re hiding something from me, Y/N. You know what happens when you hide things from me? I find out, one way or another.”

“You’ll get nothing out of me, and you won’t find anything.” You say, deadpan.

“HA!!! So there is something.” He says, smug. 

“Okay you little shit,” You sigh into the mic. “It’s literally nothing. Drop it.”

“I bet I can guessssssssss.” He giggles, and you’re considering blowing up the rest of his chicken coop.

“I doubt it.” “Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” He says into the mic, obnoxiously.

“Nope.” You say. Desperately trying to steer this elsewhere.

“Isssss it….” He continues, “Maaaaybeeeeeeee…. Spinel?” He asks, his voice pitching in that certain way when he knows he’s fucking right.

God fucking dammit, do you hate your friends. You can’t even hide anything for 2 days.

“No.” You argue.

“You’re a fucking liar Y/N, and I know you’re being difficult on purpose.” 

“Nooooo. Fuck you.” You give up. He’s going to be annoying until you give him what he wants.

“That’s my girl.” He says smugly, and you can hear him chewing again. 

“When you come home, I’m punching you in the face, I swear to god.” You threaten.

“Don’t be cute,” He says. “Side note, by the way, I’m actually coming home this week instead of the end of next week. Some of mom’s clients had to move their appointment forward due to some other things, so we get to go home early this year. I am SO FUCKING READY to be home at this point. Being able to only hang out with my brother blows.”

“Yesss,” You answer. “Now if only Harper got her ass home.”

“For real,” He burps. “Anyway. Back to what I was saying.” You were hoping he’d drop it. “Spinel. The gem. What's the deal with her?"

"Nothing." 

"Really? Because the other night you said otherwise. Did you even get her number?" He asks, accusingly.

"Of course I got her number, I'm not an idiot," You retort, mildly insulted. "She just hasn't texted me since our initial text last night. We made plans to hang out, since she hasn't done much around here, but hasn't given me an update on what she wants to do."

"It's been less than a day. Why does this have your panties in a bunch?" He prys.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you liiiiiike her?" He sings obnoxiously into the mic. You consider hanging up the call for a brief moment, but you know that he'd absolutely call that one a defeat, so you yield. You just sigh, again.

"I don't know. Kind of. She's funny, and sweet, and really easy to talk to. Also she's really pretty." You admit. “I don’t think I’ve got on with anyone that quickly, like ever.”

“Do you seriously have the hots for an alien?” Alex asks, amused. “You can’t judge me!” You yell, slightly miffed. “You think xenomorphs are sexy!”

“THEY’RE JUST SO CURVY, OKAY. AND THOSE TONGUES!!” He wails in reply as you laugh at him.

“I’m just saying! At least she’s fairly normal looking.”

“You mean, humanoid. She’s a gem. Don’t they have weird powers or something?” He ponders out loud.

“Not the point, and besides,” You interject, “I’m not too sure she’s even interested in anything like that, anyway.”

“Like what?” he responds, taking another bite of food.

“You know like.. dating, humans, girls..” You mumble, checking your phone absentmindedly.

“Well, ask her?” He says casually.

“Are you shitting me? No.”

“Pussy. Want me to ask her?” He asks, teasingly.

“Don’t even fucking talk to her.” You scoff. “You will fuck up everything, I’m sure.” Your phone buzzes, and you open the notification to see that it’s a text from Spinel. Oh my god finally.

    Spinel: Sooo, I’ve decided it’s gonna be a surprise. 

    Y/N: That’s unfair!

    Spinel: ;)

“What does that even mean!?” You accidentally say out loud.

“What does what now?” asks Alex immediately.

“Hold on,” You say, and take a screenshot of the text. “Sent you it. This is all I get, apparently. Cryptic. She gives me absolutely no signs.” You hear Alex’s phone ping on the other side, and then him chuckling.

“Yeah, you know what? You can figure this one out yourself, Y/N. You’re smart.”

“I hate you so much right now.” You sigh in frustration.

“And you’re gonna hate me even more, because I just remembered I promised my mother I’d help her with something. Bye!!!” He says and hangs up the call, leaving you sitting there. Ughh, this guy. Whatever, you think to yourself. You have other things to do anyway. 

But not before you blow up his chicken coop.

~

You spend the next two days at work letting the days pass painfully slow, with only the occasional text from Spinel. You’re not exactly overwhelming her with texts as is, as you also don’t want to seem too eager or desperate. So far, you only know that what the two of you are doing is casual, so to dress normal. You don’t even know when, or where the two of you are meeting.

You’re near the end of your shift that went from 6 hours to 10, thanks to Mr. Smiley leaving early and having you close up Funland by yourself. Tomorrow is the day you agreed on with Spinel, and with no answer still, you shoot her another text.

    Y/N: So when and where tomorrow?

You wait for an answer for a few minutes, double checking all the tills you closed in the meantime and wiping a few surfaces down. You hear your phone ping, and you check it.

    Spinel: Is noon good for you? Don’t worry about the where part yet.

    Y/N: You're driving me nuts. Just tell me where we're going.

    Spinel: Nope! ;)

Frustrated and amused, you finish the rest of your closing duties and clock out for the night. You grab your things, lock up, and head home. You spend the rest of the evening playing games with Alex, and have a hard time falling asleep, when you finally get around to it.

You wake up around 11:30 in a panic, completely aware you slept through your alarm. You check your phone, and Spinel's left a message about half an hour ago. You open it.

    Spinel: I'll meet you at your place around 12 ish. Okay?

You quickly type out a reply.

    Y/N: You got it.

You turn your phone's ringer on, and toss it on your bed to go and take a quick shower. You haven't even figured out what to wear. You finish your shower in like 5 minutes flat, towel yourself dry, and blow dry your hair. She said casual, you do casual best anyway, but why does this have you nervous? The fuck is she planning? Why is this secret? You're trying to keep yourself together while sorting through your clean clothes, attempting to find anything that works together. You have pants, and you're deciding between a sweater and some shirt when Jellybean jumps into the laundry pile, and you sigh out loud. 

Get it together, self. You grab the shirt. 

You put on a small bit of makeup - just eyeliner for the most part, and you walk downstairs to lounge on the couch and wait. You’re replying to a couple texts your father has sent you when you hear a knock on your door. You lay there for a moment, nervously, before getting up and heading over to the door. You check the peephole just in case - yep, it’s Spinel. You open the door to greet her.

“Hey,” You say, feigned casualness.

“Hey yourself. Ya ready to go?” She asks, leaning against the doorway. 

“Can I put my shoes on?” You step away from the door for a moment, and grab your sneakers.

“If you think they’re necessary.” She jokes, watching you.

“I could walk around barefoot, but it’s not really in the forecast today.” You lace up your shoes, and look over to Spinel. She’s got her hair up in a ponytail again today, and she’s wearing a light sweater and jeans. The collar is a bit wide, so you have full view of her neck and collarbone. She’s so fucking soft looking that you have to force yourself to stop staring. You also notice that she has a medium sized bag with her, contents completely obscured. She notices you looking at her bag, and moves it behind her shoulder. You think you see her hand shaking, but when you look a little closer it isn’t, so you dismiss it.

“No looking. That’s still a surprise.” She smirks. 

“You’ll have to tell me eventually.” You say, deadpan. You grab your bag from the table next to you, pocket your cell phone, and lock the front door. You turn to look her in the face. “Alright captain, where to?”

“Just follow me. We’re walking today.” She swivels around to face the street, her hair swishing from shoulder to shoulder. Ugh, she’s cute. You hate how easy it is for you to like her. You push down your feelings, and catch up to her side so you’re walking with her.  You pass by a couple houses, the air warm and slightly breezy. 

“So what have you been up to the last couple of days?” You inquire, looking around at the cars passing the two of you by, heat rising off the pavement.

“I fixed the wall that I ruined the other night, but only because Lapis was sending me increasingly threatening texts about it.” She replies, angling her face towards you. You catch her eyeing your hands for some reason, before quickly looking away.

“Yeah she seemed really miffed about it, almost like you committed a personal offense.” You say, laughing. You turn right at a street corner, and notice that you’re heading towards the beach. Hm.

“She can’t complain about it anymore, though, since I did such a nice job on it.” She adjusts the bag on her shoulder, and you hear a few items move against each other, but you can’t discern what exactly. “The diamonds have also been bothering me on my helping them with some homeworld event, but I’m not sure I’m keen on assisting them with it. They have the pearls for that.” 

“What did they want you to do, anyway? Don’t they have like, thousands of gems under their reign to help them with whatever they want?” You feel your hand accidentally brush against Spinel’s twice, and mumble an apology before putting your hand in your pocket. You catch her eyebrows furrowing for a second before she smoothes out her expression. 

“I honestly think they just want me there just to have me there. I don’t think they’re coping well with the fact that I actually want some space.”

“Well, they can calm down. Tell them to fuck off.” You say, joking, for the most part.

“Why don’t YOU tell the diamonds to fuck off, and see how well that works out for you.” She replies to you, grinning. The two of you are walking on the boardwalk now, by the beach. It’s pretty nice out, sun high up in the sky, a couple of fluffy white clouds around.

“I like being alive.” Spinel snorts at that, and you can’t help smiling. You feel like just being around her in general makes a permanent smile take residence on your face. “So. We’re at the beach. Are we having a beach day? I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”

“No, we’re not going to the beach,” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “We’re not even done walking, sheesh. Impatient.” You continue to follow her, and soon the two of you are walking the path that leads to the lighthouse by Steven’s house. You have no idea what she wants to do up there, but you shut your mouth and continue to follow. You’re both pretty quiet on the way up, concentrating more on the steep walk than on talking, but it isn’t uncomfortable. It’s easy, even. 

Once you and Spinel reach the top of the hill, she sets her bag down, and turns to you.

“We’re here.” She’s grinning and looking proud that she made it all the way up here.

“At the lighthouse. You’ve never been here?” You ask, confused. Her face falls, slightly, and you panic. “I’m not saying I didn’t want to come here, it’s nice! I just figured you’d like, I don’t know, want to go bowling?” 

“Steven said I should create better memories for the places I have bad memories attached to.” She says, looking at the ground and not meeting your eyes.

“You have bad memories with the lighthouse? But wh- oh.” The injector. Her arrival. You’re an idiot. “I’m sorry, I’m dense sometimes.” She meets your eyes and gives you a /look/ like somehow, she knows this already. Okay, ow. She bends down and opens her bag, and pulls out a little knit blanket, large enough for two people to sit on.

“So, maybe I’ve wanted to do this since seeing it in a movie I watched 2 weeks ago with Steven and Amethyst..” She trails off while unfolding the blanket and putting it down. She grabs her bag and sets it down on one of the corners, and starts to pull out what looks like 6 containers of food, and a thermos. After setting everything down, she looks up at you just standing there, a bit nervously. “Are you gonna sit down?”

“We’re having a picnic?” You look at her, breaking out into a slow grin. She flushes immediately.

“Don’t make fun of me.” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest, and purposely turns her face away from you. You kneel down next to her.

"How can I not, when you always react so cutely." You tease her, feeling bold. You grab the thermos and examine it, but the contents aren't discernable from the outside.

"Remind me why I chose to do this, willingly?” She turns back to face you, glaring. “Because you liiiiiiike me.” You grin, wiggling your eyebrows at her. She sputters and her entire face reddens, and you laugh. 

“A-anyway,” She grabs two of the food containers, clearly trying to change the subject. “I made some food for the both of us. Steven taught me how to make a couple of basic things, but I didn’t taste test any of them.” 

“Oh, so you can poison us both at the same time?” You grab the container, and it has what looks like potato salad in it. “This looks fine, I don’t think you’ve got anything to worry about.” She leans closer to you and peers into the container, shrugging. 

“I don’t know much about human food so I wasn’t sure if it looked okay. I don’t have a whole lot to go off of.” She grabs two forks and sticks them into the container. “Let me at least open the rest of these before you try that.” She unstacks the others and opens them, setting down sandwiches, pasta, some cut up fruit, some cheese and cured meat, and some cookies. Damn, she outdid herself. You weren’t expecting all of this, or.. any of this, at all really. This was actually pretty well thought-out.

“Spinel. This all looks so good, the hell.” You say, going for one of the sandwiches and taking a bite. Ham, cheese, spinach, tomato, and some mustard? It tastes just fine. “Tastes good, too.”

“Thanks.” She sheepishly pulls out the other sandwich and takes a bite, shrugging. “Kind of hard to ruin a sandwich, though.”

“You know what? I’ll let you find the truth about that on your own. Believe me when I say, you can ruin ANY kind of easy food.” You say, taking another bite.

The two of you eat in silence for a couple minutes, while you gaze out at the sea. This was a good idea. The warm breeze makes your hair tickle your face, and you push some of it behind your ear. You see Spinel staring at you, and turn to make eye contact. She turns away swiftly. Hm.

“So,” You say abruptly, startling her a bit. “I’ve never asked. What’s your favorite color?” She laughs out loud at the sheer banality of the question.

“Hmm, you know,” She pauses and sets her fingers on her chin, thinking. “It used to be pink. Now.. not so much.” 

“Your new favorite color could be like..” You trail off while looking around you, and you spot a couple of small wildflowers nearby. You point them out to her. “Yellow, like that.” She scrunches her nose.

“No, too bright. Maybe I should go for something more cool-toned.” “Don’t you already have a few other colors you like? You know, you can’t just choose a favorite color. You gotta actually like it.” You say to her, eyebrow raised. 

“I like plenty of other colors! I just don’t know yet, I guess. Ask me again in a week.” She replies. “Anyway, you never answered, so.” 

“It’s pink.” You say.

“What?” She says in disbelief.

“Yeah, you know. Like your gem.” You take a couple bites of some pasta. It’s nice and zesty. She’s staring at you like you’ve grown another head. “What?” You say with a mouthful of food. “It’s always been my favorite. Dad used to get me everything in that color.” You think you see her cheeks redden, but you’re too busy eating to really notice. After a few moments, you hear a ringing noise coming from Spinel.

“Huh.” She says, and pulls her phone out of her pocket. You glance at the screen, and it’s Blue Diamond. Spinel stares at the screen for a few brief seconds, and swipes the call away. She pockets her phone again. “Yeah, I’m not in the mood to deal with that.”

“You think she’s calling about needing you over at Homeworld?” You ask her, poking at a few pieces of pineapple. She shakes her head.

“Probably.. maybe. I have no idea, actually. But I’m in a good mood and I don’t want her to ruin it.” “Yeah.. that’s fair.” You chew your food thoughtfully, and stretch your legs out in front of you on the blanket. With the sun above you, and the food settling in your stomach, you honestly just want to lay down and take a nap. “I could call her back if you wanted, and like, I don’t know, tell her off?” You offer, and she laughs.

“I don’t think Blue would take it very well, especially coming from a human, and one she doesn’t know.”

“Offer still stands.” You say. “And besides. She's never met me, so."

"I think it's in your best interest to maybe steer clear from their bad side." 

"You don't think I could take on a couple of aliens!?" You say in mock offense.

