#anyway welcome to my dark twisted mind i guess

[beatriceportinari]

top five movies >:}

evil..... i barely watch any movies and yet I cannot chose. ok this is probably just going to be a list of the first movies I remember but you can take the fact I remember them as a good sign. 1. videodrome 2. the handmaiden 3. adolescence of utena 4. the talented mr ripley 5. annihilation

[dumbbitch-academy]

Use Me

Astarion x f!reader/tav

WC:3k+

Smut! 18+ MDNI

Summary: Reader is basically ovulating and is super horny because of this, so Astarion decides to help her out after finding her frustrated.

Contains: p-in-v sex, dirty talk, masturbation (female and male), mutual masturbation, oral (male receiving), face fucking (male receiving), reader gets embarrassed easily (there are some shame moments but nothing major), reader and Astarion are so horny for each other omg

A/N: Hello Everyone! Here is the full fic! Just keep in mind this is my first time writing smut! As always feedback is always welcomed! I did not expect this fic to become so long as it did but I am pleased with how it turned out!

Masterlist (it is short but it soon shall grow)

AO3 for those who prefer!

It had been so annoying all day. No matter how much you tried to will it away, the need and want for carnal release would not stop bothering you. It consumed you, and you hated that. The only thing you could think about was him, taking you in every which way that you could think of. You imagined his strong chest against your back, his smell overtaking your senses. The way his hands felt on your breasts, how his kisses to your throat set your neck aflame. His groans as he made his way to enter you, eyes closed with his brows scrunching up in the middle. You wanted all of this. But there was one problem with this solution. He was out on a mission and you did not want to burden him with your needs of release. 

You tried to think of why you could be so desperate, until you remembered, you were supposed to become fertile soon. You guess soon had finally arrived, much to your annoyance. The best you could do was to retreat to your tent and try to tend to this problem by yourself. Surely you would be able to take care of this, and then this whole irritating problem will go away. 

“I am going to my tent, I am not feeling too well, best not to bother me for a bit!”, you called out towards Gale and Shadowheart. Shadowheart nodded in acknowledgement, whereas Gale called out to you “Would you like help? I have a few wonderful teas that I keep for emergencies, such as headaches, sore muscles, or even a belly ache.” Gods, why did he have to be so helpful at the worst of times? You shook your head, “Oh thank you Gale, but I just feel overly tired. I would like to have some quiet time to nap.” You could see his mouth start to form a word as you quickly slipped into your tent, which was luckily a good bit farther from the rest of the group, “Okay, thank you, bye-” as you made your fast exit. 

Once you secured the tent flap, you took a deep inhale and raised your hands to cover your face. Astarion. You could feel the need start to build higher, if it was even possible. Astarion. You quickly went to pull your pants down, as well as your underclothes. They had already been wet from imagining Astarion taking you in whatever way he wanted to use you. Use me, Astarion. You went to pull your tunic above your head, your breath catching as you felt the fabric drag slightly across your nipples. Fuck, you didn’t know if you had ever been this horny before. You laid back onto your bed roll and started to twist your nipples in your fingers. You traced your hand down and slowly began to play with your sensitive bundle of nerves. You could feel the wetness that coated your soft dark curls there, the wetness providing excellent glide for your fingers to play with yourself, all while you imagined him. You imagined it was his hand, or tried to anyways, it always felt much better when he was the one playing with you there. You wished that you could smell him, to be able to feel enveloped. Fuck, why did he have to go on that stupid mission again? It was at this point you remembered that he had left his white shirt in your tent that morning before they set out. Using your clean hand, you palmed around for it until you felt the familiar fabric. You brought it to your nose and deeply inhaled. Gods, it was almost intoxicating. You huffed out a breath as you inserted a finger into your aching hole, fuck you needed something inside you. You thought about his cock, the thickness, stretching you with a delicious sting. You added another finger to try to achieve the same feeling, your breath hitching. You began to pump your fingers in and out, still thinking of the real thing. However, no matter how long you kept this up, you never were able to get anywhere near where you needed to be to finally cum, much to your frustration. 

It was not until a good amount of time had passed that you heard footsteps walking up to the tent. “Darling, I am back. Shadowheart mentioned you are not feeling well, do you need help?”Astarion called from outside the tent flap. Yes, more than ever. “Oh, uhh, hi Astarion, no I am okay, thank you though, my love!” Your voice failed to sound as nonchalant as you had hoped it to. Astarion was not buying it and began to open the tent flap slowly, “Love, you really sound distressed, I am going to come in okay? I want to make sure you are o-” He quickly rushed in and tied the flap secured when he saw what kind of state you were in. Cheeks red, his shirt in your hand, your chest heaving, legs spread with your hand still inserted into you. You all of a sudden burned hot, cheeks glowing even more, but this time from embarrassment. You quickly in one motion threw his shirt to the side, grabbed the blanket from your side, and wrapped yourself in a cocoon of shame. 

Why you felt such shame, you were not totally sure as to why. You were in a committed relationship, and had slept with each other quite a few times. But never had he ever walked in on you pleasuring yourself. The feeling of shame was met with easy red eyes from Astarion and a giggle, “Not feeling good you say? Surely an orgasm can take away any headache, do not let me stop you, my love.” 

“I do not have a headache, please Astarion, I am…” He could sense your humiliation and slowly went to sit down beside you with his legs crossed. “Darling, there is no need to be ashamed, we haven’t in a while and you have needs. Don’t let me stop you. Please continue to fuck yourself while you…” he glanced over to his tossed shirt “smell my shirt. You always surprise me, my sweet girl.” By now you accepted the situation, “Astarion, I have been horny all day, I cannot seem to take care of it. I think I am just going to go jump in a cold lake. Or just ignore it because I don’t want you to feel obligated to hel-”, you were cut off by a quick kiss to the forehead between your brows. “Darling, I would love to help you. Let me, please. I have been wanting to take you for the last few days actually… thinking of every single curve, freckle, giggle,” Astarion slowly coaxed you out of the blanket that had been your fortress against your own embarrassment for the last several minutes. “You… you do not have to do this if you don’t want to, Astarion. I can take care of this myself, really. You won’t hurt my feelings if you leave,” you looked up at him and shifted your body to sit with your legs crossed mirroring him. “Tav, please, let me take you,” a dangerous glimmer in Astarion’s eyes while he nodded, giving you permission. You nodded in return and moved to your knees as you leaned your neck down to meet your lover’s lips with a small tentative kiss at first, which began to deepen. He rose up to his knees, his armor abrasive against your soft skin. He pulled away when he noticed you pull back slightly, scratchy armor was not your favorite feeling in the world against your bare chest. Astarion remedied this by immediately taking off his top garments to have only his leather trousers and bare chest against you. You hummed in thanks and took his lips in another kiss, more heated than before. You could feel his hands wander up your back, tracing along your spine in opposite directions. He ended up with one hand gently holding the back of your head while the other firmly rested on your round ass. The desire which had been snuffed out momentarily stoked once again. You reached behind him and pulled him in closer, moving your mouth to trace kisses along his jaw, stopping at his ear lobe. His unneeded breath caught and a small moan escaped his lips. He pulled back to look into your eyes, his had begun to be half-lidded. “I thought I was helping you take care of your little issue, my love”, he sensually whispered as he went to kiss your neck, which he began to suck on the sensitive skin there. The hand he had on your ass began to knead the cheek, eliciting a groan from you. You needed more. You pushed away from him suddenly and went to lie down on the bed roll once again and nodded up at him. He nodded back at you and followed you, straddling one of your legs, making sure that they were opened for him. Bracing himself up with one arm above your head, he began to feel your breast, heavy, warm, and so ready to be played with. He moved his fingers to twist and play with your nipple as he began to rub your engorged sex with his thigh, causing you to breathe out his name. He moved his mouth to suck and lick your other nipple, humming in pleasure as he tasted your skin. You closed your eyes and brought your head back and began to grind your dripping cunt onto his thigh, no longer feeling the embarrassment that clouded your mind before. 

You began to quietly pant out labored breaths as he gently nipped your nipple between his blunt teeth, careful not to puncture you there. “Mmmmphhhh,” you groaned with need, which earned you a sultry giggle, “Eager aren’t we? Cannot wait to be on my fingers? Or how about on my face? My cock? Tell me what you want, my darling love. Let me hear you.” It was all too  much but not nearly enough to get you off. “Anything. I need you Astarion. Take me, use me. Mark me, fuck. Do anything you want to me,” you begged as you continued to grind on his thigh. The slick spreading everywhere, not that either of you cared at this exact moment. The only thought between the two of you was each other and each other's pleasure. 

A low growl came from Astarion’s chest, “Come here then, on all fours.” Astarion moved to give you more space, pulling down his trousers, you moaned with anticipation as his cock popped out, already achingly hard, precum deliciously pearled at the tip. You licked your lips and eyed up at him, “Please, let me suck your cock. Let me taste you.” Astarion had already fisted his erection, staring down at you, pumping slowly, “Good girl, you may suck my cock with that filthy mouth of yours.” 

You moved forward and took the head into your mouth, lavishing his flavor. Moaning onto his cock, you began to bob your head back and forth, your body moving slightly with you. Astarion held one of his hands on his hip while his other went to rest on your head. He didn’t push it down, only kept you and him moving together perfectly. “Gods, your mouth is so fucking warm. You were waiting all day for this weren’t you? Waiting for my cock to be inside you, wherever I wanted it to be, huh? My dirty girl, always so good and eager for me. Pleasing- hah, fuck that’s nice- pleasing me with your body,” Astarion praised you, his voice a slightly higher pitch than his normal speaking voice. You loved when he sounded like this. Free to express his pleasure however he wanted to, speak freely and openly. Whatever came to his mind during pleasure. He had begun to pump his hips in tandem to your movements. You took this opportunity to flick your tongue against his frenulum before fully letting Astarion take control. “Want me to face fuck you? Force your throat onto my cock?” Astarion had always made sure to ask. A low moan came from your chest, nodding as you felt pearls of wetness fall down your thighs. With your permission, Astarion grabbed your head and began to viciously pump your head and throat fully onto his cock at a devastating pace. The salty precum freely flows onto your tongue and down your throat. You looked up at Astarion, who already had his garnet eyes fixed onto you, “That’s right, take my cock. Look into my eyes while you gag on this dick. Fuck. Fuck, I love you. Mmmmmphhhhhh, I want to make love to you forever.” It was so liberating for the both of you. He noticed you trying to fuck yourself on nothing that was there, and took mercy on you by leaning over and using one of his hands to slide two fingers into your dripping wet cunt. You both moaned heavily, fucking each other in tandem to where pleasure knew no bounds between your bodies. “Fuck, I need to be inside you right now. I want to cum in you, please. Please let me fuck you,” Astarion began to whine. Immediately both of you let each other go, his cock releasing from your mouth with a pop. 

“Please, take me. Cum in me. Gods, fuck me,” you begged as well as you moved to lie on your back. You began to immediately play with your clit with your legs spread open, staring up at Astarion and noticed that he had instantly lost the rest of his clothing with lightning speed. With heavy eyes, he began to stroke himself with one hand, his other pinching his own nipple. You followed this and played with your own nipple as well. Your huffs of air coming from your open mouths as you pleasured yourselves just staring at each other. When you decided it was time, you used your fingers you were stroking your clit with to beckon Astarion down to you, smirking at each other as he took your slick fingers into his mouth as he settled between your legs. You hooked your legs around his, and braced yourself for his cock to finally be inside of you, wrapping both of your arms around his neck and shoulders to keep him close. You stared into each other's eyes as you could feel him enter you with the swollen head of his cock, both groaning at the feeling. You relished the stretch as he impaled you onto his cock, sinking deeper and deeper into you until he bottomed out, his thighs pressed into yours.“Fuck, move please, fuck me,” you whined as you began to wiggle your hips trying to fuck yourself on his thick cock. Astarion groaned at the sight and feeling of your entire being begging for him. He began to rock his hips to meet yours, huffing breaths with each thrust. He stared into your eyes and you stared back, the love between you two burning so intensely as the molten pleasure between you made your bodies sing for one another. You could feel his hips snap faster and faster, becoming more erratic. You would both come undone for each other. He leaned his head down to your neck, breathy high pitched whines quietly escaping his mouth as he kissed open mouth kisses below your ear. You brought one of your hands to play with the tip of his ear, you knew how much he loved his ears played with the closer he was to his end. “Please, please may I cum? Please I have been good, please let me cum,” Astarion slurred out, unable to keep his voice even. You always thought he was so cute when he asked to cum, genuinely as a light smile crooked the side of your mouth. 

A moan escaped your mouth as you leaned in, connecting your lips together and nodded as you deeply kissed him. You broke the kiss just long enough, “Yes, my love, come for me. P-please cum inside me, Astarion.” You gave him another kiss at the same time you clenched around him and lightly pinched his ear. His orgasm racked his body as his hips snapped violently into yours, slurring out your name as his eyes rolled backwards. The feeling of his cum shooting deep into you was all you needed to reach your climax as you felt your legs shake and arms tense around Astarion. 

Both of your breathing was deep and labored as you came back down, skin glistening with a sheer layer of sweat. “I love you,” came out of both your mouths at the same time and this caused a burst of laughter to erupt. Smiling down at you with his hair stringy and hanging down from sweat he went to move out of you, “Okay, hold on, I'm pulling out.” You felt the uncomfortable release and quietly winced. He rolled over and laid on his back and you rolled to your side, facing him. “So… feel any better?”, Astarion asked with a smirk adorning his face. You groaned in embarrassment, “...yes.” You knew he was genuinely asking, not just poking fun at you. You moved to wrap your arms around him as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders in return. You stayed there in contented silence until your stomach rumbled, which had Astarion snorting out a small laugh, “Come my dear, let's get you something to eat. I am sure Gale would be insulted if we stayed in here all night without you having dinner anyways.” 

You both got ready and began to make your way out of the tent, but did not find anyone at the campsite. You were suddenly worried of an ambush that had taken place during your intense romp together. But as you were walking around you found a quickly written note which read:

“ We decided to go to the river… We will be back once you “feel better”- Shadowheart”

The intense heat that spread through your cheeks, bringing a strong blush across your ears and entire face caused Astarion to full belly laugh after he had read what was contained in the letter. You covered your face with both hands and groaned in embarrassment, “ We are camping so far away from them from now on we are going to be across the river, oh my gods.”

[sweetracha]

Choose a Flavor

There are two versions of this story based on what experience you want to have. Will you be a good girl or a brat?

Flavor Selected: Brat

Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (SMUT!)

Allergy Warning: Hard Dom Chan, Titles (Master and Daddy), Pet Names (Bunny, Baby, Doll, Etc), Dumb is used, Spanking, Denial, Overstim, Begging, Pet Play? (Name and Outfit more than Roleplay), Illusions to aftercare

Here you are now standing in his playroom. It was perfect, everything you could have dreamed of and more. You had seen it once before when you were going over consent contracts. Chris wanted to make sure you felt comfortable in this space. He made love to you in the black silk bed that sat on the middle wall. He was so sweet, soft, and sensual in those moments. You wondered how he could ever be a dom.

Trying to drown out your busy mind you took in the sights. Christopher, or Bang Chan as you learned was his dom persona, had an eye for detail. The room was decorated with leather and silk, reminding you of the silk piece he had you wear tonight. Red lights colored the corners tastefully. Paddles and other impact gear were organized along the walls. Ropes were twisted neatly on the bedframe. A wand and some other toys were charging on the black wood nightstand. Finally, you took in the scent of the room. Sharp whiskey and leather filled your senses, a perfect match to Chan’s cologne. Being so lost in the art of it all, you didn’t hear the door close or footsteps behind you.

“Hello little bunny” Chris welcomed as he slide up behind you, gently wrapping a hand around your throat. “Are you ready to play little one?” you nodded in response.

“Words honey, don’t be a brat now” his grip tightened. 

“Yes Master” you meekly replied

“Good girl, here is how tonight is going to go. Every question I ask will be responded to verbally, Every order I give will be followed, and every word I say will be heard. Do this little bunny and Daddy will reward you greatly. If you fail to listen to me, however, you will be punished” His hand around your neck pulled you in close as he leaned into your ear and whispered “Hard”.

Tonight you were left with two choices. Be the good girl your dom wants you to be or have your fun and be a brat. Rewards or punishments were the ultimate questions. 

You picked to be a brat tonight

Chan spun you around so you were facing him, it didn’t matter if he had a shorter stature. Right now he towered over you. Leather-gloved hands came up to fix your pretty white bunny ears on top of your head. Christopher cooed at how innocent you looked in the dark space. He was going to have fun with you. Those same rough leather hands tilted your chin up to stare into his intense eyes.

“What are your safe words bunny?” You knew this was an important question to establish an answer but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Green for go, Yellow for slow down, and Red for stop…just like a traffic light” You rolled your eyes. “I thought even a soft dom like you would have known that.

You could see a fire in his eyes, he knew your games. His gentle hand became hash on your cheeks as he held your face. He lowered down to your level and got real close.

“Watch your tone brat, I won't repeat myself. Now what is my name tonight”

“Christopher but I guess because we are playing make-believe you are ‘Bang Chan’. How did you come up with such a clique porn name anyways” you mocked. The hand not occupying your face slithered to your roots. With a handful of hair, he yanked you back. Chris didn’t miss the way your eyes rolled as you let out a grunting moan.

“Fucking brat. Should have known you'd never be a good girl. But you know what princess? I know exactly how to tame you. At the end of the day, I know you just want to be my dumb little pet bunny.” He let go of your hair and made his way to the bed. The way he sat down on the edge made you realize just how massive his thighs were, if it was any other day you'd beg him to let you ride but not tonight.

“Come lay over daddy’s lap baby” he patted his slack-covered thigh.

“Oh what are you going to do, is the big daddy going to span–AH” You were cut off by Chan yanking you over his lap. Toes barely touched the wooden floor.

“Yes princess, master is going to do just that. He is going to spank your bratty little ass until it is bright red. I won’t make you count tonight, Im not sure your dumb little bunny mind can count that high” You were royally fucked and couldn’t have been more excited.

His first swat was light, almost to test the waters. When you didn’t show any signs of discomfort he swung again, harder. He continued his assault on your bum until you were wiggling in his lap. Moans were mixed with whines and huffs of air. He could get used to this.

“Look at these poor panties and babydoll daddy bought you, baby, they are getting ruined. Better take them off. Stand up. Now”

“No”

“Bunny, I suggest you turn around and face the wall right now and strip. I was going to let you off with only a few more but I see I need to teach you some manners, don't make this worse than it already will be”

You decided to do what he said for once tonight. Something about the venom that dripped from his words scared you a little. That familiar sub-fuzz began to overtake you. As you began to strip the silk babydoll gown you heard Chris moving in the background. He grabbed a few things and took his spot back on the bed. Like a king claiming his throne. 

“Back over my thigh princess, Im not done with you” This time you draped yourself over him.

He warmed up your now naked bottom which was already glowing a nice shade of red. Out of nowhere, he swung again. You could tell he was using his full force now. 

“I can’t believe you decided to be so disobedient tonight. I had so much planned for you but no, you had to be a brat. Now Daddy has to teach you how to be a good girl for him” he paused the rain of smacks to feel between your legs. “Awwww baby girl, so desperate now arent we” you moaned when he began to circle your clit. “So wet baby, probably being such a little brat because you were so uncomfortable” his digits now began to pump inside of you slowly. It wasn't enough to make you cum but it did keep you on edge. You whined and rutted your hips back in desperation. “Awwww shhhhh poor baby, I'm not done with you yet” and like that, he pulled out and spanked you with the same hand that pleasured you. He continued until you finally admitted defeat.

“Ouch, Daddy Im sorry! Please I'll be a good girl just please let me cum! I need you. I need master to touch me” You slumped in submission. Chan plunged his fingers back into your cunt and set a brutal pace. Moans and yells escaped your lungs are you were thrust into pure unimaginable pleasure. Just as Christopher felt you clench…

“Ask for it” he slowed down.

“What! Please No”

“Ask for permission to come babydoll”

“Please Master can I cum. PLEASE” you begged like your life was on the line.

“Fucking Cum” and with that you did. You spasmed on his lap as he finished you off. While he was still punishing you he wasn’t going to be too cruel. He helped you down from your high and gently laid you on the bed.

“Bunny, you took Daddy’s punishment so well. You did such a good job, Master is very proud. But it isn't quite done. Im going to wreck your sensitive little body one last time and you are going to take it” again with the faux comfort he was so good at. Just as you were going to get ready for him, he flipped you around.

“Oh, I forgot to mention. No looking at or touching Daddy. You are going to remain arched on all fours as I ruin you. And because I know my dumb little bunny can't follow any rules, Master will tie your wrists to the bed to help you” and he did just that. Black and white ropes were wrapped around your wrists and secured you to the bend. His leather hand slid down your back with pressure forcing you to arch. Then he slammed into you. He was done with teasing, done with making you beg, done with waiting. He needed his own pleasure. Chan was going to be selfish with your body. You were his after all, right?

He set an unrelenting pace that was backed by hard thrusts. Imediabity he found your g-spot and when you screamed out in pleasure he abused it with his tip. Too lost in how amazing you feel, Chan didn’t say much. The room was filled with moans, pants, grunts, and the occasional swear word. It wasn’t until you spoke up did he come back to reality.

“Can I come, Master?” Finally, you were being his sweet obedient girl.

“Yes bunny, come for Daddy” He followed his approval with long drawn out powerful thrusts, the kind he knew you liked. As you clamped down on him hard and came with a scream he filled you up. A howl-like moan left him and he emptied inside of you. Your poor body leaked from him. With two fingers we scooped his cum up and pushed it back inside you, mesmerized by the sight.

“Shhhhhh baby it's okay, we wouldn’t want to waste a drop now would we” he cooed with genuine care this time.

“No Daddy we wouldn’t,” you said with a sex-drunk giggle which eased his worries about being too hard on you.

“It’s okay now little one, I'm just Christopher right now bun” 

“Channie?” you slightly sat up with a sweet questioning expression on your face. He was going to marry you someday.

“Yes princess, Channie is here. Let's get you into a bath baby girl.”

Change Flavor?

[the-west-meadow]

hi! hope youre doing good! could I request Lukas Matsson x reader fic with the prompt “why are you awake right now”

im in love with your writing!

so thankful for the Lukas love. got carried away again, 18+ only!!

Lukas Matsson x (fem) Reader

prompt: Why are you awake right now? 18+ ONLY

In an unexpected twist, you spent your first night in Stockholm stranded at Lukas Matsson’s estate with the Roys. A torrent of icy rain had made travel to your hotel nearly impossible, so Lukas had diverted you to his house. He called it your welcome party to Sweden. 

At two in the morning, you were still wide awake. You could hear the sound of a TV from behind Roman’s door, Shiv on the phone with Tom, and total silence from Kendall’s room. As his assistant, you were basically always on call. At least for now, you were off the hook and free to roam.

The house was otherwise quiet, with the sound of icy rain pelting the roof. You wandered the dark halls barefoot. Of course the concrete floors were heated. Beyond dark kitchen, the light of a TV flickered from the another room. You peered inside then froze, looking in at Lukas himself, reclining on the sofa in only a white tank top and shorts. You started to turn and creep away, but it was too late.

“Is the TV too loud?”

You stepped into the room hesitantly, self-conscious in just a t-shirt and shorts. 

“No, it’s fine. I just got lost… on the way to the bathroom.”

“There’s one in your room.”

“Right.”

He gave you a curious glance.

“Why are you awake right now?”

“Jet lag. I never sleep anyway.”

Lukas nodded knowingly. 

“I’ve never met anyone I respect who sleeps well.”

He gestured towards the TV.

“Well, I’m watching Swedish dramas if that interests you.”

You padded into the room. There was no where to sit but on the sofa with Lukas. Tucking your legs beneath you, you took a seat at the far end. You blinked at the screen, where two Swedish detectives leaned over a body.

“I don’t speak Swedish,” you said.

“It’s okay. I’ll explain. By the way, have you tried any of our snacks yet?”

He held out a bag of gummies and you took one, examining it.

“What is it?”

“Bilar. It’s supposed to be shaped like a car.”

“It looks like a rabbit.”

"Yeah. Now that you mention it."

“What is that?” you asked, pointing at his soda bottle.

“Julmust. It’s soda we drink at Christmas.”

“It’s April.”

“I guess I don’t do things like normal people.”

“I could have told you that.”

He gave you another curious look, which turned into a grin.

“Sorry,” you said. “Jet lag. My filter is gone.”

“It’s okay. I've never had a filter. It gets me in trouble a lot.”

He gave you another glance.

“So can we agree to pass over all that small talk bullshit?”

“Fine with me. I don’t have the energy for it.”

“You can hit me if I say something shitty.”

“Sounds like you have something in mind.”

He sat up, putting aside the soda and candy. 

“I could have gotten you guys a ride to your hotel. But I wanted you to stay here.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I don’t know when we’ll have a chance like this again.”

His eyes passed over your bare legs. His arm was spread along the back of the sofa, lingering close to your shoulder. You felt the heat flush into your face. You had caught the looks he gave you at various events with the Roys, and yet this was the first time you had found yourself alone with him.

“Why didn’t you come to my room?”

“I wanted you to come to me.”

You stretched out your legs, grazing his lap.

"I've got all this energy I don't know what to do with," you said.

He slid one hand up your calf, creeping along your thigh. His eyes were fixed on you, watching your reaction.

"I think I can help with that," he said.

You took a sharp breath as his hand pivoted to the inside of your thigh. 

“I think the others are still awake,” you whispered. 

“Then you’ll have to be very quiet.”

He gently took hold of your ankle, pulling you towards him. You wrapped your legs around him, feeling him between your thighs, just the thin fabric of your shorts separating your skin from his. 

“Do you think you can be quiet?” he asked, eyeing your lips, your neck. 

“I’m usually not.”

He let out a low breath, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I wish I could hear that,” he said. 

“What about you?” you asked, grinding into his lap. He tilted his head back, letting out a low moan. 

“Shh,” you said, then leaned over him, taking his head in your hands. As you kissed him, you felt him grind against you from below, growing harder. He grabbed your hair suddenly, pulling your head back.

“Whoever breaks first loses,” he said. You grinned into his lips.

“Deal.”

In one movement, he picked you up and lay you down on the sofa. He pulled off your shorts, tossing them on the ground, and nudged your legs open with his palm. He looked at you with a glimmer in his eye.

“I think I’m going to win,” he said. He stroked you between the legs with one long finger, gazing into your eyes. You threw your head back, biting your lip. 

“See?” he grinned. “You’re already so wet.”

“Fuck you,” you whispered. 

He slid the finger inside as you stifled a moan. Then with a wink he lowered his face between your legs. You felt his tongue hot and wet against you. 

“Oh my god,” you whimpered.

His other hand slid up your leg as his fingers moved slowly, rhythmically, in and out. You clenched your fists in his dirty blonde hair, meeting his blue eyes as he glanced up to see your reaction. All the while, the TV light flickered silently over your two bodies, pressed against each other on the sofa. 

“I’m still going to win,” you gasped. 

He lifted himself up, gazing down at you with his hair wild, breathless. He kicked off his shorts, buried his hand in your hair, and pulsed into you all at once.  

The moan that escaped you was beyond your control. You felt his entire weight on top of you, cradling you in his huge arms, as he teasingly put a hand over your mouth. 

“You lose,” he whispered. 

Not two minutes later, the door to Kendall’s room slid open. He peered out into the hall. Silence. Padding through the house, he made his way through the kitchen until he saw the TV flickering from the other room. 

He peeked inside. There you sat, side-by-side with Lukas, a blanket over your laps. Between you were several bags of snacks. 

“Hey guys,” he said uncertainly.

“What’s up, man?” 

“I thought I heard something.”

Lukas nodded at the TV. “Someone just got murdered. You want some snacks?”

It wasn’t hard to miss the fact that your hair and Lukas’s was a mess, several pillows had fallen to the floor, and your cheeks were flushed. You looked at him guiltily. Kendall caught your eye and gave a slight grin. 

“That’s okay. I’ll leave you guys to it.”

With a little wave, Kendall withdrew from the room, leaving you alone again.

“Poor guy,” Lukas said. “Guess he can’t sleep either.”

Then he tilted your face towards his and kissed you on the lips. His hand slid beneath the blanket.

“Now, where were we?”

[nightghoul381]

Dark If ~ Prologue

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

London, the capital of the United Kingdom, boasted glittering prosperity during the reign of her majesty Queen Victoria.

I’m an ordinary citizen who works as a postman in the city.

I don’t have enough money to buy tickets to the performances I want to see.

(Okay, everything has been delivered for today.)

(If I could work a little more, I would be able to buy tickets to see that performance…)

Kate: “I’m back.”

Director: “Kate! Just in time for…no, but the roads are dangerous at night…”

Kate: “What’s wrong?”

Colleague: “Well, they have a vacancy for a night delivery person, so we’re short-staffed.”

(That’s it!)

Kate: “Please let me go!”

I take on an additional deliver and walk through the townhouse district illuminated by gas lamps.

(All I have to do is deliver a letter addressed to the bookstore manager.)

(Ah, “Kingsley Books”… here it is!)

Kate: “Excuse me, I’m from the post office, the manager…”

(There’s no one here, I guess I’ll just have to come back tomorrow,--Oh, what’s this...)

I picked up the book that had fallen casually at my feet.

As if drawn to something, I opened the untitled book.

Kate: “…!”