"Do you have any special powers I don't know about?" She smirks, and uncaps the thermos. It looks like some sort of soup inside. 

"I have this uncanny ability to make people fall in love with me." You reply as she's taking in a mouthful of soup, and she nearly chokes on it, sputtering. 

"You have got to be the most ridiculous human I have ever met." She says while wiping her mouth, and sets the thermos down in front of her.

“I’d say the same to you, but I’ve spent enough time around Peridot.” At that she laughs super hard, and you grab the thermos and take a small sniff. It’s a homemade chicken soup with some vegetables, which is pretty safe by all means, so you take a sip. It’s probably the best you’ve tasted in a while, honestly. “You know, this is actually really good. Most of the people I know can’t even cook at a basic level like this. And they’re human and need to EAT to survive, which is pretty ironic,” You pause to take another sip. “That a gem is more wife material than most of the humans around here.” You kind of realize what you just said after it came out of your mouth, so you quickly shove some potato salad into your face to hide your embarrassment. You hope she didn’t pay too much attention to that bit at the end.

    You chew your food nervously for a moment, before looking up to meet Spinel’s gaze. Her face is comically blank, like she forced any expression off it, and she’s staring in the general direction of your mouth.

“You’ve got something on your cheek.” She states, and points to the corner of your mouth. You wipe off your face, and give her another look. “It’s still there.” You wipe again and raise your eyebrow at her. “It’s, ugh, let me,” She says in frustration and leans right over into your personal space, swiping the corner of your mouth with her thumb. You feel your face heating up immediately, and mutter a thanks to her. She only leans back slightly, very much still in your personal space, and smirks at you.

“W- what?” You stammer, like a complete fool.

“Nuthin’. You’re just cute when you’re all flustered.” She replies, grinning at you.

“Cute!?” You all but yell in response, and give her a small shove to the side playfully. You guess you caught her completely off-balance, because you just managed to tip her over, and she’s howling in laughter much to your distress. You’re watching her fit of giggles die down as she’s holding her sides, half of her face pressed into the grass. 

    Something deep down kind of clicks in place that you’ve been trying and failing to itch at for months now. Watching Spinel’s gem sparkle in the sunlight as she lays there, catching her breath, you think that maybe, it would be so easy to fall in love with her. And maybe you have already, just a little.

    The two of you spend the next hour or so making various amounts of small talk with the occasional bout of teasing each other, before you agree that it was time to head home. 

    The walk back is nice, and you find yourself cherishing your time with her quite a lot. You don’t really want it to end, but you do have to run a couple errands after this. You turn to Spinel walking beside you.

“Do you wanna hang out again soon?” You ask her. She looks a bit surprised that you asked again, but pleased nonetheless.

“I’d love to.” She smiles. “Do you want me to be the one who chooses what we do again?”

“No, let me choose this time.” “Mmm, yeah, okay.” She bumps your shoulder with hers on purpose, her ponytail swinging lightly.

“Also, you should text me more. I’m going to spam you with pictures of Jellybean, and you’ve got to look at all of them. Otherwise, we’re not friends.” You bump her shoulder back, and she snorts.

“I think I’m getting the hang of human tech, so.. I’ll try my best.” She replies as the two of you pass by a couple of houses leading up to yours. “Today was fun, by the way. So.. thanks for spending time with me.” The both of you walk up to your front door, and you turn to face her.

“Don’t thank me. It was all my idea anyway, and you just went along with it. I’m just happy you agreed to try something new.” You say to her, reaching for your keys. 

“You’ll keep in touch, yeah?” She nervously fiddles with the hem of her shirt, not meeting your eyes.

“I’m gonna text you in twenty minutes. Count on it.” You move to unlock the door, struggling to get the key in the deadbolt. Once you wiggle it enough it unlocks pretty easily. You turn to say goodbye to Spinel, and you feel something soft and warm on your cheek. She pulls away so quickly you barely catch it.

“I’ll see ya soon!” She shouts, already at the end of your driveway, and keeps walking until you can no longer see her.

You stand there with your door open, completely frozen on your porch. You get your shit together after a few moments so the neighbors don’t stare, and head inside. You close the door and lean against it, unable to comprehend what just happened. You pull out your phone to text your friends.

    Y/N: Can one of ya’ll bastards call life alert.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Of Dust and Ashes (Chapter 24)

Welcome! Happy Friday! Kit does in fact Live! Who knew, right? I got the cold of death this week and I swear to GOD I’ve been asleep more than awake. But those who have been keeping up with the family bullshit that has knocked this to biweekly updates and killed my will to write- Cora’s getting a 504 plan so she’s promised the same accommodations she’s getting now from the teacher in the following years. WooHoo! Still some kinks to work out but I *hope* to be writing enough to get this back to weekly updates by the end of March. 

Clint x ofc, Series rating: M, Series warnings: Pretty much every Trigger warning that can exist is in this series at some point.

Masterlist 

Feed me coffee

Chapter warnings: None

Chapter 24: Going Up

The cold nipped at her cheeks and nose. The heavy coat she wore had belonged to Laura and was two sizes too big, at least. Clint had told her Laura had gotten it while she was pregnant with one of the kids. It smelled like the house and nothing more, a fact for which Deanna was beyond thankful for.  

A bitter cold snap had rolled through the area and while Clint had no trouble at all keeping the farmhouse, greenhouse shed and chicken coop warm enough, it did put a damper on their plans. She had made it clear to Clint on the fourth day that she wasn’t prepared to be a mother again. They needed to at least attempt to retrieve Elsa’s mother.  

Because of her unwillingness to wait out the cold spell, Clint made damn sure she wouldn’t suffer from exposure. Strapped to her back, under the heavy coat was Elsa. Her body heat combined with the protection of the coat assured them that the small body would be warm enough.  

Clint had driven them a good ways, circling the city in the distance. He assured her that the paths they were taking would keep them out of sight of any scouts. In truth, he hadn't expected them to have any scouts but it was better to be safe than sorry. Finally, when he had picked a way in, he parked the truck off the road and wedged it under a large pine. The sagging branches helped hide it but there wasn’t much that could be done about the tracks themselves. Trust trotted along, keeping pace at their heels, unconcerned with the cold.  

It was early in the morning, the sun had only began to rise as they started walking. They hiked through the snow for what felt like a lifetime. Clint lead the way and she fallowed in a half asleep daze. There was no sign of another person as far as she could see.

The city loomed in the distance, growing larger with each passing hour. They walked by moonlight alone. Clint didn’t want to use a flashlight and while she understood, Dee didn’t exactly have her feet under her. She wasn’t used to traversing more than her home in the dark. Snow and ice crunched under their feet as Clint guided them along animal trails.

When he reached out and squeezed her glove covered hand with his own, it reassured her. He didn’t expect her to know everything or to be battle ready. He was kind and patient with her even as he urged her forward at a grueling pace.

They walked toward a large building, the largest on the outskirts of the city. She knew what was in store for her, but Dee wasn’t even remotely excited about it.  

The glass windows were broken in on the ground floor and many on the second had been shattered as well. They carefully made their way inside. Clint carried the dog over the sea of broken glass, whispering to himself about having to find or make booties for the pooch to protect his feet in the future. Such care was enduring to Dee. He took such good care of them. She couldn't imagine a life in this new world without him.

“How far up are we going?” Deanna asked. Clint pulled open the door to the stairwell, finally clicking on his flashlight.  

“All the way. I want on the roof.”

She watched as he worked. It was fascinating, the things he looked for to assure their safety. He checked things she didn’t even think of. like dust on the ground or types of trash. As he worked, he whispered a play by play of what he was looking for. He taught her with the hopes that if she ever had to do this alone, she could.  

The flashlight illuminated the landing where undisturbed dust had settled. He shone it under the stairs, checking that no one was hiding out before shining the light up the stairs. Only when he was sure that everything he could see had been untouched for a while, did he start them up the stairs.  

“Never treat a stairwell as the only way up or down.” He whispered as they started on the stairwell leading up to the third floor. “Most of the time there is at least one more stairwell at the other side of the building. If it’s in a corner- you can almost count on there being three more- one in each corner.”

She’d never thought about that. There were so many things she had never even thought of. The thought plagued her. Even if she hadn’t hurt her ankle that day, how long would she have really survived? Would she have embraced a group like this, learned to look the other way to protect herself? Would she have been taken captive by one? Would she have tried to fight back only to end up dead on the side of the road?

How many people were killed by groups like this? She knew what was left of the Avengers team, fractured as they were, were working to restore something resembling order to the east coast. Clint had told her how their hold had spread farther and farther west but until proper order was restored, this was life for who knows how many people.

It was hard not to think about the state of things when all she had to do was climb stair after stair. Her legs burned. She wasn’t in any shape for this, though she expected to be in much more pain than she was in. Her body had become stronger over the last four months and she largely hadn’t noticed it.  

“Has there been any word for New York?” She whiskered, growing tired of listening only to the sound of their boot falls and her racing thoughts. As they reached the fifth floor, they began to feel safer in their solitude. No one was around.  

No one stirred, not even a mouse.

“They’ve located the VP a while ago. He’s something resembling stable now.”

“Stable?”

Clint shrugged. “The decimation- it was hard on everyone. He lost a lot of his friends, parts of his family. For a while it wasn’t looking like he could lead the country.”

“I guess he’s President now?”

“Yep. Rhodes is pretty much in charge of the air force for now. Not sure if he’ll stay in that position as they fill the ranks. Probably, anyway. They’ve put a call on the AM radio stations for any and all military personnel to make their way east. It’s hard to say how many will show up. I guess it’s been a small trickle.”

“That’s good though, right?”  

“Yeah.” Silence spanned for a few moments, broken only by the sound of their boots. “I’m not going though. I told them, I can’t. I won’t.”

“It’s good though, that things are getting figured out. Maybe soon people like King Jacob won’t be a problem anymore.”  

“People like King Jacob and his band of thugs will always be a problem. Always have and always will be.”

It felt like a lifetime before they reached the roof. They stopped, feeding the baby a few floors from the top. She was young enough that being settled close to Dee’s skin was enough to keep her quite. Little Elsa was staying warm and spent much of her time sleeping. When she was awake, Dee hiked her higher on her back and used the hood to shield the small head, allowing hr to look around some. The baby likely mostly had a view of hair, though. It was the thought that counted, right?

As Clint looked over the edge of the roof, Dee sat near the door and played with little Elsa. It was better to see to the child now, while she could than have the baby want attention or need a feeding while they were in a dangerous spot. There wasn’t much she could do to control the timing of a soiled diaper beyond pray that it didn’t make her cry when they needed her silent.  

“Let’s go.”  

Dee must have dozed off with the baby in her arms. Clint’s voice startled her awake. Golden morning sun shone out over them. It wasn’t by much but they didn’t leave in the ‘early morning’ like Clint had said. Just because the clock read ‘AM’ didn't make it ‘morning’ but she hadn’t argued about it. Still, half past two was ‘early morning’ in Clint’s book. It had to be something close to six or so, now.  

Just as everything that goes up must come down, they had to walk down the stairs- one flight at a time. They went faster down, having gravity on their side. Still, she never wanted to look at another stair again in her life. Ever. Clint was going to have to carry her up the stairs of the farmhouse if he wanted her to go back inside it.  

Assuming they both survived.  

She followed him, staying close on his heels as they moved through city streets. Clint didn’t tell her much about the path they took beyond that it was safe. Or rather, pretty safe but that was as safe as anything got when they were off his property. That had to be good enough.  

For a few hours, they trucked through snow as they worked their way deeper into the city using alley ways and working to remain hidden. The sun hung low in the sky still, providing long shadows for them to move through. Still, it was impossible to ignore the way her anxiety climbed right along with the sun.  

She could almost taste the relief when they slipped inside the building Clint had picked out. It was sweeter than any candy she had had. Still, Clint moved them into the building slowly. He thoroughly checked the ground floor, ensuring it was empty before leading them up the first flight of stairs.  

This building was taller than the prior, which was why Clint had picked it. Each flight of stairs was harder than the last to climb and after four flights, it became clear that she needed a break.  

Clint ordered her to wait in the stairwell, of the fifth flight as he checked the floor. She agreed willingly, causing him to worry. They worked little Elsa out of her jacket and made her a bottle of formula. It wouldn’t be warm like it should have been but the water was at body temperature at least, having been stored in an internal side pocket of her coat.  

Once they were settled, Clint started on checking the floor for any sign of use. Some windows were cracked but most were intact, keeping the bitter wind out. Fine dust covered the ground, far more dust than would be expected for how long the building had sat empty.  

He knew what that dust was. People who had been here and been lost. People he had failed. It was a toxic thought and he worked to push it away. Now wasn’t the time to think of the people that the heroes of the world had failed that summer.  

Right now, what mattered most was that he didn’t fail to protect Dee. What mattered was that he did everything within reason to protect Elsa and reunite her with her mother. What mattered was that those who were taking advantage of others were punished.  

He couldn’t find any sign of human life on the floor. Sure, rat activity seemed to be present but he expected that. Rats would be a problem in any city right now. Once he was satisfied that the floor was empty, he set to work barricading the other stairwell doors.  

They would rest. They needed to rest and eat but he would only allow them to do so once he was certain that there was no way to get on or off this floor without him knowing. Only when he was satisfied did he go back to Dee.  

Wordlessly, he ushered her out of the stairwell and into the floor. It was filled with cubicles and desks. The black screens of computers taunted her with the memory of what had been. Dust floated up around their feet as they walked. Clint lead the way to a small office, probably having belonged to the floor manager. The door was closed but the walls were lined with glass windows, giving it a view of the whole floor.  

Inside, there was very little dust. The dust in that office was light and lacked that oddly oily nature that the dust created out of people by the decimation had. When it happened, the room had been empty and the door closed. It was clean.

Dee sat on the floor and set baby Elsa down next to her. As she laid next to the baby, her back popped in places. It felt so good to be off her feet, to have the weight and strain off her legs. Trust laid down next to Elsa, keeping his side touching the small baby, providing her warmth.

Clint left the door to the office open as he sat on the floor next to them. The backpack he carried was large and heavy. It felt amazing to have the weight off his back. Soon, soon they would be in place and he wouldn’t have to keep carrying it for much longer.  

He planned to let them rest for the next hour or two. It wasn’t nearly as much rest as he knew Dee needed but it was as also far more than he wanted to give them. Opening the backpack, he set to work unpacking it. He set a foam bowl out and filled it with water for Trust. The dog had largely been eating mouth fulls of snow as they walked but was eager to get a proper drink anyway.  

On a paper plate, he dumped a can of wet dog food. That excited Trust. With the dog taken care of, he grabbed up the baby and gave her a change. She’d drank most of the bottle that Dee had given her and was now more than content to eat her toes for a while.  

“Is that safe?” Dee asked as he set out a small propane burner designed for camping and lit it.  

“Yes and no.” He answered, setting a small metal pot on and popping open one of their cans of stew and dumping it inside. “You normally use them outside, the fumes build up and are toxic. But the floor is open, the door is open and we won’t be allowing it to burn long enough to put us in danger. The exposure is worth having a hot meal.”