The wind whipped up, and I was enveloped in blinding light—

Beautiful man with long hair: “Welcome to the distorted fairy world…”

Beautiful man with long hair: “Our first visitor! Yaaaayyy!”

Beyond my open field of vision, a beautiful long-haired person was waiting for me.

Kate: “H-here… I… I was at the bookstore just now, and…”

I had no idea where I was or who the person in front of me was.

All I know now is that this is not a bookstore, and I still have work to do.

Kate: “Um, I’m in the middle of a delivery. So, I’d like to go back to Kingsly Books.”

Beautiful man with long hair: “I’m afraid that will be difficult.”

Kate: “Huh?”

Beautiful man with long hair: “Actually, I don’t even know how to send you home.”

The man, who introduced himself as Victor, tried to explain things to me and soothe my confused mind.

The place I am in now is between the world of fairy tales and the world in which I live.

Kate: “…Fairy world.”

Victor: “You were led here by an untitled book. Don’t you remember?”

Kate: “Yes. So, does that mean I got lost inside a book?”

Victor: “That’s right. You’re a quick and intelligent young lady.”

(I never thought that the adaptability I had honed as a postman would be put to use in a place like this.)

Kate: “But you… Victor, sir. I’m sure you just talked about a ‘twisted fairy world’.”

Victor: “Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, and Thorn Princess**.”

Victor: “Most fairy tales in the world have a fixed plot, and generally end with a happy ending.”

Victor: “However, in the world of fairy tales, the plot of the story has gone awry, chaos has reached its peak, and the ending is far from happy.”

Kate: “…How can that be?”

Victor: “That’s because…each fairy tale has something missing.”

Kate: “…Something missing. What is that?”

Victor: “Even I don’t know that.”

Victor: “I believe you were called here to look for it.”

(…er, in other words)

Kate: “If I find what’s missing, the distortions in the fairy world will be corrected, and the story will have a happy ending.”

Kate: “Then, I’ll be relieved of my role.”

Victor: “Perhaps then you can return to the world you come from.”

(If that’s the only way, I have no choice but to do it anyway.)

(Find what is missing in the distorted fairy world and correct the distortion. And with my own hands, lead it to a happy ending.)

Then I will return to the world I came from and continue my delivery.

Victor: “Ah, I think it’s almost time to wake up.”

Victor: “Miss Kate. With your hands, create the happiest ending.”

Victor: “—Come now, let’s go to the distorted fairy world.”

Jude Jazza | Ellis Twilight

[blackjackkent]

Zevlor and the two Flaming Fist always wreck absolute face (no pun intended) in this fight against the mind flayers. It's a joy to watch Zevlor set everyone on fire with Searing Smite.

Annoyingly, I had to do the fight a couple times because one little intellect devourer kept showing up late to the fight and interrupting our conversation with Zevlor afterwards. XD

"Hells. I didn't think I was going to make it."

Zevlor looks terribly drained and considerably more battered than Rakha last saw him. He manages a slight smile as he looks past her at Wyll, but it seems to take most of the energy he has left.

"The Blade of Frontiers," he murmurs. "The savior I needed, if not the one I deserved."

(A/N: LOL. Further proof that Wyll is Faerun Batman.)

Wyll smiles slightly in return, but doesn't say anything. His eyes are troubled and he watches Zevlor with a certain amount of caution.

Rakha can guess why - and it's clear that Zevlor knows it too.

"I... owe you an explanation," he says quietly. "Much more than that. But first... please..." He swallows. "The others. The ambush... tell me they survived?"

Rakha raises and lowers one shoulder in a half-shrug. She could give him some placating answer, but why? He knows his failure; he would not believe her anyway.

"Some," she says flatly. "Not all. Because of you."(*) Her tone isn't really accusatory so much as simply factual - but Zevlor flinches from it all the same.

"Somehow, I suspect it's worse than you imagine," he mutters. "Likely you heard that I broke, or froze, or some other lie kinder than the truth." There's a pause, in which he visibly squares his shoulders, a soldier providing a report that tastes bitter in his mouth.

"We were ambushed by cultists, yes," he says. "And then I heard... Her. Their false god, whispering promises in my mind..." His gaze goes distant over Rakha's shoulder. "I would be a paladin again - with a god's purpose, a god's power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me while I imagined myself their savior. By the time I regained my senses... it was too late. I did not just surrender to the Absolute. For a moment... I welcomed it."

Rakha listens in silence. Her head twinges sharply. She remembers the strange joy that filled her in the presence of that orb in the laboratory - the influence of the Absolute, overwhelming, saturating. She remembers how ready she was, in that brief moment, to surrender to its influence in exchange for a sense of peace...

And before that, she remembers the terrible night the beast almost ripped out Wyll's throat, while she watched from behind her eyes and could do nothing to stop it. In that moment, everything was rage and violence and everything that she was... was lost.

For a moment... I welcomed it.

She knows the same failings Zevlor speaks of. Mental surrender. Loss of control. And, just as she did with Madeline in the ritual circle out in the dark, she wants to lash out at him, and in doing so, lash out at herself.

But Wyll stopped her, with Madeline. Is this justice? he asked her. Is there purpose?

Zevlor was not in control of himself at the ambush. She was not in control of herself that night in camp. Wyll... Wyll has not turned away from her for it...

"It sounds like you were enthralled," she mutters haltingly. "It's... not your fault."

It's not your fault.

She is sure she can sense Zevlor's response as clearly as she hears it in her own mind. Then whose is it?

"It would be nice to think so," he says, with the same flatness to his voice as to her own. "But whatever these monsters twist us into... I believe it begins in us."

It is Rakha's turn to flinch, to look away. He cannot know how those words cut her to the heart. He doesn't mean the beast, of course, only the tadpoles... but they are both flavors of the same poison.

Maybe he's right, and there is no distinction between her and the things in her head after all.

"I won't make excuses," Zevlor goes on, too caught up in his own turmoil to notice hers. "I can't make amends. But I know something of what you came to do. I want to help, if you'll let me. Ketheric is below. He thinks you're no longer a menace. Descend and show him how wrong he is. If there are any more survivors to be found, I'll find them - and lead them out of this place."

Rakha shrugs. She doesn't care what he does. She has far too many other things occupying her mind. "Fine," she mutters. "Good luck, Zevlor."

"And you, my friend," Zevlor says gravely. "And pathetic, inadequate as it is... thank you."

-----

He turns and walks away, deeper into the flesh-lined corridor beyond. Rakha watches him go and then straightens her gloves with a sudden, forceful jerk.

Wyll is watching her. Perhaps he has some inkling of what is going on in her mind, because he puts a hand on her arm and starts to speak. "Rakha--"

She jerks her arm away from him. "He said Ketheric is still further below," she says curtly. "Keep moving."

------

(*) Slight artistic license here to truncate Rakha's line to be more her speaking style. The full line is: "Some. Others ended up in a cell in Moonrise. That's on you." Honestly the oddest thing about the line options here is all of them seem to indicate that more people survived than actually did. There's no option, for instance, to mention that all the kids except Mol are gone.

[sanvirtheobserver]

Taking Flight, Chapter 34: Roll Call

The Knight's roars are cut short as their head is cut clean from their shoulders. The other two Knights stare daggers as Pietro stands over their fallen broodkin with a straightsword in his hand. One Knight roars and charges in with their mace. Pietro is quick to dodge, the mace shattering the earth beneath it. The second Knight fires several fans of burning flechettes from their Splinter. Pietro expertly dodges and weaves through the oncoming barrage as he dashes right up to them.

Pietro: Amateur.

The Knight doesn't even have time to react before both their arms are sliced clean off. A flash of silver pierces through the Knight's head, the light fading from its eyes as it drops to the ground. The first Knight charges in, violently swinging their mace at Pietro. But try as they might, they can't seem to land a single solid hit on the Frenchman, whereas he is able to land thrust after thrust on the Knight with pinpoint accuracy. One single parry sends the mace flying out of the Knight's hand.

Pietro: Don't take it personally, amigo. You were just in my way.

In an instant, several silver flashes streak across the Knight's body. He dusts the bits of chitin off his suit as the final Knight falls to pieces. A moment of calm passes before he hears some footsteps coming from behind him. He swivels on his heel, sword at the ready.

Y. Sniper: GAH, friendlies! Friendlies!

Pietro carefully analyzes the YLW Sniper along with Tari, Belle, and Whisk. They had just come in after following the trail of dead Hive to his position.

Pietro: Identify yourself, bushman.

Y. Sniper: Rufus Mason. From Yard Logistics Workers. We were hired by Mr. Potman to clear out the infestation.

Pietro: I see.......

He slowly lowers his blade and turns his attention to the girls.

Pietro: And you three must be the adventurers Potman had mentioned.

Tari: Yes sir. My name is Tari, and these are my friends Belle and Whisk.

Pietro: Pietro Sterling, at your service.

Belle: Let me guess. You're doing pest control for Potman too?

Pietro: While I am assisting with the extermination wherever I can, I have my own reasons for coming here.

Whisk: So, you're here looking for treasure I presume?

Pietro: You could say that. The Mercenary life is all about the thrill of seeking that next big score. Isn't that right, Rufus?

Rufus: I mean, so long as it offers a nice challenge that gets you out of the house and across the world, then yeah. All with free healthcare and dental, mind you.

Pietro: Yes.......Anyways.......

He takes a moment as he analyzes Tari's robotic arm.

Pietro: ............What brings YOU here?

Elsewhere, Mario and Meggy are making g their way through the ever deepening depths of darkness.

Meggy: Holy Carp this place goes on forever. BOB? BOOPKINS? IF YOU CAN HERE US, SAY SOMETHING.

Mario: Mama Mia, this place is darker than Ben's sense of humor.

That's when they some odd sounds coming from a nearby tunnel. Peeking out, they see what remains of RED Team and YLW Team after their encounter on the bridge. The RED Pyro gives them a warm welcome via a warning shot from her flare carbine.

Mario: Hey, what was that for?!

R. Pyro: (You should know better than to sneak up on someone with a loaded gun.)

Mario: .............. Why is she speaking in Charlie Brown?

Meggy gives him a quick bop on the head.

Meggy: Sorry about that. He's...... not the brightest.

Seeing that the two aren't dangerous (if not a little rude), the RED Pyro sighs as she holsters her carbine. She turns over to her team, who are still working on trying to get across the ravine in their way. The Scouts get across easily enough with their double-jumps, while the RED Soldier tries Rocket Jumping. He does survive the initial blast and goes flying, but twists his ankle on the landing and falls screaming into the abyss. The Medics are....... awfully calm about this development.

R. Medic: You'd think he'd carry a parachute.

Y. Medic: Instead he settled for the para-BOOT.

The two medics share a laugh while the RED Sniper and YLW Demoman hatch a different kind of plan. The YLW Demoman lays a few sticky bombs and the RED Sniper lays his backshield on top of them at an angle. The plan is for those two to use the blast to launch them both over the ravine. Once they're both seated, the demo finishes his fifth bottle of scotch before pulling out a detonator.

R. Sniper: Watch and learn, boys! This is gonna be a real peace of cake!

Y. Demoman: Welcome, to the *BURP* train station. Let's kill a wizard.

With a push of a button, the payload detonates with enough force to send the two flying across the ravine......... before the Sniper crashes into a pillar and the Demoman ends up half buried in the ground. How either of them are still alive is honestly a miracle, but Mario seems unimpressed.

Mario: This is taking too long! Let's do this Mario style.

Mario rummages through his pockets before pulling out a Mega Mushroom and........ a random Koopa Troopa. Not the weirdest things he's pulled out of his pockets.

Koopa Troopa: WHERE AM I?! WHO ARE YOU?! WHERE IS MY FAMILY?!

His cries are silenced as Mario force feeds him the Mega Mushroom, causing the Koopa to grow to an immense size. As the growing continues, Mario tosses the Koopa over the ledge and his shell gets stuck between the two ledges. His immense shell has now become a bridge for everyone to cross.

Mario: Tadaaaaaaa!

R. Medic: Good work, camarade!

Y. Heavy: Little man is credit to team!

The other mercs cheer as they cross the "bridge." Meggy just looks on bemused while the RED Pyro is still processing what in the fresh hell she just saw.

R. Pyro: (Does he do shit like this on the regular.)

Meggy: Yeah. You get used to it. Name's Meggy, by the way.

They shake hands.

R. Pyro: (Garnet.)

Elsewhere, we see Boopkins and Soldine meet up with Bob and GRN Team doing some Excavation. The GRN Demowoman flicks a switch, detonating a plastic explosive that helps soften up the limestone mass in their way. The GRN Heavy gets to grinding out a path with his drill. Upon seeing Bob, Boopkins immediately rushes over and gives him a big hug.

Boopkins: Bob! Oh, I'm so glad to see you!

Bob: Boopkins? Where the hell have you been?

Boopkins: I tried to keep up, but you were too fast and I got lost.

Bob: Oh yeah........ Sorry about that. But hey! I got first pickings on the loot.

Boopkins: Oooooh, can I see?

Bob shows Boopkins the dufflebag full of miscellaneous trinkets while Soldine walks over to a handful of BLU mercs. The BLU Sniper keeps her head low as the BLU Medic tends to her. The BLU Soldier gives a salute to Soldine as he scans the area.

B. Soldier: Captain Edward Marston, reporting for duty sir.

Soldine: Where is the rest of your team?

Edward: Right here, sir.

He hands Soldine a chain lined with various trinkets. Among them were six class badges, all caked in blood.

Soldine: I see........ My condolences.

Edward: They fought hard and were damn good at it. Maybe even the best.

Soldine turns his attention to the GRN Medic.

Soldine: Doctor Tödliche Heilung, I presume.

The Medic turns to face the mechanized soldier. His face mask releases a hiss of steam as he adjusts his glasses.

Tödliche: That would be me.

Soldine turns his gaze to the bottle held in the doctor's clawed hand. A black liquid swirls within the glass, it's red sheen gleaming like eyes within the abyss.

Soldine: That substance........ what is it?

Tödliche: This, my friend, is Kuva. I harvested this sample from the "Denizens" I've encountered down here.

Soldine: Kuva......... I've heard the stories.

Tödliche: Yes. The Old Blood of the Orokin Empire. Some say it's the key to eternal life that cures all wounds. Others say it's a poison that corrupts the mind, body, and soul.

Soldine: What do you believe?

Even beneath his mask, you could see the slightest smirk.

Tödliche: I believe it's a matter of perspective.

Back with Tari's group, another Knight falls before Pietro's blade. He wipes the black ichor off his blade as the group turns their attention to a new discovery. Before them stood an ancient gate of ornate steel recessed into a frame of pallid marble and opalescent glass.

Rufus: Mother of Madcaps........

Tari: These have to be the ruins the SMGs located.

Pietro: SMGs?

Tari: More friends of ours.

Whisk: Wait a minute......... is THAT why your arm is glowing?

And glowing it was. Tari steps forward and places the hand on the door. The glow spread across the edges of the interlaced plates. Untold ages of dust fall as the plates begin to shift. Several openings form and merge until the gate has completely recessed into the arching frame. Before them laid a single bridge leading deeper into the earth, the path alight with a vivid azure hue. Tari turns to the others as they gather to look inside.

Tari: Just when you think you've hit the bottom........

[swiftfootedachilles]

i jusr recently got into shameless and have been on the hunt for gallavich content and your blog is so perfect ive spent the whole day reading through ALL your gallavich posts you get them more than the writers do. Anyways u had a post where in the tags you talked about the possibilities of gallavich where noel fisher was actually mickeys age and the loss of buck toothed twink 17 year old mickey and I SUPPORT. Thinking about s2 mickey (in looks) with s11 ian is too much like the size diff UGH😫

hello and welcome to my dark twisted mind. gallavich spins in my head like a microwave i know them so well because theyre an intrustic part of my neurological function i have absorbed them thru osmosis and they live inside me now

seriously its easy to forget but mickey was a CHILD when he experienced the horrors in the show 🥺 even shorter, crooked teeth with a big gap, with that air of awkwardness only teens can have

a lot of s1-3 gallavich narrative moments were directly influenced by the actors' ages. i wonder how things couldve been different if they were different ages when casted? do you think the showrunners wouldve had them kiss sooner? how would their on-screen chemistry be effected if we were more of peers off-screen rather than noel fisher being a mentor for cameron monaghan? its such an interesting topic, but obviously everything happens for a reason and noel fisher at that point in his career was PERFECT for mickey

i also think some fans get too attached to on-scren portrayals of characters. like obviously mickey is a fictional character played by a much older actor, hes actually a natural strawberry blond, the markers are drawn on with literal sharpie. as audience members we are expected to suspend our disbelief and not take everything literally. mickey is mickey, not (several-times-snubbed-by-john-wells) actor noel fisher. mickey is a kid. hes a natural brunet. his tattoos are real. even though thats not reality, we are to understand that this show exists somewhere else and not here. another example is in s11 when mickey alludes to not working out despite having a body you can only get from working out 😭 idk i guess what im getting at is id love to see more portrayals that are less literal? like him with his big ass tooth gap and noodle arms. the absurd gallavich size difference. actually being able to see/read him growing up physically and mentally. same with other characters. like MY s1 ian did NOT straighten his hair so i love to imagine it much more curly and messy (i know that poor kid was not using products for his hair type). or like can you imagine fiona looking barely college-aged? how much more IMPACTFUL that is for her story of being a mother to her FIVE siblings? or putting more or less weight on characters, changing minute physical attributes because it fits the character, not the actor portraying them... like we are the creators of our own realities we can truly do whatever we want. HASHTAG MAKE MICKEY EVEN MORE BLORBO SHAPED!!!

[thesconesyard]

Yeehaw!

When the Cactus Blooms

22. Learning the Ropes

“James T. Kirk! Show yourself!”

Jim tucked himself in the dark corner of a stall. If Christine was yelling for him like that it couldn’t be for anything good.

“I know you’re in here!” Christine called, her voice closer.

“He’s in Pepper’s stall,” Bones walked by and told her.

“Traitor!” Jim hissed at him. “Oh, Christine, were you calling me?” he asked innocently as he stepped out of the stall. Christine rolled her eyes and stalked towards him.

“You are going to find work for that girl to do out here. She is wasted in the house. She’s helpful, but that is not enough.”

“But—”

“No buts James Kirk,” Christine said firmly. “She belongs outside. Her family traveled. The house doesn’t suit her, so you will teach her. She likes working with her hands. She enjoyed helping Scotty fix things. Teach her more about living on a ranch. Understood?”

“Yes Miss Christine,” Jim said with only a hint of sarcasm.

“Good. I’ll send her out.” Christine turned to leave the stables.

“You know this is my ranch, right?” Jim called behind her.

“Sure Jim,” Christine called over her shoulder. “But who keeps everything in running order?” The stable door closed behind her.

“She got ya there kid,” Bones laughed next to him.

“Well, I don’t like all those fancy details anyway.” Jim grinned, but it faded quickly. “What should I do? I guess it isn’t fair to expect women to just want to do the easier jobs.”

“Oh ho kid, don’t let Chris and Uhura hear you say that. They work just as hard as any of us out here. You want to be in that kitchen in the middle of summer? Bent over in the gardens? Putting up with a bunch of unruly men like us?”

“Ok, ok,” Jim raised his hands and laughed. “I got your point. I’m just not sure what Jaylah would like? What do you think? You know her better than me.”

Bones reached up to scratch the back of his neck.

“She’s a quick learner. When we went riding, she picked everything up right away. Scotty says she’s an excellent mind for fixing things and coming up with solutions. Just take her through your day Jim, she what strikes her fancy best.”

Just a short while later Jaylah entered.

“James T?” she called.

“Over here!” Jim said, sticking his head out of a stall.

“Christine says I’m to come help you,” Jaylah said as she stopped in front of him. “I am no good at cooking and housework is boring.”

“Don’t you worry, we’ll keep ya busy,” Jim grinned. He looked her over and she seemed to blush.

“They are Pavel’s,” she said, glancing down, and sounding nervous. “He let me borrow them for riding. Uhura says we will make my own soon.”

“That’s a good plan. Dress in what makes you comfortable. You done much work with horses or cattle?”

“Not much. We traveled on foot mostly.” Sadness entered her voice as it always did when she referenced her family.

“I inherited the ranch too young,” Jim told her quietly. “I had to learn a lot of things myself. So don’t worry, we’ll teach you. Let’s get these stalls finished then head in for breakfast. Are you alright near the horses?”

Jaylah reached up to pat the horse next to them. “I am getting more comfortable,” she smiled.

Jaylah worked hard all morning and Jim couldn’t help but appreciate it. She would be a most welcome addition to their home.

“Now what James T?”

“Something more fun,” Jim replied with a wink. “Come on.”

Jaylah fell in step beside him as they went to the stables and grabbed a pair of ropes. He led her out towards the north pasture. As they walked he worked on one end of his rope.

“Ever thrown a lasso?” he finally asked as they stopped aways from the north pasture fence.

“No,” Jaylah shook her head.

Jim took the rope she was carrying and twisted and tied it’s end like he had done to his, then passed it back.

“Like this,” he said, swinging the looped end above his head, then releasing it at a fence post.

“Oh,” Jaylah said with awe in her voice. Cautiously, she attempted to repeat Jim’s movements.

“Here,” Jim said. “You want to hold it here- like this.” He moved Jaylah’s hands on the rope. “Real casual as you swing, then release as you’re pointing where you want it to go.”

Jaylah missed the fence post.

“Good!” Jim cried. “Great for a first try. Now reel your rope back like this.” He demonstrated. “Keeps it from tangling and not flying right.”

She got the post on her fifth try.

“Once we get good at a still target we can try a moving target, then on horseback after that,” he said as she made the post again.

“Oh,” Jaylah looked at him with wide eyes.

“I’ve already told you you’re welcome as long as you need,” Jim said, “but do you want to stay? Or is there somewhere else you’d want to go?”

Jaylah stilled and looked at him.

“I have nowhere else,” she said faintly. “I would like to stay here.”

“Then you will,” Jim said firmly. “Welcome home.”

[jodilin65]

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2000 M204

My first guess happened. The herm returned, but I didn’t get sent to A Tower. I got thrown back in the big cage next door instead not even 5 hours later! I’m pissed!!! Real fucking pissed. And depressed. And in need of taking a dump, but too embarrassed to do it in front of all these people. I hope I can go when the lights go out. I’ve adapted to peeing, but not to shitting.

I was so pissed that I pounded on the door, not caring if I got on restriction, and hoping I could get back to A Tower. Even if I had two cellies, I could at least have a more private toilet.

The sergeant came, and damn was she an insensitive bitch! No one but Tom understands my problem as far as mixing with people goes, even if the people aren’t bad, and my sleep problem. I didn’t mention the sleep thing. I just tried to explain why I wanted to go to A, and the rude bitch goes, “Do you live alone? Do you go to the store?”

“Actually, I pretty much live like a hermit,” I told her, “and I do it for a reason.”

But she didn’t get it. Nor did she care, and besides, I didn’t owe this bitch any explanations.

So here I am stuck with loud-mouth Lora and the others again. When Lora and Madeline are up, they’re so loud and obnoxious.

When I came back here last night, I slept on the floor because Deanna didn’t want to give me her bottom bunk this time around. That’s OK. As big as she is, I understand how hard it is for her to climb up there. I didn’t think I could get on this one, though, because there’s no desk near it to step on. All there is a little foothold on the wall. So I step on Deanna’s bed, then the foothold, then up on my bed. To get down, I slide down to Deanna’s bed, then step off. Getting down is a little harder. I can live with it, but I’d still prefer the bottom. I can’t get onto the tent’s top bunks because they’re higher with nothing to climb up with.

Madeline says she doesn’t like Deanna because she thinks she snores on purpose. Madeline and Lora say that when they call out to her for chow she wakes right up, but when they call out to her to shut up, she ignores them. They fucking woke me up calling to her and I was pissed. I’m so exhausted and I wish to hell I could have one quiet, normal celly!

Crazy Melinda talked to me earlier as if nothing ever happened. She did say my screaming at her scared her, though, because I laughed in the midst of it, and she wasn’t sure whether or not I was joking.

Whatever.

She told me earlier how happy to be alone she is, but now she’s got a celly. We warned the poor girl as she walked by just what she’s in for.

Bunch is working now. What a weird name.

I changed my mind about contacting April on the outs. I’ll have other things on my mind and I won’t feel like striking up friendships. Also, she lives way out in Snottsdale.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 2000 M205

I’ve been through major stress and hell starting at 3 AM Monday morning, but what can I expect? This is jail. Once again I had to get out of where I was and now I’m in 205.

Lora and Madeline said they miss me and that I’m welcome back any time. That’s very nice of them, but no thanks!

Anyway, I don’t know if I have a sign on me that only others can see, begging to be with all the sickos of Estrella jail, or what! These sick twists belong with each other in funny farms. How the fuck can they put these people just anywhere and with just anyone? The sickos name was Melinda B. She was short, bone-thin, with very dark hair and eyes. Her wavy hair was shoulder-length. She was a mix of things, but all I can remember is that she’s part Apache.

There I was, glad to finally have just one celly so she wouldn’t have anyone to gab with, yet she’s fucking talking to herself! She just wouldn’t shut the fuck up or sit still for two seconds. She was jumping all around the cell as if she were on speed. I’d have broken the 80-pound anorexic dopehead in half if I wasn’t moved when I was moved. I’d have gladly gotten on restriction and sent back to the hole if I’d had to in order to get away from the sicko. This psycho sparked a rage in me that made me wonder just how the hell I controlled myself around her. Even the DOs know how warped in the head the little shit is.

Officer Temple, a really nice black DO with freckles that’s on nights, said I ought to threaten to kick her ass. I guess that’s what Madeline did to get her out of next door. Everyone here hates the loony tune. She was constantly chatting and singing to herself, screaming out the door, climbing the walls like a little monkey, tearing up magazines and trashing the place. I can see why one of her charges is for littering.

When she’d talk, she made no sense, switched subjects rapidly, interrupted me, and made a zillion contradictory statements. The little pig asked for everything I had, so I just gave her some stuff I didn’t like anyway. She’s definitely not skinny from starving herself. It’s drug-induced skinniness.

I also learned that D2 can only keep its nuts for a few days. I know one of two things will happen within the next 72 hours and I don’t have to be the psychic that I am to know it, either. The herm will return needing this room and I’ll be shipped to A, or I’ll get another crazy celly. Maybe they’ll throw me back next door.

Officer Temple was kind enough to warn me in advance that I’d be in for a new celly and to decide whether or not I wanted to stay on the bottom or jump up on top. That was so nice of her. Once she brought the psycho in, telling her to be nice to me, she told me she had court in a little while. When she returned to get the sicko for court, I asked that she come back afterward so I could talk to her, and she did.

After giving me suggestions about threatening her, filling out a tank order, etc., she and I got to talking a little about my case. She agrees Arizona has stupid laws (tell me about it!) and how a woman did time because her little kid swiped a bottle of cold syrup without her knowing it. Temple said that for all she knew, she could end up here over some stupid thing. I told her I hoped we’d be cellies if she did!

It’s true, though, that the laws have got to change. Laws that should be laws aren’t laws, and laws that shouldn’t be laws are laws. Too many people get set up, too. If what happened to me could happen to me, it could happen to anybody. It’s really scary. Laws such as those forbidding gays to have sex really burns me up. Who the fuck is anybody to tell others who they have sex with, especially when it’s two consenting adults?

I slept from about 6 AM - 10 AM when it was our hour out. She was still at court, though, and didn’t return till noon. Then they let her have her hour out and I got another much-needed hour of sleep. Meanwhile, I couldn’t sleep again till she did, as that was the only time she was quiet. I only managed to get a measly 3 hours, though, till black Officer Perry woke us up for no apparent reason. She opened the door and said to Melinda, “Hey, you’re back.” Then she asked her if she still stank.

Perry came back a couple of hours later to get the little weasel for court again. Afterward, I asked Perry to move one of us, and even she admitted just how crazy Melinda is. I gave her the suicide blanket she wasn’t supposed to have, too. Perry’s exact words were “Yeah, she’s fucked up, man.”

She said she was waiting for the sergeant to call her back and would give me a tank order if she didn’t. Neither of these things happened.

Meanwhile, because of all the anxiety, I never fell back asleep until around 7:00. I didn’t get up till 1:00 when Officer Quinentilla moved me.

Although I’m thrilled to be free of that wacko, I wish they moved her ass, because that cell’s nicer. Here, I had to block the exposed incoming air vent by gluing cardboard with toothpaste onto the vent, and it’s noisier here because of the vent connecting next door and the two cells downstairs.

Quinentilla’s mood must’ve changed, because when I asked her to sharpen my pencils before her shift ended, she rolled her eyes, took the pencils, then never returned them. I had to ask the 2nd shift DO, Hann, to get them for me. She brought them to me, unsharpened.

Now, why couldn’t Quinentilla simply have said that she didn’t want to sharpen the damn things?

Quinentilla’s a young plump Mexican, and Hann’s older – 40ish with blond hair.

I’m glad Lora’s leaving in a week. She’s so loud! Like black kinda loud. She’s woken me up while down on the phone, and now she’ll wake me up next door. At least I can pee in private, and have no psychos around (yet).

Melinda got back an hour before dinner, asking why I moved. I told her I moved because she was so fucking crazy that I was about to kill her. She ignored that and asked if I left her any food. I left some of the lunch I didn’t want. It’s too bad I couldn’t have poisoned it first.

She asked if I stole any of her stuff. Damn! That’s what I forgot to do, I told her. But no, I didn’t steal any of her stuff. It was probably as worthless as she is, anyway.

Later, she was at the door again. I was surprised she wasn’t asking anything about the missing suicide blanket. The little shit asks to borrow my thermal instead, and this is when I really let her have it, telling her to fuck off and just be glad I didn’t fuck her up and beat her beyond recognition. I thought she’d be screaming and pounding on the door, but she just said I was sick (that’s an understatement) and ran back to her cell to pick her nose, eat her snots and hopefully choke on them, too.

I was bummed not to have met with Kara yesterday. Didn’t hear from her today, either. Maybe she’s on vacation or sick. If I don’t see her by the end of next week, I’ll put in a tank requesting to see her.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 27, 2000 God, I’m so sick of the same fucking bag lunch day after day – disgusting slices of meat, 2 pieces of bread, and kiwi or a cucumber. I just drink the juice and eat the snack, which is usually a small bag of cookies or crackers.

Lunch and breakfast are served on trays. This morning’s breakfast was barely edible – cold, hard-as-rock waffles. I ate a little of the melon and even some sausage. I don’t like sausage all that much, but I was hungry. We got chocolate milk instead of regular milk, but I only had a little of the milk. It’ll play on my stomach if I have too much.

After thinking about it some more (I’m the curious type), I wonder why Nottelmann didn’t put the white girl in with either myself or next door. Why did they move her out of M altogether?

Damn these fucking beggars! Deanna came over to thank me for the gross lunch meat I slipped under her door, then she asks to borrow my mascara. I can’t find it, I told her. Then Lora slips a spoon under the door for some hair protein. I gave her some, then I let her know she wasn’t getting any more. If I lend my shit out all the time, I’ll never have anything left for myself. Even alone they bother me! I may end up giving away my conditioner, though, because the shit’s so heavy.

Well, I made it through a month here with no write-ups or fights. There may have been a fight between me and Lora or me and Madeline if I hadn’t been moved, though. And I wouldn’t have gone any easier on Madeline just because she’s pregnant. If you’re dumb enough to get in a fight while pregnant, you should accept the possible risks involved. I wouldn’t have been the one to swing first, either. That’s a new charge – assault. Although with my shit luck, no one would’ve believed me, and I’d have been the one to go down. I’m always the one to take the fall while others get away with shit! That’s why I’m in here. It’s so humiliating, too. It’s as unfair as it would be if someone got raped, then went to jail while their attacker went free.

That tongue-clucking fucking dude Madeline went to court at 2 AM. I was surprised to learn they get you up and ready for court in the middle of the night here. She still isn’t back yet and it’s now 2 PM.

Today’s DO, whatever her name is, isn’t too cool. She won’t even sharpen my pencils. Isn’t that her job? Or do some DOs expect us to do it on our hour out? They’re the only ones who have access to the sharpeners, along with trustees, but there are no trustees in M taking care of people on their hour out. At least she didn’t let me sleep through this morning’s bras, panties and towel exchange with her loud mouth. Tomorrow’s stripes and sheet exchange, but they don’t do thermals inside.

A freckled-face black DO on last night is actually pretty friendly. She caught me teary-eyed from homesickness, asked what was wrong, and we chatted a bit.

Black Johnson’s on now. She sharpened a couple of pencils for me (without breaking them). This Johnson’s pretty ugly. She’s short and fat with squinted-like eyes. She’s neither cool nor uncool. She’s just Johnson. There’s no comparison between the two Johnsons when it comes to looks, though!

Miller walked by earlier. She started to walk past my door, then she stopped and asked, “So, how are we doing today?”

This is when I apologized to her for grieving her over such petty BS. Lora was nagging the hell out of me to grieve her when I should’ve had a backbone of my own and not done anything I didn’t really want to do.

The showers were lukewarm today. I hope this doesn’t mean they’re on their way toward being freezing cold.

I both like and do not like the fact that the same DOs only work here once every one to several weeks. The good in it is that you don’t have to deal with the same ones day after day that you don’t like, but the bad side of it is that you don’t see the good ones often enough. From what I hear, the DOs don’t know where they’ll be assigned to work till they come in for work.

Kim said Nottelmann recently turned 20. You mean I’ve been babysat by someone 15 years younger than me? Damn!

Nottelmann’s about average height, thin, with blondish hair and light eyes.

Chambers is pretty much the same, only she’s a major zit face, the poor thing.

Rule was slightly plump and kind of short with dark hair, though I can’t remember the eye color.

Just had what was the best jailhouse dinner yet, aside from that Thanksgiving dinner. We had chicken on the bone. It wasn’t cold and tasted almost as good as KFC. With it was corn on the cob, mashed potatoes and coleslaw.

What a twisted black bitch. She came and asked me why I didn’t have a roommate and now she’s screaming in the day room that she can’t stand it here because it’s too quiet and she wants to go back to A. Then why’d the fucking black bitch go and run her celly out if she’s so lonely and in need of noise? Typical, typical black – it’s too quiet here. Yeah, it would be too quiet for you, wouldn’t it be?

Now the bitch’s in her cell, screaming and slugging the door. If she wants to go back to black-loud A Tower, all she has to do is make like she’s going to attack someone.

One of the juvies just called over here from next door, but I just ignored them. I don’t like to talk with people. I’m simply not a people person. I have to be really damn impressed with someone to want to chat with them for more than just a few minutes, and that’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing for me.

Why did they move Tara just because they moved the other girl? I wonder if she’s coming back here or if she’s in D2 or A or B tower? B’s where Loretta Greer is. She killed her two kids and has been here 6 years fighting her case.

I didn’t think I’d ever take a dump two days in a row while being in this place (I’m sure not having a celly, even if they have the decency to turn away, has something to do with it).

Assuming I heard right, that black bitch tried to get in here with me and Johnson told her I wanted to be in here by myself.

Cool. But how did she know I’d prefer to be alone?

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 2000 Officer Vasquez, who’s really nice, is getting me a tank order. I realize that despite my good memory, I ought to describe some of these DOs. Vasquez is in her late 30s – early 40s. She’s somewhat tall and thin with blond hair. She’s not ugly or pretty.

Anyway, I want to have the tank order ready for when it comes time for me to request a notary republic to notarize the documents Tom’s sending.

He hasn’t gotten anything from the PO. That, he should get tomorrow. He did get the SS letter which he says he thinks it’s just old records, but that he’ll call them.

There are 4 empty beds here right now. Alex the hermaphrodite went to D2.

Oh, that felt so good to take that dump in private! I’d been stuck for ages, too.

I guess I was a big hit with Deanna next door because Vasquez asked if she asked me about moving in here with me. If I had to choose between Deanna, Madeline and Lora, I’d choose Deanna in a heartbeat, but she snores like a mother-fucker and she likes me. She snores worse than Tom. As for her liking me – I know she’s harmless. I’d just rather be alone for as long as I can. I only hope history doesn’t repeat itself with a closed custody case needing this cell, then I go back to A, enjoy Palma again for a while, then wind up stuck in a 4-man cell all over again.

Officer Dixon is on now. She’s short, stout, black, and seemingly nice. Don’t know her well enough to judge.

With beds available here, I’m surprised Jessica isn’t over here now. Maybe she went home, or maybe she’s on restriction for fighting with Kim. In that case, she’d have to remain in A, I’d think.

I’ve really gotten to know a lot of people here. Back in A, I would wave to Becky in the 200 pod. She and I came in together. We, like many other girls, laid back to back in the freezing holding cell for body warmth.

I also saw April again right before I came back here. Someone jumped her in the tents, but she was released the next day. She was as glad to see me as I was to see her. I gave her my name and booking number, and she gave me her name, address and phone number. She’s someone I would meet on the outs. Not just because she’s pretty, but she’s clean, from what I can tell. On the other hand, I almost never get together with those I say I’ll get together with unless they really mean something to me.

According to Tom, Houdini’s acting out in ways he never did with me – darting in and out of rooms, climbing up Tom’s leg while on the computer, etc. It’s obviously because he’s not getting the attention he’s used to getting.

Thanks, freeloaders. Thanks for trashing my husband and pet’s lives, on top of my own.

Cool! Nottelmann’s on tonight. I said hi to her when she walked by and she said hi back. I said I didn’t know she worked over here. She said she does only when they make her, then complained about not having anything to do for 8 hours. I told her we could swap places before she asked me if I had any good books. I told her I put a stack down on the table. They were already in here when I moved in and they didn’t appeal to me. I told her that I wasn’t going anywhere, unfortunately, so she could stop by and chat if she got really bored. She smiled, then continued her walk.

Nottelmann’s been chatting downstairs with Kim and company. Guess she is bored! So am I. I have reading I could do, but I’m sort of bummed that I’m out of stuff to write about. Perhaps this is good, though, because if I get more to write about, it probably wouldn’t be anything good.

I wonder if this Nasonex is going to be as good as the Vancenase. I haven’t had any major sneezing fits yet, but I am sneezing here and there. I suppose I can’t be too surprised. This cell may be pretty clean, but the jail, in general, is loaded with dust. I’m glad I didn’t end up having to sweep all of the dust out of next door.

Just had another burrito dinner with a bun, salad, potatoes, and a small piece of corn on the cob. Sometimes you don’t get margarine and are stuck with bland potatoes.

I’m still sneezing on and off. Maybe it’s something about M Dorm that makes me sneeze.

I’m tired, but I don’t want to try to sleep till after I fill out my commissary sheet. She’ll probably pass those out within the next hour or so.

I think before this month is out I’ll have written 100 pages! There’s not much else to do in this joint, and I can’t stand reading for long periods of time. I already exercised, but maybe I’ll do some more.

Well, I was sleeping peacefully, but some loud-mouth black woman that just arrived with some white woman woke me up. This is your typical threatening, aggressive, loud black bitch. It bullied the white lady out of the cell (the other small cell up here) and now I’m afraid they’ll throw whitey in here.

Doesn’t look that way. Black Johnson and Nottelmann just escorted whitey out of M altogether. She was a little loud and a little nutty too, judging by the way she was bragging about having been in prison for 13 years to the people in the big cell downstairs.

So now we have 3 empty beds and I know the one in here will be the next to be filled. Please, God, let it be a quiet, non-demanding person!

Who knows when I’ll be able to get back to sleep? If the bitch had pitched its fit in the daytime, I’d probably be able to fall back asleep, but this nocturnal body of mine just doesn’t sleep well at night. Especially when it’s not on Melatonin, at home in its own bed.

Now the black bitch is singing at the top of its lungs. Oh, God! I suppose this is what it’ll do on its hour out, too. Typical I-gotta-be-loud black! And I remember that voice from A.

Damn, I’m hungry! If the med nurse just came, though, like she did, that means it’s only around 8:00, so I have to wait 9½ hours for food.

I forgot to mention earlier that Tom said he’s going to put chicken wire on the walls of the big cage so Harry can move in there and Houdini doesn’t have to be alone. This is really nice of him, but why go to all the trouble when he can throw Houdini in with Harry until Harry’s big enough to be in the wire cage without escaping?

It’s change of shift now. I’ll probably be up till after breakfast. I’m going to wash my hair tomorrow like I do every other day. I’d say the floor doesn’t need sweeping yet, and I don’t need to make any phone calls, so that’s all I’ll do tomorrow.

I think tomorrow’s underwear and towel exchange. I hope I don’t sleep through it.

Some black DO’s on now. I think I’ve seen her before, but I don’t know what she’s like.

Kim was telling me she got maced a few months back. I guess a few inmates were fighting. Here, they don’t bother to pull them apart, they just mace them.

I asked Nottelmann if there was any way I could be closed custody, and she said I never could be because you have to be mean, evil and nasty for that. I guess I’m just not a big enough bitch. Too bad.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 2000 Another day of being in this goddamn cell! This is almost as bad as the tents, only it’s not freezing and I don’t have to worry about keeping a schedule.

Right now they’re quiet but sometimes they get so fucking loud and obnoxious! Trying to sleep when they’re up is not an easy task. This is why I want just one celly; because she won’t have anyone to talk to when I’m asleep unless she’s talking in her sleep or to herself.

I have nothing against these people, but they really drive me crazy at times.

Deanna’s the quietest, except for her snoring.

Lora’s a major nag who can’t mind her own business.

I thought Madeline was going to be the quietest, but she’s runner-up to Lora. She’s driving me crazy with her very limited vocabulary and the way she clucks her tongue. She’s not what people would describe as ladylike. Every other word out of her mouth is dude or fuck. And I thought I swore a lot! She’s so cockish! She actually speaks better Spanish than English. Especially for a white girl. I translated a letter into Spanish for her, since I know more of it and can spell it better. I forgot just how much Spanish I knew! I’m quite impressed with myself for translating that letter if I do say so myself.

M203

I’m finally out of that horrid cell!! I thought I was going to strangle Lora and Madeline! Their big mouths were really getting on my nerves when I was trying to sleep. Even when I wasn’t, they were still obnoxious, grating on my nerves. There was nothing worse, though than dealing with that toilet! It wouldn’t be much different than sitting my ass down on a toilet on a street corner.

Another problem with so many cellies is the fucking begging. I tried to tell them up front I didn’t want to be used for my shit, but it was useless. They wanted conditioner, lotion, mascara, etc., not that they didn’t offer me anything in exchange, because they did. Lora gave me an envelope so I wouldn’t have to wait till Monday.

It was Johnson who finally moved me and I told her that if she needed a positive word from an inmate, for whatever reason, I was the one to come to. I did her the favor of cleaning out this cell in exchange for her letting me move into it. Agent Tara and this crazy girl were in here and they trashed the place. Madeline said she drove this crazy girl out of next door.

I promised “clucking, fucking dude” Madeline that I’d still translate letters for her. She’ll just slip a note out to me when I’m on my hour out, I’ll translate it, then slip it back to her.

I’ll be slipping Kim a note, letting her know how much I love and miss her, though we’ve told each other a few times since I’ve been back. I also told her why I hated the big cell.

Anyway, the crazy girl was trying to get bonded out of here last night and Officer Mena said I could take her place if she left, but she didn’t. Instead, she left today in cuffs after kicking the shit out of the door. Then they moved Tara. So Johnson said she’d move me if I’d roll her stuff up (I guess she’s in D2, the psych ward). The cell was filthy, all right! I gathered the crazy girl’s shit up, put it outside the door, then swept, mopped and wiped shit down.

I certainly wouldn’t want the vent totally exposed, because it’d be too chilly and drafty, but I didn’t want it completely blocked, either. It made me feel like I was going to suffocate with no air circulation, so I exposed a tiny part of it.

So I’ve been in all 3 cells on the upper level. In 205 with Kim, 204, and now 203 at the end, right by the door leading to the next pod. I hope Palma works here every now and then! And Chambers. She’s not a looker, but she’s cool. You know I really gotta be attracted to Palma to miss a gruff like that. The one everyone thinks is a bitch, which is true at times.

Oh, she’s so nice! Johnson just sharpened my pencils for me and she didn’t break them (I have them taped) like Palma does. Then she was nice enough to open the door and hand them to me when she didn’t have to. She could’ve just slipped them under the door. After she left, loud-mouth Lora screamed over to ask what Johnson said to me. Nothing, I told her.

So now she’s going to yell over here regularly? At least I don’t have to cell with that mouth anymore! She makes me seem like a very soft-spoken person. I’m just sick of her. I’m sick of everyone!

Officer Miller, who seemed pretty cool, isn’t so cool anymore. She let 101 out for 2 hours simply because they were last. It was unfair of her to play favorites like that (if you’re going to play favorites, you should at least be discreet about it), and Lora, Madeline, Deanna and I all grieved the French poodle-haired bitch. I didn’t add this to the grievance, but I know it’s because of Kim and Lisa. She kisses up to them so she can learn more about the AB (Miller works Gang Intelligence).

White Johnson, who signed off on them, seemed pretty pissed when she went to take them out of the door. You know, there’s something about this woman that really appeals to me. She looks hot even when she’s pissed.

It would be nice to have Nottelmann work here more often. I totally dig the nails she’s got. They’re airbrushed. She was funny the other day, moaning from inside the tower about how she broke one.

This cell appears smaller than the one Kim and I shared because it’s laid out differently, but I don’t care. It’s a 2-man cell with a toilet not visible from the tower. I like how the light isn’t so bright in here, but I hated it when they turned off the light in the 4-man cell when everyone else but I wanted to sleep. I wanted to read but couldn’t, so I laid there all night listening to them snore and sigh. I just wish I could be here by myself for the rest of the time I’m stuck here! Or at least with someone who’s easy-going and sane.

It’s getting nippy in here. Maybe I should reblock the vent, which was sealed by throwing wet wads of toilet paper on it.

Another 2 days and I’ll have been here a month. God, that’s hard to believe!

Now what was that all about? Johnson just walked by, stopped at the door and stared at me for a minute, then said goodnight.

Now 3rd shift is on.

I hope my next celly won’t arrive till after commissary just in case she bugs me for it.

I can hear the 3 of them next door bopping around and shouting while they exercise. At least they’re all happy over there. I’m glad there’s no vent connecting this cell to them like there was in the other small cell.

I can hear the juvies next to me too, on the other side.

I just had Officer Pérez turn my light back on so I could write. This is one cool, yet homely-looking lady! She has nice eyes but if she or a vibrator were my only two choices in this world, I think I’d settle for the vibrator.

She was gabbing next door for a few minutes and I don’t think she was too happy. All I could make out that she said was something like, “What is this shit?” and “I don’t like that.”

I thanked her for talking with me and getting me to medical (when Johnson wouldn’t) the first time I was in this dorm. When I said I wasn’t sure if she remembered me, she said, “Of course I do, Jodi.”

Jodi? Since when do DOs ever call inmates by first names, not that I mind either way. My first name’s ugly and my last name’s stupid because it’s a word and names shouldn’t be words.

I still worry about what my PO’s going to be like and what she’s going to do as far as unreasonable demands go. Tom said the PO will be out of the Maricopa area and so she’ll know how hard it’d be for me to get out daily. Somehow I doubt she’ll give a shit, and again, if she doesn’t like where we are, all she has to do is tell us to move.

Anyway, the PO has heard from the freeloaders, the pigs, the fuckface Paul, and the demonic judge. Now it’s my turn to give my story which will be the only true version, even if it doesn’t do me any good. I wrote a letter to her expressing my concerns, etc., then I mailed it home for Tom to type and send to her.

Officer Toye, a pleasant black DO, pulled me for medical at 4 AM the other morning, which is when they draw blood. I got to see the tattooed nurse who was rude and incompetent. At least he has a slight sense of humor, telling me that in order to draw blood from the guys they punch them in the nose and catch it in a cup.

I told him I only took the Theo for a day, but he insisted on drawing blood anyway, and that I could cut my dosage down (anything to make an extra buck!). Anyway, I’ve had small veins for a long time, which he says is because of all the years I was on Theo. The quack couldn’t get a vein in my arm, so he went for my hand and the stupid shit collapsed the vein.

This may sound really conceited, but it’s really frustrating to be surrounded by so much stupidity! It’s tough when you know a lot more than most people ever will.

I signed a refusal form for the blood work, letting him know what a mean, evil vampire he is!

When he asked me where I lived, I said Maricopa, which caused the woman and guy DOs who were nearby to burst out laughing. The nurse meant – where do I live in the jail, but as I told him, I don’t fucking “live” here. This is anything but my home!

When the female DO escorted me back, I thought she looked familiar and I asked if she worked in the tents. She said yes, and I asked her to tell Officer Rule I said hi. She said she would if she remembered. Then it hit me and I thought – damn, this could’ve been Rule instead! What a pity we missed each other.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 2000 I really hate the fuck out of this cell! It’s quieter here than in A, but not only do I have to endure the humiliation of having to use the toilet with 3 cellies instead of one, but the fucking DO tower has a perfect view of the toilet! The big cell’s doors are mostly glass, and it has windows on each side of it, too.

I’m so sick of living in a fishbowl that I’m contemplating going back to the tents, as cold as it gets out there now. I feel like I’m in a giant display case. This just isn’t like being on stage dancing or singing. But I just can’t make up my mind as to what I should do! Lora said to leave it in God’s hands. Oh, like I’m really going to trust the very being that put me here in the first place? Yeah, right!

I wrote my last entry late last night and now it’s mid-afternoon. Having to pee today was a nightmare. I had to wait till I felt like my bladder was going to burst before I could pee in front of all these people, both inside and outside the cell.

I put in a tank order yesterday on 2nd shift and let them know how overwhelmed I was with being in such a large cell, then I talked to this really cool black DO at 4 AM when I had to go to medical for blood work, and I even lied (I’ll do whatever it takes) and said I was afraid of one of my cellies.

Or so I thought she was cool. She said she’d express my concerns to 1st shift, but when I asked 1st shift about swapping with someone in a 2-man cell, since they’re all filled up, she hadn’t a clue as to what I was talking about.

So, I filled out a grievance saying I shouldn’t have to be where I’m scared – ship me back to A till a bed’s available in a 2-man cell.

A nice, older DO just walked by (it’s change of shift now) so maybe she’ll rescue me from this cell.

It’s quieter here this time around since we don’t have 3 black bitches penned up together, but I’ll take all the noise in the world just to have a little more privacy on the toilet! And I want just one celly if I can’t be alone, not 2 or 3.

It’s warmer here too, and the showers are warmer, but I’ve got to get out of this cell! I can’t live in it for 5 months. I’d even go back with Jessica! She wouldn’t attack me. It was Kim she was after. She felt Kim was being too dominant over the cell, despite the fact that Jessica was rude and disrespectful. Turning your head away from someone trying to put a tampon in shouldn’t be any harder than turning your fucking music down. Nonetheless, I’m not afraid of Jessica. Jessica and I got along much better than she and Kim did, and although most people may be bigger than me, most people couldn’t kick my ass. They could arm wrestle me down, they could lift things I couldn’t lift, but it’s very hard to beat my ass because of my temper. I’m also in pretty good shape and I can move very fast because I’m small. So, unless Jessica put on 30 more pounds or so and sat on me, she couldn’t take me. I could probably flatten most of these DOs too, except for DOs like Palma, Arajo, and Johnson.

That’s white Johnson (there’s a black one and a white one) with the red hair who’s not so bad looking, even though she is kind of butchy looking which isn’t normally my type, and although she’s white which also isn’t normally my thing. I usually go for Hispanic or Indian. I’ve never been attracted to a redhead before, either. Nonetheless, I think Officer Johnson is just fine. She’s so tall, too. It’s like – wow! She’s not really what I’d call fat, just big-boned and a bit muscular. I didn’t think I’d like her at first (she wouldn’t let me go to medical to get my fucking inhaler) and I was a bit intimidated by her. I think I’d feel safe with her now that I know her a little better, even though she could probably kick the shit out of most people. She doesn’t seem aggressive, though.

She acted pretty weirdly the other day. When she came on duty, she opened the door, came and stood in the middle of the cell, looked at Madeline, then Deanna, then Lora, then stared at me for what seemed like an eternity, then left. She never said a word the whole time.

“Why did she come in here,” Madeline asked as soon as she left.

Good question.

I was too tired to go out on our hour out. I didn’t get to bed till 6:00 and I got up at noon. So this dusty floor didn’t get swept. Hopefully, I’ll be out of here real soon and it won’t matter.

I wish I could make myself sleep like some of these girls can to make the time go by faster. They’ve been sleeping for 15 hours, except for Deanna. She’s doing her hair and makeup now.

Still nothing going on as far as any efforts being made to move me, so that means I’ll either have to try to adapt to this place or return to the tents when the lady from classification comes around. Meanwhile, I try to do my pissing when the DOs are out of the tower.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 2000 M204

I’m back in M in a 4-man cell and all my cellies are sleeping. This is why I’m writing now – no distractions. Trying to get any sleep myself with 3 cellies is going to be the impossible dream! I put in a tank order requesting a 2-man cell once a bed opens up in one, but I doubt they’ll move me. I’d even take a small cell with Agent Tara!

My cellies are so-so, but either way, they’re 3 too many. Kim’s right below me with Lisa. We said hi to each other earlier when I went to take a shower that was actually hot for a change.

I’m with Lora, Madeline and Deanna.

I’ve already described loud, obnoxious Lora.

Madeline C is about 6 weeks pregnant. She’s about 5’ 3”, slightly plump, with short, wavy light-medium brown hair, hazel eyes, and one fucked up set of teeth.

Deanna T, a heavy black girl, describes me as an innocent-looking cutie who looks great for someone who’s almost 35. She even hugged me when I got to crying over missing Tom and home and moved to an upper bunk for me. The bunks that don’t have desks right by them are too hard to climb. If worse had come to worse and no one would’ve let me have the bottom, all I would’ve had to do was throw my mattress on the floor. This room is spacious enough for that. That’s what the people downstairs are doing.

According to Madeline, Deanna’s crazy.

Oh, great. Just put me in with another crazy, why don’t you!

The cell’s floor is filthy with dust balls galore, so tomorrow I’ll sweep it since it doesn’t look like anyone else will do it.

I didn’t think we would, but we ate pretty well for Thanksgiving dinner. We got 2 chicken legs, stuffing, ice cream, a gingerbread muffin, and mashed potatoes that they actually took the time to mix butter into.

Medical finally did swipe some money; $9.

Tom came to see me around noon before I came to M, and I guess they forgot about us because we ended up talking for over an hour!

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 22, 2000 Believe it or not, I’m alone! I don’t know why they picked Lora to go to M Dorm first, since I’ve been waiting longer than she has, but they rolled her and Kim up at 4:00 this morning. I just asked Limon, one of the nicest male DOs, if I could stay alone. He said he couldn’t guarantee it, but he could try. Nonetheless, I’m sure I’ll have a new celly by 9 PM tonight. It’s around 3 PM right now. A lot of girls say they’d get lonely if they were alone, but I could handle it. I lived alone for 9 years.

Last night, before they rolled out of here, the 3 of us played hangman. It was fun, but having more than one celly really sucks. When I was trying to sleep when it was only Kim I was with, she had no one to talk to, but then she had Lora to gab with and it wasn’t the easiest thing to fall asleep to.

Lora also lied to get into Ad-Seg. She said she was in fear for her safety in the yard.

Great. Now those who are on their hour out are bugging me, along with when I’m on my hour out. Someone just came to the door begging for bread, which would’ve really pissed me off if I’d been asleep. When I’m out, I can’t pass by these damn cells without someone asking for something – pencils sharpened, T-paper, etc. Why do these people need everyone else to do their shit for them?

It’s after dinner and still no celly! They’ll come soon enough, though. I wish I could take a dump now so that’d be one less dump I’d have to be degraded into taking in front of someone else, all for the freeloaders who will victimize me for as long as I live.

I got my probation terms and I feel so overwhelmed! I’m afraid we’re either going to be forced to run, or I’m going to end up killing myself. Once again, I trust my vibes, and I think Tom’s wrong when he says my probation will be easy. Also, it says right on the form that Mary S, my PO, can order us to move if she doesn’t approve of where we live. Anyway, the terms form said I must work or take classes full-time. Well, if I have to do something full-time, I might as well get paid for it. Besides, what can I go to school for for that long? To make demands seem even more impossible to meet, they want me to take adult education classes on top of work/school, community service, and therapy. And where do they expect Tom to find the time to make sure I can meet all these demands I could never handle meeting?!?!

Fuck this fucking system for ruining and rearranging my life! I am not a murderer!

It’s early evening now, and I still can’t believe I’m alone!

Anyway, I reread the thing and I only have to do 5 hours a week of community service. Not 20. Gotta do 100 in all. Community service and therapy don’t worry me. It’s the full-time shit that worries me. So Kim was wrong when she said I could take classes once a week for 8-12 weeks like I did with the sign language courses. Once a week won’t cut it. To think that this won’t be over till I’m almost 38 makes me want to drop dead! And even then, it’ll never be over.

I’m sending Tom a letter to type up and send to my PO. I want her to hear my side of this bullshit and my concerns, even if it’ll do me no good because I know this person is a monster, female or not. She’s going to do everything she can to violate me. She is my ultimate enemy for the next 3 years.

I wish Kim and Lora hadn’t gone and colored in the light cover. Now it’s too dark to read. For now, I’ll have to climb up on the upper bunk so I can see better, till my cellies get here. Especially when they dim the lights.

I literally slept all day today and didn’t get up till right before dinner. I was surprised to find they left my mail in the trap. They’re supposed to make you open legal mail in front of them since they’re not supposed to themselves, yet they let me sleep! Maybe they let me sleep because it was from the probation dept.

I did my exercises earlier and am still limiting my bread intake.

It had been quiet, but now people are yelling again. It’s going to be a long night. At least I’m finally well-rested. I thought I’d never catch up on my sleep. Just when I’d begin to nod off, I’d be woken up by something.

Although I miss my Turbie Twist, I’ve been twisting my towel in a similar fashion and it works well. I twist my hair in my towel after my shower, leave it like that for a few minutes, and my hair dries faster as it would with the Turbie Twist towel.

I think it’s around 11:00 now. God, 5½ hours till breakfast! I’ll probably be hungry enough to eat it even if it’s slop, which is gross. Slop is this gravy-like shit with chunks of morbid meat in it. I’d swear it was dog or cat food. Maybe it is.

As much as I love having Tom, Ratsy, and Houdini’s pictures here, it makes me sad. I miss them so much! I miss my old life that will never be mine again. If I thought God and society were controlling me then – I hadn’t seen anything yet!