He was right, the meal did much more to help her recover her strength than she had expected. There was still the throbbing ache in her legs and back but she felt significantly less like death. The idea of walking up the rest of the stairs however was still something she had no interest in doing.  

After eating his share, Clint pulled himself to his feet and Dee audibly groaned. “Don’t worry Babe, you don’t have to get up yet.”

“Oh thank god.” Dramatics were on full force as she made a show of sighing and relaxing against the wall. Before, she’d never liked dramatics. She felt that they were pointless and a waste of time but somehow, with him, they felt natural and she often didn’t even realize she was doing it until later. “What are you doing?”

“Checking to see what we can see from here.”

“What if someone sees you?”

“We’re too high for most people to see us unless they are looking from another building.”

“And they could be.”

“But unlikely. This lot seems not inclined to climb stairs. No one’s been in this one or the last building. Seems safe enough to assume they likely are not high in the others.”

“Safe enough?” She mocked.

Clint rolled his eyes and made his way toward the windows. While he felt reasonably sure enough of his calculation that he wouldn’t be seen, he wasn’t going to dance naked in front of a window either. “There’s going to be a glare on the glass from the sun anyway. It’ll be hard for anyone to really look for long enough to notice movement.”

“If you say so.”

He did say so. Again and again he told himself that as he peeked down through the glass. Ever calm and sure of himself on the exterior, Dee would never guess that there was a steady river of anxiety running through him.  

He knew she was right. It was dangerous to approach the window. It put him in the  open. He could be spotted. He could be shot. But there was always a risk. He had to weigh that risk against the benefit of information. Right now, he needed information to keep them alive.  

He hadn’t told Dee, but he had caught sight of movement in some buildings as they had made their way to this building. There was only so much he could do to keep them in the shadows but there was a chance that King Jacob’s gang knew that there were outsiders in the town.  

If they were lucky, no one thought anything if a couple walking through the shadows. Should he have told Dee? His mind was at war over it. It wouldn’t do any good to stress her out, to raise her anxiety levels even higher, right? But there was a part of him that knew she couldn’t be prepared to defend herself if she didn’t know there was an additional threat.  

He shook his head and pushed the thoughts away. It was important to focus right now. The binoculars were wedged in his pocket and he had to work a bit to get them out. Even as he worked them free, he kept his eyes trained on the buildings across. There was no movement in them that he could see.  

With the binoculars, he was able to take a closer look. There were clear paths through the snow that gave way what roads were most trafficked. Other roads were untouched by human footprints and mainly filled with animal tracks. People moved down below.

They were dirty people. Some were clearly injured. Most were not dressed for the unusual cold. Small groups gathered around trashcan fires, warming fingers. There was a consistent lack of women and younger children.  

Everyone he could see looked tired, thin and ragged. They were not weathering the winter well. Turning his eyes toward the city center park, it was clear where King Jacob set himself up. There was a stage built and things hanging from rafters.  

Bodies. There were bodies swinging in the wind. One had to be no older than 14.  