There’s no comparison between the so-called laws I broke and the way the cops/courts fucked up with me by lying, withholding information, and creating fictitious evidence, let alone discrimination for being a woman. A white woman with a black involved in her case. Whenever there’s a minority involved, that’s quickly becoming the majority, they’re the ones who always win.

Tomorrow, now today, is Thanksgiving, so I suppose Tom won’t get in so easily. It’ll probably be mobbed.

A guy on nights, who has retainers, said I ought to put in a tank to the captain about my retainers, but I don’t know. Do I really want to fight another losing battle? Do I really care about my teeth anymore? Is that really a priority of mine?

I wasn’t going to write to Paula and Mom again so soon, but I had nothing better to do, so I wrote a letter to Mom and started one for Paula. When I say to Mom, I really mean to Mary and Dave, too. I won’t have envelopes till Monday, though.

“Male in the house,” I just heard the male DO yell. They’re supposed to make that announcement every time they walk through the pods.

Guess I’ll try doing a little reading now. I’ve made it halfway through a murder mystery so far.

It’s around 4:00 and I’m still up.

Hope I can have my hour out early before I crash, but that’s not the way it’s been this week. Lately, I’m let out at 2:00, when the chain gang comes marching back. Whenever I get out, I’ve got to get some pencils sharpened, sweep and mop the cell, and take a shower. I got this hair food Kim insisted I get, along with regular shampoo/conditioner. You leave it in your hair while it’s still damp. I guess It’s like Infusium 23, though it’s thick as shit. It smells like apples.

So what’ll be for breakfast this morning? Yesterday it was these shitty fake eggs, they don’t do waffles too often, so I guess it’ll be either slop or cereal. The white slop is the worst. It’s white gravy with chunks of ham in it. Brown slop is OK. That has beef in it.

The more I think about it, the more I’m surprised that all I got was a letter from my PO telling me to report to her upon my release. Isn’t she supposed to come see me? I thought Kim said they come to see you 10 days into your sentence.

I wonder when I’ll return to M and if I’ll be in a 2-man cell or a 4-man cell. God, I hope not a 4-man cell! It was obnoxious enough listening to people in a 4-man cell from next door, so I wouldn’t want to actually be in one.

Been doing a lot of exercising as well as reading and writing. I spend a lot of time thinking, too. God, I love and miss Tom! What would I do without that man??? I can’t bear to think of him too much. It only drives me to tears. Same goes for when I think of Houdini and how he’d be waiting for me when I’d get up, and the games we’d play. Instead, I think of either trivial shit, or I fantasize over Palma.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 2000 Eating noisily is rude and gross, says Lora. It is. So then why does she do it?

Tom should be here anytime now for our visit. I have a little piece of paper on which I scribbled notes. That way I won’t forget to bring up all the stuff I want to discuss.

For the third time, they brought me Theo and this nurse says she’ll leave a note to cancel it, but I’m sure they’ll be bringing it day after day. They bring you meds you don’t want, but when you need meds – they’re nowhere around! I also filled out a second tank order about it, but this is it. If they’re too stupid to get their shit together, that’s their problem. They can waste their time if want to.

I’m tired today, thanks to having to get up for a zillion different things.

Lora’s normal, but a bit obnoxious at times. She talks louder than I do and moans in her sleep.

I like Officer Chambers, now that I know her name. I’m not attracted to her, but she’s so friendly and easy-going. Nicer than that serious gruff Palma, as gorgeous as she is.

Kim is awaiting acceptance into the Women’s Network program, and she just told me to write that.

I saw Kara, plus two male trainees. They were very nice. Kara said I looked great (because of my makeup). I don’t feel so great, though. I want out!

Kara knew who I was talking about as soon as I mentioned the celly I had that swore she was an FBI agent.

Although I’m still mad and depressed, it’s a wonder how I can even laugh, joke and sing at times in this place. It’s been said that I’m tough and resilient. Maybe I’m too resilient, in a sense. Maybe it would’ve been better if I’d fallen into a deep catatonic state, locked away in my own little world forever, never having to deal with people and their bullshit again.

Saw Tom, and as always, it was great seeing him. He’s working on trying to get me out of here based on the fact that I’m hard of hearing and the pigs/courts never provided an interpreter for me.

He also says I have a female PO (he couldn’t remember her name) and left her a message. He said it’ll be a week or so before she returns the call, but he’ll let her know what he’s up to.

Our visit was as it always is – great, but hard because I wanted to climb through the glass window, hug and kiss the hell out of him, then go home with him.

He’s done a lot of research and says the whole thing was illegal from start to finish because they should’ve provided me with an interpreter. As he also reminded me, though, cops and courts can break all the laws they want, so no matter what he does, I’ll probably be stuck here till April 29th.

God’s biggest plans for me throughout life were definitely to be fucked over by those with more authority than myself. I’m here to serve others, according to him, in any way that’ll hurt me yet advance them, which usually means I lose my freedom, and they make money.

So far they haven’t taken any money for my meds. If they do, the money’s available.

I didn’t write about my jailhouse mouse. One of them was quite naughty last night! It climbed up on my bunk to the area where I have my stuff which is by my head. Then it ate a corner of Gretchen’s candy bar. So, I broke off where they ate and split the rest with Kim. Then I gave Gretchen her other candy bar and told her they were out of stock on the other one, and gave her back an envelope, too. Now we’re even. The tradeoff is supposed to be 1 candy bar for 3 envelopes, anyway.

I wonder if that hot-looking Palma is on tonight? I hope so!

Kim is about to give Lora a tattoo. Ugh, how painful! For the most part, I think tattoos are ugly. I’m probably the only one here who doesn’t have any.

Here these assholes are, running the cooler in the middle of winter, yet what do they do? They heat the shit out of the visitation area!

Brilliant. Real fucking brilliant.

I got 3 letters today. One was quite a shocker. It was from the Social Security department in MA, claiming they were going to stop the SSI and SS checks they stopped in mid-1994, while I’m in here. And just where have the checks I’m supposed to have gotten for the last 6 years gone? I sent the letter (along with Helen’s) home for Tom to deal with because I don’t know what the fuck this means or what to do about it.

Yes, I heard from Helen. She said she’s concerned for me and would like to visit. Wow! She writes to me and wants to see me after just 3 visits? How sweet of her! She also enclosed a poem on attitude. I wrote her back and gave her the visiting hours.

In the letter I got from Tom today, he enclosed a couple of pictures. One’s of Houdini and the other is of him and Ratsy. I’m going to ask that he also send a snake picture and a couple of mice pictures.

Here I was thinking I was helping Tom by packing away a lot of the dolls so there’d be less for him to dust, yet he says he likes them out. How sweet!

I’m gluing the pictures to the wall with toothpaste while Kim and Lora play cards and do each other’s hair.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 2000 I finally got my commissary! I got 2 candy bars for Gretchen in exchange for envelopes, and a pad and pop tarts for Kim for all she’s given/done for me.

For me, I got a manila envelope, a legal pad, 5 stamped envelopes, red lipstick that actually looks OK as long as I blot it, mascara, lotion, shampoo, conditioner, hair protein, hair elastics, toothpaste, hydrocortisone cream, Advil, a few brownies, a few candy bars, and some hard candy.

I’m back a little while later and I can barely see what I’m writing because the light’s so dim. Kim and Lora mixed cherry Kool-Aid and toothpaste to smear on the clear plastic light cover to dim the lighting in here even more.

Gretchen was happy to move into her own cell, although we all got on fine together because we respected each other’s ways. Gretchen said she was rolled up from M for excessive praying which got on her celly’s nerves. I personally found no problem with it. It wasn’t like she was screaming at the top of her lungs or anything when she prayed. Even though we got along and she was fairly normal, she’s glad to be by herself till she goes home on Thursday. I wish I could be alone after Kim leaves! The only negative to Gretchen was that she ate like Tom, Mom and Andy and made loud, gross annoying smacking sounds.

Kim never ceases to be my savior in this place! She blocked the vent with a plastic bag which is held in place with spoons that are jammed through the bag and into the grill because Lora and I were freezing!

Gretchen had barely cleared out of her when Lora E, our sanest celly yet, came to join us. I’d prefer just Kim in this tiny room, but at least she’s no bible-thumper, or a moody disrespectful bitch, or claiming to be an FBI agent created from glass flies. Agent Tara also claimed the government stole her ovaries, and that she knew her mother killed her kids when her boobs suddenly got smaller. She would pace the room constantly too, scribbling profanities against herself. Lora’s loud, though. She’s about 5’ 4” with a nice body, but an ugly face. She has very dark hair and eyes. Her hair’s almost to the middle of her back.

There’s an increase in male DOs around here lately, but they seem OK for someone who’s sexist in general. I don’t prefer women simply because they look better. I also prefer them because they’re not usually the assholes men are. I would be a dedicated lesbian if it weren’t for Tom. He’s the only exception.

Lora’s leaving on 12/7. I wonder if we’ll be in M by then and if we’ll stay there or be bounced back and forth between A and M? I’m going to have a zillion more cellies by the time I get out of here! I wish I could either have the same one that I get along with after Kim leaves or just be by myself. However, if you’re not a hermaphrodite like Alex who kicked us out of M205, you have to be either a danger to yourself or to others in order to be closed custody. They’ll also put you by yourself if you have AIDS.

I forgot to mention that Tom looked up Middle Ground on the net, which he reactivated, and which Kara says helps those who were unjustly jailed. However, when Tom checked it out, he found that they basically deal with the treatment of inmates. Not getting them out of jail.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 2000 I swear I smell the faint odor of smoke right now. How the fuck can they get cigarettes in here, of all places? I guess through the trustees, the same way we got the razors. Some of them that have open-contact visits get them that way, too.

We just got a new mulatto celly, Gretchen, and she’s cool. She could almost be considered to be petite. She has short dark hair and light eyes. Palma put her in here and Kim tried protesting it, telling Palma she’s a racist, but Palma was just like, “Deal with it, Waller!”

I’m really developing a liking for Officer Palma! She reminds me so much of Gloria, though she doesn’t have almond-shaped eyes.

I hope Tom remembered to take my Charlie’s Angels tape out of the VCR.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 2000 Got a couple of letters with words for Tom to look up the signs for as he requested. Words like rat, doll, music, rainbow, etc.

We had fish for dinner tonight. It wasn’t bad. I just get sick of lukewarm or cold food. I was surprised we got watermelon and a scoop of half-melted ice cream yesterday. I like it half-melted, though. We get bread with every meal because they want to fatten us up. Everyone tells me they’ve gained weight in here, so I’m trying to limit my bread intake. Poor Kim came in here at 125 pounds and now she’s 160. I’m 108-109 right now. I asked Kim why they don’t just let us have candy bars all the time if they want to fatten us up and she said they don’t because that would be being nice. Candy tastes good and it would give us the energy they don’t want us to have.

Believe it or not, I finally got to the doctor yesterday. Some big black lady with a funny accent. She was nice, though. I still can’t not be nice to a black person who’s nice to me, but when I think of blacks in general, I want to puke! I had to wait 2 hours before seeing the nurse, then another hour to see the doctor. Some people waited for 6 or more hours!

Kim was there to discuss the not-so-good results of her pap smear. She’s got some kind of sexually transmitted disease, but at least it’s curable.

Because Kim and I are Ad-Seg, we weren’t put in the big holding tank. We sat at the main entrance with Officers Brea and Lumia, who were really nice. Brea was really cool because she let Kim, some nosy black bitch who’d butt into our conversations and myself, eat some of her lunch. The DOs get way better food than we do. No meager portions of slop for them! She had a huge tray full of tacos and burritos.

Brea burst out laughing when I told her why I was here because she thought I was joking, that’s how ridiculous it is. Everyone I’ve discussed it with agrees it’s outrageous and guilty or not, the sentence I got for my supposed crime is ludicrous.

They throw you in jail for 3 months if you fuck up on probation. Even that seems crazy. I can see anywhere from 10-30 days, but 90 days for a backslide seems a bit overkill. I guess they feel that the stiffer the sentence, the less likely people will become repeat offenders, but obviously this doesn’t work, since most of these people are exactly that. That leaves money. The more business, the more money.

They didn’t cuff us this time going to and from medical. The DOs talked to other DOs with their walkie-talkies that were escorting people around. I felt like I was back in school again on my way there!

“Walk single file, ladies. No talking in the hallway, ladies.”

I was like - Oh, go shove a fucking broom handle up your asses!

Same old bullshit every day.

The nurse shocked me by mentioning work furlough, which I didn’t know I was even eligible for. There’s no way I’m doing work furlough. I’ll be damned if I’ll give the money to the jail like you’re required to do. Besides, who’d hire me as a convicted felon?

Anyway, the doctor did a physical on me (no pap) and told me I was strong after doing a resistance test on me. I better be after exercising and lifting weights consistently since last April. Between housework, taking care of the animals, and working out, it keeps me pretty fit.

She gave me a Ventolin inhaler and a nasal spray similar to the one I had at home. She also recommended one 300mg tablet of Theodur a day, rather than one 200mg tablet that the nurse brings around, but I think I’m going to have it stopped. It makes my heart too racy. It made me really miss how Tom would comfort me when my heart got racy. Kim tried comforting me with hugs, but it’s not the same.

Kim and I did laundry. We washed our underwear in the sink, but scrubbed shirts and pants on a huge plastic bag.

These mice are getting brave around me! Now I hear a couple of them fighting in the supply closet next to us where they live.

Believe it or not, I’m sleeping through a lot of the noise around here. Perhaps it’s because the noise is pretty continuous, whereas if I fell asleep in peace and quiet, then 4 hours later there was noise, it’d be harder to sleep through.

There are a couple of things I forgot to mention about court. The DA mentioned not being able to find the Mexicans – well – first of all, I don’t buy it for a minute that they moved like she said they did. Secondly, why would she want to find them when they’ve been dropped from this case since I didn’t go to trial? It’s just between me and the black bitch now, so who cares where they are? They were fucking illegals, no doubt, with God knows how many warrants out on them. They probably ran when things heated up. Like I said, people will put themselves out to spite others.

Another thing the DA tried to do was get her way with me based on racism. Since when is it illegal to be a bigot?

I’m not sure yet what I’m going to do with journaling once I get pads. I’ll either send whole pads home in manila envelopes as I fill them, rip out and mail a few sheets at a time, or just keep them all.

Right after I left medical, I had a visit with Tom. I was hyped up and rambled on and on. I let him know I felt better now that I had my meds, although I’m still taking much less of the inhaler.

He was kind enough to put $90 on my books, but $30 of it went to rent.

He also said he’d mail me the post-conviction relief form to sign, as long as I don’t want him to make any changes in what he’s going to say, that is.

He also told me I won’t necessarily be on probation for 3 years. That’s only the max, but it’s up to the PO. The PO can also sign me out of here anytime they want to, too. Now that I know that, I wonder just how persuasive I can be at striking any deals with whoever this person may be (Tom’s going to call and try to find out next week). I’d rather 10 years of probation than 3 years of probation and 6 months in jail! Tom’s hoping I can live at home while I see a therapist multiple times a week. That’d be a dream that ain’t likely to come true. Like I said, something up there obviously wanted to hang me really well with these freeloaders and it’s not about to set me free of them anytime soon. Plus, life isn’t fair. So the more unfair my sentence, the more likely it is to stick.

Why is God so obsessed with having me stuck in places I don’t want to be??? Camps, funny farms, prison-like schools, with my real parents, foster homes, shitty apartments, the Phoenix house, and now jail!

Kim insists most POs do want to help their clients. Well, we’ll see just how much they care to help me by how long I end up here and what happens afterward. I have a feeling, though, that I’m not going to get your average PO. Why should I? After a lying pig, a corrupt lawyer, and an evil judge, why not a monster PO?

I jokingly said to Tom – wouldn’t it be funny if for classes I went to train as a DO? All you need is to be at least 18 and free of felonies (this is a class 6 undesignated felony that’ll become a misdemeanor in the end if all goes well). They don’t carry guns, only mace and stun guns. Even if I weren’t currently a convicted felon, and transportation wasn’t an issue, I don’t think I could stand to work in such a dismal place with so many people. I’d probably make a lousy DO, too. I’d be too lenient in some ways because I’d feel bad for the inmates, knowing what it’s like to be locked up. On the other hand, my temper would probably get the better of me. It’d be too tempting to zap the shit out of someone I didn’t like or worse.

One thing’s for sure and that’s that I could never be a pig. I couldn’t bring myself to go around lying to people like they do and taking advantage of people and manipulating them. I couldn’t live with myself for pinning crimes on innocent people simply because the real perpetrator couldn’t be found, which would be expected of me as a pig. It seems to be standard procedure.

The queen of contraband here managed to swipe a couple of razors. She said that if we’re caught with them, she’ll claim full responsibility, even though all that’d likely happen is that they’d be taken away and we wouldn’t get written up and put on restriction.

Written up. Restriction. Sounds like I’m in Valleyhead again!

We Palma-proofed the room really well as soon as we saw that the hot-looking bitch was on. She likes to toss rooms, so Kim taped the razors and pen to a hidden ledge under the bottom bunk. Last time, Palma swiped Kim’s condiment collection and her two extra sets of clothes. She also broke her pencils. Kim tapes the pencils, which are only 3” long, back to back to make them easier to hold. Kim retapes them as fast as Palma breaks them.

Kim fessed up a few days ago, telling me she’s bi-curious. She has a crush on Cindy, a girl in the next pod that she knows from the outs. So I guess she’s going to have the best of both worlds and marry her boyfriend (who’s also Aryan) and be with Cindy, too.

I don’t ever remember A Tower being this cold. It’s freezing! A Tower’s blacks don’t care. They’re still singing at the top of their lungs, screaming and yelling and being the assholes that they are, making sure to stick out like sore little thumbs.

I realize more and more just how much money the jail makes from its inmates. It’s a business just like any other. The more clients the merrier. Maybe the outrageous 6-month sentence is more money-related than I had realized. They make a ton of money off us from commissary (though there are some who can’t afford it) and by having inmates take care of the kitchen, laundry and shit like that so they don’t have to hire people, and all the food is donated. It’s not just about money, though. It’s about a white, childless person who was unfortunate enough to be up against off-brands in a US courtroom. They run the courts nowadays. They are the courts.

Kim lectured me the other day about my attitude. I got frustrated with people’s damn demands on our hour out and snapped at someone down below, telling them to get their own shit on their own hour out. Kim says jail/prison is all about respect. I can take her advice and tell them I’m busy or something like that, but I don’t care. Period. I’m not here to worry about other people’s feelings and what they think of me, and I have no respect for people in general – black, white, Spanish, etc. She says she’s only trying to help, and I know she means well, but she doesn’t always help. She gets on my nerves at times, but that’s to be expected of people you eat, shit and sleep with 23/7. It bugs me, for example, when she answers my own questions. I ran into someone at medical I knew from the tents and I didn’t feel like playing the 20 Questions game with them. I tried to brush them off, but Kim, who sat next to me, had to answer for me. It also bugs me when they call me over the intercom for visits or something like that and she answers for me.

I know no one’s perfect, though, and she’s still a good celly. It was really sweet of her when she said that since I’m stuck here, she’s glad it’s with her.

I got a rather harsh letter from Paula, though I know she didn’t mean to come off in any bad way, and even said she hoped I wasn’t mad at her. I have a feeling most of it is because of Tom, but I’ll find out for sure since flaky Paula isn’t always a reliable source of information. Before, she told me she got 30 days in jail for assault, and this time she said she got 3 months for arguing with a cop.

When she asked me why I was so “mean and evil” to this lady, I was once again like – haven’t you been reading my journals? I have a feeling that when Tom talked to her, he came off as sounding as if I picked on some poor innocent soul for no reason at all. I was sort of pissed when she said Tom said I won’t learn and will probably do it again to someone else. That’s totally something he’d say too, and I was like – thanks for having faith in me! Does he really think I’d do it again after going through this nightmare I’m stuck in? Does he really think I was kidding when I said I was just going to sit back and take it when we get stuck with blacks and Mexicans all over again? Well, let me set the record straight – I will never send journal excerpts to anyone again other than to Paula. Nor will I write/call the landlord on the blacks and Mexicans that spoil our peace and quiet when they move in behind us as is inevitably fated to be.

Today I refused my Theo and I’m less jittery.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 2000 I hope Paula’s doing OK. I miss the hell out of her. Not like I miss Tom, though!

I wonder if I’ll even remember what freedom’s like when I get out. The question is, though – just how much freedom will I have? And just how torn between living and dying will I be? I’m sick of being a victim of society and having my life dictated to me by one fucked up system after another. I don’t want another 35 years of being society and God’s slave, and to hell with what I want. I’ve thought about killing myself a lot.

It isn’t only my not being able to recover from this humiliating trauma that worries me; it’s how much harder decision-making is going to be that also worries me. I so rarely have had the opportunity to make my own decisions in life, both as a kid and as an adult. So whenever the rare occasion came along where a choice was mine to make, it was very hard. I’m simply not used to it. So I can just imagine how much harder making my own decisions will be after 6 months of people deciding everything for me!

I wouldn’t mind taking some drawing classes, but I don’t know where we’d get the money for that at this time. Why can’t I just do what I want for a change and go home and get on with my life as the homemaker I was content enough to be? How many more years can I be punished for something I shouldn’t even be punished for? When’s enough ever enough? These people just won’t go away and leave me the fuck alone, and I swear they’re going to haunt me for the rest of my life! FUCKING freeloaders! If it were up to me, I’d go home, live like a hermit, and never deal with more than the half a dozen or so people I know out here. I hate people! I just don’t trust them. All they want to do is fuck everyone over.

It’s dead quiet for a change, Kim’s asleep, so this is as close as I get to having any peace, space and privacy in a place that makes the NHA seem quiet.

I can’t believe we haven’t had another celly thrown in here yet.

Although you can pretty much sleep whenever you want to, I never get more than 3-5 hours of sleep without something interrupting it. I sleep on and off. Very few people sleep 8 hours straight in jail. Oh, how I miss my soft comfortable bed! I want to go home and sleep 10 hours straight, too.

Tomorrow they change stripes and sheets. I’m so fucking sick of being dressed like a zebra!

Tom got a new brown rat and named him Harry (the real Houdini’s first name) so Houdini could have a roommate. He’s kind of small and is in the tank. He says Houdini jumps in to see him.

God, I miss Houdini! I miss playing with him and seeing him at the door, waiting for me to come and let him out.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 15, 2000 A109

Believe it or not, Kim and I are back in A Tower. In the last room on the upper tier, next to our old room, and right above Jessica. They came in right before dinner telling us to roll up so some closed custody nutso could have the room all to themselves. Kim was not happy about it, and I began to wonder if bouncing between A Tower and M Dorm would be a regular thing.

Before leaving M, I received two very nice letters from Tom. It really moves me how he’s stuck by me through all this. It shocks me how he tells me he’s motivated to work on the land and keep things clean. It also pleases me that he wants to learn some signs and used the finger-spelling font to say a few words.

Once we got to A, Kim accidentally discovered a third letter from Tom in our old room when she went in there to get mattresses. It’s nice to know the fucking DOs cared enough to run the letter over to me in M. This is part of why I wish I could settle down somewhere in this fucking hellhole if I have to be here at all.

Yesterday really sucked and I lost it. First my allergies were going off, thanks to the freeloaders who got me off my snot spray. I couldn’t get a hold of Tom when I was really frustrated and true to my vibes, my commissary never got to me.

So, once again my emotions peaked, and I asked to be taken to medical. Unfortunately, I had to ask twice and had to say I would hurt myself to get there. Once there I was given a breathing treatment by a very weird, tattoo-covered, rude male nurse. He wasn’t the least bit sensitive to my situation and rudely described my constant sneezing and tight lungs as “acting out.” Sorry, but not even I can act that well. Besides, when he listened to my lungs, he decided they were bad enough for the treatment. Then I got lied to for the 10th time by these quack nurses, and told tomorrow, which is now yesterday, that I’d be seen by a doctor. Kim says I’ll see a doctor within 3 days, and that today’s security override could’ve stalled that, but I don’t buy it for a moment. They’re refusing to treat me, but at least I don’t smoke and at least I can function without the inhaler. It’s just hard at times. Especially when my emotions kick in.

Nurse Rude also weighed me upon my request. I’m right where I figured I was – 110 pounds. I can’t eat most of this food. Amazingly, though, I’m still exercising daily.

After repeated requests, we were let out to clean this filthy, dusty, ugly cell and I went to Jessica’s door, woke her up, gave her the finger with a big grin on my face, and the dork smiled happily at me.

So, I’m childish at times – what the hell?

We found out why she’s really here, too. I always thought she was pretty vague about why she was here when I asked her about it. She’d dance around the subject and try to avoid it. Well, she left her 5-month-old son at the grocery store.

Another girl back in M is going to be picked up by the Department of Corruptions for 10 years for shaking her baby, which she claims she doesn’t remember.

It’s about 1 AM and A Tower’s loud, rude blacks won’t shut up. They usually quit shooting off at the mouth when they dim the lights. I can’t decide which is noisier – A or M. I guess it just depends on who’s there. Kim says not all blacks are deliberately loud. “You gotta see them as retarded children. They just don’t know any better. They’re ignorant little shits in their own little world,” she told me.

A nice black girl named Mary gave me an envelope before I left M. She and I came into this dive the same day. She had moved in next to us in the happy blackies’ cell. I met all 3 blacks currently in there, though, and they’re nice. Loud, but nice. Still, why am I getting so fucked over by blacks? Is it to make up for how the whites treated them years ago or what, not that I was alive 100 years ago? As much as I hate them in general, I still find I can’t not be friendly to a black person that’s friendly to me. Kim’s the same way, though she is more extreme than I am. She feels different races shouldn’t marry, but I say – why not if they love each other?

Despite our differences, Kim’s been a real help to me around here. I can’t see us being friends on the outs, though. Tweakers and gun runners just don’t appeal to me. I got mad at her when I yelled and screamed and slugged the door in frustration and anger back in M because she yelled at me to stop. The last thing I need is to be yelled at when I’m pissed. I hate that and it only fuels my fire more, but she later told me she just didn’t want me to hurt myself. I told her I understood her concern.

I’m still getting along with other inmates, but they bug me on my hour out. They want me to ask this person for this, ask the DO for that, and I’m like – wait for your own fucking hour out and get your own shit!

I’m going to write some of this with the pen Kim got this morning from her PO. Poor Kim. Thank God what happened to her during her visit didn’t happen to me! A lady pulled a gun, demanding to see her boyfriend, and her PO managed to bolt out the door. Well, it turned out to be a drill, thank God! In the midst of it all, Kim swiped this pen and some taffy candy that was lying around. I guess they were giving it out to people visiting during Halloween. Anyway, I have to hide this pen when a DO walks by.

Kim likes M better and misses the swastika she tagged under the top bunk which was hers (at least I could climb onto the top bunks in A and M if I had to because they’re lower). She also misses Lisa, who’s still over there. She’s a fellow AB member (Aryan Brotherhood), and to Kim, she’s her mentor.

For the first time, Kim admitted she was bi-curious, and mentioned a few girls she’s interested in. Thank God I wasn’t one of them!

I saw Kara earlier. It really helps to talk to her. I’ll be seeing her on Tuesdays. She’s very positive and encouraging. She complimented my sense of humor, told me there were many good facets to my personality, then told me about Middle Ground. She said she thinks they’re free and that they deal with unjustly jailed people. I told Tom about it and he’s reactivating the net to do more research on laws, etc. Tom wants mainly to get it on record that I was screwed over in court, even if it means I can’t get my sentence reduced. He feels I should’ve had an interpreter provided for me, too. I sure could use one in here at times with the way everything’s so echoey!

Anyway, I had a good vibe about something happening 13 weeks from now. I just hope it isn’t a case of wishful thinking! Meanwhile, as much as I hate to do so, I’m just going to have to kiss ass, behave, and be cooperative so I can stand a chance, even if it’s one in a million, and never punch a DO out no matter how bad they piss me off. That’d be a new charge and more time, but fortunately, no one here has pissed me off that much. Just annoyed me at times. I was going to write up Officer Chavez in M because I thought she was going to refuse to give me a grievance form because I asked for it in a very frustrated tone of voice which would’ve been wrong of her, but she gave me one.

I took a shower earlier, and boy did it feel good! Not as good as the tents, but tolerable enough. Yes, I like A better. I also like how part of the other bunk blocks my head where I sleep and gives me a little more privacy.

I’m listening for any jingles from the DO’s keys as they walk by, so I can hide this pen in my gown pocket.

Kim and I are still getting along well, but she gets these delusions at times (in a funny way). She says she knows she’s cute. Well, I’m glad she thinks so. She also thinks (because Lisa told her so) that all she has to say to a black who may want to fight her for being AB is “If you respect you, and you respect me, there’ll be no problem.”

She’s dreaming! That won’t prevent her from getting into brawls. Those blacks will say they respect themselves, but certainly not her, and then they’ll jump her. Lisa, who also hates “off brands,” must’ve had some odd experiences to tell her that.

I quickly realized, coming into this joint, that no, the state is not paying for me to be here. I’m the one paying them. The $30 a month in rent is more than enough to pay for anything we eat or use here. So they make money by jailing people, not lose money.

I wrote Mom, Mary and Dave (Mom’s Tom’s Mom, Mary’s his sister, and Dave’s her husband). It was a brief letter letting them know I’m still alive, even if it’s barely.

Paula had stomach surgery yesterday. I’ll write her once a month. I don’t want to call her collect at $1.95 a minute. Tom talked to her twice and told her he’d relay anything to me for her.

I was so fucking pissed/frustrated Monday when I didn’t get my commissary, true to my vibes because their computers were still down. Tom put money in for me at another jail so it could get credited to me that way, but it didn’t go through fast enough. Now I have to scrounge for paper another week, although I could use the backs of tank orders if I had to. I also have to suffer another week with dry skin, no conditioner, and no treats. And all because they fucked up.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 2000 I forgot to mention the pigeons over in the tents. They hung out by the day room and some of us would feed them.

Last night I finally got fed up with freezing my ass off, so I filled out a grievance form, not caring if it made things worse and if they reacted poorly and spited me for it (how much more can they do to me?) and believe it or not, it’s been a bit warmer in here.

Tom mentioned at least 2 letters he has on their way to me. That’ll be nice to get. I’ll probably get them tomorrow.

It scares me to think – what if I didn’t have him throughout all this? What if I still had an apartment? What would happen to it while I was gone?

My biggest fear when I first got here, which Tom and Kim helped to ease, was that we were definitely going to be forced to sell the house so I could be in the city near bus lines so I could work outside of the house. I misunderstood the fucking sentence. The after-jail part. I thought he was saying I had to work full-time and take educational classes, and do community service, and see a therapist, and see the PO. Tom says the community service will be fun. Especially if it’s signing or something like that. Well, I sure as hell won’t do any religious or freeloading-related activities. Also, if I don’t want to work, all I have to do is take an educational course that runs for a handful of weeks. Fine. Anything but jail! I’d prefer drawing classes over signing classes, though, because I can’t draw as well as I can sign.

I got to like Helen, so she’s no problem as far as seeing her goes. I just hope whoever my PO is doesn’t turn out to be the monster the judge was!

Tom says my teeth will be fine, but another thing the freeloaders have taken from me are my retainers. For reasons I can’t fathom, they’re not allowed here. Thank God I didn’t just get braces on! Kim says they’d have sent me to an ortho, but I doubt it.

Tom’s going to be visiting on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Sundays are a zoo. I look so forward to our visits! They’re closed contact, though, because I’m Ad-Seg. In a way, it’s better that way because it’s easier to hear him in the little rooms (when the speakers don’t cut out), but I can’t hug him or hand him these journal sheets to take home. I’ve been mailing home about 4 sheets at a time. Kim said I’m allowed to release my property and can give a DO stuff to give to Tom. I don’t know if I trust them, though. I’m afraid something would suddenly demand their attention and they’d forget.

This big ugly butch is working right now and every time she makes her rounds, the scent of her very manly cologne wafts in and it’s not too pleasant.

The off-brands next door are quiet at the moment. They scream, laugh and sing on and off. I’d have fallen asleep earlier than I did last night if it wasn’t for them. Even the DO shocked us by telling them to shut their holes. Naturally, though, it failed to have any effect. You don’t tell an off-brand to be quiet, and as usual, they’re the loudest ones here, in their own rude, selfish little world. They had me up so late that I napped earlier while they were carrying on.

I’m still being controlled by freeloaders! Still in the city, still listening to like sickos – aaarrrggghhh!!!

At 5:30 we went down for a breakfast too gross to eat, although I think Kim ate it, then I went back to bed till 10:00 when our hour out was. I swept and mopped the floor, which we take turns doing, and tried calling Tom, but got no answer. I just wanted to make sure there was money in my account because he told me the computers were down on both Tuesday and Thursday.

He says I’m still getting birthday money this year from his Mom and that he’ll get the doll kit with it. I was going to get Marisa with Christmas money, but thanks to the freeloaders, it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to.

In another week or so (I guess he wanted to make sure it wasn’t too soon for the freeloaders not to still be involved, even though they’ll be a part of my life forever) he’s going to mail those letters to the mayor and the court of appeals. I just hope he tells them everything. Including the freeloaders’ wrongdoings, which make any of my wrongdoings seem totally innocent. He’s also going to try for post-conviction relief to get me into a halfway house. I know it’ll never work, but he can do as he pleases.

I’m more convinced than ever that Paul was/is corrupt. Tom says there was a hearing we could’ve had that he never told us about. Kim says I could get my sentence overturned if he fucked up like that by withholding information from us. Yeah, but how would we prove it? And besides, they’d only recharge me and I’d just lose all over again because of the fingerprints and voice on tape this idiot didn’t think of. This idiot also didn’t know how screwy the laws here were, either!

I hope they do clothes exchange soon because Palma took our extra clothes over in A Tower, and it’s not so easy to wash clothes here. Back in A, we took the giant plastic bag Rule gave me to put my stuff in and scrubbed clothes on it with bars of soap. We even rinsed our clothes in the toilet after Kim scrubbed the hell out of it because the toilet bowl holds more water than the sink does. It gave us something to do.

My allergies have been worse here in M Dorm. I’m OK with sneezing here every now and then because all I do is read, write and exercise. At home, where I had more to do, it really hindered my activities.

The stairs leading up here are a bitch on your feet with no shoes. They’re not solid cement-like in A. They’re metal grills that you can see right through to the floor.

I asked the butch DO why there was a lock on the inside of our cells, and she said it was for if we locked any of the DOs in.

I forgot to mention April and Angel from the tents.

April was a really pretty Asian girl who said she had her own practice as a therapist. She was in for beating up her husband and was also an 88-pound anorexic.

Angel, who was generous and helpful towards me, also liked me. A little too much. Hugging me when I was really down was fine, but I did not like it when she tried to kiss me. I pulled away, yet she understood. Single or not, I wasn’t attracted to Angel.

I used the excuse of being worried about getting caught and written up, though I told myself that that was silly and that they weren’t going to write people up for kissing. But of course, that’s what I would’ve said over mailing a supposed threatening letter, though sure enough, I came to learn that it is a write-up because any kind of sexual contact in jail is simply not allowed.

Although Kim and I are like best friends in this place, I could never associate with her on the outs. She’s a major druggie.

She’s not very attractive, either. Her 5’3”, 150-pound body is loaded with stretch marks that are almost up to her tits from having kids, and her plain-looking face has big-time acne. She has dull gray eyes and a funny-shaped nose.

She can really peel kiwis, though! She does it with the plastic spoons.

I’ve taught Kim the alphabet, the numbers, and some vocabulary in sign language.

Kim says it’d be best to stay mad while I’m in here, and wait till I get out to cry over lost time, etc. That’s certainly easier said than done. I cry every day in here, but believe me – I’m mad as hell! Mad at the freeloaders, mad at the judge, mad at Paul, mad at the pigs, even mad at myself for not just putting up with their shit till we could get the fuck out of there.

Kim and Kara have said not to let them win, but they already have won. They’ve won and have been winning since 1996.

I’m also mad at God. He just had to let this happen. He just couldn’t let us have normal neighbors. I hate him for the 35 years of shit he’s dumped on me! I’m being punished for running from Phoenix, for trying to live in peace, for the house, the land, the big TV, etc. The more I try to get away from what the Gods have ordered, the more it’s forced on me. If I were smart, I’d move back to Phoenix. I have a feeling Phoenix will keep calling me back time and time again anyway, if I’m dumb enough to live, and if I even live to get out of here. Phoenix and its chaos and noisy freeloaders won’t let me go!

How can I ever get on with my life if this were ever over? I just don’t see how I can mend from this one. I’m too depressed, too pissed, and too humiliated. I still can’t believe my whole life has been trashed over a fucking piece of mail and a phone call. I mean, this is crazy! The phone call, though, is only a misdemeanor and that’s not part of my so-called charges. Even so, phone call or not, letter or not, I didn’t do anything!

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 2000 M205

I’m sneezing a bit more often because the freeloaders said I can’t have my snot spray. The freeloaders also said I can’t pick up scattered bits of junk around the land this winter like I’d planned to. By the time I get out of here, the snakes will be coming out of hibernation, so it won’t be safe for me to be doing shit like that.

Another lie from the medical department. They said I was scheduled for a physical, but that never happened and I’m still being denied medical treatment. Kim said I didn’t complain enough, but I think 4 medical tanks and 2 grievances are enough. I’m not going to be reduced to begging on my knees for the 3 weeks Kim says it usually takes to get anywhere with these people. I will learn to live without my inhaler. I went 3 days without it, but I did take 2 hits yesterday and one today of my rapidly dying inhaler that the intake nurse gave me.

Tank orders are for requesting library books, legal supplies, religious shit, etc. You can also find out your release date if you’re dumb enough to forget it. Mine’s 4/29.

Medical tank orders are for wasting your time trying to get meds or at least be seen by someone. At least you can see a psych counselor as soon as you need or want to.

Anyway, Kim and I are now together in a 2-man cell over in M Dorm. There are 2 pods each with 5 cells, and a small dorm across the hall. In the pods, there are 2 4-man cells that are about 15x16 and 3 2-man cells that are about 8x12, the same as in A Tower. I’m glad I’m in the small cell, but I’d rather be home!

I’m still having the runs every few days and I wonder if I’ll ever shit normally as long as I’m here. I’d rather cell with Kim than be alone, but I miss my space and I hate shitting with someone in the room! I can handle pissing around her, but if there’s ever a time I wish I were alone, it’s when I have to shit!

I like this cell better overall. It’s better than Florence. It’s bigger, we don’t have to worry about getting a 3rd person in here, and we have a desk with a couple of shelves that are bolted to the floor and wall. The desk is nice and smooth. The table in A Tower was all scuffed up, so its surface was bumpy. Everything’s metal in here too, except these bunks are of built-in concrete. It’s roomier in here, and the top bunk’s not so low. I don’t bonk my head on Kim’s bed up above when I sit straight up.

The walls and ceiling are remarkably clean. No graffiti. No mice either, unfortunately.

The negs to this cell are its ugly, rusty toilet, the sink’s button that you have to hold down to get water, the way it’s freezing in here, as well as windowless. I discovered earlier, though, that there’s a big skylight out in the day room.

We’re on the upper tier like we were in A Tower. Also, and just like over in A, there are phones, showers and picnic-like tables in the day room. M200 is much smaller than A100, though.

They have a commissary price listed posted (they have hygiene stuff and all kinds of snacks like nuts, cookies, cakes and candy), and if you want to know what time it is on your hour out, you can see a clock in the tower.

The showers here are both better and worse. They’re the push-button kind where you don’t have to turn a knob like you do in A, and you get a better stream of pressure, but they’re ice cold! I like the push-button kind, although you have to keep pushing it every few seconds.

Kim filled out a grievance form requesting the water temperature be raised to the standard 120 degrees, and this worries me. I’ve learned the hard way how complaining gets people in trouble, but she insists there are different levels of people you can complain to and that people’s complaints do get resolved without making things worse for them.

Maybe it’s just me who can’t get away with complaining, I don’t know. She thinks I didn’t bitch enough and that’s why I haven’t gotten a new inhaler, but I think I bitched a lot and that’s why they won’t deal with me. So, I’ll learn to live without the thing, lose the congestion, and have one less thing I have to depend on these people for.

Kim and I blocked the vent with cardboard because it’s absolutely freezing in here! Kim says they keep it cold because cold air makes you tired and increases your appetite because it slows the blood down. That way they feel they can control us easier. This is inhumane, though – running an air conditioner in the winter! It may be a swamp cooler, though.

Anyway, as for the shower, the DO told Kim she’d have maintenance check it out, and I’m like – yeah, right! Sure you will.

They don’t always bring meals to our cells. Sometimes we go downstairs to get it, but I’m usually too tired to get out of bed for breakfast.

They don’t always use these trap doors. They either unlock the door with a regular key or from a control panel in the tower. I use either the door or traps to stick my mail and tank orders out of to be picked up on the DO’s walks.

There’s an older lady here who was working when we got rolled over here, teasing me about my being all nervous. Well, the unknown can be a bit scary!

I thought I had reason to be grateful we never had a kid in the past – well – imagine how grateful I am now!! I will never bring a kid into this fucked up world, and I will never insist Tom see a sex therapist. Not unless he wanted to, but I certainly can’t see that happening after all this time. Now we’ll both be content to be the way we are. Thank God I haven’t wanted one in years because, to me, it takes a hell of a selfish and cruel person to bring a kid into this sick, fucked up world with the way its people and its government is. The world just isn’t fit for kids.

It’s later on, and I write this to the tune of a cell full of black bitches right next door in the big cell, laughing and singing. They sound so happy. Just so happy. If I didn’t know any better I’d say they were free and having a party and not in jail. Anyway, sometimes it’s quiet, sometimes it’s noisy, but overall, it is quieter than A. This is what I get for rebelling against God, trying to run away from the city and the noisy people in it!

I wish blacks had never been slaves. Then maybe they wouldn’t use that as an excuse to be so fucking loud.

Dinner was actually pretty good for a change. We had a piece of chicken that tasted a lot like KFC’s, and we had peas with the usual carrots.

They shut the lights off completely in these cells at night, but the day room light is always on, so although it’s darker here than A, it’s not dark like I like it. I was surprised the lights were still off when I got up late this morning, so I asked for them to be turned on.

I requested to use the nail clippers today. You can’t do that in A.

Anyway, all 3 places I’ve been had their pros and cons. Part of me misses the tents, but I know if I were back there, I’d want to come right back here.

Now, let’s back up to the tents. There were some girls I spoke to regularly during the short time I was there, which was only a few days. I’m amazed at how helpful and supportive they were! They too were astounded at my sentence. It seems most of them are in for drug-related offenses. Or hooking or probation violations. Anyway, like Kim, they told me a bit about life in jail.

One girl gave me her Chapstick. What a lifesaver, although I’m dying for lotion!

There was a big woman in her 40s that a lot of us called Mom. She mothered me with hugs, and I was amazed at how many people would come up and hug me when they saw me crying. People I didn’t even know.

A butchy-looking woman named Bentley was my worst nightmare in the tents. This is because she’d fart every 10 minutes and was in the bed next to me.

First I was in the “welfare tent” where all newcomers to the tents go. After just one night there, I was assigned to the laundry tent, even though the more I thought about it, the more I despised the idea of working for free. It was the worst tent because it was the biggest and right by the day room and closest to the loudspeakers they’d constantly scream over.

Not everyone worked during the day. Some people worked at night and they’d scream over the loudspeaker for them to get up. They worked all different hours. Even if I’d had the Melatonin, and regardless of what schedule they had me on, I still couldn’t sleep with all the noise and commotion. I wish I could control my schedule here too, but even that’s out of the question. I’d prefer to sleep here from 9 PM–5 AM, but lately I’m falling asleep at 3:00 or 4:00 in the morning, woken up at breakfast, then in the early to mid-morning for our hour out or a visit. I’m still a night person. I’m usually up by late morning or earlier, and there are times when I nap for an hour or two in the afternoon.

I only worked in the laundry department for two days and although I didn’t like working for free, it gave me something to do, and I got to like Kevin and Maria, a couple of the supervisors.

This other supervisor yelled at me for swearing, which I apologized for since I was rude, after all, taking my frustration out on him. This was before I found out he lied to the other supervisors, saying I swore at him, rather than to him. Why do people always have to lie/exaggerate? Can’t they just tell it like it is?

Anyway, I folded sheets, paired socks and sorted pants. They had machines that folded shirts and towels.

Kevin told me he felt bad for me, and Maria was shocked to learn that I was the Jodi S she read about in the paper. After that, they were even nicer to me. They were pretty cool people anyway, letting us have cookies and coffee on one of our breaks outside by the picnic tables. Even though the coffee was black, I drank it anyway.

I didn’t realize why at the time, but I thought that a few DOs had been a little too nice to me, in a sense, not that I can complain.

Officer Flores, who I only saw once, the first night I arrived, let me change my top bunk to a bottom bunk.

Officer Trilock, who was notorious for being a bitch, also let me move to a lower bunk when I was moved to the laundry tent on my second day. At first she seemed reluctant to give a damn about my fear of climbing, then she asked me, “Are you Jodi S?” I nodded, then she softened right up, smiled at me and said, “You’ll be OK.”

Later on, she assigned me to a lower bunk.

I ended up feeling as bad for Kevin as I did for myself. I didn’t know this till afterward, but he was the one that called channel 3. The poor guy was just trying to help, and I got all psyched up thinking – Yay, the media wants to help! – but the joke was on me, as usual. They didn’t come to say they felt my sentence didn’t fit my so-called crime that wasn’t even a crime. They were friendly at first, but by the 4th or 5th question, I knew I was being attacked. And this is after these lying assholes told me their job as reporters were to remain neutral. I should’ve asked for the questions up front, or better yet, I should’ve ignored them. You just can’t trust anybody in this world, but as I learned very young, if you can’t trust your own parents, who can you trust?

After she asked me stuff that seemed irrelevant to why I was in there like whether or not I celebrated Christmas, my age, and how I was doing, she asked if I was a racist, why I sent the stuff, etc. She wouldn’t ask me if I were a racist if I’d sent the shit to a white person, the fucking, mother-fucking bitch! Damn, I just want to strangle some of these people at times! Whenever there’s a problem between two different races, they always say race is the issue.

Even a couple of male officers – Rosales from the tents, and Montoya from inside, said I got a raw deal. Montoya said he would’ve told that bitch off. I tried, but obviously it got me nowhere.

I’d been up nearly 24 hours by the time I slept my first night here, but I was up early the next day (Tuesday) I worked Wednesday and Thursday, but Thursday night I freaked and that’s when Officer Rule cared enough to do what I believe was going beyond the call of duty to help me. She didn’t even have to tell me what she did to help me, but she did. She told me about a certain shortcut that would enable me to get out of the cold, smoky tents, yet to a place where I could still keep my privileges (phone calls, visits, commissary). I never would’ve known or thought of it myself, and she really was my savior that night!

It was 1 AM and I was still up. It’s just as noisy then as it is in the daytime. This is when I flipped out and panicked, knowing there was no way I could get up for work in just a few hours. They usually got us up at 4:00, then after we ate, we’d walk cuffed in pairs to the laundry building, outdoors in the frigid darkness.

Anyway, I felt like life was suffocating me with all the people around me and with all I had to deal with and I just wanted to drop dead! Usually, those who refuse to work go to lockdown, so I assumed I would too, but I didn’t care. I could not sleep; therefore, I could not work.

I approached the DO station (their area is fenced in so they can lock the desk when no one’s at it) and cried hysterically to Officer Rule about how I was feeling and how much I wanted out of this world. She called medical right away, then she took me over there where I spoke to a kind, patient older nurse. Although she listened to all I had to say and insisted I sign a contract promising not to hurt myself, she basically couldn’t do anything more, so I left with the impression I’d go to the hole and give up my privileges. I just didn’t think I had a choice.

As soon as I left, more determined not to hurt myself because of how kind she’d been, and because I haven’t really the means to do so in here, Officer Rule let me know there was another option. I never named the names of those who were smoking because they’d been really nice and even helpful to me, but I mentioned that as being part of the reason I wanted out of the tents. Well, Rule suggested I use that as an excuse when filling out an Ad-Seg request form. She coached me on how to word it too, saying it was very important how I worded it. How sweet, huh? Anyway, I wrote that I feared for my safety in the yard because I snitched people out for smoking. Then she wrote in comments, saying I was extremely upset and emotional and not suitable for the yard. Afterward, she escorted me to A Tower. I could hug her for taking care of me that night and allowing me to still be able to see Tom.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 2000 I’m tired as usual, what with the way I have to sleep intermittently here. Something always wakes you up in jail. First it was them asking if we wanted our hour out a few hours after I crashed, then breakfast, and then a DO slammed the door real loud that goes through to the next pod.

Now that I’m fairly up to date on the present, I can go back to the beginning of this jail nightmare, back to the 30th.

I’d never in a million years have shown up for court if I’d known this was going to happen! Actually, I did know. I mean, I knew something was wrong. I had the vibes, I had the dreams, I just didn’t know it’d be for 6 outrageous months! I could kill myself for not trusting my gut instinct! It’s true that I sometimes don’t always know right away that certain dreams I have are really premonitions, but I did know these dreams were warnings of trouble to come yet I ignored them like a damn fool and went along with Tom’s urging us to “get it taken care of.” We should’ve found a way to pay Sharon off (the bonds lady) and I should’ve stayed out of court.

We were in a smaller courtroom the last time, and by the time it was my turn, all that was in the room besides Tom and I were the stenographer, a couple of other people within the courts, the DA, the judge, Paul, the black bitch, and even Mr. Lying Biased himself was there! Talk about major humiliation and outrage!

The biased pig spoke first, and the judge wanted to know why my case was pled down to attempted stalking from stalking if he were so concerned about it (I don’t see how sending journals can be called stalking or attempted stalking. It simply is what it is). The way the judge seemed rather annoyed with the pig gave me a sudden spark of hope that the judge would see this case for what it really is – bullshit that’s a waste of time dwelling on. Boy, was I wrong!

Initially, part of the charges included “intimidation,” and I was like – hey wait a minute! Now we’re getting really unfair here and totally out of line. If anyone was ever intimidated by anything I said or did, that’s their problem. I can’t be held responsible for people’s emotions or feelings! How can Tom help it, for example, if he were walking down the street and someone found his appearance to be intimidating, not that I could ever imagine that being the case?

The lying, melodramatic black bitch spoke after the pig, acting like she’s this poor abused little victim, and then myself and Paul, who put on a pitiful performance on my behalf, wasted our breath, along with Tom, who asked that I be allowed to get help (seeing Helen) and not thrown in jail. Yet, as is almost always the case nowadays, the judge sided with the black bitch, saying it was the threats that got to him more so than anything racial.

All this because of words on paper! When the judge, whom I hope drops dead along with the freeloaders, said he was going along with the DA’s recommendation of 3 years (6 months in jail, 2½ years probation), the room started spinning and I hit the floor. After Tom pulled me up on my feet, he took all my papers which are better off with him. The less I have to drag around with me in here, the better.

What kind of a decent, normal judge goes along with an outrageous 6 months in jail over shit like this?! What kind of DA recommends such a sentence?!

The bailiff took me away after I signed a form for appeals, which I knew was a waste of time. The bailiff was reassuring me no one would hurt me. I think he sympathized with me for getting such a harsh sentence for such bullshit.

In a way, I’m pissed at Tom, too. I know he couldn’t have known the outcome of this but he’s the one who pressured me into going to court in the first place. Then when I wanted to drop Paul and represent myself, he insisted I didn’t. I wouldn’t be in this mess if I’d handled these freeloaders my way like I wanted to from the get-go. I should’ve listened to my gut rather than gone and done things his way. I knew his way would be the wrong way. It isn’t always the wrong way, but in this case it sure as hell was!

I can’t believe he said, “I just want to see that she gets help,” when allowed to speak in court. Is that all he had to say? Is that all he could say? I mean, what kind of defense is that? That makes me sound guilty as hell and like the freeloaders didn’t do shit!

On my way to a small bare holding cell, a couple of guys that were leaving some other courtroom gave me religious material, which pissed me off even more. If you think I hated and had no faith in the system and in God before, imagine how I feel now!

After they printed me, took my picture and asked me some questions, they put me in a regular holding cell with many other women. I was there from 8:30 AM – 11:00 PM. One of the girls was totally obnoxious, yelling non-stop.

The nurse at the Madison Street jail gave me a TB shot and took some blood which bruised my arm, as usual, because I have tiny veins. She also gave me an inhaler, and it’s a damn good thing I’m learning to live without it because they won’t give me a new one. They’ve been giving me the run-around big time. One nurse says I’ll get one, another says I have to see the doctor, and another wants to verify my prescription with my pharmacy. I already gave them that info at intake!

Kim says that there’s a lesson to be learned in everything. Well, I’ve learned that the congestion is not caused by my asthma. It’s been caused by the inhalers all along! The tightness, though, which comes and goes, is because of the asthma.

It turns out there are a few jails around here – Madison, Durango and Estrella (there might be more). This is Estrella. After nearly 15 hours of sitting in that cold, crowded, uncomfortable holding tank without one bite of food, though I couldn’t have eaten if I tried, those of us going to Estrella were handcuffed together in pairs, then loaded onto a bus headed here. The ride took about 10 minutes.

Once here, we spent 2 more grueling hours in an even colder holding tank that we could barely fit in. By then we were all exhausted and we lay on the floor huddled together for body warmth. Then we were “dressed out” (put in uniform), then classified (put in different areas). I was a wreck the first few hours after they took me from the courtroom, sobbing to near hyperventilation.

But my shock and sadness soon gave way to frustration and anger.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 2000 We had quite an exciting day today. One fight, one cell search, and another celly came in to join us right after we got Jessica out of here – thank God!

Right after I wrote how hard it’d be to choose between Kim and Jessica, the answer became obvious I’d choose Kim. Kim’s stable. Jessica wasn’t. And I don’t know about this new celly, Tara, claiming to be an FBI agent.

Anyway, Jessica decided to trade in her laughter for rudeness. She became moody and disrespectful, and I’m so glad she’s gone, the dumb mental case! I’m so grateful to Kim for setting her straight.

Kim asked her to kindly not look at her while she put a jail-made tampon in and that was just too much for Jessica to handle, so the stupid idiot swung at Kim. I knew Kim could take her, and that’s exactly what she did. She nailed the bitch to the floor, kicked and punched her, and held her down till I could call for the DOs, who luckily, were on their way up to do their rounds.

Jessica was moved to her own cell. I knew it would come to this, and Kim and I are both glad it did because we knew that’d be the only way to get rid of her. No wonder Jessica has been in so many fights.

After Jessica was pulled and things settled down and I had a few moments to reflect upon it all, there was something off about it. Just something not right. I pictured them fighting, then asked myself, OK, what’s wrong with this picture?

Then it hit me. It’s rather simple, too. What’s wrong here is the fact that I just watched somebody attack someone else and get away with it. Meanwhile, I’m sitting here in this fucking jail accused of a much, much lesser crime. Thanks, God!

Like I said, though, we got someone new. Why is something up there so obsessed with me being around people? Lots of people. The more I try to avoid people, the more God forces them on me. This is what I get for trying to hibernate on a 10-acre ranch, huh? God always has to push me in the opposite way in which I want to go.

Right now it’s looking like Kim and I have 2 weeks before they roll us up for M. When you’re told to “roll up,” it means you roll up your sheet with your shit in it and you move to wherever you’re moving to.

Tara is of average height and weight with short blond hair and light eyes. I’m not sure I can stand Tara. She’s obviously wired wrong. She paces, talks to herself, and is totally spaced.

I want to be alone so I can piss/shit in private, but that’ll never happen. Besides, I’d get lonely without Kim. I wish we could cell together for the rest of my time here, but she only has 2 months left.

We got “tossed” really well earlier by Officer Palma, a good-looking Mexican (all the good-looking ones are assholes). To get your cell tossed means to have your cell searched. The whole pod got searched. We’re only supposed to have one set of clothes, so Palma took our extra clothes. Poor Kim, though. She lost her jail-made tampons, the pictures she put up, the string she was dying in Kool-Aid to make bracelets out of, and a few other contraband items.

I asked Palma what she was searching for, and she asked if I had anything to hide. After we stepped out of the cell, Kim told me never to ask a DO what they’re looking for.

“Well, I didn’t know,” I told Kim. “I’m still pretty jail-illiterate.”

At least dinner wasn’t too bad tonight – a burrito with a donut, beans and the usual carrots. Most of the food they serve is starch. I guess they aim to fatten you up so you’re not in very good shape. Guess they feel less threatened by fat, out-of-shape people.

About 90% of the DOs are female. Can’t complain about that.

I watched 2 mice run around in here last night. So cute! One even ran over my foot.

Saw Tom today who said he’s still sleeping in the guest room. Says he’d miss me too much in the master bed. I’m surprised he misses me with all that’s happened! I feel as guilty as I do mad/depressed. He’s a hell of a guy. The only one I can trust and count on to stick by me.

He said he’s vacuumed and stuff like that.

How sweet.

He put down $50 on my books and will give me as much as I need when I need it.

He also says he’s going to order the doll care kit so I can still get doll catalogs. I can’t ever imagine getting another doll at this point!

He said he’s going to mention my ear when he goes to fight my losing battle of a case, to explain why noise bothers me (because I can’t tell the direction sounds are coming from, and how the NHA scarred me), but I say they won’t give a shit.

Another thing he wants to clear up is how they said my city letters caused the blacks to lose the house. He wants to let them know that he was the one who sent the letters. That’s fine, but if that black bitch lost the house, which wasn’t her house, then that’s because she and her sick people couldn’t shut the fuck up, so that’s her problem. She should’ve thought about that before laying her shit on us and she should’ve taken the responsibility of controlling her company when it got out of hand. She was oh so dramatic in court too, saying how lucky she is to be alive and how she’s had to move twice since.

I never knew where she moved to. That’s why I sent the mail to her old address, so if she had to move, it’s no doubt because she got into it with the people there and that’s her problem.

The DOs usually call inmates by their last names, and only the DOs’ first and middle initials are on their nametags, along with their last names. Guess they feel it’s less personal that way and will discourage staff and inmates from fraternizing with each other. Some DOs are OK, but some are like these cold, impersonal robots.

I’ve been talking with Kara, a therapist here who’s very nice. She agrees that I don’t belong here and has listened to me with patience, unlike the snotty, impatient shrink I first saw back in the tents.

I hate shrinks!

Tom mentioned Helen’s wanting to write to me (my therapist). That’d be great. I miss seeing Helen in her nice, comfy office. I got to like her, too. Here, I sit on an upside-down bucket and strain to hear what Kara says. Especially when the chain gang comes marching in.