King Jacob needed to die.  

~~~~~<3

Tag list: @winterisakiller, @usedtobegoodfriend96, @acoholic-muffin, @theoneanna, @alexakeyloveloki​, @toozmanykids​, @j-u-s-t-4​, @missaphrodite23​, @bambamwolf87​, @nonsensicalobsessions​, @tinchentitri​, @xoxabs88xox​, @queenoftheunderdark​, @carissime72​, @myoxisbroken​, @coyotesongwriting​, @wegingerangelica​, @faemapfae​, @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​, @tnystrk-exe​

[txladyj-blog]

This Time Around - Chapter 21

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​ by request of @txladyj-blog​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 26/?

The noise beyond the infirmary door was Carol, who was deliberately making it known that her and Judith were waiting on the porch and didn’t want to barge in on anything. Jess went outside to greet her and in turn, spent a great deal of time giving her a run down of her version of events and an update on Daryl’s condition. She told her about him needing blood and her stepping up to provide it and also added that for now, she wanted to keep that minor detail from him. Her desire to play everything down and keep the dramatics at a low level was with Daryl in mind. The less there was to take in, the easier his recovery would be. They discussed his recovery and the changes that would need to be made, both of them admitting their reluctance to deal with his stubborn complaining. Eventually, Carol convinced an exhausted Jess to head to Aaron and Eric’s place and get some rest and food. Telling her she would sit with Daryl for a while and that Michonne would also be around when her guard shift finished, Jess agreed in the knowledge that he would have someone with him at all times but still had very little desire to leave his side.

From his bed, Daryl could see Jess through the window as she descended the stairs. He wondered when she would be back, not wanting her to spend her every waking moment by his bedside but being unable to deny that he was missing her being near to him already and it had only been 30 minutes since she left the room. He hated the fact that he seemed to be pining, something he thought only lovesick teenagers did. Since when was he so reliant on the presence of another person, let alone a female?

“Hey, you brought Lil’ asskicker” He announced when Carol finally entered the infirmary with Judith pinned to her hip.

“She misses you. She won’t settle for me or Rick much anymore. The only one she listens to is Carl” She said with an air of frustration. Judith was always more complaint with her Uncle Daryl over everyone else, a fact that he felt quietly smug about.

“That true kiddo? You actin up for ya ol’man and Carol?” He asked Judith who immediately decided she was going to act coy and hide in Carol’s shoulder. The change of scenery meant her shy side was activated and she wasn’t sure how to conduct herself when Uncle Daryl looked so different to usual. When Carol lifted her up and planted her on her lap, the child grabbed at Daryl’s hand and played with his fingers.

“How are you?” Carol asked.

“Gettin’ by.” He shrugged. The painkillers were still working their magic but he had done enough Oxy in his time to know that the feeling of contentment was nothing but a visage and soon, it would wear off.

“Jess said you wanted to come home” She mentioned.

“Damn right. Already hate being stuck in here. I know it's gonna be all ‘Don’t do this, drink this, go to sleep’, ain’t good with being told what to do.” He complained.

It was just how Carol expected him to be. It wasn’t in Daryl’s nature to be cooped up with a set of rules to follow. Nor was it like him to let anyone look after him when he was so used to looking out for himself. Her conversation with Jess made it clear that if she had an intention of playing nurse, Jess would soon quash them with her need to see him through his recovery herself. In a way, she was glad, Daryl could be a troublesome patient.

“I knew you’d be pretty mad about that. I got a run down from Jess. She said you’ll be fine with some time and rehabilitation. Sounds positive."

“Guess so. How you doin’ anyways?” He queried with an outright attempt to steer the topic away from himself. Judith was reciting ‘this little piggy’ as she pointed at Daryl’s fingers one by one, her muffle and badly enunciated speech melting into the background as she sang to herself.

“Fine.” She nodded. “Daryl what happened out there?”

There it was, the question he was waiting for. Carol wanted to hear his version for herself and he could have put money on her walking in and ordering him to relay the story from his perspective.

“Ain’t Rick or Jess told ya?” He asked with an exasperated sigh.

“Jess said you got shot trying to save her. Rick said you got shot trying to save Jess.” She relayed impatiently.

“Then that’s what happened.” He grumbled with a shrug

Carol leaned towards him and curled her fingers around his forearm.

“He could have killed you.” She pointed out.

“He was holdin’ a gun to her head, Carol!” He snapped “He was-he was talkin’ all sorts of shit ‘bout how she was a prize find. She just…she looked so fuckin’ scared. I wasn’t gonna let him hurt her. I had to do somethin’.”

Briefly, they both watched Judith, who had taken it upon herself to climb down from Carol’s lap and begin pulling books from a bookshelf. Carol paid her no mind, as long as she was quiet and safe, that was all that mattered. When she turned back to Daryl, he was regarding her with a wary expression.

“You took a bullet for her.” She stated directly. He could always rely on Carol to tell it like it was, no matter how much he didn’t want to hear it sometimes.

“Yeah n’ I’d do it again tomorrow.” Was his equally as clear response.

Carol slowly sat back and half smiled at him. Such a quick confession had come straight from his heart and it only proved what she’d thought all along and she wasn’t about to let it slide this time.

“Are you going to admit that you have feelings for her now?” She wanted to know.

She heard a low growl in his throat as he turned his head away and thudded it back on the pillow. She watched over him, noting the chewing of his lower lip and his shallow breathing. She knew that if she just waited, he would gift her with some kind of answer eventually.

“I don’t know what I feel.” He muttered as he turned back to her “This ain’t never happened to me before.”

She glanced over her shoulder at Judith once more before dragging her chair closer to him, leveling herself with his shoulder.

“Tell me” She coaxed.

Again, Daryl inflicted upon her a long and uncomfortable pause. Highly anxious about being asked such things, he wanted to get up and leave the room, but it was impossible and there was no escape. Accepting his fate, he resigned himself to his only option; surrender.

“She makes me crazy. When she looks at me I just-I ain’t me. I say stuff I would never say to nobody.”

“Like what?”

He shook his head and grumbled under his breath that he didn’t want to talk about it but Carol was not giving up that easily.

“Daryl, just tell me.” She ordered.

“After the party…” He bit his lower lip and sighed, the conflict raging in his mind. He needed another perspective, but at the same time was mortified and confused by the whole thing and felt it best to keep everything to himself. “…ugh, it don’t matter.”

“It does. Once you get this out and talk about it, you’ll feel better. I promise and I’ll never breathe a word to anybody. After everything we’ve been through, you know you can trust me”

Daryl had grown up not needing anyone for anything. He relied on no one but himself and where affairs of the heart were concerned, such rare occurrences were also dealt with alone or not dealt with at all. For the first time in his life, he felt as though he could have used some advice, or at least a listening ear that would take whatever he told her to the grave. She wouldn’t judge and wouldn’t poke fun at him, she wouldn’t get mad or laugh or make him feel like he should know better. It was Carol, his trusted friend and it was about time, after so much trauma that he afforded her the credit she deserved.

“Flirted with her” He mumbled under his breath.

“Well, this is new” she beamed “What did you say?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you that.” He scoffed. Full disclosure was not on the cards and some details needed to remain under wraps.

“Okay. Alright. That’s…that’s good, Daryl.”

“You’re just lovin’ this ain’t ya?” He mumbled.

“Little bit. Not going to lie.” she chuckled “How did she take it?”

“Good. I think. Dunno what got into me. I just kept thinkin’ ‘bout how she liked me before. Y’know, at the quarry? N’ sometimes, when we’re alone she gets all flustered n’ shit. Thought it was my imagination but I don’t think it is. I mean, I don’t know. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Ain’t got a clue what I’m lookin’ for here.”

With a wider knowledge of hunting than women, Daryl was in uncharted territory. Dangerous waters that could spell the end of his friendship with Jess if it all went wrong. Like he was walking a tightrope, he had been struggling to find the exact, right words to say to her in case it all blew up and he lost her once more. His desire to dip a toe into the minefield of flirting was most definitely a risky one and he wasn’t even sure if his effort had paid off or if they would simply move forward with no mention of it ever again.

“A lot can happen in the months you were apart. But if you want my opinion, she didn’t want you to know who she was when we first got here because she still felt the same about you. You know what she put up with at the quarry and you weren’t in a position to acknowledge that you actually felt something for her. You couldn’t make it OK for her. She didn’t want to feel like she was being rejected again.” Carol explained. She always had a way of clearing things up and adding clarity to what would usually be jumbled up and frustrated thoughts in his head. Moreover, she was right, Jess had put up with a lot at the quarry and he wasn’t able to be there for her like he should have been. Her hidden identity was a defense mechanism. But did it really mean that she still felt something for him?

“I never meant to do that to her. I’d never hurt her.” He said. “The mornin’ we left for the run, she uh, she wanted to know why I flirted with her... straight up. I wasn’t expectin’ that. Asked me if I was drunk or, if it was the dress she was wearin’. Had no idea how I was s’posed to answer.”

Carol’s face had softened to a small smile that she was holding back a little. Her heart swelled with excitement and happiness for him. She’d wanted this for him for a long time after seeing how much of himself he’d given to keeping the rest of the group safe.

“Was it the dress?” she smirked

“No.”

“She did look good in it.” She pressed.

“Stop it.” He dismissed. She smirked at him again and nudged his arm

“Fine. Wasn’t just the dress.” He admitted. The dress had some sway, he had to admit that much. But the main push he needed to adopt a more flirtatious tone was her blushing around him, her reaction to his compliments and the same, niggling idea that she still liked him as more than a friend.

“Ha. I knew it.” She grinned. “So, what did you tell her?”

“Just that I was sober n’ it wasn’t the dress.”

“I see. Then I think that’s all you needed to say.” She surmised “This is great, Daryl. You deserve this. You deserve to be happy.”

“Don’t get all excited, ain’t nothin’ gonna happen.”

Judith, having covered the floor in books and deciding that none of them quite matched up to the wonders of the book about the dog that Uncle Daryl read to her, was now hanging around Carol’s legs and trying to climb back up onto her lap. She reached down and scooped up the child, who nestled into the crook of her arm and yawned.

“Are you happy?” Carol asked in a serious tone.

It was nowhere near the linear question that it presented itself as and as far back as he could remember, Daryl wasn’t sure if he could ever pinpoint a time when he was truly happy or if he even knew what happiness was. But Jess stirred something in him and he had a burning desire to be near her. When she smiled, he smiled. Her laugh was addictive and her sense of humor gelled well with his own. He liked how she was her own person and had become independent while still retaining the vulnerability that made him want to protect her. Was he completely happy? He couldn’t say. But there was one thing he was sure of.

“M’happy when I’m with her.”

 ~ ~ ~ 

Aaron was talking himself hoarse as Jess darted around his spare room, collecting clothes and ignoring his pleas for her to just stop and get some decent sleep. He promised to wake her, to go and get an update to be relayed upon her waking up and even offered to go to the fairground and get more of her clothes. But all of his kind offers were declined. As soon as Jess stepped foot on the grass verge outside the infirmary, she just wanted to turn back and return to her bedside vigil.

Racing down the stairs, Jess flung her backpack over her shoulder and reached out for the door handle. Aaron positioned himself in between her and her escape route, defiant and bordering on angry. He tugged the bag from her shoulder and dropped it by the door before placing his hands on her weary shoulders and steering her towards the kitchen. Jess didn’t have the energy to put up any kind of a fight and simply let Aaron guide her into another room, where there was spaghetti on the stove and the smell wafted through the room, tempting her stomach into a loud rumble.

Given the information that Eric was on Guard duty and Aaron would be alone for most of the night, Jess halfheartedly sank down onto a dining chair and pushed her food around the plate while re-visiting the events of the past few hours from the beginning in order to answer some of Aaron’s questions. When, on the timeline of events, she reached the real reason why she was so physically drained, she explained that she had been the one to donate blood to replace what Daryl had lost. Aaron expressed that it was a noble and selfless thing to do and that when she did decide to tell Daryl, he was sure he would be eternally grateful. Then. She fell silent and took a sip of her red wine.

“Jess?”

“Mm?” She hummed into her glass before she looked across the table at the kind man she now thought of as her friend.

“You’re supposed to eat that” He remarked with a nudge of his head towards her uneaten food. The steam it emitted when it was first placed on the table was now gone and Aaron was sure Jess was sitting in front of a stone cold plate of pasta.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t stop thinking…what if? Y’know?” She mused.

Aaron thudded his cutlery onto the wooden table and leaned forwards with his arms braced either side of his pasta bowl. From across the table, Jess peered at him sadly.

“Listen to me, ‘what if’ will drive you insane. ‘what if’ does not matter.” He said firmly “What matters is that he’s inside the walls, under the care of a doctor and he’s going to be fine.”

His words made perfect sense but the battle of wills between emotion and logic was a tricky one, especially when she was so tired her bones were weary and her thoughts were jumbled, like a hundred people all talking at once.

“He could have died. Because of me.” She whispered.

“Stop this!” Aaron cried, slamming a hand on the table and making her flinch with the noise. “Please, Jess. I don’t like seeing you like this. You are exhausted.”

“I just want to be with him.” He heard her say under her breath.

Rising to his feet, he rounded the table and dragged out the chair next to her. He settled sideways to enable him to see her face clearly and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Okay. Um, I’m going to ask you a question and I want you to think about it before you answer me because it’s important.” He warned, noticing her side glance nervously at him.

“Okay.” She croaked.

“Are you in love with him?”

Jess began to reply without thinking, ignoring Aarons request and diving straight into her default response.

“Huh. No” She scoffed “I mean…I care about him. Sure. I think about him a lot so I’m going to care, right? Do I have loving feelings for him...? Yeah. I suppose I do. Do I love him?” She stared at the top of her wine glass where her finger was poised. Aaron could almost see the cogs turning in her head. She took her hand away from the glass and covered her mouth with it. “Oh my god” She breathed from behind it as her eyes lift to Aaron’s face. She gradually lowered her hand and it juddered in the air as she connected the dots.

“I-I’m in love with Daryl.” She uttered.

“I know, Jess. I know.” Aaron sighed. 

 ~ ~ ~

Denise was as firm a doctor as she could be, having worked as a psychiatrist with many varied and difficult clients, she was well versed in the art of saying no and sticking to it. For three hours she had kept up her strong stance and maintained that if Daryl was to remain infection-free and on the mend, he must stay within the walls of the infirmary, where medications and equipment were at hand and she was a knock on a door away should she be needed.

But Daryl was intolerable when he had a bee in his bonnet and argued relentlessly until Denise could take no more and almost told Jess that she would pay her in shampoo and conditioner to take him away so she could get some peace. Finally getting his own way, Daryl accepted that he had to have twice daily check ins from the doctor and start physiotherapy as soon as his wound was properly healed. He was also told that he would need to agree to help from other people and that refraining from putting any pressure on his leg for two weeks would mean he needed constant help to move around.

 It was late, the streets were dark and the night guard shift had commenced. Across the still and silent streets, Rick and Jess wheeled Daryl across the road on his infirmary bed and halted on the other side. Jess handed him some crutches and when Denise hovered nearby and asked if he needed a tutorial, he waved her off in annoyance and demanded that he could do it without any help. Jess was glad he’d been re-dosed with pain meds half an hour before, because the thought of the agony that came with him shuffling from the wheeled bed and onto the crutches with only one working leg made her wince.

It took him a while, but with grit and determination, a few choice swear words at everyone present who tried to encourage him and a lucky amount of upper body strength, Daryl successfully managed to get himself into the house and up the stairs. Halfway up the staircase, he tossed the crutches to the top and used his arms to hoist himself the rest of the way up, under the watchful eyes of Rick and Michonne. Jess, who was in the kitchen with Denise, decided she couldn’t watch anymore no matter how much shameless gawking she could do at his arms. Instead, she opted to be the one to go through Daryl’s recovery plan and medications with Denise and Carol.

Jess’s attention was soon caught by Michonne who descended the stairs and sighed loudly, shaking her head and vanishing into the living room. She was closely followed by Rick, who wandered into the kitchen and swapped places with Carol after she announced she was going to take his meds to him and make sure there was nothing in his room that he could trip over. Denise wished everyone luck, knowing they’d need it if the last three hours she’d endured was anything to go by, and abruptly left the house.

Rick perched on a stool at the kitchen island across from Jess while she squinted at the label on a bottle of wine, tempted to neck the entire thing even though she wasn't much of a drinker.

“He should have stayed where Denise could keep an eye on him.” He said wearily. “He’s such a pain in the a-”

“Oh, believe me, I am not expecting an easy time. Denise warned me that all he does is complain.” Jess conveyed, pushing her lips into a thin line. “If it’s OK with you, I was going to stay the night, so I’m here if he needs anything.”

Rick picked up a jug of orange juice from the space between them and poured himself a glass, downing the whole thing as Jess watched on, sliding the wine bottle back onto the counter and pushing it away. 

“Of course, you can stay, but you don’t have to. We can handle him between us” He told her.

“I know. I want to.” She stated plainly.

He placed his glass on the counter top and studied her face. He still wore his gun holster at his waist and his brown, curled hair hung loosely over his forehead.

“This wasn’t your fault, Jess.” He assured her.

“It’s not about that” She shook her head before reaching over to the orange juice. Rick suddenly remembered his manners and poured her a glass of her own, pushing it across the marble to her. “I know he’s a miserable bastard right now, but I care about him.”