I have lost weight and am around 108-110 pounds. The ring I just had enlarged will be too big for me when I get out of here. Another $25 wasted.

I haven’t described our hideously ugly and baggy uniforms yet. We wear traditional, old-fashioned black and white striped shirts and pants. They give you these drab gray gowns, too. The towels, socks and thermal underwear are pink, and the bras, which are comfortable sports bras, are white. The panties are color-coded by size. Pink is small, blue is medium, yellow is large, and white is extra-large. For shoes, you get these orange plastic shower sandals.

The DOs wear tan or brown uniforms, similar to a cop’s.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 8, 2000 I never did get into yesterday’s events, because I really do want to try to get updated and close the gap between the 30th and now.

Let me tell you a bit about my two cellies Kim W and Jessica W. If I had to choose one of them to cell with, it’d be a tough call. Kim’s the smart one and Jessica’s the flaky one who sometimes gabs non-stop and gets on our nerves. They’re in Ad-Seg waiting to go to M Dorm where the Ad-Seg area is, too.

Kim’s swastika and lightning bolt tattoos were getting her into fights, and I guess someone was ganging up on Jessica too, so that’s why they’re in Ad-Seg.

Although we usually get along well, I thought they were going to get into a brawl yesterday, and that me and Jessica would too, but we didn’t. We all had a rough day, but we were chatting and laughing later on, as usual.

Jessica is a pretty girl who’s half-white and half-Mexican, although she looks white with her red hair and freckles.

Kim isn’t the monster one might think she’d be for the tattoos she wears. In fact, she’s one of the most intelligent and interesting people I’ve met in this place so far, despite the fact that she’s an Aryan. Especially for being just 21. She knows things at her age that most people in their 30s don’t know, and she really helped get me going here by teaching me the ways of jail and things like that.

She combs and braids my hair for something to do, which I really appreciate, and I feel like I’ve known her and Jessica for years. That’s what happens when you spend so much time locked up together in a room smaller than the master bath at home. Kim’s told me a lot about her life which is very different than mine.

She’s helped me with filling out forms and she’s taught me that everything has more than one purpose in jail. Maxi pads also make great washcloths. I wouldn’t want to, but you can make tampons out of pads by rolling up and tying the cotton core. Ripping off the tops of socks makes great hair elastics, and tearing strings off of frayed blankets makes good string to hang things on or wear as bracelets/anklets. You can make curlers out of toilet paper, put pictures on the walls with toothpaste, and even make gum too, though it’s nastier than hell. You take a Styrofoam cup and rub orange peels on it to soften it with its acids, then you flavor it with toothpaste.

Kim’s attitude is like mine – if a black or Spanish person is kind to her, she’ll be kind back, but in general, she hates them for the same reasons I do.

The only negative thing I can say about her is that she seems to care much more about doing drugs and hanging with the wrong people, rather than doing what she needs to do to get her kids back, but she just permanently lost them, so it’s a bit late for that.

I’m going to get Kim a pad and a manila envelope through the canteen for all she’s done to help me, but that’s it. I won’t be used.

Jessica has really been a help to me in her own way by making me laugh. She has a way of bursting out laughing for no apparent reason at all, and it’s contagious. She gets obnoxious at times when she whines in a shrilly voice that’s annoying. I also sometimes find her staring at me with a dreamy look on her face. At least neither she nor Kim snores or smacks their lips when they eat.

I’ve decided to mail Tom these loose journal sheets to put in my office. I won’t have a whole pad of paper till Monday when they do the canteen. That’s when inmates can buy pads of paper, pencils, makeup, candy, lotion, shampoo, and shit like that. I’m going to see if Tom can put down $50 a month because I really need lotion, paper, and a few other things. I need a whole $50 because the fuckers here at the jail take $30 a month for rent (I had no idea you had to pay to go to jail). For now, till there’s money on my books, I get the weekly indigent package. That consists of a small tube of toothpaste, a toothbrush, a small thing of deodorant, a pencil, 10 sheets of paper, and 5 stamped envelopes.

Kim doesn’t hate Jews, she told me, because that’s a belief - the Jewish religion, and she hates Hitler as much as anyone else does. Speaking of religion, that’s what I hate most about these inmates – all the fucking delusional talk about God! Well, God’s no friend of mine, that’s for sure!

Other inmates, as well as the DOs, don’t feel I belong here despite what I did. They too feel I’ve been railroaded, but I want to finish with the basics of this place before I get more into my emotions.

Another thing I hate to have to deal with is the farting. Why is it people fart so badly in jail? I’ve had the runs because of this shit for food they have, and nerves, but I don’t fart like these things do!

Occasionally we get something good, but we’re fed slop (sauce with bits of meat in it) and cold food most of the time. And we get the same old shit, too. Imitation cheese, potatoes, and raw carrots for every dinner, salami for every lunch, and it’s just gross! The meals are served on these ugly thick brown trays, and tonight’s hamburger was the most sickening thing I ever had, although I was hungry enough to eat it anyway. I swear they took the thing and burned it, then let it sit for a while so we could have this cold, crunchy burger.

Also, all we get are plastic spoons. No forks, knives or napkins.

I’m trying to hurry because they’ll be dimming the lights any sec. Unfortunately, they never turn them off. I miss sleeping in the dark! I’m learning, though, to sleep through noise here, but I can never sleep straight through. There’s something always getting me up – meals, our hour out, visits, etc. Visits are worth it, though.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 2000 Estrella Jail in PHX… A109

I begin this journal by hand, but I can only date it and put in the day. I have no idea what time it is, for I cannot see a clock. It’s in the early evening, though. I’m going to begin doing some journaling, although there’s always a risk of losing what I write. I have nothing better to do, though, as I sit here in jail for the next half a year.

Yes, you heard right. That ruthless judge threw me in jail for a whopping 6 months, plus 2½ years’ probation when I get out!!! And not only were my tormenters present in court but so was the lying cop who told me it was “over.” He had to be in on this, the corrupt bastard! He had to know all along that I’d end up here, and that had to be his goal all along. I hate them all! As we learned too late, no F6 charge is punishable by just a year of probation like I was told I’d get. And what the hell was the DA thinking when she recommended a ludicrous 6 months for words on paper, most of which I didn’t even write, and how could the judge side with it?! I’ve always tried to live and let live, but how do I live when others won’t let me live?!

As soon as we got into the courtroom before the joke of a judge came in, Paul first pulled Tom and I into a little room between the courtroom and the hallway. That’s when he informed us that the DA was recommending 6 months, and I was like, “Six months! For what? Let’s keep things in perspective here. We’re talking about words on paper, not violent actions.” Besides, I thought this was regarding the journals, not a letter.

The bitch lied through her teeth too, using her kids to her advantage, saying I threatened them, too. First it was supposed to have been with the gun we don’t even have, then with a knife. The bitch can’t keep her weapons or her stories straight. Can’t they see this? I guess they just don’t want to. Once they make up their minds to “get” somebody, they won’t budge, and this state obviously favors blacks.

I’m afraid these people will never give up when it comes to ruining my life. They’re obsessed with me, and obsessive behavior like this really scares me.

I’m writing this with a pencil because we can’t have pens here. People say prison is better than jail because you can get more stuff there. We can’t even have coffee here and I miss it!

If I try to write from the beginning of when I first came in, I’ll never get current, so I’ll just jump into today’s events, then I’ll backtrack along the way.

I still can’t believe I’m in here for something I supposedly wrote and not something I did. Just words on paper, yet no actions. How totally wrong and unfair! What would I have gotten if I had beaten that bitch? No time? Less time? A life sentence? Being white, childless, and female doesn’t help when you go to court these days, either. Although I had bad vibes from the start, even if I didn’t want to admit it, I never would’ve believed in a million years that I’d not only go down for writing things I didn’t (they’re trying to credit me for writing other things as well) but that I’d get a sentence fit for one who beat the shit out of 20 people! God, I am so outraged! I don’t regret a damn thing I did. Meaning, I know that no matter what the fucked up laws say that I had every right to express myself and to write what I did, and so I try to tell myself not to take it personally and that all writers get in trouble at some point. All writers. But at 6 months in jail, God knows how many thousands of dollars, plus all the other shit, I most certainly do take it personally! This is just so barbaric, like something out of the 1800s!

I’m in A Tower now where the "hole" and Administrative Segregation (Ad-Seg) people are. There are 4 pods in this tower. There’s A100 where I am now for de-segs and Ad-Segs. There’s A200, which is general pop, along with A400. Then there’s A300, which is the chain gang.

There are tents, dorms and towers here. This place is huge. This is Phoenix, after all, the huge city that obviously missed me and wanted me back. There are about 4000 inmates here, but mostly women. I’m waiting for an available bed in M Dorm. D2 is the psych ward.

Before I explain how I got here, let me say that no, my life was never in danger. In fact, the other inmates have been nice to me so far. It was Officer Rule who helped me cut corners, so to speak, so I could get inside and escape the tents.

I will now describe the pros/cons of the tents versus the cells, which is what I’m in now. The pros to the tents are the fresh air and the fact that you can move around the yard there, as well as inside the day room. There are 10 big army tents, but I’ll describe the pros/cons in more detail after I finish the main pros/cons. You have fresh air, space to roam, you can use the phones 24/7, piss in private (if you use the outdoor portajohns, rather than the semi-private toilets indoors), and their showers are actually not that bad. You can shave there too, with razors they provide. You can get fresh towels, clothes, blankets, and sheets easier and more often, and if you’re into TV and cigarettes, you can have that too, although you’re not supposed to. They smuggle them in through their visits and shove them up their coochies.

The cons are the fact that it’s fucking freezing in the tents at night and the noise is horrendous! It gets noisy here too, but not nearly like with the tents. They scream over the loudspeakers all day and night, and you have more people around you. It’s a 24-hour a-day yard. Those tents hold 15-20 bunk beds, so 40 people bustling about is a bit chaotic!

Although working folding laundry helped pass time, I didn’t like the idea of working for nothing, since the cold-blooded judge wouldn’t even give me a 2 for 1, where you can cut your time in half by working. Also, I couldn’t get any sleep there, so I couldn’t keep a schedule. Not in that zoo with no Melatonin and with all the noise.

They seemed to have some pretty asinine rules. There was a rule against standing around the yard in groups. I remember when a cluster of girls was standing around singing and a male DO approached the group which then quickly dispersed. What happened? I asked someone. I just could see what we were doing wrong. This was when they explained this rule to me, and I was like, oh Jesus! Next thing you know there’ll be a rule against breathing. Really, I wracked my brain trying to think of a reasonable explanation for such a rule to exist and I honestly couldn’t come up with any.

Lastly, the cigarette smoke really annoyed the fuck out of me, and that’s what I used, at Rule’s suggestion, to get out of there. Normally they put those who refuse to work in the hole, but I wasn’t refusing to work. I couldn’t work. Those who are either unsentenced or unable to work go to dorms where you’re in a huge room with 120 people – yuck! I couldn’t just ask to go to the dorms, so as the nurse said, I had no other choice but to go to the hole as a de-seg, and Officer Armstrong was already there to take me to A Tower. I was willing to go to lockdown, though, because the tents were so bad. Just the ants alone were enough to scare me out of there! As soon as I left medical, Rule told me to hang on a sec, and she and Armstrong spoke for a few seconds, but I never heard anything they said. Armstrong glanced at me, then she headed down the hall as Rule turned to me. “Come on,” in a conspiring tone of voice, as we continued down the hall (later I would realize that she was telling Armstrong that she’d bring me to A Tower herself as an Ad-Seg, rather than have her take me there as a de-seg). This is when she told me that there was another option that’d enable me to keep my privileges and suggested I fill out an Ad-Seg form, but that it was important how I worded it. I’ll get into that after I cover the pros/cons of the cells.

In these cells, you can have up to two cellmates, or cellies, as they call them here, but you’re locked down 23 hours a day with only an hour out for phone calls, showers, or requests to the trustees (other inmates) for toilet paper, pads, pencil sharpening, nail clippers, etc.

The showers are a nightmare! Worst showers ever. You get a cool mist, rather than a warm/hot stream of any kind.

I can’t see the clock from the upper tier where I am, so I sort of judge the time by the angle of the sunlight streaming in through the narrow horizontal slit of a window at the top back of the cell wall. We sometimes ask the DOs for the time, too. I made a calendar so I can keep track of days/dates.

The DOs sit in a round station with the pods of cells surrounding them. In between them and the cells is a large room where the showers/phones are. They call this the day room. There are 15 cells per pod, but we all don’t go out for our hour out at once. They go one room at a time.

The thing I hate most about the cells is that you can’t piss/shit in private. The cells have two sets of bunk beds in this pod. One’s a regular bunk bed like they have in the tents and dorms, and the other is these wall shelves that are welded to the wall. These are better because then you can’t feel the person moving that’s above or below you. They also don’t have metal lips sticking up around the sides to dig into the backs of your thighs when you sit on the side of the bed. The mattresses are a nightmare. Hardly any cushion at all. Here I am finally losing more weight, thanks to the nasty jail food, and now I have mixed emotions about it because I’m feeling rather bony and uncomfortable against these mattresses.

There’s also a metal table bolted to the wall and a metal stool bolted to the floor. There’s an aluminum mirror, a built-in shelf for toiletries, and a sink above the toilet. The water and toilet flush are operated with push buttons. This toilet is fierce. It can flush juice containers, thick heavy pads, etc.

The cells are approximately 8x12.

Back in the tents on a dreary, cloudy day, I looked around at my surroundings and I saw not one cactus or palm tree. I could’ve been back in Massachusetts for all I knew.

At least inside I don’t have to deal with the cold or the humidity when it rains. It does get sort of nippy at times in here, but not too bad considering the fact that they’re running a swamp cooler in here and it’s November. I hear it’s miserable in here during the monsoons. I’m sure it is.

The best thing about the cells is the mice that come to visit and to get the scraps of bread I leave out. I’d prefer my own mice, though!

Amazingly, I’ve been exercising every day by jogging in place, then working the major muscle groups. I’ve even been singing every day, thanks to my cellies who encourage it.

Tom visits me on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He could come on Sundays too, but Sundays are a zoo at Visitation.

[badtasteaquarium]

[A] diskette

After a long and tedious meeting with the GUN Commander, Shadow walked down the long corridor of HQ, eyes on the floor in front of him. More testing, more trials, he thought. I thought the experiments were over, but they apparently want more data. Are they trying to recreate me? He ran the calculation in his head, but it came back with an error. That is one thing I cannot do. Predict the future.

"Hey!"

He blinked, and Rouge manifested in the middle of his path. "What's the matter, sourpuss? Let me guess--the commander was bullshitting with you?"

He sighed. "So to speak," he replied.

"Well, I have something that can take your mind off all that. Literally." She beamed and produced a red floppy diskette between her fingers.

Shadow stared at the disk, then back to Rouge's eager face. She loved to wear colorful, heavy makeup on her eyes and lips, but it didn't hide the dark circles beneath her eyes. "What is that?" he asked.

"It's a program for you."

His nose wrinkled. "Then you will find it useful to know that the 'bullshitting' I just did with the Commander was about doing more trials and tests. I am not interested."

He walked past her, shaking his head, but as predicted, she was not swayed. "Oh, come on! I've been working for weeks on this! I spent the last two days debugging it!" she exclaimed. "It's for your benefit!"

"Is it?" he said. "Or yours?"

"Well..." She fell behind a step. "It could be a mutual benefit. But it's mostly yours! Damn it, you know I'm one of the only people who can code in your native language..."

Shadow stopped and turned towards her, his gaze stern. "And again, I ask you: are you just doing so for your benefit?"

Rouge crossed her arms under her ample chest and met his stare. "This is your problem, anyway: you need to be able to relax." She flicked the disk up again. "This can help."

Shadow's gaze soften as his memory banks fired.

[RETRIEVING DATA FROM C:\... "--It's you. It's really you." Rouge embraced him tightly, even as the fizzling Chaos Energy wafted off him. "Welcome back," she said.]

He swallowed. "Fine," he said. "Where would you like to set up?"

She grinned. "My private office. After hours."

---

Rouge's office was small, to put it lightly. It was made smaller by the fact that she had crammed it full with a desk, an extra table, and a futon that if folded out, would take up any floor space left. A modern computer was set up at her desk, but the table housed a dumb terminal, along with a floppy diskette reader and an extra keyboard.

"Have a seat," she offered, immediately plopping at her desk and typing. "I'll get the cables out in a minute..."

Shadow stared at the Medusa's nest of cables in a bin on the desk. "With such limited space, you could stand to be more organized," he grumbled.

"Oh my word, you are so cranky," Rouge huffed. "I've been busy!"

He sighed and sat himself on the futon, folding his arms. "I do not know what you plan on doing to me, but I want you to know this: if it is at all unpleasant, I will refuse any future endeavors."

"I can live with that," Rouge replied absently.

Shadow blinked. That is not what I expected her to say...she must be confident...

She wheeled her desk chair over to the spare computer and popped in the floppy disk. It rattled while she turned on the terminal and began fishing for cables. "I think this should be long enough--oh."

When she pulled one out, it took several along with it. She sighed and began untangling, while Shadow leaned over to pick up the unnecessary cables. He took note of the tired creases beneath her eyes once again. "You talk enough about me," he said. "Shouldn't you get some rest as well?"

Rouge tilted her head back and forth, her mouth twisting. "Yeah, probably," she admitted. "I'll keep my work phone off this weekend, how's about that?"

She giggled, and he frowned. Then, she held up the parallel port. "Here, you want me to plug you in?"

Shadow took the cable from her and lifted the back of his hair to secure it into the back of his neck. She carefully unwound the rest and plugged it into the floppy drive. There was enough slack on the cable for it to touch the floor before reaching the desk.

"Is it running?" Shadow asked.

Rouge glanced at the terminal. "Shoot, I need you to interface first." She popped out the floppy disk. "Can you run your BASIC for me?"

Shadow nodded.

["RUN>>BASIC"]

The terminal on the desk flashed, then read the following:

“EXPANDED S.A. BASIC V. 2.0.2005 60287 BASIC BYTES FREE [PARTITIONED] READY…”

"There we go. Okay." Rouge popped the disk back in. In his mind's eye and on the screen, the program began to populate:

[LOADING FROM DRIVE A:\… … … <3 ~SPECIAL PROGRAM~ <3 BY ROUGE <3 © 2xx8 LANGUAGE PERMISSION BY GUARDIAN UNITS OF THE NATION, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

OPTIONS: MULTIPLE? Y/N INTENSITY 0-9? CLARITY 0-9?]

"What is this?" he asked. "Do not touch that keyboard."

Rouge held her hands where he could see them. "You can go ahead and review the code. I'm sure you'll be able to parse it faster than any human could."

Shadow's eyes narrowed at her, his jaw clenching. She did this for your benefit, or so she says... He closed his eyes.

[>>CHECK DRIVE A:\ 3000 BYTES. RUN PROGRAM ANALYSIS? Y/N >> Y INITIALIZING...]

Shadow's eyelids fluttered.

[PROGRAM FOR SEXUAL GRATIFICATION. SUPPRESSES INHIBITION CIRCUITS. INTENDED FOR SELF PLEASURE BUT CAN BE USED WITH A PARTNER. VARIATION PARAMETERS CAN ADJUST: MENTAL CLARITY. INTENSITY. NUMBER OF CLIMAXES. COMPATIBLE WITH MODULE PSDW-4065-F, PSDW-4065-M, AND PSDW-4065-X. MODULE DETECTED AUTOMATICALLY. END ANALYSIS.]

He shook his head, rubbing his temples. "You wrote a sex program for me? Rouge."

"What?!" she exclaimed. "You're not stupid or a baby, you already know how to do all that shit!"

"Not that I need to, nor is it necessary for my function."

"Are you sure?" Rouge leaned forward, hands on her knees. "Shadow? Are you positive?"

(In the dark of an abandoned lab room, Maria knelt before him, hard cock in her hand as she stroked gently. "Is this all right?" she asked, sweet and gentle. "Does it feel good?"

Shadow gripped the counter, only able to nod. She opened her mouth and ran her tongue over the tip of his dick. "How about this?" she asked afterwards, not taking her eyes off him.

The brittle, particleboard counter cracked underneath his grip...)

Despite the memory swelling in his chest, he still shook his head. "There is no point, I am sterile, after all--"

"I know about you and Dr. Maria," she insisted. "I know, because I did this with her consent."

Shadow's heart stopped as he stared wide-eyed at Rouge, who leaned back in her chair, pleased as she played her trump card. He opened his mouth, wordless at first, but eventually overcame his disbelief to speak. "You...if this gets out of hand, and I lose control--"

"I will take full responsibility," she said, hand over her heart. "At my own risk."

She was not to be deterred. He would need to speak with Maria about this, but now was not the time. "Damn it all," he hissed. "Fine, you may proceed with configuring this...program."

Rouge grinned, then swung back around to the keyboard and began tabbing through.

Before she was finished, Shadow gave pause. "Wait. Did she ask you to report on this?"

"Just between the two of us, totally off record," she replied with a wink.

Shadow grimaced. Embarrassing! The women in my life conspiring against me...

He tried to shake the feeling to address the program, still hanging in his mind's eye:

[OPTIONS: MULTIPLE? Y/N: N INTENSITY 0-9? 9 CLARITY 0-9? 1]

"That should be goooood," Rouge said, elongating the last syllable. "Hm. Well...no. It's fine. I want to see how hard you can go."

"That sounds like a terrible idea," Shadow replied matter-of-factly.

"You're so boring. This is why we're doing this, you know," Rouge dismissed. She turned around fully toward him. "Are you ready?"

As intense as possible. With as little self-control as can be prescribed. Adrenaline pooled at the pit of his stomach. "You know that I have the power to hurt you. That even if you tell me to stop, I may not be able to."

Rouge slapped her thighs. "Hey, if I die, I die."

This did not give him comfort. Still, her eagerness showed on her face, and he found himself forced to oblige. "Fine," Shadow sighed, and his telescopic pupils dilated.

[>>SNAPSHOT RECORDED. STORED TO C:\...\RECORDINGS\07-09-2XX8-22.36.40.mp4]

Rouge grinned, then spun on her chair and slapped the enter key.

[>>RUN … … … … …]

She let out a whistling sigh and faced him. "Whew! Now, hopefully, it works."

The terminal behind her ran red with shifting symbols and garbled text scrolling endlessly down the screen. Shadow rolled his shoulders back. "Are you nervous?" he asked.

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't," she replied, looking down at her manicured nails. "But I'm a big girl, I can handle it." Her turquoise eyes glinted in the dark as she met his. "Besides, I--"

She appeared to keep talking, but Shadow suddenly could not hear it. A body wide shudder coursed through him, his mouth watering so much that he was forced to swallow hard to contain it. Hardly aware of it, he stripped off his jacket and his shirt, leaving his GUN dog tags to clink against his chest.

Rouge stopped mid-sentence, lips parted. "Ooh. Oh, here we go," she muttered.

Shadow had never noticed her lips before. They were so full, painted with a shade of fuchsia that called to him. What would they look like with his fingers in them? With his cock in them? His heart began to race, mind quickly saturating as the ache in his groin grew more persistent.

"Sh..." Rouge stammered, eyes widening. "Shadow?"

Rouge was wearing her typical GUN uniform, buttoned down to the middle to show off a revealing tanktop. Most of her clothing was form fitting to each curve of her body, through her chest, her stomach, her ass, her thighs. Shadow imagined leaning over and grabbing her where she sat--the thought was so powerful--

(grab her saddle her over your lap)

--that he briefly hallucinated it--

(rip off everything squeeze her bite her)

--before refocusing his eyes and his ears to the sound and space of the room. He became aware that his eyes were glowing. "Come...here," he managed to say, his voice box distorting in its restraint.

Rouge slid off her desk chair to sit beside him on the futon, immediately shuffling off her company shirt. "You are so warm, I can feel you from here," she said. "I didn't think about how it might spike your thermals..."

Shadow could acutely sense her vitals--heavier breathing, harder heartbeat--made even more prominent with her chest heaving in sync. Her huge, fat tits.

He reached out and grabbed the back of her neck. The sensation prickled through his spine, some of the only organic pieces left of him. With his other hand, he yanked her forward by the waist and began sucking at her neck.

"Ahh!" she exclaimed. "Oh, fuck, we're really in it now--aah!"

Shadow reveled as he pressed her further into her, the smell of her tickling somewhere in the back of his skull and deep in his groin. Her hair in his fist, he tugged and bit, squeezing and clawing at her waist. It filled his mind with a delightful, perverse pleasure.

He felt like an animal. Driven by instinct. Not since he had the Chaos Emeralds in his grasp did he feel so alive, so real. So much of him was calculated, premeditated, and restrained; now, he felt overclocked, hyper-aware, and oh so, so, so hungry.

Rouge had been keening, trembling under his grasp, but he felt a warmth trickle down his chin. He paused to examine his work. She was already deeply bruised all the way through her shoulder and collarbone, and droplets of blood ran down her shoulder.

"Oh...I..." he began, but

[OVERRIDE. OVERRIDE. OVERRIDE.]

the apology that began dissolved before it could be spoken.

It was also encouraged by Rouge, who while a little shaken, smirked at him all the same. "Oh, you're vicious, baby," she purred. "Show me what else you can do."

The husky resonance in her voice sent shivers through him again, and this time he descended on her mouth, forcing his tongue in immediately, desperate to consume. He pulled her onto his lap, grinding his hard cock through his pants against her crotch, hot, hot and needy. Rouge wrapped her arms around his waist to press him closer, her hands drifting lower along the tracks in his spine, down to the ports at the small of his back. She used a nail to scrape against them, making his cock twitch in his pants.

"Hnn, nnn, fuck," he mumbled into her mouth. He pulled at the back of her shirt, and in one motion, ripped it from the back and shredded it off her body.

"Oh!" Rouge yelped. "Hey, easy--"

It left her in her bra, a black, lacy push-up that she was nearly heaving out of. Without ceremony, he stretched the band under the cups and pulled it off over her head, not bothering to undo the clasps, showing her tits on full display. These tits she's always showing off, now I finally see them, now they're finally mine, mine, mine.

Shadow pushed her down on the futon and grabbed both of her breasts, overflowing in his palms. She yelped, and he pushed them together, baring his teeth. "You've wanted to fuck me," Shadow growled when he opened his mouth, and spread her legs. "I've seen you staring, I know you want it."

Before she could answer, Shadow bent over her and jammed two fingers in her mouth. He tugged at her lips before stroking her tongue, then began fucking her mouth with his fingers. "This...is just a preview," he huffed, a roaring in his ears. "This...this is just...the beginning..."

Rouge's eyes watered, and when she tried to squirm away, Shadow held her down by her thigh with his free hand. "I don't think so," he said. Rouge choked on his fingers as he pushed them deeper in her throat. He found himself chuckling as she floundered beneath him, but withdrew in order to let her breathe. She coughed as she caught her breath, gingerly holding her neck.

He let go of her thigh to undo his pants, hastily discarding them to drag his cock in front of her face. Rouge managed to find some composure, but could not take her eyes off him.

"What do you think?" he heard himself say.

"I've seen you...in stasis, but I've never seen you hard," Rouge managed. "You're going to fucking destroy me, aren't you?"

Shadow's eyes lowered, and he grinned with parted lips. "I'm gonna make you feel like you've never felt before," he purred.

[>>INITIATING CHAOS DRIVE ENERGY REDIRECT. >>REDIRECT COMPLETE. INITIATING APHRODISIAC PROTOCOL.]

The last sliver of his rational brain gave him pause, despite him rubbing his cock against Rouge's lips. That is not something I was aware of before, he thought. But with the sight of Rouge's fluttering eyes, rolling back, Shadow quickly dismissed it. Who cares about the why...

It was easy to shove his cock into Rouge's mouth. She hummed as it went in, and impressively, didn't gag as he bottomed out. Whore, he thought, and nearly said, but caught again behind his teeth. He wasn't all programming and wires--his brain was still flesh and blood, fully integrated with the power of Chaos energy. It clawed through the red, lust induced haze to offer his partner a shred of dignity, despite her lipstick smearing on her mouth and her moaning growing less restrained.

He could keep his mouth shut, but he couldn't turn his mind off.

(look at this cock-drunk slut, look at how she deep-throats you, she's so into it, she wants you to fuck her brains out with those huge tits and ass bouncing on you, ride her and make her moan make her scream let her be so desperate--)

"Hnn," Rouge sighed, her eyes glassy as she pulled his dick out of her mouth to hold it near the base. Her voice held a hazy, entranced tone. "You taste...so good..."

Her tongue lolled out of her mouth. Static increased in Shadow's mind.

"Then keep sucking it, bitch," his mouth said, harsh and distorted.

She shuddered, grinning, then gleefully began sucking him off again, slowly sitting up to kneel on the futon before him. Shadow covered his mouth with one hand, and grabbed her hair with the other. It's so mean, he thought, heart racing. It's so dirty. It's so perverse. But it's so...it's so...

[>>WARNING: CPU AT 99%. THERMAL THROTTLING RISK AND DRIVE FAILURE.]

The warmth on his cock receded as Rouge sat up. "You're...fighting it," she said with a chuckle, still in the same distracted tone. "Stop."

Shadow blinked, trying to focus on anything that wasn't shoving his cock between her thighs. "I...I..." he stammered.