“Alright. Just don’t expect him to like the idea.” He smiled.

“I can handle Mr. Grumpy.” She chuckled.

“Yeah, you can probably deal with him better than I can,” he remarked, getting up and passing her. He paused to squeeze her shoulder “Are you ok? After what happened?”

“Mmhmm. Was pretty scary but it could have been a lot worse.” She mused.

“You did good, Jess. What you had to do, that was tough. We uh, we won’t talk about how you made the guy suffer first” he mentioned with a light pat on her shoulder.

Jess grinned and giggled slightly, feeling a hint of guilt for finding such a comment to be amusing considering it was referring to the man she’d murdered. “Thanks, sheriff.”

“I’ll get you some blankets and a pillow. Unless you’re um, going to sleep next to Daryl?” He asked tentatively.

“I’ll take some blankets. Thanks” She replied, opting for the less awkward option and telling herself that even though it was quite apparent that Rick had an idea there may be something more to her friendship with Daryl, she wasn’t about to encourage addressing the elephant in the room.

 =-=-=-=-=-=

Climbing the stairs of the house which was commonly known across the town as the ‘Grimes Home’ due to it being occupied by the three remaining members of the Grimes family, Jess waddled from side to side, balancing precariously on each, shiny step with her arms full of blankets and pillows. Picture frames adorned the walls depicting a family that were no more, ghosts of a time that once was, before the turn and before the house became a haven for a new family. Jess watched their happy faces fade past her as she climbed the stairs, hoping that one day, someone would replace the photos with happy pictures of Judith and Carl.

Unsurprisingly, Daryl’s room was at the end of the hall, away from everyone else’s and when she reached the closed door she didn’t even bother to knock. It wasn’t like he’d be anywhere else but laid up on the bed with scowl on his face anyway. Bustling through the door and getting blankets caught around the handle, Jess quietly cursed to herself and entered the room, dropping her haul onto the end of the bed as lightly as she could.

It was a typical suburban teenagers’ room. The bookshelf was still stocked and the walls boasted the remnants of band posters. Daryl had done little to make the place his own, his crossbow rested on the dresser and his vest was thrown across the back of a chair. On the top of a chest of drawers was evidence of bolt carving and partially made fishing floats. Feathers, pieces of wood and tools littered the surface. These were the only elements in the room that told her that he lived there now.

“What are ya doin? What’s this?” Daryl’s voice startled her; she had expected him to be sleeping due to the number of painkillers he was on. But there he was, sitting up with the covers drawn up to his waist. He was wearing a black vest and his hair was tousled, as if he’d tried to sleep but had given up. He was scowling at her.

“Ugh, lord.” Jess scoffed with a roll of her eyes. “I hoped you’d be asleep so I could avoid all your whining.”

“I don’t sleep much. What’s goin’ on?” He enquired.

Accepting that she may well have a fight on her hands, Jess grabbed a pillow from the top of the pile and clutched it in both hands.

“I brought you an extra pillow and I’m staying with you tonight.” She told him, throwing the pillow at him. He battled it away before it hit him and he collected it from the mattress at his side, tucking it behind his shoulders and settling back against it.

“No. No ya ain’t.” He said firmly while pointing at her. 

“You don’t have a say in this so don’t waste your breath.” Jess warned while the unfolded the blankets and began laying them on the floor next to the bed. Daryl’s hands rose before falling back to the bed in frustration.

“I’m fine, Jess!” He exclaimed. Jess whirled around with fire in her eyes.

“Daryl. Shut up!” she commanded “I’ll sleep on the floor in case you need anything”

“Don’t talk shit. Go home. I’ll be fine. Don’t exactly live alone” He continued.

Jess’s temper was beginning to rise but she bit her tongue and tried to remain composed and in control. He was so determined to be as independent as possible, that he would only end up doing himself more harm than good. Jess was aware of Daryl’s need to refrain from asking for or accepting any help, but this was an argument he was not going to win.

“Give it up. I’m staying.” She shrugged before sinking to the floor beside the bed and fluffing her pillow. "If you want me to leave, then you're going to have to kick me out yourself...and you can't do that right now."

It wasn’t that Daryl didn’t want her company. Under normal circumstances, he would have found a reason to be near her, to go on a run with her, to swing by Aaron and Eric’s in case she was there or he would deliberately cross over into her hunting territory. But having her see him incapacitated was not something he liked the idea of. Nevertheless, she had made it crystal clear that she was going nowhere and no matter how many irate sighs that escaped him or how many times she glowered at her, she was staying put.

“Fine. Stubborn ass woman.” He muttered.

She scanned the books on the shelf beside her, most of them teenage romance novels left from the previous occupants. It would do as something to pass the time and harked back to the many romance books she used to read as a teenager herself. In fact, whoever used the room before Daryl didn’t have such terrible taste in literature at all.

She selected a title referring to some kind of predictable and inevitable unity between a bad boy and a plain girl and figured it would make for some easy night-time reading. She didn’t know what time it was, just that it was late. The muffled footsteps of the rest of the house were padding about beyond the door on their way to bed and her body was almost as weary as it had been in the first few days of her setting out alone from the quarry.

Her eyes grazed over the first few words and her mind wandered. She was being watched and she could sense it without even looking up from the page. It was as plain as day that her temporary room mate was studying her from his spot up on the bed. She detected a small sigh, laced with the quietest of conflicted, raspy growls.

“Get up here” She heard him say.

“What?” She queried with both eyebrows raised innocently. Having no plans to move, and no intention of sleeping anywhere near him, confusion swept across her face and she slowly turned her head to see him peering at her with a mildly annoyed expression.

“If ya gonna stay at least sleep on a bed. There’s enough room for the both of us. Get up here” He ordered.

Jess hesitated. This was a new level of boundary pushing and one she wasn’t sure she was comfortable with. It would mean mere inches of space between them and a palpable silence for hours throughout the night during which time she was very likely to just lay there, mulling over the same thought.

I’m sharing a bed with Daryl.

“Are you sure? That’s not weird for you?” She asked.

“No. It ain’t. I’ma change my damn mind if ya keep askin’ questions” he complained.

The more she considered it, the more enticing the idea was. After all, it was a good opportunity to indulge a little in secret and after everything they’d been through, her having murdered someone and offering up her blood to aid Daryl’s recovery, she figured she’d earned it. As long as it wasn’t so strange that her insecurities and naturally awkward nature around a person so attractive forced her to ruin everything.

“OK, OK.” She agreed, attempting to sound as though it was more a chore than anything else. She got to her feet, kicked off her boots and lay back on top of the covers, dragging a blanket from the floor across her legs. Opening her book, she started to read from the first word again but her concentration was nowhere to be found. Her eyes looked over the words but nothing sank in. Before long, she sensed the familiar feeling of being watched, once more.

Daryl hated the idea of her putting herself out for him. Her staying with him was bad enough and if he was going to be forced to endure her seeing him in such a state, he just wanted her to feel restful and secure and as she read by his side, she undoubtedly was not either of those things. He rubbed at his face with one hand, wondering how he should proceed with coaxing her to relax a little more. Then, he noticed the pimpled texture of her skin. Goosepimples, she was cold.

“You’re cold, just get under the covers.” He suggested.

A rush of apprehension and nervousness settled in Jess’s stomach and for a moment, she thought that whatever the story line in her book depicted, her real-life situation was unraveling at an alarmingly more rapid rate.

Pity this doesn’t end like the book does.

“I’m fine, really.” She assured him with a small smile. But he refused to stop glaring at her and she wondered why. She was sure that she would have given just about anything to be able to hear his thoughts at that precise moment.

“Ya know I ain’t gonna touch ya or nothin’, right?” He expressed.

Jess dropped the book in her lap and gawped at him, her expression shocked and saddened. Why would he ever think that such a thing would cross her mind? There were plenty of people she could have expected such behavior from but Daryl was the safest and most protective person she could have been with in that moment and the fact that he’d even pondered something so ridiculous deeply concerned her.

“Why would you even say that?” She questioned at the same time as turning her body and laying on her side, now facing him completely to show that she was not afraid to address the huge issue he’d just brought up.

“Guess I don’t want ya to think I’m like that.” He reasoned. “I aint no asshole. Would never touch ya. Unless ya… wanted me to or somethin’. I dunno. Shit. Just-just forget I said anythin’.”

Good job, jackass. He thought. Stop fuckin’ talkin’.

Jess’s face dropped and her eyebrows knitted together in sympathy. It wasn’t something she could honestly say had ever crossed her mind. Not even once. She didn’t need to be told he wasn’t a creep, or entitled, or disrespectful towards her in the slightest. She just knew. The one thing that stunned her even more than the notion that he would ever touch her in that way, was the mention that he quite possibly would if she wanted him to. She had no idea what to make of such a statement and her hands began to fidget at the tricky subject matter. Was this true? There was the distinct possibility that the painkillers were playing a part in his loose tongue and she dared to hope that it was fueled by anything more than that.

“OK” She started with a deep breath “Listen to me.” As she spoke, she braved holding eye contact with him. The importance of her answer meant he had to know she was sincere. “I would never, ever think that of you. I feel safer with you than I do with anybody else. Of course, I know that you would never do that to me. I’m actually kinda sad that you felt the need to tell me that.”

Daryl was nibbling on his thumb, hiding his true expression behind his hand and searching his brain for a response that wouldn’t make the situation worse. He dropped his hand and looked down into his lap.

“Ain’t much trust associated with bein’ a Dixon.” He mentioned. “I never had a friend like you neither. ‘Specially female. They just tend to assume shit about guys like me.”

“Oh my god.” Jess groaned, sliding onto her back and down the bed until her head was on the pillow and her hands were covering her face. “You are breaking my heart here. Stop it!” She cried. Taking her hands away, she noted his nervous demeanor and wondered where the hell this was all coming from. It was highly unusual for Daryl to talk about something so personal, let alone be the one to bring it up. Sitting up again, she ran a hand through her hair and blew the loose side strands up into the air with an exhalation.

“I trust you. You believe me when I say that, don’t you?” She asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then I don’t ever want you to bring this up again.”

“K” he grunted. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She scoffed. Quiet fell around them with neither one knowing how to change the atmosphere to a more tolerable one. Jess thought humor may well have been the only way and so, opened her mouth without thinking.

“At least I know you would if I wanted you to. Lucky me.”

Daryl, who wasn’t expecting to have to deal directly with his revealing and potentially dangerous comment, did something he didn’t normally do. He panicked.

“I didn’t mean that I-well, well I did. I-I just-If ya wanted…Y’know what? Never mind.”

“Yeah, never mind” She echoed stiffly.

“It’s the Oxy. I don’t really know what I’m talkin’ ‘bout here. My head’s fucked.” He lied.

“It’s fine. Let’s just brush that one under the rug.” She offered, much to his relief at the escalating horror rising in his chest. As he quelled the uneasiness and irritation at himself, he noticed Jess wriggle under the top cover, leaving the barrier of a sheet between them. A decent compromise, he concluded.

She lay on her side again, this time with her book on the bed between them. Her fingers pulled up the pages, fanning the edges over and over and creating a light flickering sound.

“There is something I wanted to say to you” She murmured. “While we’re sharing.”

“What’s that?” He inquired, worried that he would be faced with yet another conversation that was going to make him squirm.

Jess’s eyes crept along his bare arm, lit by the flickering glow of two lanterns either side of the bed. He was inches from her face and she resisted the temptation to trace her fingertips along his skin, down over his bicep to his forearm. The thought almost made her drool and she turned her attention back to what she wanted to say.

“I’m glad you saved me and all. Thank you for that. But it’s time someone told you that you need to take care of you.” She said.

Daryl hesitated, taking in her words and trying to remember a time when there was ever anyone that openly cared as much about him as Jess did. He couldn’t think of anything, because there wasn’t one. No one had ever cared like she did and the feeling was unfamiliar and strange.

“I’m fine, Jess.” He mumbled.

She pulled herself further up, forcing him to turn his head and look her in the eye.

“No, you’re not. You have a gunshot wound that could have been a lot worse and furthermore, if you don’t take care of you, think of all the people around here that need you and won’t have you. Like Judith and Carl and…and me.” She explained.

The corner of his mouth curled up and she was surprised to find him smirking at her.

“Did you just say ‘furthermore’?” He questioned in amusement. "The fuck is that?"

“Forget it. Get yourself killed. See if I care.” She bit back. Dismayed by him making a joke of what was supposed to be a genuine plea for him to at least try and place some value on his own life.

“Alright. Sorry. I get it...” He backtracked after sensing her downtrodden reaction. “…I do. But I’d still take another bullet for you tomorrow.”

It was a declaration that Jess never anticipated to get from anyone, let alone the man she had fallen for. The insistence that he would indeed put himself in death's grasp to ensure her safety. Never before had she met someone so selfless and courageous and while she was touched and inwardly emotional at the thought, on the outside she sighed with exasperation and closed her eyes briefly.

“Daryyyyl” She groaned.

She opened her eyes when she felt him touch her hand. He covered her fingers with his own to garner attention and once he had it, he quickly moved away. Peering down at her and holding her gaze, he wanted her to see it from his perspective.

“Look me in the eye n’ tell you wouldn’t do the same.” He challenged.

It was an intense moment, charged with so many unsaid things that Daryl swallowed hard and pondered over what else he could say and blame on the Oxy. But without the knowledge that she would undeniably feel the same way about him, he was not going to risk losing what he deemed to be a rare and precious connection that he never thought he would be lucky enough to have.

“Only for you.” She whispered.

Because I love you.

Then, he knew she understood his motives and reasons for doing what he did. She cared just as much as he did but it didn’t mean he would ever let her take bullets for him or even experience so much as a scratch. To him, she was a person so valuable that the prospect of losing her didn’t bare thinking about.

“Think we have an understandin’.” He concluded.

“No. I don’t like this. I don’t want to not have you around” She argued.

“Good thing you’re hangin’ round here like a bad smell then, aint it?” He commented, trying to lighten the mood by poking fun at her.

Jess could only offer up a forced huff of amusement as she looked over at his nightstand which was now home to a pile of wound dressings. There it was again. The ‘what if’ train of thought that Aaron warned her would drive her crazy. What if he’d been killed? What if she had to carry on without him?

“Jess, I ain’t goin nowhere.” He said seriously. She looked up at him and he realized that her eyes were bloodshot. A single tear raced down her cheek and she sniffed and tried to force it away. He reached out and wiped the dampness away from under her eye with his thumb. Her cheek tingled and she very nearly said it. It was on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be freed. The six little words that would change everything. But her heart on her sleeve would only destroy it all. 

I am in love with you.

“You’re tired. Go to sleep.” He cooed at her.

She nodded and snuggled down next to him. It was all she could do to hide her desire to just kiss him and explain it away afterwards. In the light of the lantern on the nightstand, he focused on her hand by his side and licked his lips as he toyed with the idea of holding it. He wondered what her reaction would be and decided to brave it, lacing his fingers with hers. She didn’t pull away and gently gripped onto him instead. After a few minutes, he thought her to be drifting off to sleep, but what he couldn’t see was that she was staring at her hand intertwined with his, a small smile on her face and a feeling of some kind of subtle triumph in her heart.

=-=-=-=-=

It was the birds that woke her. A sound she didn’t hear as much now the world was decaying. She didn’t know if it was food being scarce or migration, but there were fewer birds around than usual and so, their melodic chirping from the roof of the house was a pleasant and relaxing way to wake from what had been a deep slumber. Her eyes were heavy and her limbs felt like they were made from cement as her body slowly woke up. A soft, cushioned surface under her cheek warmed the side of her face and she snuggled against it, emitting a contented sigh.

It was a first for Daryl. He peered down at the sleepy form of Jess, nuzzled against his bare arm with a hand draped over his wrist and thought that he could maybe get used to it. Waking up next to a pretty girl sleeping on him was certainly a nicer way to start the day, if only his leg wasn’t screaming with pain. He inhaled slowly, forcing his mind away from the agony and focusing instead on Jess and her dark eyelashes and the subtle pink of her lips.

Jess wasn’t sure if she’d ever moved as fast in her entire life than she did when she opened her eyes and realized she’d been sleeping nestled onto Daryl’s arm. On the one hand, she was truly horrified and on the other, slightly smug that she’d managed to cop a feel, albeit unintentionally. She sprang up, blinked rapidly and crawled away from him, bringing her legs up and sitting back against the headboard.

“Oh, Uh. I’m sorry. I don't know how I ended up…there.” She stammered upon noticing he was awake.

“S’alright. Mornin’.” He greeted, aware of her discomfort and watching her run her hands through her hair and adjust her T-shirt. She glanced down at his arm where a fading, pink mark had occurred from her using him as a pillow.

“Did I, did I drool?” She asked.

“Nah. Ya snore though.” He said casually, biting his lower lip and stifling a grin.

“I do?! Oh my god. I’m so sorry, I-” She rambled.

“-I’m kidding.” He interrupted with a snort of laughter.

“Oh.” Was her grunted reply while she felt the panic in her chest begin to disappear.

Daryl lifted a hand and gently smoothed a thumb over the damp skin below her bottom lip, seeing her freeze and her eyes widen.

That’s the second time he’s touched me like that.

“Ya did drool. A little” he told her.