"If...you...ngh." She shook her head. "Damn it, that's stronger than I thought." Rouge cleared her throat and spoke more clearly. "If you don't let go, you're going to fry one of your CPUs or overload your RAM, and I'll never hear the end of it."

Shadow began to tremble.

(hot slut with a mouth good for fucking)

(I can't say that!)

[>>WARNING: THERMAL THROTTLING IMMINENT.]

He ground his teeth, and sighed deeply.

Rouge sat up fully and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Trust. Me." she said emphatically.

Shadow met her eyes. I trust you. I do not trust myself.

But, I will have to.

(you need to)

I need to.

With a hard swallow, he closed his eyes, feeling them roll back.

[>>DEACTIVATING ADVANCED OPTICALS. >>CPU: 97%... >>ACTIVATING INFRARED HEAT VISION.]

Shadow's eyes snapped open, seeing only a white hot heat map of Rouge in front of him,

and he let go.

He ripped off her uniform pants and panties in one go, throwing them across the room. Firmly, he grabbed her by the hips and propped her up on the futon. While she spread her legs for him, he forced them wider and immediately began to finger her, her cunt already soaking wet.

"So easy," he muttered, the scent and heat of her sending shivers down his spine. One finger turned to two, three, and four very quickly as he stretched her, pushing as far as he could go. "So fucking...easy...nngh..."

Rouge panted and started to whine again, squirming under his touch. "Oh damn it, fuck, Shh...aaah, Shadow," she keened, the hazy tone and glassiness in her eyes resuming. "Just get your cock in me already...!"

Shadow grinned, and pushed himself inside her with ease.

The feedback was immediate, every receptor in his spine firing at once as her warmth engulfed him. He groaned deep in his chest, bottoming out and smacking her thighs as he gripped them. "Fuck, you're so hot," he groaned. "And warm...a-aagh!"

Momentum took him, and he began to thrust at a hard and heavy speed. It rippled through her body, and she moaned and shook with every pounding thrust, His fingers gripped and grabbed at her soft skin, and there was so much of her to grab. This is everything, Shadow thought, delirious in heat. I've never felt this...

This raw pleasure...carnal and obscene...

I need it, I need it, I need it...

[>>EDGE.]

Just as he felt a peak rise, it dropped off as quickly as it came. He blinked and bent over Rouge, grabbing a fistful of her hair without letting up his pace.

"You like it, don't you?" Shadow whispered into her mouth, tasting the heat and sweat wafting off her. "Don't you..."

Rouge babbled uselessly, head rolling back, only able to utter moans and cries.

Shadow did not stop to let her speak. Instead, he chuckled and gingerly kissed her cheek. "Good."

[>>INFRARED HEAT VISION OFF. >>ACTIVATING ADVANCED OCULAR VISION... >>CPU: 95%...]

He blinked and saw clearly now: Rouge's half lidded expression completely lost to the brutal fucking she had succumb to. Shadow pushed deep

[>>EDGE.]

and felt another wave drop off him. Need it. Need more. Need more. Shadow mashed his lips against Rouge's, immediately forcing his tongue into her mouth. She moaned loud, and he felt himself return it, the pleasure delicious and trembling through his whole body.

(it feels good to moan)

(get more into it)

"Ahhn," he sighed. "Ohh, fuck, fuck..."

"More, more," Rouge sang, clutching on his back. "Harder...aah!"

She squealed as he thrust

[>>VIBRATOR ACTIVATED. >>EDGE.]

harder into her, digging his fingers into her waist as his focus tightened. He bit down on her lip, pulling on it while straightening his posture, brow furrowing as he pounded her, endlessly and repeatedly.

[>>EDGE.]

He fell into a rhythm, sinking into the wet, slick sound of her pussy, how hard his dick was,

[>>EDGE.]

how close he felt, how close, how fucking close,

[>>EDGE.]

how badly he wanted to cum, cum, cum,

[>>E?????DGE. >>CPU: 99%...]

Rouge's moans were turning to whimpers, turning to whines. "Nngh," Shadow groaned. "I...I...need..."

He started to shake, keeling over as static prickled on his scalp. He was glued to her hips, and green sparks started to flicker on his fingertips. "Need...need...nnnngh..."

Shadow's moan came out as a whine, and his vision flashed yellow. There was no more edging. It was now or never. "Ahh...aah...AAAH!"

The air crackled with electricity as Shadow clutched Rouge, his orgasm surging through him like an overloaded circuit. He was an overloaded circuit, releasing pent up electricity he never fathomed he held. Shadow's body shook, and Rouge trembled in turn, tense in his arms and around his cock. It felt like an age, distorted through the haze of animal lust in his mind

(YES YES YES YES YES FUCK HER FUCK FUCK FUCK)

that slowly, slowly faded as the wave of pleasure subsided.

Then, it was quiet.

[>>PROGRAM TERMINATED DUE TO SHUT DOWN. >>BASIC TERMINATED. >>CPU CHECK...OK. LOAD 50%...49%....43%... >>RAM CHECK...OK. >>SYSTEM ANALYTICS...OK. >>DRIVE C:\...OK. >>DRIVE A:\...OK. >>CHAOS REGULATOR...75% LOAD. COOL-DOWN MODE. OK.]

Shadow's eyes fluttered, and he fully came to himself when he smelled burning plastic. Hastily, he reached to the back of his neck and pulled out the cable, which was indeed singed on the end. "I hope you have more of these," he muttered, tossing it aside.

He glanced at the terminal, which read nothing. "Diagnostics read a force shutdown. Hopefully nothing critical was damaged, but I am afraid you will have to get any logs from me."

Finally, his gaze fell down to Rouge, still balls deep inside her. Carefully, he withdrew, his cock glistening with their mingling sex. Oddly enough, she did not react. "Rouge?" he said.

She laid still. Eerily still. "R...Rouge?"

Rouge did not respond.

A wave of nausea clutched him, and he quickly held a finger to her neck, bruised and bleeding. No. Oh, no, no, no.

[>>VITAL ANALYSIS: PULSE: 0]

She was not breathing. "Fuck!" he exclaimed.

[>>CHAOS DRIVE ENERGY REDIRECT: DEFIBRILLATOR.]

He hastily rubbed his hands together until he felt static pulsing beneath them. Thank Chaos I was trained on this, he thought, fighting the panic eager to set in his bones. Please, Rouge, please, I'm so sorry, please come back. Carefully, he placed his hands on her chest.

[>>CLEAR.] "Clear."

A brief shock burst from his hands, and it pulsed her body. Placing both hands near her heart, he counted a rhythm. One, two, three, four, five. Then, he opened her mouth to breath into it.

[>>RECALIBRATING: CO2 TO O2...COMPLETE.]

Shadow poured fresh air into her lungs. "Promise you, I am not...j-just a weapon," he muttered as his breathing apparatus recalculated. "I can...I'm not..."

He pulsed her hands over her heart again. One, two, three, four, five.

[>>VITAL ANALYSIS: PULSE: PLEASE WAIT...]

"Come on, come on," he murmured under his breath, throat burning.

[>> 1...2...3...4.... PULSE: 70 BPM]

Now breathe, he thought desperately, hands shaking as he lifted them off her chest. Breathe!

She gasped and coughed, and her chest began to rise and fall in rhythm once again. Shadow sighed shakily, shoulders falling. Miracles do exist...

Rouge tilted her head up, eyes fluttering open, and smirked up at Shadow. "Ugh," she groaned. "That was crazy...they don't call you the ultimate life form for no--oof!"

Shadow laid beside her and held her close, tears running down his face. "Thank Chaos you're all right," he said, muffled into the crook of her neck.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Rouge replied. "I just passed out for a second--"

"Don't be stupid!" he shouted suddenly, still muffled as he clung to her. "I-I had to restart your heart...I could have killed you!"

He kneaded his head into her shoulder as the panic and adrenaline continued to course through his entirety post-orgasm. "I didn't...realize I would discharge l-like that...you couldn't...you're..."

"Shh," Rouge hushed, and stroked his hair.

She said nothing else. That's what happens when you lose control, Shadow thought, that is why they want you as a weapon. You can be as clandestine or as overt as you need to be. You can have sex with a spy to spill their information, and kill them mid-coitus. So versitile you are, Project Shadow!

He grinded his teeth, but exhaustion was eager to take him, as well as neutralize his venomous self-berating. You also were fitted for rescue, to heal. You were meant to be a cure. You are the reason Maria is alive. And despite it all, Rouge is also still here because of you...

Shadow felt himself drifting into a doze. "Good," Rouge murmured. "This is what we in the business call 'aftercare'."

Shadow lifted his head up and opened his eyes. "Wh...what?"

Rouge nodded, but Shadow noticed the shakiness of her own deep sigh. "I've played with boys meaner than you, who didn't care half as much," she said. "I'm okay, promise."

Shadow's deep red-eyed stare bore into her. "Are you?" he asked. "Please, do not lie to me."

She looked away at first, then managed to meet it. "Fine. I am a little shaken up," she admitted. "But I did set the parameters to maximum, so if that's your full power, then I know where to adjust the code."

Shadow nodded, then reached out and cupped the side of her face with one hand, hardly touching her skin. Her eyes widened in surprise. "I would never harm you on purpose," he said, measured and even. "Or any one else, in this manner..."

Rouge's face broke into a weak smile. "Oh, Shadow," she said. "I know. Maria's very lucky." She bit her lip and paused. "I wouldn't use this program with her."

"Of course not."

"There's a reason I was the one who tested it."

"You mean it wasn't purely for your own fantasy?"

She laughed, and kissed him quickly. After, however, she winced. "Ouch, you did really get me," she said, gingerly touching her swollen bottom lip.

They both sat up, and Rouge pawed around for her clothes. The blood on her neck had dried, but the bruises remained, and more dotted her hips and sides. Shadow winced to himself. Damn it. I cannot bear to imagine what "meaner boys" did to her...

"And you shredded my uniform, too!" she said with a laugh. "You really were an animal."

"Please, don't," Shadow sighed, hiding his face with the palm of his hand.

"Sorry," she said with a shrug. "I did have a good time."

[>>RETRIEVING DATA FROM DRIVE C:\... "Hey, if I die, I die."]

"You're crazy," he muttered.

"Just a little," she said, pinching her fingers. She wandered to her desk, still naked, and picked up a pager lying abandoned. "You'd be surprised at the amount of people who want to be roughed up. And you know something else?"

She paused and gestured at him with the pager. "What?" Shadow said.

Rouge smiled wryly. "I think you had some fun too."

Shadow sighed deeply. I could dwell on this guilt, but what good would it serve? She survived by my hand, and her bruises will heal. His stomach still churned, but deep inside him

(you did have enjoy yourself)

he knew the truth.

"Hey Doc, it's Rouge," she said into the pager. "Shadow and I just got finished testing. If you don't mind, could we meet at your office and debrief? I'll get the logs. And could you bring a change of clothes? Thanks, hon."

She dropped the pager and turned around to pat Shadow on the shoulder. "Hey sourpuss, if it makes you feel any better, you won't almost kill anyone if you just use it to jerk off. But, I'll still make some adjustments."

Shadow snorted. "Thanks."

She winked at him, and his heart eased.

[hydropyro]

The Fiddler Went Down to Faerûn

Chapter 2: K-oh-k

“Ya’ll sell food and drink here?” the newcomer asked, his voice carrying across the room. He attracted the attention of a few other patrons, but none so much as the nobleman sitting in his small alcove in a back corner, not out of sight, but out of mind.

The noble’s watchful eyes peered over the cover of the book he was reading to inspect the odd-spoken creature. Human, as far as he could tell, but his clothes and accent were – off. He’d been all over the world and had never seen anyone quite like him.

“This is the only kinda money I’ve got,” the young man was explaining to the Mamzell as she inspected the green paper with a sour expression. “I don’t suppose ya’ll can take check?”

“Everyone is welcome in Sharess’ Caress, but we are a business. If you can’t pay, please leave.”

Raphael’s heart leapt in his chest. He couldn’t know for sure just yet – but he had a guess as to why this man was so out-of-place. Despite his numerous oddities, he was definitely human – and the devil could almost taste his unique but viable soul.

He slipped a silk ribbon into his book and rested it on the table before emerging from the dark alcove where he liked to watch the people come and go about their business. “Mamzell, please, put this man’s bill on my tab,” he said, raising a hand to stop the increasingly annoyed proprietor. “You can have his meal brought to my table.”

He stood near to the human now. Tall, lanky, with a curved black box of some kind slung over his shoulder like a rucksack, but firmer. Raphael rested his chin on his thumb, rubbing his lip thoughtfully with his forefinger a moment as he assessed the stranger – the alien – before him.

“Bless you, sir,” the man said, extending a hand toward the devil. His smile was broad but not too eager. Just polite. “My name’s Johnny. I’m sure you’re for guessin’ I’m not from ‘round these parts.”

It wasn’t often that Raphael found himself speechless. He felt his lips tug at the amusement in him, but he suppressed his smirk as best he could, accepting the man’s hand and being surprised by the firm shake he received.

He turned and led the way back to his table in the little alcove, pulling the second chair out for this ‘Johnny’ character before taking his own seat.

“You look like you’ve travelled quite a way,” Raphael said, leaning back in his seat and crossing one leg over the other. "You must be famished, but before our host brings your supper, please tell me about yourself.

“I’ll return the favor once you’re settling into your meal.”

Johnny’s smile returned. There was no malice or twisted amusement in his smile. Though he was clearly a grown man, in his twenties for sure, he had a smile as innocent and honest as a child. “You have a funny way of talkin’, my friend.”

“Don’t I just?” Raphael returned the smile. Many had caught his interest, and he had found many mortals fascinating, but few could capture his attentions as easily as this stranger had. His soul was strong and wholly unsullied, and yet Raphael was more interested in hearing him talk – for the moment.

“Well, as I said, I ain’t from around these parts. I paid someone to take me somewhere that I could complete my ‘mission’,” he chuckled, as though laughing at himself. “It cost quite a bit, but I’m happy to say that it worked. Though – between you and me – I’m not exactly sure where I am.”

“Did you arrive by ship?” Raphael asked. He had a feeling that the alien hadn’t.

“Nah, I just – well, you won’t believe me anyway. I’m not too sure I believe me. Don’t want y’all to think I’m a quack.” A drink was placed in front of the man, smelling like ale, and Raphael’s sip of brandy was topped up to two fingers.

“I pride myself on being quite open-minded,” the devil assured him.

The stranger sipped the ale and made a face, then coughed a moment. “That sure ain't no Coors. I’m really not much of a drinker – d’ya s’pose they have a Coke?”

He didn’t have the faintest idea what the man was referring to. He sat silently, and Johnny didn’t press him on his desire to procure a ‘k-oh-k’. Raphael mouthed the word, tasting it for a moment. It almost sounded vulgar. “This is a brothel,” Raphael offered, letting his words trail off, though he wasn’t confident that the information was relevant to the desire presented.

“A what now?”

Raphael didn’t repeat himself. Maybe that word was just as foreign to the outworlder as most of his words were to the devil. “You mentioned having an unbelievable tale,” he said, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“I am a lover of stories. And I’ve been around a long time and seen my fair share of the unbelievable. I can assure you that you’ll find an enraptured audience in me.” He took a sip of his drink and rested his hand on the table.

Johnny laughed. He pushed his own drink away from himself, not seeming to like the flavor. “Well, what if I told you that magic is a real thing?”

Raphael didn’t like to push into the minds of mortals. It would make his job easier, yes, but much less interesting. And, even with his own nature, he often found that many of their passive thoughts were too disturbing to want to uncover. He made an exception this time, and stared into the young man’s eyes, pushing his consciousness through the ether toward his. He hummed so Johnny wouldn’t feel too ignored.

His words were – more-or-less – in Common. As he pushed into the human’s mind, though, he was assaulted by a cacophony of strange music he’d never heard and words in a language he couldn’t hope to place. He recognised a few from things Johnny had already said, like ‘k-oh-k’, and was given the vague image of a vial of dark fluid, but still had no real understanding.

He felt magic about the human, but then it seemed that this Johnny wasn’t familiar with magic, and so may not have even known that it affected him. Perhaps he believed he was speaking in whatever odd tongue that filled his mind.

Raphael retreated, shaking his head and sipping his drink again so as not to have to respond immediately. The noise had been intense and so foreign.

“See, I told ‘ya you woudn’t believe me,” Johnny beamed as though he’d won some kind of a bet.

“Oh, no, I believe you.” Raphael snapped his fingers, and his glass refilled again before the human’s eyes. A small parlor trick, but it made the man’s eyes widen as big as saucers.

“Holy shit,” the human exclaimed in a whispered cry, covering his mouth. He wasn’t afraid, though. In fact, he leaned forward to get a better look at Raphael’s glass before twisting his body to peer under the table for a moment. His strange behavior was earning their table some unwelcome, curious stares.

Raphael laughed. There was assuredly nothing holy about it, but the stranger didn’t need to know that just yet. “I have a room, you know. Maybe we’d be better having your meal sent there and continuing this conversation in private.”

The jovial young man sobered then, holding up a hand defensively. “Look, mister, please don’t take this the wrong way. My Mama taught me that God’s most important lesson is love, and I took that to heart. I do ‘preciate the kindness you’ve shown, but I’m hopin’ it don’t have strings attached.

“An’, given what you said earlier about this bein’ a brothel, I gotta let you know, I’m not lookin’ for that kind of company – least of all with a man – no offense.”

Raphael wasn’t sure that Sune would agree with such a sentiment, but then he supposed she was nowhere in the human’s mind. “You misunderstand me, my young friend.” Raphael mirrored the hands up, palms out gesture. “I have business in the city and am just staying here in the meantime.

“As far as my kindness,” he studied the man quietly for a moment. “I like to help people, but I’m not really one for charity. I would ask that you repay my deeds in kind, but nothing of that sort, I assure you.

“I am simply interested in your travels here, and the mission you’re on, and I would greatly appreciate hearing of it. Maybe I can even be of some help?”

Johnny frowned and considered Raphael’s words. The devil wondered how much of his thoughts were considering, and how much were translating, what he’d said. “Just hangin’ out, talkin’, right? Nothin’ – else?”

“Perish the thought,” Raphael said. “This is a major port city. New faces come and go like the tide, and yet you are the most interesting person I’ve met in a very long time.

“One adventurer, one story-teller, to another – all I ask is that you indulge me in your tale. Nothing more.” He stood and straightened his tunic, dropping a few gold coins onto the table.

Johnny nodded and followed the devil to his own feet. He left his glass on the table, wrinkling his nose at it. “’Ight, as long as I have your word on that.”

“You’ll find no man more of his word than I,” Raphael assured him. “Please, follow me.” Johnny was wary but followed the devil dutifully through the brothel and out across the walk toward his rented room. It was dark, now, but the streets were still just as busy as they’d been in the day. He opened the door for the man and stood aside so he could go in before following.

“Real fancy place,” Johnny complimented.

He’d rented the best room the establishment had to offer, of course. He always did, though he rarely needed it for its intended purpose. It was helpful to potential clients in demonstrating his wealth, and the various gifts he had to offer them. There were inns that he could stay at, or even the room of an acquainted noble or two, that would do the same, but none of those options gave the possibility of impromptu clients like a brothel did.

If mortals, especially those with questionable moral stability, could be reliably enticed by anything, it was sex.

Raphael took a seat in an armchair and gestured for the man to take the other near the hearth. He kept the lights low. He had no intention of sleeping with the man, and didn’t want to spook him by illuminating more intimate parts of the room. “Care for a drink?”

Johnny settled into the chair, placing his package on the ground beside his feet. He tried to relax, but seemed uncomfortable. “Uh – yea – do you have water, by chance?”

Raphael reached to a small cabinet to his left and collected a glass. He didn’t actually have water on hand, but created it inconspicuously before passing the glass to his guest. He poured himself another brandy.

“Now, please,” the devil smiled at the man, sinking back into his chair and resting an ankle on the opposite knee, “tell me everything.”

[fearhidden]

Apparently with the break up, she'd lost her humor too. That, or the tough phone call she'd just ended had rattled her to the bones. It was a feeling that the arms before her had once comforted plenty of times before while he muttered a promise of assurance into the crown of her dark locks. "Right," she countered through a breathy exhale.

How was it possible that he'd gotten even more handsome? She drank up in the curve of his mouth and how for a moment, she'd nearly forgotten about the rock on her left hand and what it meant. The buzzing of her own phone anchored her to the very real moment that left her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.

The rift between them had been of her own impulsive and quite chaotic decision. One friend after another was either welcoming a life into the world or was taking the next steps towards doing so. As a woman who wanted a chance at correcting her own mess of a childhood, and to feed the maternal desires that had build up over time, it had been an earth shattering blow to know that the vertically gifted man before her hadn't quite felt the same.

"It is my corner. I claimed it," she chimed effortlessly in return, nose scrunching as she bit at her bottom lip to stifle the playful smile that dared to twist upwards. He'd never had any problem with that. Even on her hardest days, one look or cheesy joke from the Irishman was all it took. Some nights, well, most nights, she found herself longing for that comfort.

Oliver was good, but Oliver wasn't the one intertwined into every beat of her heart. It had been a good faith effort to fill the void left in the handsome man's wake, but the deep void still etched into her chest was proof that some void's just couldn't be filled.

No matter how hard she tried. No matter how much of a fairytale she tried to chase.

"How is she?" She feared that her right to ask had been lost the moment she'd called things quits, but some things stuck. It was one of the questions that most would've sputtered out of obligation, but there was a genuine curiosity behind those three simple words that always feared asking.

A cold slip of laughter tainted in stress spilled from her mouth. Busy day? Sure. It was one of those days where the temptation to melt into his chest was growing higher by the second. Engaged, she scolded silently. "Actually, I'm in need of a distraction. It's been pretty hellish today. You know," she trailed off, a little less confident now that she'd caught his gaze.

Disappointment riddled her bones the moment he looked away in favor of whatever had just come through on his phone. Wild guess was that it had either had something to do with the bar, his grandmother, or daughter. The latter having driven an unfair wedge between them. She'd wanted a child so badly that she'd written off his newly discovered daughter as a stranger.

She was better than that. Her heart was better than that.

Even lingering in his presence offered a sense of stability that wasn't fairly felt. "You aren't bothering me," she assured, perhaps a little too eagerly. She'd nearly reached out to touch his forearm, but the tight grip on her phone was a saving grace.

Compliments were supposed to make a person feel good about themselves, so why did his leave her guilt-ridden? Was it because some part of her had craved to hear those words fall from his mouth? "You look really good too." It came easily, guilt laced veins intact. She'd deal with what it meant later, but now, she was selfishly too desperate to let him wander off.

"I could join you? If you don't mind? I have some things I need to pick up anyway." It was a risk, but when someone clawed at rock bottom, they didn't care about the fear of rejection. After all, how much worse could her day even get?

@waywordhearts ( matthew sullivan )

"It's just an expression," Matt gently and easily explained after he'd gotten close enough, something soft on his lips akin to a smile. There was no way seven years between them could be erased. That time they'd been together was forever cemented in history and within the cavity of his chest that held his beating heart.

"I know," he then said, almost a touch quieter as the Irishman stood somewhat awkwardly about a meter away from his ex-girlfriend. "Can't miss you in that corner."

Oh, Matthew Sullivan certainly had tried. Especially after the lowlights of the tavern kept hitting that rock on her finger and consistently attempted to blind him.

Once he heard about the engagement, something that happened a mere six months after she'd crushed him with an end to their coupling, Matt had stopped going over to her spot to chat with her. It hadn't been smart anyway— how do you act like a friend to someone you were in love with? With someone that ripped your heart out and then put it in a meat grinder?

Mostly it had been because he couldn't keep his emotions in check.

He wanted her back. And he couldn't keep that quiet.

Especially because he still stammered whenever asked if he was ready for the white dress, the guests, the cake, the car, the whole damn thing.

Discomfort set his hands into his pockets. Matt would fidget otherwise so it was best to not show his unsettled state in her company. "Ah, just running some errands for Aileen," he answered. His beloved grandmother certainly kept him busy. If it wasn't his daughter he was connecting with then it was Aileen who needed some things.

Masochism was prevalent as his dark eyes flickered to her finger that was wrapped in the dream she'd always wanted. When those eyes lifted to Jules' own there was pain visible in his. "What about you? Looks like a busy day..." Of running around wedding planning. At least from the outward appearance at the moment.

The sound of a text coming in, Matt pulled his iPhone from his pocket and checked to see that Selvi wanted to go to Sully's after school to hang and do her homework. It seemed she preferred being around him more than her great grandmother and Matt found it sweet but Aileen was getting older by the day and that scared the shit out of him.

That tough Irishwoman had been the only mainstay in his life. The world had taught him that people always left, and she had been the exception to that rule.

Moments later he pocketed the phone and pushed a small smile as Jules face was pinned by his gaze. "Well, I don't wanna keep you. Just thought I'd say 'hello'." It was so strange to go from how close they were to not knowing how to talk with her or even be in her presence for long anymore. "You look really good," was all he could say.

Happy— that would've killed him to admit. / @fearhidden

[phantomrose96]

Joyrider

(Welcome to another warm-up writing piece. cw for mild body horror)

...

The mall food court doubled rather nicely as a battle-dome.

It fit the bill: a flat and circular arena, crowned two-stories up by a hemisphere of glass windows which lapsed iridescent in the maelstrom of ecto-fire.

Spectator chairs sat empty, hastily shoved back and knocked over by the Amity Park mall patrons who knew to leg it at the first sound of explosions and the first sign of the atmosphere tipping dark. Admittedly, the patron evacuation took longer than Danny anticipated, and he backed himself into a corner playing defense for the 50 some-odd people who, worn-out on the every-day mundanity of ghost alarms, took their time gathering belongings, or shutting off burners, or working in a few last bites of a burger.

So with the crowd gone and the stage their own, Danny found himself pressed back against a vat of french fry oil, hands braced against the handle of a broom he held out horizontally, which the ghost gripped with equal measure and shoved her full weight against.

“Oh, why not take a little dip, Ghost Boy? I hear the water’s nice.”

“No thanks,” Danny answered, shoving harder. “I never was much of a hot tub guy. You on the other hand—”

Danny set a foot forward and pivoted, body fueling the torque as he spun the broom, and tore the ghost with him, a pirouette to swap their spots and jam the ghost back-pressed to the fryer.

“—you seem like you’d like it hot.”

The ghost barked a laugh, jaw stretching lower and loose than Danny was comfortable with.

“Ha! You sure? Not very heroic of you to deep fry this girl I’m possessing.”

Danny faltered. His grip slipped. His blood chilled to ice as the information clicked in place – as he recognized the sensation of a ghost talking through someone. This wasn’t the ghost’s own form. This was some girl. How had he not felt—

A blast took him by the ribs. Danny doubled over, immediately kicked back. A foot found contact with his face, driving him down, until the girl’s wet and slippery fingers pinned him down by the wrists.

Danny strained. He could pivot his wrist a fraction of an inch left or right, but he could not break the hold.

“Get off me!”

And a voice answered from behind him.

“I can help with that.”

Danny craned his neck. Upside down, vantage point from the floor, he registered Sam’s combat boots slam into focus. She bent to one knee, a bazooka locked on the other. It charged, whined, and erupted with an explosion of green light.

The ghost shrieked. It took only an instant of resistance before the ghost tore cleanly from the girl possessed.

“Now if you don’t mind me—” Tucker, by the voice. Danny heard the whine of a Fenton Thermos heating up. “—I’d officially like to change my order from fries to soup.”

The beam burst forth, and the writhing, shrieking, yelping form of the exorcised ghost clawed and scratched in Danny’s direction before the thermos consumed her in full.

“Really? ‘Fries to soup’? Even Danny can do better than that.”

“Hey,” Danny answered.

“I was thinking on my feet, Sam. I didn’t hear any witty quips from you.”

The conversation fell away from Danny’s focus as the full human weight of the possessed girl dropped down on him. Gently, Danny gripped her by the shoulder, lifting her as he pushed himself into a sitting position.

“Your parents’ anti-possession gear is getting good. I don’t think I’ve seen an exorcism work that quickly.” Sam’s voice, now at his side. Danny glanced over, finding her kneeling beside him. “Is she hurt?”

Danny gave the girl a once-over. She was pale, cold, lips seeping blue. A mottled, blackish bruise spread across her temple, partially hidden beneath loose red bangs.

“I don’t… totally know. I didn’t land any hits on her, thankfully. But who knows what that ghost might have done. We should call an ambulance.”

“On it,” Tucker, from behind.

“Do you… do you think the bazooka might have hurt her?” Sam asked.

Danny shook his head. “Mom and Dad have blasted each other with that thing a hundred times. Dad got himself possessed by the box ghost for a trial run. It doesn’t hurt people. …Maybe she just needs a minute.”

“Lay her down, maybe?”

“Good idea.”

Danny eased forward, careful in his movements. Something about his grip slipped, sliding loose and rolling forward, and she fell unceremoniously from his arms, shoulder knocking ground as she lay there partially turned on her side.

“Danny!”

“Sorry! I didn’t—something slipped!”

“Well don’t leave her like—” Sam gripped a hand to the girl’s shoulder, weight behind her wrist to roll the girl fully onto her back. Sam’s hand froze, and then yanked away.

“What?” Danny asked.

“That didn’t feel right.” Sam only stared down, her hand hovering, twitching in increments. “Way too cold… and loose.”

“Loose?”

“Danny, look at her hands. What’s wrong with her hands?”