“Oh god” She groaned covering her rapidly reddening face with her hands. She could hear his gruff chuckle from beside her and hazarded lowering her hands. She was met with a wide grin, one that she would happily look at for the rest of her days. Something happened to him when he smiled. Maybe it was because it was rare and that it was only really her that he gifted with such a sight, but she thought that in those quick moments he looked genuinely happy and she could only hope that she was even a part of the reason why.

“Stop laughing.” She complained, playfully slapping at his hand. “Jerk.”

 =-=-=-=-=

The ten days after Daryl gaining a hole in his leg and the feeling of being imprisoned behind the walls of Alexandria, his relationship with Jess remained the one thing that provided him with some means of escapism. Her kindness and devotion to his recovery only built up his feelings for her to a powerful level and he had become more sure than ever that if he ever got a sign that she saw him the same way, beyond any reasonable doubt, he would take the opportunity to act on his feelings. 

But all he could do was hope and admire her while she ignored his requests for her to take some time out and look after herself. She brought him food, administered his meds and helped him to and from the bathroom when Carol and Carl were not around. Jess’s absence during the mornings was noticed by Deanna, who quickly tasked Michonne with security cover and compiled a hunting team from the other residents to ensure that food didn’t become an issue. Rick was determined to find the rest of the group that Daryl’s assailant was from and along with Glenn and a couple of the others, had been away for days, scouring the woods and abandoned buildings for anything that would lead them to discovering how much risk such a group posed.

For four nights Jess slept by Daryl’s side, careful not to end up drooling on his arm again. Her days were spent playing cards with him and discussing a wide range of topics, some of which Daryl wasn’t even aware he had an opinion on. But Jess had a knack for that; revealing things about him that he would never have previously discovered himself. It took some adjusting to let her take care of him, but she brought the best out in him and despite his sometimes low and snappy mood at being trapped in the house, he was never rude or ungrateful to her.

Denise checked in regularly and gave Daryl the all clear for any infections in his gunshot wound. Her next step was to enlist everyone to persuade him that he needed to take it easy and practice some physiotherapy to aid his recovery. Believing that he just needed to be allowed outside to carry on doing what he always did, Daryl did nothing but complain about being useless sitting around all day.

When Jess was sleeping or out of the house for some reason, Carol tried her best to ease him into the idea of doing just a few of the exercises in the book that Denise had left him. Every time, she was met with a gruff dismissal, usually coupled with a cuss laden mumbling about how it wasn’t going to work anyway.

One evening, when Jess had finished up a meal kindly cooked for her by Aaron and Eric, who were consistent in offering her their spare room, use of the shower and many meals since Daryl had been shot, she arrived at the Grimes home to find a grumpy looking Daryl perched on the edge of his bed wearing black sweatpants and a sleeveless, black button down on which he’d neglected to fasten the top two buttons. Jess rolled her eyes. Sometimes, she thought he could hear the thoughts that traveled through her head and liked to play on the fact that she couldn’t look at him without going weak at the knees.

“Carol said you refused to do your physio.” She said, dropping her bag in the corner of the room and sliding a physiotherapy book from the dresser. “Your leg will seize up if you don’t and you’ll be hopping around like a cripple for a hell of a lot longer than you would if you’d just humor us and do as your fucking told.”

It was a new thing he’d discovered about her. She didn’t suffer fools and quickly became stern with him if he dared to argue with her about anything to do with his recovery. He could tell she genuinely cared and as a result, she would shoot him down and put him in his place without so much as a blink. He couldn’t deny that a part of him liked her pushy nature when she was tested and he would have gone as far as to say he’d met his match.

“Fine” He grumbled. “But this ain’t gonna do nothin’.”

She moved closer to him, offering him her arm to help him stand. He accepted it and she eased him to his feet. He was able to apply a certain amount of weight on his injured leg which was a good start and Jess was sure that the more he complied and just listened to Denise’s advice, the quicker he would be back to his normal self.

“It will, that’s what it says in the book.” She countered.

“Fuck the book.” He snapped.

“For god sakes, Daryl! Stop acting like a damn kid and just do it!” She cried, tugging on his arm and guiding him over to the wall. He hobbled along beside her and risked a couple of glances at her face. Her jaw was pulled tight in annoyance and he knew that she was likely to get pretty mad at him if he didn’t give in.

Allowing her to help him balance on his good leg and hold onto the wall, she talked him through quadriceps stretches as per the instructions in the book and stood close by, with her hands hovering around him in case he lost his footing while he put it into practice.

“OK, good. That’s good. A little higher. Great.” She encouraged.

Obviously in pain, he grit his teeth and Jess could see sweat emerging on his forehead. Once he’d completed one exercise, she helped him through the rest, sometimes having to take his weight or help him to the floor and up again. He very reluctantly accepted her aid and tried to ignore the warmth of her body against his and had no idea that she was thinking the exact same thing. She counted him through each movement and when she tried to let go of his hand once he was sitting safely back on the bed. He held onto her and stared at her.

“Ya ain’t gotta do this with me.” He said.

Jess sank down onto the bed beside him, squeezed his hand slightly and let go.

“I knew you’d start this at some point. I’m not going anywhere. I know you, you won’t do your physiotherapy otherwise” She explained.

“Look, just get Carol to rat me out if I don’t. You don’t need to be here everyday” He told her.

Her heart fluttered with a flicker of sadness. She shoved away the notion that he was sick of the sight of her away and told herself that she was assuming the worst without having the facts. She smiled slightly and held his gaze. Despite his injury, she liked seeing him in this environment. In his room, in his sweatpants and not covered in dirt and toting a crossbow for a change. Not many people got to see him like that and she was grateful that he trusted her enough to let her be there for him.

“Do you want me to leave?” She asked.

“Naw. Not at all. Just don’t want ya wastin’ ya time stuck here with me every day” He expressed.

Glad that she’d not reacted too hastily, Jess nodded and brushed a few strands of hair from in front of his eye. She liked his eyes and being able to see them had revealed a lot more about him over the course of the two weeks she’d been spending so much time with him. More than anything, she’d learned that he said so much with his eyes without having to actually say any words at all.

“Time enjoyed is not time wasted.” She smiled.

“Enjoyed? Tryin’ to tell me you enjoy this? I wasn’t born yesterday, Jess.” He protested.

“I enjoy your company, you grouchy bastard” She replied, leaning towards him and nudging his shoulder with hers.

He gave her a thoughtful smile, his eyes scanning her features until she retrieved a small towel from the bed behind him and wiped his sweaty brow for him. He briefly closed his eyes and simply enjoyed having her tend to him, thinking that if someone was to explain to him two years back that he would be so taken in by the pretty nerd he’d met in a quarry at the end of the world and for the first time would have feelings that went way beyond friendship, he would have laughed in their face.

“Thanks” he mumbled quietly.

“I’ll put it on the tab.” She commented.

“Tab?”

“Your ‘reasons I have to be nice to Jess’ tab.”

“C’mon, like I need reasons.” He admitted. He didn’t, being nice to her was as natural as breathing. She didn’t grate on him like most people did, she didn’t make him feel suffocated or cast out or like he just didn’t belong. When he was with her, he did belong and he was sure that she belonged right by his side too. If it was as a friend or anything more, he was going to leave it up to her. “This one of the things about you I didn’t know?”

She felt a spark of excitement when she put two and two together and realized that he was referring to the flirtatious exchange they’d had after the party. The exchange she still hadn’t managed to get any clear answers about. It wasn’t like it wasn’t on her mind. It niggled away every time she saw him. She’d struggled to find the right moment to ask and, in the end, had admitted defeat and opted to leave the whole thing alone.

“What does that mean?” She wanted to know.

“Nurse Jess” he smirked.

“Maybe. But I don’t just do this for anyone.” She conveyed. As a naturally caring person, Jess was known among the few people that made up her small tribe of friends, as the one that would bend over backwards to make sure the people that she loved were okay. Some tried to take advantage of her kindness and that was when her efforts could only be pushed so far before she cut them off altogether. It was true, she didn’t do it for just anyone and in their present situation, Daryl was one of very, very few people that she would happily give up her routine and solitary life for.

“Then I guess that makes me pretty honored” he said.

“C’mon, all you do is complain about ‘Nurse Jess’.” She reminded him, part of her message being in jest and the rest of it being the truth as she saw it.

“Nah, m’complainin’ bout the situation.” He corrected very deliberately.

“Oh, glad you clarified that.”

What preceded a long pause was another big risk from Daryl. He had no idea why he had the urge to toe the line of flirtatious exchanges. Maybe it was the way her cheeks flushed pink or the shy giggle she couldn’t help. Or, maybe it was the temptation to tell her how he felt and the idea that she could possibly feel the same. He had no idea, but he pressed ahead anyway, confident in the fact that he wasn’t being obvious enough that his comments couldn’t be explained in a more platonic way, should he need to.

“Not sure nurses are s’posed to sleep in their patient’s beds” He said out of nowhere.

Jess was busying herself folding the towel in her lap and she paused and stared down at the carpet when she heard his remark.

“Yeah? File a complaint.” She shrugged with one shoulder and the smallest, yet still detectable of smiles.

“Nah” He grunted “That’s one thing I ain’t gonna complain ‘bout.”

She glanced up at him hesitantly, finding the most gorgeous of suggestive smiles waiting for her and she was sure she was melting.

“Right.” she whispered. Then, there it was, that small giggle that he wanted to see. “Okay.”

I ain’t ever gonna get tired of that.

 =-=-=-=-=

A coldness on the side of her head was a much more unpleasant way to begin the day than with the singing of the birds beside Daryl in his bed. In her fairground home, she sat up and wiped a hand over the damp mass in her hair. Then, a single drop on her forehead made her jump and she craned her neck upwards, examining the ceiling and noticing a rotting and saturated mass of paintwork right above her. It was raining all night. Dragging herself out of bed, she dressed and checked her reflection in the mirror, something she now did every morning without fail. Her appearance was becoming more important to her since she’d grown a lot closer to Daryl and the odd glance in the mirror gave her the confidence to know that he wasn’t talking to a hot mess every day when she accompanied him on the morning hunt. It was a compromise they’d made with Deanna. Jess would chaperone Daryl on the hunt until his leg was fully healed and Daryl could get outside the walls and stop snapping at everyone like a tiger in a cage. Jess had also started wearing her hair down more often, knowing that Daryl could rarely resist the temptation to tenderly move it from her vision if it blew in the breeze and each time he did, it was like a fix from a drug that she was more than happy to submit to. It was the little things to her. The way he rolled his eyes when she called him ‘stinky’ and the way he huffed bashfully every single time she was feeling bold enough to call him ‘handsome’.

When she arrived in Alexandria, she headed straight for Deanna’s place and asked if she could have some roof tiles to fix the leak in her ceiling. Deanna immediately agreed and refused any kind of payment, telling jess in no uncertain terms that she wouldn’t have such issues if she were to just move inside the walls. She was even offered the corner house which was unoccupied and big enough for at least six people to live there comfortably. Jess declined once again, expressing that she’d feel like a fart in an oil drum in that huge house and that the fairground was more comfortable.

Upon collection of her tiles from the garage that housed building materials and tools, Jess set off with a ladder under her arm and headed for the gate. The sky was threatening more rain, its heavy, gray cloud becoming more ominous by the second and the wind gaining momentum. She could detect the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. There was no doubt that she had to get the roof fixed before the whole thing collapsed and she had to move into the oil drum after all.

Daryl was ambling along the street smoking the last of a cigarette when she crossed his path without even noticing him.

“Hey” he called out “That don’t look like huntin’ stuff.”

She stopped walking as he neared her and looked down at her gloved hand and the two tiles she held.

“Oh, No. I have a hole in my roof. I just need to repair it and I’ll come back and we can go.” She explained.

Although he could walk, he was limited to certain distances and still displayed a limp, much to his annoyance. Denise explained that the damage to the muscle and tissue in his leg meant he would need time and patience to get it back to full working order with no pain. He was getting there, Jess knew that much, but the progress was nowhere near as quick as he wanted it to be.

“I’ll give ya a hand. Shouldn’t be goin’ up on the roof out there by yaself.” He decided, taking the tiles from her.

“You can’t go up a ladder.” She mentioned.

“Sure I can, I’ll be fine.”

“No, Daryl.” She said, snatching the tiles back from his grasp. “If you want to help you can hold it still and make sure I don’t break my neck in this wind.”

Not giving him time to quarrel with her about it, she surged on with Daryl in tow, thanking the gate guard and marching through the woods to her home.

  =-=-=-=-=

By the time Jess reached the roof of the diner. The wind was howling through the trees and lashing at her, sending drops of rain and leaves flying at her like she was in a wind tunnel. Her hands gripped onto the end of the ladder, turning her knuckles white while she solidified her balance on the top rung. From inside her coat, she tugged out a tile having kept the other one safely on the ground as a spare in case she discovered more holes in the roof.

She wobbled in the wind while leaning over and attempting to slide the tile into place. It was a perfect fit and Jess was glad of it. But the remnants of the previous tile meant the hole needed to be cleared of shards before the new one could be slotted into place. She worked as quickly as she could, throwing bits of broken tile onto the grass below.

“Just switch up with me, won’t take long.” Daryl called up to her.

“No!” She shouted back, over her shoulder.

“Shit, Jess. Were ya always this stubborn?” He asked.

“Pot calling the kettle back, stinky! Now, shut up and let me work!”

“Stinky. Bad books. Right.” He muttered to himself.

Finally able to fit the tile, she wiggled it into the square space, tapping the edge and feeling it secure just as a powerful gust of wind overpowered her at the top of the ladder and caused her to lose her footing. She grappled for the ladders handle and missed as the roof shot up in front of her and a searing pain engulfed the right side of her ribs. Before she could make any kind of noise, she’d accepted her fate. She was falling and was likely to be injured if the burning across her ribs was anything to go by. Towards the end of the ladder, her right leg looped through one of the gaps as Daryl managed to grab a hold of her before she hit the floor.

His strong arms wrapped around her waist, bunching up her jacket and thick, armored vest. It occurred to her that she still hadn’t hit the floor and that Daryl had caught her mid-air. He was humming instructions in her ear but none of them were registering as adrenaline thundered through her body. Her hands shook and her knees were trembling as he hoisted her up with all his might and told her to pull her leg out of the ladder. She didn’t hear him but managed to figure out what she needed to do regardless. Her leg dislodged easily and when her feet hit the floor, she almost buckled and ended up crumpled on the grass. If it wasn’t for Daryl, who had spun her around to face him but was still clinging to her waist while she caught her breath, she would have been face-down in the middle of the fairground.

“Y’alright?! Ya hurt?” He fretted, still keeping his hands where they were, on her bare skin under her top.

“No, just a-just a scrape I think.” She breathed.

“Where? Show me.” He demanded, looking down at her. It wasn’t until he tried to step back that it dawned on Jess that she was gripping his forearms like her life depended on it.

“M-my ribs, where I slipped. The handle, up there. It’s probably just bruised. It’s-it’s fine” she tried to break away from him, but he held on firmly.

“Naw, hold up. Ya tremblin’.” He told her.

For some reason, her mind went straight to his injury and she began to worry about the fact that he’d been standing on it for so long and had also had to endure holding her weight on it after catching her.

“But your-your leg.” She stammered.

“Doesn’t hurt. Can’t even feel it.” He lied “take a breath.” They locked eyes and his hands slowly moved down to her hips. Sensing she would scurry away like a frightened animal if he were to let go, he softened his voice and loosened his grip slightly. “Show me where ya hurt.”

“No. There’s no need.” She quickly answered.

The wind blew about her face and the chill it brought with it was beginning to bite. Her side was stinging, aggravated further by the cold. Daryl, who was wearing a leather biker jacket under his usual vest, had dressed for the weather, but Jess had failed to do so, believing that her regular clothing would suffice and not anticipating a storm to be rolling in.

“There is, coulda cracked a rib. Just let me feel for any breaks. I spent my childhood dealin’ with broken bones n’ I had a hell of a lot of fights in my time. I know what I’m lookin’ for.”

“I know you do. I just… don’t want to.” She confessed.

Then, the penny dropped and so did his hands. It was suddenly very clear why she was so averse to letting him check her for any injuries. She was nervous about showing him anything under her clothing. He watched her vision drop to the floor and nodded to himself. It all made sense now.

“Do you trust me, or not? Because one minute you’re sleepin’ in my bed n’ the next, ya won’t let me check ya to make sure ya aint hurt.” He stated

She looked up at him with big, pleading eyes, full of worry that she’d offended him and also that she’d have to explain what was going on in her head. That her insecurities didn’t just drop off with her weight loss. That she still didn’t like what she saw when she looked in the mirror. That she was deeply in love with him and didn’t want him to think her disgusting or ugly. But she did trust him and knew he cared.

“I do. I do trust you.” She assured him.

“Then let me take a look. It’s just me. S’alright.” he soothed

When the wind blew her hair across her face, he brushed it aside for her, taking a split second to ghost his thumb over her cheek. Her breath caught in her throat and it was then that she accepted that if she was going to trust anyone with this, it should be him.

She gingerly lifted the hem of her vest, drawing it up to just under her bra. He leaned down and she observed his eyes sweep over her skin, squinting slightly which indicated that there was, in fact, something to look at. Her eyes bulged when he went to place his fingers over her ribs and she jolted away. Closing her eyes and sighing.

“I’m sorry. Go ahead. I’m just not used to being touched.” She admitted.

“Yeah, me neither” he mumbled. “It won’t take a sec”

She nodded and felt her entire body tingle with electricity when he began to gently feel over her ribs, pressing at each one and frowning.

“Shit” he hissed, tracing his fingertips over the large red patch on her ribs. She flinched and held her breath. He applied light pressure along the mark “this hurt?”

“A little” she croaked.

“Your chest or back hurt?”

“No”

He placed his whole hand against her skin and her attempt not to react paid off. The warmth of his palm was a welcome relief from the cold that was licking at her skin from the wind. Daryl positioned his other hand on her shoulder

“Twist ya body, towards me. Breathe in” He instructed. She complied with complaint, having faith that he knew what he was looking for and from what she could tell so far, it certainly wasn’t his first brush with potentially broken ribs. The thought was a sad one when she thought about why a person would have such knowledge through experience alone.

“K. Now breathe out. Any pain?”

“Not much”

“It ain’t broken, gonna have a big bruise though.” He warned, dropping his hand from her shoulder but leaving his palm flush with her ribs, only unintentionally dropping it an inch or so. Her eyes nervously found his staring right back at her and he swallowed hard. She was showing him all kinds of firsts without having a clue about any of it. Having never felt anything for a female before, the intensity of the tension between them was stifling to him. Standing there with her, with his hand on her smooth skin and lost in the uneasy beauty of her eyes, for the first time, he wanted to kiss her more than anything. His gaze dropped to her lips and in the back of his mind he wished that his knowledge of how to deal with his feelings for the pretty nerd reached as far as his knowledge of broken ribs did. He wanted to, but he didn’t. He’d already told her he couldn’t lose her again and one kiss could ruin everything.

“Thank you.” She breathed, breaking the atmosphere and moving back. The contact was broken and Jess tugged her top down. “Is your leg OK?”

“Forgot all ‘bout it” he admitted. Her beautiful, soft skin had distracted him away from the discomfort and it wasn’t something he was likely to forget any time soon.

=-=-=-=-=

Two nights had passed since Jess had faced Daryl’s warm and not altogether uninviting touch. He was right about her rib; it wasn’t broken but it was bruised enough to render her as useless as a chocolate teapot for a couple of days, during which she spent time awkwardly trying to avoid having to discuss what had happened at the fairground with Daryl by avoiding him altogether and playing board games with Abraham while he drowned himself in whiskey on Aaron and Eric’s front porch.

Her avoidance of Daryl hadn’t gone unnoticed but far from being angered by it, he understood that whatever had transpired between them both was complicated and he needed time to process it. He couldn’t be sure that Jess felt the same, or if she even felt anything at all, but he’d been pushed to the brink of an act that was so out of character he felt like she was changing every part of him without even trying.

But being away from her wasn’t an option for too long and eventually, he found himself wandering the town in the dark on the way to Aaron and Eric’s, the now mild pain in his leg humming just enough for him to notice, but being more of an irritation than anything else. As he rounded the corner from the main street, Abraham breezed past him in a cloud of alcohol and slapped him on the back, bidding him a good night in a slurred sentence that was barely comprehensible.

Jess was swaying on the porch swing, reading the book she’d started in Daryl’s room the first night she stayed with him. He climbed the stairs and noted the two whiskey glasses and a bottle on the table. The rapid and unusual change in the weather from a storm to humidity and warmth past dark meant that Jess had taken off her camo pants and wore a pair of shorts and a tight tank top. For the first time, Daryl was able to see how much her body had changed and had to make a marked effort to drag his eyes away from her. Her hair hung loosely around her shoulders.

Damn, girl. No wonder Abe spent the evening here.

Hearing his footsteps on the decking, she glanced up and closed her book. Daryl wasn’t the only one that had been mulling over the fairground incident at every given opportunity. What he didn’t know, was that she felt it too, only she had no idea what was going on in his head at the time. It was the closest she’d ever come to making a move on him but the physical contact with no barrier made things difficult and brought her insecurities to the surface. Guessing his stance on any of it was nigh on impossible. All she had to go on was that she was in love with her best friend, who, she couldn’t only assume, simply liked to watch her blush every now and then with a flirty comment.

“You two drinkin’ together now?”

Her back prickled at the sound of what could have been seen as yet more jealousy concerning the friendship that had blossomed between her and Abraham. Or, was it simply an observation? She wished he was easier to read.

“Why do you ask?” She tried.

He didn’t know the answer himself. Just that his blood boiled whenever Abraham touched her, or joked with her, or made her laugh so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes. He hated the way she sometimes gravitated towards him and refused to ask him to stop making suggestive comments towards her. He hated that she was so comfortable with Abraham, yet with him, she was completely different.

“Curious I guess.” Was all he had to offer.

“Right. To answer your question, he drinks and I scold him for it” She informed him as she slid the book onto the table and patted the swings cushion at her side. Daryl took his cue and sat down beside her, enjoying the rhythmic and soothing rocking of the swing.

“So, you got friends here now?” He questioned. She was different to when she’d first revealed her identity. She was more open to conversation, to teaming up for runs and actually turned up to a party. She was changing and he was seeing more and more of the old Jess peeking through. Her guard was lowering and he wanted to know if it was going to stay down.

“I’m coming around to the idea.” She mentioned breezily “You make it a little difficult to stay so stubborn.”

She shifted and bent one leg, tucking her left foot under her right thigh and draping her arm over her bent knee. She was now facing him with one foot on the floor that was controlling the speed of which the swing swayed.

“Me?” He questioned.

“Yeah, you. You’re my favorite.” She smiled.

He grunted and almost commented that actually, it seemed like Abraham was her favorite.

Jess got up and moved to the edge of the porch, gazing up to the stars and stretching her arms above her head. Through his hair, he allowed himself a peep of the appealing curves of her waist and hips. A conflict raged inside him.

Don’t be an asshole. You shouldn’t be lookin’ at her like this. But hot fuckin’ damn, she cleans up real good.

Jess was busy, wrapped up in her own thoughts for a long time while Daryl watched her every move and bit down on his lower lip.

“I could take you to my boat.” She hummed up to the sky before looking over her shoulder at him. When her eyes met his, he flinched out of his guilty but highly enjoyable daydream.

“Um…Ya boat?” He queried.

She turned and glided back to him, standing over him and gracing him with her shiny lips curved into a playful smile.

“I lived there for a while before I found the fairground. I still go there sometimes, when it’s not too cold. You’d like it. Far away from everyone…. Just you and me. You interested?” She wasn’t intending for it to sound like she was presenting him with an offer laced with sexual tension, it had merely transpired that way and she’d done nothing to rectify it. When his reaction wasn’t one of pure horror, she figured that maybe, just maybe, she could play him at his own game.

Daryl was enthralled and was gawping up at her with his mouth open. He slowly raised one eyebrow.

“Hell yeah, I’m interested.”

----- tagged as requested ----

@lilred254​ @woundmetender​

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

A love that never leaves (7)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. A bit of fluff. Angst city.

A/N: We’re headed back to 1944! War really sucks and Bucky Barnes is a hopeless romantic. Their last night together in the village turns up something beautiful, but ultimately sad. The angsty stuff kicks off here...  

Tags are open, if you want on the list please send me a DM or ASK, it’s easier for me to track. Otherwise you can find the new updates each weekend!

MASTERLIST ALTNL MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Previously...

Instead, her mind weaves through their love story, pulling forward a memory she’s replayed a thousand times before. The memory of his one other visit to the village, right before their world went pear-shaped. She was hesitant to tell him about that night, about the question he asked, because she knows he’s not the same. They’re not the same and she doesn’t want him to think -

But her heart beats faster.

Twisting a lock of his hair around her finger, she gropes for the right words, his fingers stroking lightly down her arm.

I wanna know it all.

In the middle of the night, watching the stars wink through the window of her bedroom, she takes a deep breath.

*****

Late December, 1944 Somewhere in France

The sky is a deep, leaden grey when she hurries from the back door. Stepping carefully over slick paving stones, she heads to the tiny chicken coop, where one scraggly chicken remains. Every day, she expects she’ll arrive to find the poor thing dead, but against all odds, the hen has persevered.

As she walks, she picks at the fraying threads at her wrist. The moss green coat is looking worse for wear these days. Where the elbows have worn through, she’s patched with mismatched cloth from one of her old dresses. It’s not ideal, but still serviceable.

It doesn’t matter, not really, she tells herself.

After five long years, the war rages on. Ravaging the countryside, turning the world to ash, leaving nothing but death in its wake. Nearly all the men who left the village remain on the front; those who returned, are buried under weathered gravestones in the little cemetery.

Letters are less frequent, but far too often, telegrams arrive. Their messengers clutch their hats in sweaty fists when they hand it over, and that tenuous grip on sanity is ripped from a family's fingers.

But here, through everything and against the odds - she survives.

And every day, she holds her breath, waiting for him to come home.

Sleep, wake, work, sleep. Every day a dogged routine. But even though the world is on fire, sometimes when she’s sliding into that sweet headspace between dreaming and awake, she starts to think about the future.

It’s an indulgence, but she has this daydream. About wearing a pretty dress that twirls when she dances. About painting her lips with bright red lipstick and dabbing a bit of perfume behind her ears. About holding a glass of deliciously fizzy champagne and seeing Bucky in a sharp black suit, the collar of his crisp white shirt open, a bowtie loose around his neck. About him pulling her onto the dance floor while the band begins a slow song, something full of nostalgia, because they made it through, the soldier and his girl. About how in the middle of the dance floor, in front of god and everyone, Bucky picks her up and kisses her breathless, his breath like honeyed whiskey. About that little bead of sweat rolling down his temple and her kissing it away.

It’s a nice daydream.

“Good morning, little lady,” she says under her breath, reaching the busted down chicken coop. Searching beneath the warm feathers, she finds a single egg and pulls it away. Stroking the bird lightly, she receives a sleepy cluck in return. “Thank you,” she murmurs, clutching the warm egg in her palm.

Standing straight, she shivers when an icy breeze cuts through the thin dress and wool stockings. Latching the door shut, she trudges back to her house.

She pulls up short.

A soldier sits on the back step, staring at his boots, his hands folded patiently while he waits.

Bucky’s hair is shaggier than her memories and a thick beard covers his face, but he looks like everything she’s missed.

When the sound of her steps reaches him, he looks up and scrambles quickly to his feet. Standing in silence, he watches her nervously, strangely unsure of his reception, despite months of sweet words and declarations of love. Tucking his hands into his pockets, he swallows hard before he finally speaks.

“Hey darlin’. You look real pretty.”

His voice is raspy, exhausted and broken, and she closes her eyes, because she’s had this dream before. It was soul crushing when she woke up.

She counts to three.

When she opens her eyes, thank god, he’s still there. She places the lone egg in the small basket she carries and sets it carefully on the ground. Bucky watches her, longing clear in his face.

And she runs to him.

Throwing herself in his arms, he catches her and lifts her up, pulling her legs around his waist and wrapping his arms around her. With no preamble, she finds his lips and kisses him with everything she has. It’s sloppy and messy and frantic and Bucky savors it. Responding with a low groan, his mouth moves against hers, desperation in every twist of his lips.

“Oh god, I missed you,” he breathes, when they finally come up for air. “I missed you – Jesus Christ, fuck, I missed you so god damn much. I’m not leaving again, not ever,” he swears.

It’s a lie, they both know it. But like her daydream, it’s so pretty, they let themselves believe it. Just for a little while.

*****

“How long do we have?” she asks, pouring him a cup of weak coffee. It’s the last bit she’s been hoarding, but he looks so tired, so utterly obliterated, this seems like a good time. When she moves to sit in the chair across from him, Bucky makes a noise of dissent and scoots away from the table. Motioning to his lap, he gives her an imploring look and she can’t help but smile. She sits gingerly on his knees and he rolls his eyes and tugs her close. So, she throws an arm across his chest, tucks her face into his neck. Bucky sighs happily, keeping one arm curled around her, the other gripping the hot mug.

“Just a couple days, then we’re back out. Had to do a fair bit of sweet talking to get them to stop here,” he says and presses dry, chapped lips to her temple. “Convinced command back in London this was a strategic stopover before we pick up the chase.”

“What are you chasing?” She wraps the chain of his dog tags tight around her finger. It leaves an impressive ring of round indentions in her skin.

“Been searching for this guy, this sci – scientist.”

He trips over the last word, body tensing at the statement and she tightens in response. She still doesn’t know what happened to him as a POW, but this type of anxiety is all too familiar.

Scientists. Yes. She knows about scientists.

Sometimes he says things like this, about his job, and the confident mask falls. His breath comes fast and shallow for a moment, but then she squeezes him hard and kisses his neck. He remains rigid, but the soothing press of lips seems to help. Clearing his throat, he keeps talking. “Running after him for months now. He keeps slipping away.”

“You’re being careful out there?”

Bucky doesn’t respond. He wipes the rim of the coffee mug with his thumb.

“Course I am,” he finally answers.

There’s a lie.

She wants to argue. Make him promise to put himself first, to be careful and cautious, to steer clear of danger in every way possible, because he’s all that she has. But it would make no difference. War is what he does. A job he never wanted but one he picked up with horrifying ease.

Instead, she simply hugs him and changes the subject. Bit by bit, she coaxes him out of his head. Bit by bit, she brings him back to himself.

Himself. Someone he hasn’t known in a long time.

*****

The next morning finds Bucky and Steve jammed shoulder-to-shoulder into a small room off the nave of the village church. Piles of hand-drawn maps litter the polished surface of the priest’s desk and Steve sifts through the mess, setting aside the most relevant, while Bucky marks notes in the margins with a fat red pencil.

Dismantling Hydra across Europe has been swift and successful, but to keep going, they need more intel. And to get more intel, they need to find Arnim Zola. The game of cat and mouse between them gets trickier every day, as he slips through their traps, infuriating Bucky and sending Steve into fits of anger.

Hours pass as they add details from the local maps, using the roads and paths and markers unaccounted for in the debriefs from London to flesh out their search strategy. This has to work. This has to help.

They hope, anyway.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Steve asks for the third time, looking up at the priest. Folding the maps, he clears the desk while Bucky tucks the pencil behind his ear.

“Take whatever you need,” the priest confirms. “Anything to help.”

Steve nods gratefully, stuffing the pile inside his jacket.

Leaving the stuffy air of the little office, the two men follow the priest down the familiar church aisle. As they pass the pew, Bucky automatically looks to where he saw her sitting that sunny Sunday. Clear as day, he recalls her pretty dress and her pretty smile and the way she peeked at him during prayers.

God, he loves that image. His dragging steps find a renewed bounce at the thought of heading back to her.

Coming into the dreary afternoon light, all three men pause on the front steps of the small church and Bucky hears the priest utter a nearly inaudible sigh. His white collar sits askew at his neck and he scratches at it absently, looking out over the dead grass in the small cemetery next to the church.

“Have you lost very many?” Bucky asks quietly. The town seems different than the first time they visited, the crushing fatigue of war bearing down harder than ever.

“Yes. We had a few boys come back last week from – from Italy. Had a hard frost a week earlier and couldn’t get them buried, there’s no way to dig through the frozen ground. Been tough on the families, having them wrapped up in the vaults below the church. They’ll have to stay there, until the ground thaws.”

This is not uncommon. This is how things work. Death in the winter is a grim affair.

Lips drawn in a tight line, Steve rubs exhausted blue eyes and looks over to Bucky; he raises an eyebrow in question.

Bucky considers him for a moment. He wants nothing more than to walk back to her home and crawl into the safety of her arms. But in war, and in life, it’s common courtesy to repay those who’ve helped you. He thinks about the maps that will hopefully lead them closer to Zola, closer to ending this madness, closer to coming back to her for good.

He swallows hard and nods.

“We’ll dig the graves for you. Least we can do for the help.”

The priest hesitates with his response. “That’s very kind of you boys, but the ground really is frozen. I don’t think you can dig through.”

Steve gives him a kind smile. “It’s alright. We’ll manage.”

*****

Bucky drives the sharp shovel into the mound of black earth. Leaning heavily on the handle, he swipes a shaking hand over the line of cold sweat on his forehead.

“M’done,” he says hoarsely to Steve. Four freshly dug graves line the edge of the little graveyard, waiting patiently for their occupants to arrive.

It took some doing, but between the two of them, they managed. Once they broke through the frozen layer, the rest was easy. Of course, it helps that Steve is stronger than the normal soldier and that Bucky is – well, that Bucky’s strong as well.

Steve tosses one final heap of dirt and stretches with a low groan.

“Go on,” Bucky urges, tugging the shovel from his hands. He needs Steve to sleep, because he hasn’t in days. “Get some sleep. You know we gotta leave first thing.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. He claps his hands, brushing away the dry feel of dust. “Guess you're staying with your girl tonight?”

“Course,” Bucky says with a tired smile. He toys with the button on his blue jacket. “Got something to ask her.”

Steve squeezes his shoulder affectionately. “Really gonna do it, huh? Nervous?”

Bucky squints up at the pinpricks of starlight peppering the dark sky and gives voice to the doubt in his mind. “Yeah. I don’t know. I’ve been thinking...about all the shit I’ve done, and I’m - fuck, Steve. You’ve seen me out there. I’m not exactly a good person. Not anymore.” He looks over, weary confusion in his face. “Am I selfish? Wantin’ her this way? Doesn’t she deserve better?”

Steve just looks at him. That same penetrating gaze he’s had since the day he found Bucky back in Azzano. Bucky still hasn’t told him everything and Steve keeps waiting, but he knows it’s in vain. Bucky Barnes is a master at stomping down his feelings.

So, Steve gets philosophical instead.

“You know, it seems like the world wants to romanticize this. The war. They write songs and poetry and tell all these grand stories, but we all know it’s fuckin’ bullshit. There’s nothing romantic here. I smell like actual shit and all Dugan’s toenails fell off last week and you got someone’s fuckin’ brains on your coat the other day.” He wrinkles his nose in disgust. “None of us are getting out of this war without changing. That includes her. Don’t go using that as an excuse. You love her and she loves you, and this world’s so god damn fucked up, but you have that. Don’t forget it.”

Bucky tips his head back up, gazing at the stars. He thinks for a moment, then looks back at Steve and gives him a serious nod.

“Every now and then you’re not a total asshole. Smell like one maybe, but - ”

He ducks when Steve tries to cuff him.

“God you’re a jerk,” Steve states fervently.

“Damn straight,” Bucky says. “Now go on. It’s your dumb ass wanting to leave at dawn.”

Giving him a mocking salute, Steve trudges back toward the make-shift camp the team set up on the edge of town. Bucky watches him walk, until the outline of Captain Steve Rogers is swallowed up in the encroaching night.

All he wants is to head back to her, but he needs a minute. Needs to clear out the dark thoughts vying for space in his head, because he sure as hell doesn’t want to bring those within a mile of her.

Setting the shovels against the bullet riddled wall of the church, he drops to the frozen dirt and leans back. Digging inside his jacket, he fishes out the last smoke from the battered pack he keeps hidden inside. Holding it between his teeth, he pats his pockets, feeling for his lucky lighter.

“God fuckin’ dammit,” he swears softly, realizing the damn thing is still in his pack. Frustrated, he bangs his head against the wall and shuts his eyes.

Someone drops beside him. Bucky hears the metal rasp and a flame appears. Looking over, he finds the tired face of the priest giving him a wry smile. He leans over, tips the cigarette into the fire and inhales.

“Thanks Padre,” he grunts in greeting.

“Sure thing,” the priest says, snapping it shut. He leans against the stone next to Bucky and gets comfortable. “You know, the last time you were here, you were pretty intent on interrupting my service.”

“Ah yeah. Sorry about that,” Bucky says with a weak smile. He takes another slow drag. “Was awful interested in someone else that day.”

“Yes, that much was clear,” the priest says with a chuckle. Stretching out his long legs, he crosses the ankles, fiddling with his lighter. “So. How is it out there?”

What a loaded question.

How is it out there?

Hell. Black, bloody, brutal. The very worst parts of his nightmares magnified by a thousand. Humans are terrible and people are suffering in ways he never imagined, because war is fucking hell on earth. He wants to pack up his shit, break his rifle across his knee, get his girl and go home.

How is it out there?

It’s motherfucking awful out there.

“It’s - fine,” Bucky says instead. He examines the bright red cherry on the tip of his smoke. Takes another long drag, blows the thin stream into the icy air. “Just gettin’ tired. Trying to find a reason to keep fighting, I guess. I know it’s the right thing to do. These rumors you’re hearing. Camps and babies and…experiments. All of it’s true. Every fuckin’ word,” he grimaces at the effortless swear and looks apologetically at the priest. “Sorry.”

The priest just shrugs. “S’okay Sergeant. I’ve heard worse. Said worse, in fact.”

Bucky gives a humorless laugh. “Sure, sure.” He tugs at a loose string on his jacket and thinks. “Guess I’m having trouble finding something to follow, you know?”

“What do you believe in?”

Staring off into space, Bucky wonders. What does he believe in? A long time ago, he thought he knew. Life, liberty. Freedom. Fighting the good fight. But now? His morals are shot to shit and he has no idea which way is up. He’s drifting along, half human while he chips away at his humanity a little more with each bullet from his gun. Each slice of his knife. What the hell does he believe in?

He can think of nothing, until he can. Until the one word that makes it all right rises to his lips.

“Love,” Bucky answers honestly. He cocks his head to the side and considers to the priest. “I believe in love. Making the world better for other people. For my family. For Steve.” His eyes drift the familiar path toward her house and he smiles without realizing. “For her.”

“Then that’s what you follow.”

“You’re telling me to follow my heart? Little corny, ain’t it?”

The priest smiles faintly. “Maybe,” he agrees. “Up to you to find out.”

Renewed, Bucky drops the cigarette and grinds it with the heel of his boot. He climbs to his feet and offers a silent hand to the priest, hauling him off the ground.

“Thanks, Padre.”

“Good luck Sergeant.”

*****

Lugging the boiling water into the bathroom, she splashes it into the old porcelain tub. It’s taken close to an hour now, of heating water over the fireplace and transferring it to the bath.

She’s in the bathroom, adding the final bucket, when the backdoor opens. There’s a rustling and she hears Bucky shrugging out of the blue coat, taking off his boots and lining them up in a military straight line. When he pads into the kitchen calling her name, the bucket slips and she hisses a frustrated curse.

“Wha – are you okay?”

She comes out of the bathroom off the kitchen and huffs out a breath. Sweat drips down her face and her arms are shaking from the effort, but she gives him a broad smile.

“You interested in a hot bath, Sergeant?”

Eyes going wide, Bucky hesitates for the briefest moment, before he’s suddenly slipping over the cold stone floor of her kitchen, stripping as he goes. His shirt goes flying, he hops on one foot to remove each sock, his fingers scrabble furiously at his worn leather belt. By the time he reaches the tub, he’s down to his drab, olive colored military issue boxers and an ecstatic smile.

“I hope you’re serious, or this is gonna be real awkward,” he jokes and she laughs. Motioning to the water, she turns around and gives him privacy, busying herself while he removes the boxers. It seems silly, considering what they’ve shared, but she doesn’t want to presume.

There’s a splash and then Bucky is stuttering out a long, satisfied moan. The sound makes her stomach somersault.

“Can I look?” she teases, her throat suddenly and intensely dry. He chuckles.

“Please do. Ain’t much fun otherwise.”

She turns to see him slouched in the water, and then Bucky takes a deep breath and ducks under, immersing himself completely. Under the film of water, eyes closed and dark hair floating around him, he looks like an angel. He holds his breath for so long, she starts to worry, until he breaks the surface with a gasping laugh. Water cascades in rivers of bright sparkles down his face and spiky clumps of black eyelashes frame his blue eyes.

“Like trying to bathe a child,” she says, a mock stern note in her voice and Bucky gives her a crooked grin.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll be good, cross my heart.”

Poking him in the ribs, he shies away and laughs again and my god, she missed that sound. It sings through her blood, a drug she never realized she craved.

Wetting her hands in the hot water, she lathers up a small chunk of soap. Bucky hunches forward and she lathers his hair, scratching her nails deep to rub away the sweat and dirt caked at his hairline, relishing his soft little moans. Scooping up the hot water, she douses his head over and over, rinsing soap from the dark tangle of hair, until the water runs clear. Pressing against his chest, she pushes him back against the tub and he goes easily, but when she tries to move her hand away, he catches it. She feels the rough bristles of hair beneath her palm and she meets his eyes.

“Will you get in here with me?”

Those blue eyes pleading with her, the hitch in his voice, it stirs a fierce protectiveness in her. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t refuse. Nodding cautiously, she steps behind him and he leans back in the bath, closing his eyes with a sigh.

She sheds her clothes quickly and observes him for another moment. He looks thinner, the lean muscle trending toward a gauntness she doesn’t like to see. Dark circles are smeared below his eyes, the kind no amount of scrubbing will wash away, and there are new scars littering his body. Thick lines of raised tissue speaking of blades and bullets, and she feels a wave of ice sweep through her at the thought of him courting death on so many occasions. His plush lips, before so quick to quirk up into an easy smile, are curved down.

He looks ravaged, by this war.

In that moment, she decides – if they make it through this thing, if Fate gives them a chance to be together, to make a life together, then she will fix this for him. It doesn’t matter that she gave it up, that she vowed to never do it again. Seeing him like this, she can’t stand it. She can help him and she will.

So many thoughts flood her brain in the blink of an eye, but then she’s stepping into the hot water and sinking down between his spread legs. Leaning against him, she pulls his arms to wrap around her and Bucky sighs blissfully. Bracketing her with his legs, he holds onto her so tightly she can barely breath, but she welcomes the pressure.

It’s nice to be needed.

Water sloshes over the edge while he resettles. Steam rises in spirals around them, blanketing her skin with an instant layer of dampness. It should be a little cool, but it is the exact opposite; everything feels scorching hot. The water, the thick porcelain tub, Bucky’s hard body, Bucky’s lips at her shoulder, Bucky’s tongue licking up her neck. Everything is full of heat, Bucky is fire and she’s melting.

“You taste like heaven,” he whispers, sucking gently at the skin along her shoulder. “Better’n anything I’ve ever had.”

Nothing goes any further. Bucky holds her tight, his hands skimming reverently up and down her arms, his fingers occasionally brushing across her breasts. His touch leaves a deep-seated ache, one she grows increasingly desperate to slack. But he seems content with this, with simply holding her.

An hour passes and the water grows cool. When she lifts her toes from the water, she laughs quietly.

“I’m very wrinkly.”

Huffing a laugh into her ear, Bucky rises from the tub, dripping across the floor to search for towels. Finding two, he gives himself a quick rub down and then slips back into his boxers. They cling to his still-damp skin and she drinks her fill of him, before raising her eyes to his face.

The laughter fades at his expression, at the lust tightening his mouth; she rises quickly from the water.

“No, wait,” he urges when she goes to step out. “Lemme help.”

Helping her from the tub, he takes a towel and carefully pats every inch of her body dry. She wonders if she should feel self-conscious at his eyes roaming over her, but there’s such clear worship in his face, her nudity is nothing. Instead, she feels a warmth in her belly that grows, spidering into the tips of her fingers as she reaches for him.

Catching his face between her hands, she lifts it to hers, gently pressing her thumb into the cleft of his chin. “You’re really beautiful, you know that?”

There it is. The slow smile she’s been waiting for. It’s almost like watching the sun rise, the way it arrives, nothing and then everything. He rubs the tip of his nose against hers and hums appreciatively.

“No one’s ever called me that before. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I assume, that was your way of talkin’ me into bed?” he whispers and her heart skips at the playful glint in his eyes.

“Did it work?” she whispers back and Bucky tips his head back and laughs. It bounces around the small bathroom and fills her up, happiness spreading like molten lava through her veins.

“It definitely worked,” he confirms. Wrapping the towel snugly around her, he sweeps her off her feet. Carrying her through the dark house and up the stairs, they sink together into the softness of her bed.

*****

Neither one wants to sleep. If they sleep, the night will pass and when the darkness leaves, so will he.

Instead, they lay tangled together on her bed. Even now, she still feels the aftershocks of pleasure shivering through her body, settling into her bones. Face to face, they lay sharing a pillow, silently watching each other in the dying light of the fire. She twines her fingers with his, brings them to her mouth and rubs her lips over the long, thin white scar on his right hand.

It was what brought them together, after all.

“I wish we could stay here like this,” she murmurs, her wistful voice melting into the black silk of the room. “I wish the world would come back to its senses.”

Bucky hooks his leg around hers and brings her even closer. The comforting curve of his warm body feels like a protective shield against the world beyond her windows.

“It can’t last forever,” he says and he strokes his fingers down her bare arm. There’s an edge of bitterness riding his tongue when he speaks again. “It’s gotta end someday. They’ll run out of soldiers eventually.”

All she’s every wanted in this wretched world, was to find someone like him. Someone full of passion and life, someone who could make her feel again, make her want to live again. Here in this little village, she’s found exactly what she needs, but their life is so fragile. She’s terrified it will fall apart.

Sensing the swirl in her head, Bucky rests his thumb in the hollow dip at the base of her throat, rubbing small, soothing circles.

“Can I ask you something?” he says.

“Of course you can.” He doesn’t respond right away. There’s a longing in his face, one she recognizes - it’s a perfect reflection of her own heart. She waits expectantly, but nothing happens. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. A deep red flush is working up his neck, spreading over the apples of his cheeks. He looks nervous. “I love you,” he finally says.

“I love you too.”

“Okay, good. Okay. I want to – would you do something for me?”

“Bucky, I’d do anything for you,” she says encouragingly.

He nods at her words, absorbing them. She would do anything for him. He takes a deep breath.

“Would you marry me?”

Since the moment she knew she loved him, she’s dreamt of these words. Of Bucky asking her to stay with him forever. To wake up with him every morning and fall asleep wrapped in his arms. To fight and love and live and grow old together.

She wants to reply, but shocked hope steals her breath and the words won’t come.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers quickly, his eyes flicking rapidly between hers, sudden shyness in his voice. “I know we haven’t known each other long, it’s all mostly letters really, and I don’t know, maybe it’s too soon and we still have so much to learn about each other, but – you’re it for me. I really believe that. It’s just - every day I walk out there and I swear to god, death’s riding my ass so fuckin’ hard, and I don’t know if I’m gonna make it home again and I just – didn’t want to lose the chance.”

His words bleed together, punched fast and frantic from his lungs, like he needs to release them or he’ll choke. When he tries to keep speaking, she puts her fingers against his lips, shushing him.

“Bucky. You had my heart from the moment we met. You’re it for me,” she echoes and Bucky’s face lights up at her words. “I’ll be here waiting, as long as it takes. Come back when you can and I’ll marry you.”

Burrowing into his chest, she clings to him. Tears slip fat and hot down her cheek and when he feels the steady stream wetting his skin, he rolls her onto her back and hovers above her, leaning down to kiss each one away, one by one until every drop is gone and the taste of salt burns his tongue.

Salt and sadness. Is there a more defining feature of war than these two things?

The dog tags around his neck clink softly when he shifts, sitting up on his knees. The words come effortlessly, the ones every soldier presents his love, knowing full well it could be no more than another pretty lie. He takes her hand and holds it against his heart. Beneath his hot skin, she feels the steady thump against her palm. His low voice rings with promise when he speaks.

“I swear to god, on everything I have, I will come back for you.” He squeezes her hand, his eyes burning. “What we have – I’m always gonna fight for it. Down to my dying breath. You and me, this kind of love, it lasts forever, okay? It’ll never leave. I’ll never leave. Not ever.”

Out of nowhere, the nameless fear that sits dormant in her chest perks to life at his words. Terror seeps into the marrow of her bones, at the haunting phrase from her past.

But this is different, she thinks. It’s different, and she holds tight to his vow, desperate to believe that history won’t repeat, and she won’t be left alone again.

“It never leaves,” she echoes. Like opposing commas, they curl together, drawing comfort from the other.

*****

Just like before, Bucky rises before dawn. He dresses quickly, buttoning and buckling the uniform in the dark, a repetitious memory his hands have been trained to complete.

Just like before, he stokes the smoldering fire. Adds more kindling to send it blazing, filling the room with heat.

Just like before, he kneels beside the bed and lays his head next to her.

“Good morning,” she whispers. Cool fingers smooth his hair back and he leans into her touch.

“Good morning,” he breathes. She moves to get up, but Bucky gently holds her down. “No, don’t get up. It’s too cold.”

She shakes her head no and tries to rise again, but his arm is like iron, a silent rebuke.

“Bucky, let me go downstairs. See if I can find you any coffee, I might…” her voice fades at the sadness in his eyes.

“Darlin, I’d really – I’d rather you don’t watch me leave. I’m not sure I can go, if I know you’re watching.” He brushes his lips along her cheek and hums. “This here, you all soft and warm,” he kisses her other cheek, his lips lingering, a smile in his voice, “completely naked,” another kiss on her nose, his mouth a breath from hers. “This is what I want to remember.”

In the firelight, his eyes are so breathtakingly blue. It’s her favorite color, she sees it everywhere.

He could convince her to do anything with those eyes.

“If that’s what you want,” she murmurs reluctantly.

“You’re what I want. You’re what I’m always gonna want,” he whispers. His mouth slants over hers, the dry, cracked skin of his fingertips cradling her face and she leans into the rough touch.

“Good. Because I’m always going to be yours,” she answers and Bucky swims happily in her reply.

Unwilling as ever, he rises slowly to his feet.

“When I come back, I’m bringing you a ring.” A sweet, crooked smile pulls up his lips.

She plucks up the shiny medal he gave her from the chain around his neck, the outline of St. Michael clear on the spinning chain. “This is enough. I don’t need anything else, just bring me you.”

He watches her for a moment more, and then he’s stumbling back for one last heated embrace. Crushing her into the blankets, Bucky pours every last drop of love into the kiss, trying desperately to brand himself into the meat of her heart, so she never, ever forgets him.

It works, she thinks hazily, his mouth feverish against hers. Where he ends and where she begins, it’s impossible to define.

He ends the kiss abruptly and tears himself away.

And just like before, at the grey break of dawn, Bucky Barnes slips from the warmth of home and disappears back into the cold march of war.

*****

Two months later, a telegram arrives from Captain Steve Rogers.

The innocent piece of paper sits on her kitchen table, resting against the chipped white jug that was once full of the bright holly berries Bucky brought her. Hours tick by as she sits in silence, waiting. Night has fallen, before numb fingers find the courage to open it.

I lost him. A mission in the Alps. I’m not stopping until all of Hydra is dead. I’ll come find you when this is over. I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.

G.

Steve Rogers never comes. She hears the news later, that his plane went down. No survivors.

*****

The poets say when your heart breaks, the world will grind to a halt.

The poets are wrong, she thinks.

When your heart breaks, the world will in fact keep moving. The stars will still shine, the sun will still rise. You will go on living, despite having nothing to live for. The world doesn’t stop for trivial things like grief. It lumbers on, drags you forward kicking and screaming, forcing you to keep breathing, until you’re nothing more than a ghost of who you were.

*****

Next Chapter

*****