Danny looked. The skin stretched and wrapped the bones of her fingers as if rotated partway around. Her fingernails sat off-center, twisted around and bunched up like a glove. Sam’s hand came back into view, and she clamped it to the girl’s wrist.

“It’s like jelly. Danny it’s like jelly. Why is she this cold? Danny, I don’t think she’s—”

Something new caught Danny’s eye, a purple discoloration peeking out from the bottom ruffles of the girl’s shirt. His hands seemed to move on their own as he reached down, and pinched the bottom of her shirt, and pulled it back.

Black bruising consumed her torso, caving deep and bloating, pruning around the trails of heavy stitching that ran along the tracks of surgical cuts carving through her abdomen.

Danny yanked his hand away as if burned.

“Danny, she’s not breathing.”

The rest of Danny’s thoughts drowned in the swelling wail of the approaching ambulance siren.

…

Outside the Fenton Portal, green lighting doused the only part of Danny’s form not hidden in shadow, and danced with the fire of his glowing green eyes. Danny uncapped the thermos in his hand, and he trailed his thumb along the eject switch.

A new consuming green light belted forth, lasting only a moment until it vanished with a twin-braided ghost in its wake. The ghost blinked, smoothing over her hair and pulling the ends of her braids over her shoulders.

“Oh, it’s the Ghost Boy again. I thought you’d just throw me back in the Ghost Zone. Are you interested in a round 2?”

“No, not interested,” Danny answered, tone colder than ice.

“Yeesh, you’re quite sour. No more puns?”

“Why were you possessing that girl?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you possessing her?”

The ghost blinked, green portal light mixing murkily with her purple eyes. “No particular reason. It was just a joyride.”

“A joyr—she was dead.”

Another blink. “Yeah I know. She was sitting in the morgue. She was in like a car crash or something and they already took all her organs. They didn’t need her. And I was gonna give her back, but you had to go and make it a whole thing.” The girl swooped forward, eyes wide and roving over Danny. “You seem mad. Wanna call a truce?” She stuck a hand forward. “I’m Melissa, by the way.”

Danny jolted, eyes flashing brighter. “No, you’re not. That girl was Melissa.”

“Oh for real?” Melissa let out a chuckle. “Crazy coincidence. I like don’t even know that many Melissas. Anyway truce?”

“No.” Danny ran his fingers through his hair. “You were possessing the body of a dead girl and you made me fight her! Don’t you see how that’s—that’s so—how fucked up—that you’d even—”

“Well I mean, I didn’t make you fight me. You made that happen. I was minding my business.”

“Doing what?”

“Shopping. Why else would I take a body for a joyride? I stole some cute clothes to wear. Stole some food to eat. Oh! That outfit I was wearing when we were fighting? Yeah I picked that out. She was in like a hospital gown when I found her. Super cute improvement right?”

An ectoblast sounded and connected with the wall behind Melissa, missing her a foot to the right. Danny’s hand glowed, and his eyes focused with a razor sharpness.

“Stop talking like that, okay? It’s pissing me off. I need you to tell me you know this was fucked up.”

Melissa put a finger to her chin. “I mean I guess stealing is kinda wrong. They were all like, big box corporate stores don’t worry.”

“The. Dead. Body.”

And Melissa fell silent a moment, violet eyes probing deep into Danny’s before widening. “Oh. Oh you’re like for-real mad about that. Like actually. I thought you were like, making an ironic joke.”

“Why the hell would I be joking about this??”

Melissa cocked her head to the side. “Well because you’re doing it too, duh. Like, duh.”

A huff of air cut against Danny’s teeth, an involuntary noise, incredulous, a guffaw he didn’t consciously make. The jelly sensation of decomposing flesh was back under his fingers. “I am not—would never—I’ve never even seen a dead body before this thing with you and I’d never in a million years even think for even a fucking second that I’d want to possess a dead body. What’s wrong with you?!”

Melissa bobbed a little in the air, ends of her braids trailing over the straps of her ephemeral sundress. “See this is why I really can’t tell if you’re joking or not. What are you talking about? You’re doing it right now.” She clasped her hands behind her back. “The black-haired boy whose corpse you’re possessing. Why are you allowed to do it?”

Danny froze. He laughed, heavy, with an uncomfortable force. “Myself, you mean? I’m not possessing myself. I am myself. I’m a half-ghost.”

Melissa met his laugh. “Oh what? No way like, that’s your own corpse? How’d you even get back to it in time? That’s crazy lucky like you must have died right near a portal or something.”

An involuntary shiver traced down Danny’s spine.

“…I’m not dead.” His eyes shifted around, and Danny dropped to the floor. He set a hand against the wall, throwing on the lights to the Fenton basement. Rings swept around his form, green iridescent eyes sweeping blue, white hair seeping black. “Look. Literally look at me. I’m not dead.”

And Melissa swooped closer. She set a finger to her bottom lip and hovered a foot in front of Danny, drinking him in. She swept to the side, like a swimmer in the water, sweeping around him in a full arc. She edged closer and pinched her fingers against the exposed skin on Danny’s arm. He flinched.

“Oh wow there’s like, not even any decay or anything. Your human brain even feels like it’s working it’s all like, electro-magnety. How long were you dead before you got back to your body?”

“I didn’t die.”

“Then what did happen?”

“I got shocked by the Fenton Portal, okay? It was just a lab accident and it gave me powers.”

“Oh. Oh.” Melissa’s eyes shot wide. “Oh you didn’t die near a portal… You died in a portal. You didn’t even have to get back to find your body at all. You must have appeared like practically on top of your own body. That’s crazy lucky. That’s so lucky. Your body was like, probably only dead a microsecond before you hopped back in. No wonder it’s so well-preserved.”

Danny swatted her away. “You’re not listening to me.”

“You’re not listening to me.” Melissa floated backwards. “What do you think is more likely? A bajillion ecto-volts somehow gave you superpowers that exactly mirror everything a regular dead ghost can do? …Or you died, and became a regular old ghost, and did what any regular old ghost can do, which is possess a freshly-dead dead body?”

“…I’m half-ghost,” Danny answered, human heart pounding in his chest. “I know what I am.”

Melissa bobbed back, feet pointed backwards until the soles of her feet skimmed the matrix of the portal. “I see you’ve made up your mind. That’s alright. But it was still pretty mean of you to accuse me like a big hypocrite like that.”

“I’ll destroy you if you ever try that again.”

“Oh I’ll try asking permission next time okay? Promise.” Melissa’s feet sank into the surface of the portal. “But, before I go, I’ve just got one more question to leave you with.”

“Go.”

“Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?”

“Go.”

“Maybe you’ll have an answer for me next time I see you. Byeee!”

A spark of white erupted from the portal, consuming, absorbing, and fizzling out as Melissa’s form vanished into the ether beyond.

…

“Hey! Yo! Danny, come check this out!”

Danny rounded the stairs, unsocked feet creaking the floorboards with each step. Danny yawned, and blinked, and rubbed at his bruised eyes with the sleeve of his pajama top.

“Still asleep? That’s fine! You don’t have to do anything. Just come over here and look at what your old pop’s been up to.”

Danny entered the living room, where Jack sat hunched on the couch surrounded by an arsenal of power tools, rags, oil, soldering equipment, and scrap metal. From beside him he hefted a bazooka into view.

“This is the Fentonzooka 3.2.17. Amped up and equipped with all the latest in ghost-busting and human-saving technology.”

Danny blinked. “3.2.17?”

“Yep. This baby’s got 17 bug patches, tweaks, and internal improvements since the 3.2.0. The 3.2.0 was the advent of the snack compartment in the side. Look!” Jack spun a dial, revealing a chamber half-filled with pistachios.

Danny only stared.

Jack hefted the bazooka onto his shoulder. “Even better, Mads and I finally got rid of the last little sting humans feel when it’s fired. It’s now completely 100% harmless to humans. It feels like the breeze from a standing fan when it hits ya.” Jack turned, and he aimed the barrel at Danny. “Wanna try it out?”

Danny stood, and Danny stared, and Danny said nothing.

What might happen when it hit him?

Would it hit like the gentle breeze of a fan? Wash over him like air conditioning? Tingle cool and pleasant against his human fingers, human face, human skin?

Would it do something else?

Why should a lethal accident do anything other than kill you?

Jack eased the bazooka a bit off center, pulling his eyes away from the sight. He stared directly at Danny. “Danny?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to try it out?”

Danny stood.

Danny stared.

Danny wondered if he’d have an answer for Melissa the next time he saw her.

[sugarmaplewings-fics]

When He’s Not Here

Pairing: Bakugou x reader (x Kirishima)

Warnings: Cursing, implied severe nightmare(s), mentioned character death (just kinda talking about it, nothing actually happened, dw), soft Bakugou (like, really soft)

A/N: I will take this as an opportunity to welcome myself back into writing (although I never really stopped; I just wanted to work on a few personal projects that were just for me :]). Um, I don’t have much to say about this other than I actually like it! I think it turned out pretty well, so props to me 🎉.

This is technically a Kiribaku x reader, buuut TWIST, Kirishima isn’t really in this one. Mostly just y/n and Bakugou interaction. Yeah, fun.

I promise this is fluff. It’s a little angsty, but not to any extreme. Just nightmare comfort and snuggles with Blasty.

Anyway, enjoy!

-Sugar

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You bolted upright, chest heaving, disoriented.

Everything around you was uncomfortably hot—unbearable. A sheen of sweat coated your skin, and the sheets beneath you were damp. Your heart pounded in your chest, making it hard to think, hard to breathe. Darkness pressed around you, only making it easier to see your visions again, playing over and over in your memory.

Desperate, your hands patted blindly around you, looking for something that would make it stop, something to help you feel better.

Your trembling fingers bumped into a warm, solid mound beside you and you latched onto it, hoping to find solace in this sea of fear and nothingness.

“Eijirou?” you gasped, already somehow feeling more grounded as you shook the man’s arm.

“Hm?” Rather than who you’d been expecting, a familiar rough voice emerged from the dark mass beside you.

“Katsuki?” you called out instead.

“What?” He rolled onto his back, dragging a hand over his face. “(Y/N)? What time is—”

You suddenly tackled him into a hug, burying your nose into his shoulder. “You’re alive! Thank goodness you’re okay!” You could sob with how happy you were to find that your nightmare had been little more than just a dream, that Bakugou and Kirishima weren’t dead, and that you were still safe.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” he asked gruffly. “And what’s got you shaking so hard? Was it another—”

“Bad dream,” you affirmed, pulling off of him and straightening. “Just a . . . dream.”

“Oh,” he muttered, sitting up.

“Sorry I woke you up. I was trying for—”

“Eijirou?”

You nodded sheepishly. “Not that I don’t want to talk to you, I just . . . forgot he wasn’t here.”

“Oh.”

Now it was coming back to you. Kirishima was away on a mission on the other side of the country. This was yours and Bakugou’s second night without him, but it still felt so foreign to have him missing from your bed. The sheets felt . . . colder and emptier with him gone. Yes, the redhead had a habit of spreading out in his sleep and snoring much louder than necessary, but both you and Katsuki (though he wouldn’t admit it out loud) had grown quite fond of his presence.

“Need anything?” the blond grunted, bringing you out of your thoughts.

“Um,” you mumbled, thinking. “Maybe some water?”

Bakugou stood without another word, sliding silently out of the bedroom and down to the kitchen. Flicking on the light, he grabbed a glass out of the cabinet.

For as long as you’d been sharing a bed, Bakugou had been aware of your recurrent nightmares. He’d always been a light sleeper, so it was unavoidable that your muffled whimpers and kicking would wake him up. He was there for you when you needed him, yes, but . . . it didn’t take long for Katsuki to realize that Eijirou was just better with this sort of thing.

Bakugou didn’t know much about emotions, or comfort for that matter. He tended to just blast his way through things and hope others did the same. He had more important things to worry about than “feelings”. But he’d be a damn fool to overlook how powerful they could be, especially when it came to you and Eijirou. Hell, even the weight of his own feelings for the two of you shook his world from time to time.

But it just wasn’t something he was good at, and it frustrated him. He had to be the best. The best of the best, especially for someone like you. You were his partner, and he’d vowed to himself to be the best boyfriend to you no matter what. Maybe he was being a coward. Shouldn’t he work on the things he wasn’t good at? Even when they didn’t come easy?

He had to at least try.

Bakugou came back into the bedroom with a fresh glass of water in his hand. You took it from him gratefully, letting the cool liquid clear your mind as it slid down your throat.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low.

“Yes. Thank you.” You set the glass on the nightstand beside you, curling back into yourself.

The blond racked his mind. What did Kirishima do? Usually as soon as the redhead was awake and cooing over you, Katsuki would try to fall back asleep. He knew you were safe with him, so what was the point in doing anything more? Besides, Bakugou’s sleep schedule wasn’t something to be messed with. But now Eijirou was gone, and you needed someone to be there for you. You were more important to Katsuki than sleep. And you were still shaking.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bakugou finally managed.

You thought for a moment before shaking your head. “It was just a dream. I don’t want to think about it more than I need to.”

“Oh.”

Bakugou sat on the bed in silence. Now what? If you weren’t going to talk, how was he supposed to know what to do?

“What does Kirishima do? When this happens.”

You glanced at the rumpled blankets underneath you, suddenly—for seemingly no reason—shy. “He usually holds me.”

Of course he did. That was your combined solution to everything. Figures.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you threw out quickly. “I know you’re not really in a cuddly mood right now—”

Bakugou gathered you up in his arms and shoved your body into his chest. You gasped at the abrupt motion but were just as quick to relax against him, suddenly feeling secure in his strong hold. His body was a little different from Kirishima’s; still thoroughly well-muscled, but otherwise smaller and leaner. You breathed in his scent—also different, but still so heavenly familiar and sweet.

“What gave you that idea?” he asked, his chin resting gently on the top of your head.

“You, um, were facing away from me when we went to bed.”

“Tch, dumbass.” He shifted you into a more comfortable position on his lap, kissing your scalp. “Now what?” he mumbled into your hair.

“He . . . talks to me.”

“What does he say?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “He reassures me, I guess.”

Bakugou frowned. “How am I supposed to do that if I don’t know what your shitty nightmare was about anyway?”

He felt you stiffen in his hold, and he knew he’d messed up.

“Look,” he muttered. “I know this really isn’t my thing, but please. I’m just trying to help you.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled in a small voice.

Silence.

Bakugou didn’t mind silence. In fact, he generally preferred it. It gave him peace to think to himself, and he hated it when there was something annoying and distracting buzzing around him, especially when it was some dumb, unimportant person.

But you weren’t dumb, or unimportant to him, and this time, he felt truly uncomfortable in the quiet dark. Why weren’t you saying anything? You weren’t exactly the type to never stop talking—you could be pretty quiet yourself, actually—but even you had a tendency to fill the void with something.

If you weren’t going to do it, he might as well just get it over with.

“You said something about me being alive when you woke up, yeah?” he asked you. “Scared of me dying?”

You paused, then nodded, tightly clutching the front of his tank top.

“Nothing can kill me,” he said, trying to approach with his cocky attitude.

“. . . you know that isn’t true,” you murmured.

He scowled. “Are you doubting me or something?”

“No. You’re just . . . no one’s invincible, Katsuki. Not even you.”

Bakugou huffed. This wasn’t going the way he’d hoped. How did Eijirou do this so often? Why had Bakugou never paid enough attention? Now he was starting to feel guilty. Had he been slacking off with you?

“I think you’re amazing, ‘Tsuki,” you went on. “But I’m scared of losing you. Both of you.”

He sighed. “Now why are you worrying about that?”

“I don’t know . . . .” You shrugged. “I guess that the simple answer is because I love you. Of course I worry about something happening. I don’t—I don’t know what I’d do if one of you got hurt, or—or worse.” You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting to keep yourself from crying.

“Hey,” Bakugou said softly.

You nuzzled yourself closer into his chest, sniffling a little and taking a deep breath.

“You know you’re strong, right?” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your shoulder. “I see it in you. I have for years. I trust that you can handle anything. You’ve been through a lot.”

It was your turn to sigh. “But I don’t want to go through something like that.”

“You think anyone does?”

“Well, no. Of course not.”

“Listen. You’re talking about two of the best pro heroes there are, okay? We’ve all got each other and we can take care of ourselves, got that? Worrying about us isn’t gonna do you any favors.”

“I can’t just ‘stop worrying’,” you countered.

“Okay, but don’t put so much into it. We’re here with you now, dumbass. Enjoy it while you can.”

“. . . Eijirou’s not here.”

Bakugou paused, thinking. “‘That what all this is about?” he asked quietly.

“I don’t know. Probably.”

“I’m sure he’s safe.” Katsuki rocked you ever so slightly in his arms, settling back into the quiet night.

“Do you miss him?” you asked.

“. . . ‘course I do.”

You smirked. “Aww.”

“Hey!” he protested. “I . . . I’m not scared to say that I love him. Or you for that matter.”

“I know.” You leaned up, touching the tip of your nose to his.

He blinked in surprise at the gesture, but then smiled softly and rested his forehead against yours.

“This is weird to say,” you began after a moment, “but I can’t really sleep without him snoring in my ear like a lawnmower.”

Katsuki barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding? This is the most peaceful night’s sleep I’ve gotten since we moved in together.”

You giggled. “Okay. But don’t you miss his good-night kisses?”

“Tch,” Bakugou grumbled. “Of course not. He’s so clingy and annoying.”

“Oh? That’s not how I remember it,” you laughed. “You love it when he gets like that.”

The blond scowled in the dark. “Alright, maybe it’s not so bad.”

You hummed, resting your head on his shoulder again. “I love you both, you know,” you said. “I can’t wait until things can go back to normal.”

“Shitty hair’ll be home soon,” Bakugou assured you. He chuckled to himself. “Until then, do you want me to snore in your ear for you? How about that? Something like this?” He obnoxiously made a loud, fake snoring noise in the back of his throat, making it sound as gross as possible.

You cracked up laughing, holding him closer to you while your shoulders shook. “Eijirou does not sound like that!”

“Oh, yes, he does,” Bakugou argued playfully. “Believe me, I sleep next to him too. And for whatever reason, you like it.”

You laughed again, and Katsuki’s cheeks warmed at the sweet sound of your mirth. “It’s just too quiet without him! I’m not used to it.”

“Well how about hogging all the blankets, then? And stealing the whole bed? Would that make you feel better?” Bakugou turned your bodies so he could flop on top of you, starfishing his limbs so you couldn’t get up.

“Actually, you do do that,” you teased. “You sprawl out on the bed all the time.”

He pouted. “Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Well how about kisses then? I’m the best kisser there is, and I’ve got two partners that’ll attest to that,” he boasted proudly.

“Ooh, two partners, huh?”

“Yeah, and you’re one of them. Here, I’ll prove it.”

Before you could say anything in response, Bakugou’s lips found yours, kissing you deeply and taking your breath away. Your hand slid up to cup his cheek, holding him in place as he embraced you. His lips were so soft and sweet—he always wore chapstick before he went to bed. You couldn’t help but sigh happily as his mouth moved over yours; gentle, but still with the slightest hint of roughness to it he always carried no matter what.

Eventually he pulled back, letting you breathe.

“I do like having just the two of us here,” you admitted quietly, brushing some of his spiky bangs back from his forehead. “It’s . . . different.”

You couldn’t really see it in the dark, but he smiled. “I like it too.” He leaned in and kissed your lips once more. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You stroked his cheek with the side of your thumb. “But maybe we shouldn’t be teasing our boyfriend while he isn’t here to defend himself.”

Bakugou snorted. “Eijirou doesn’t care. Besides, it’s all true.”

You chuckled, running your fingers through his hair and scratching at his scalp. “Thanks for making me feel better.”

Oh, that’s right, he was supposed to have been comforting you. He guessed that somehow, he’d done it. His chest swelled with pride. “Sure thing. Are you feeling alright now?”

“Yeah,” you said. “That dream was stupid anyway. It didn’t make any sense.”

“Of course it didn’t.” Katsuki pulled you into his arms again, rolling you both onto your sides so he could face you. “Shitty fucking dream. It’s not real, and it can’t hurt you. I’m here for you, got that? That’s what matters. Nothing’s going to take me away, and I mean it.” He kissed your forehead, pulling the blankets up around your shoulders again. “I fight and win for you, you know. I win for both of you. You two never leave my mind. I’m not stupid and reckless, okay? I’m careful enough so that I don’t get hurt like that.”

“I know.” You rested your head against his chest, sighing in contentment at the feeling of being held by him. It was warm and calming, comfortable and familiar. There wasn’t anywhere else you’d rather be.

“Ready to go back to sleep?” he asked you, rubbing your back.

“Yeah,” you murmured, shutting your eyes.

He hummed. “Good. I’ll see you in the morning, (Y/N).”

“Good night, Katsuki.”

Soon, the two of you drifted off to sleep, and until you awoke again at dawn, you were at peace.

…

“I’m home!” a voice called out by the doorway.

You jumped up from the couch, making a beeline towards the entrance of your house. “Eijirou!” you greeted happily, running up to him for a hug.

“Hey! It’s my darling, wonderful (Y/N)!” he laughed, dropping his bags and hoisting you up in his arms.

“It’s my big, strong manly man!” you countered, laughing.

He brought his face to yours, humming happily as he kissed you several times in quick succession.

“The two of you are going to make me puke.”

Eijirou let you go, setting you back down on the floor to look up at his boyfriend, who’d stepped in to greet Kirishima for himself.

“Katsuki!” he said happily, unfazed. He held out his arms, making grabby motions with his hands toward the blond.

Bakugou rolled his eyes, walking up to the redhead despite his annoyed façade. Eijirou hugged him tight, pressing a long, solid kiss to his lips.

“Group hug!” he said, pulling you in again for another hug, this time with Bakugou in the mix. “I missed you guys.”

“How was your trip?” you asked him.

“Great!” Kirishima said. “I’ll tell you everything about it as soon as I get something to eat, I’m starving.”

“I made dinner for everyone,” Bakugou said.

“So that’s why it smells amazing!” Kirishima kissed Bakugou on the cheek in thanks, then gave you another to be fair. “Let’s go then,” he said, stepping forward. “Although, I guess I should ask; did I miss anything while I was gone?”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Taglist: @aahilovetheatre​ @basicalyrandom​ @hyunmin-1404​ @kqtsukii​ @nabo39​ @pyrofanatic​​ @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars​ @sendhelpimstupid​ @sxngwoos-ash-box​ @xoxopam4​

[chimielie]

roots

summary: Kageyama x Reader. written for @yurens for the @heatwave2021 fic exchange!!

word count: 3k

cw: barely slightly suggestive, pure getting together fluff

a/n: technically this is being posted 17 minutes after the due date 😭 i'm so sorry about that ANYWAY i enjoyed writing this so much and i hope you enjoy reading!!

Kageyama comes home after a long day of extra practice to an overheated apartment and a fridge full of spoiled food. Summer is overstaying its welcome, he thinks, putting the batteries into an old fan that clicks and thunks before finally whirring into life. The sun has gone from being blindingly white to a softer egg-yolk yellow, but the view from his window isn’t as pleasant when there’s no breeze and the plastic plants Hitoka-chan had bought him as a housewarming gift are wilting.

So far, the fan is only blowing warm air around, so Kageyama leaves it to do its work while he takes out a trash bag full of chunky milk and black-spotted cuts of meat. He doesn’t mind, really, since he’s too tired to really attempt cooking and had just planned to microwave something. Now, though, his microwave clock is blank and black; he supposes he’ll have to fight his way through crowds of similarly powerless people to get meat buns at the supermarket.

While he’s on his way back up the complex’s stairs, he pauses to watch an open can roll down one step at a time. When it reaches him, he stops it with his toe, twisting his head to the side to read it.

Pickled peas, the can reads, with a little green graphic of the vegetable. He looks up to see you, two steps above him, focused not on the stray can but on his face.

“Sorry,” he says, “is this yours?” He picks up the can and holds it out to you, but thinks better of the gesture after you unsuccessfully try to maneuver the trash bag you’re carrying so that you’ll have a free hand to take it. Instead, he retracts his hand, still holding your pickled peas can.

“Sorry,” you blink and shake your head. “Sorry, my bag is, uh, overfull. I’m surprised more people aren’t out here, but I guess they’re all probably shopping and stuff for the free air-con.”

Your bag looks like the one he just tossed, and on the verge of bursting as well. Kageyama thinks about how gross it would be if it exploded all over the stairwell and shudders inwardly. Outwardly, his face remains the same as always, if a bit scrunched up in disapproval of— well, he doesn’t know what. Too many things.

“Uh, I can carry that for you,” he says. “If you want.”

“Oh, are you sure? I can,” you start, but he’s already hefting it up, tossing in the pea can, and twisting the top of the bag around, corded muscle bunching up beneath his sweat-soaked t-shirt. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The two of you walk down the stairs in silence, and he breathes a sigh of relief when the lid shuts over the bag. You introduce yourself and thank him again, and he reciprocates when he accepts, trying to subtly stretch out his right arm.

“What level are you on?” You ask. “I moved here a couple weeks ago; I haven’t really met any of my neighbors yet.”

“Five,” he says, and wonders if he should warn you that he’s not really the best person to be friends with unless you’re a volleyball enthusiast.

“Oh, so am I!” you say, and he’s not sure why the small smile you wear when you look up at him makes his head feel cloudier than it did the time Hoshiumi tried to explain taxes to him. This isn’t the irritated, dark shadow that had passed over him then, though. He blinks profusely and wonders how it can be heating up, how he can feel so blinded when he’s not staring at the sun.

“This is mine,” you say, and he realizes that he’s been so distracted by the sway of your hair and the glow of your skin (there’s a lot of skin, it’s hot, it’s so hot in this powerless building, even in near darkness) that you’ve made it up all the stairs and down the halls, three doors past his own.

“Okay,” he says, and doesn’t move. You don’t, either, taking out your keys but not putting them in the lock.

“I don’t know what I’ll do for dinner,” your warm voice takes on a nervous tinge. “I just threw out most of my food, and I ate most of the stuff that wasn’t bad for lunch.”

He can’t tell if that’s an invitation or real distress. After all, you just moved in. Maybe you don’t know many places to eat yet.

“There’s a supermarket just a block away,” he says. “They have meat buns and other ready-to-eat meals.”

“I’ll look up the address,” you look truly grateful. Not an invitation, then, so he’s not sure why the next words spill out of his mouth.

“Do you want me to show you there?”

He stutters and stumbles over his next words, trying to pry open a way for you out of the outing should you want to walk out. You watch the red slowly rising on his face, admire the way his speech trips from a slow stroll to the speed of a sprinter in the last meters of a race. Finally, he slams on the brakes, an electric calm settling over him when he takes a deep breath and says:

“I’m sorry for all that. You can say no, if you want, but I’d like to get to know you better if you feel the same.”

The calm is splintered all too soon. You can see the panic clawing up his throat, making veins in his neck stand out and the whites of his eyes show as he mutters something about being a stupid idiot under his breath, and so instead of letting him run on his last legs right into the ground, you place your hand (gently, like you’re trying not to scare off a wild animal) on his forearm and pull him right back to earth.

“I’m just as interested as you are,” you say, and let him wonder whether you’re more interested in the market or in him.

In the still summer heat, something is blooming. Little green shoots, poking through soil with the awe of newborns after a lifetime spent buried. Kageyama, although he can’t name the psychical flora, can sense a presence where the fields have been barren for many years, too young yet to require a welcome and watering or even an upheaval.

And he thinks he can see the same feeling rising in you.

He walks you to the grocery, sticking to the shaded side of the street and putting on his most threatening aura to part the cloying crowds of people also trying to find sustenance that won’t turn in the heat.

The heat, the heat, the heat seems to be the most anyone can think about, fanning themselves and commenting on the lateness of sunset and pouring bottles of water on their heads. You don’t seem to wilt beneath the weight of the sun’s wrath, though, keeping up a steady flow of conversation punctuated with enough comfortable silence that Kageyama feels neither awkward nor exhausted. When you nudge him and comment on something you’ve seen, or when you hum in agreement, or when you ask him questions, it doesn’t make him want to respond tersely the way strangers usually do at first. When he snaps at you accidentally or says something that should shut down the conversation, you just laugh lightly and let your tongue rest before he says something— hesitant, perhaps dry, but still something to let you know that he’s here because he wants to be, and he’s here because he’s growing to like you.

When the both of you get back, holding little packages of food, not enough to worry about leftovers going bad, you take the elevator. The walk back was more tiring than the walk there; it’s barely getting cooler.

Kageyama takes your meal into his hands, glad his skin is thick enough that the heat from the bottom of it isn’t so bad. He doesn’t have to balance the package on his fingertips like you did. You glance at him curiously, but say nothing.

When the elevator doors slide open, he steps out first, walks straight to his door and goes inside. Just inside the doorway, he turns to look at you over his shoulder, blue pools stirring with hope in their deepest depths.

You pick up your pace and follow him through.

Kageyama’s apartment is spare, but comfortable. His couch is navy blue and threadbare, his TV admirably old. There’s a table covered in papers— before you can look too closely at what appears to be a magazine with his face on the cover, he’s sweeping them away and dumping them unceremoniously in a pile on the TV stand. The curtains are pulled shut to keep out the sun’s rays and the fan seems to have pulled the temperature down to bearable.

“Here,” he says, pulling out a chair. You take it, letting yourself smile a little wider, knee bouncing beneath the table as he turns to pull out two plates and sets of utensils. “I figure we won’t need to use the microwave.”

“Would it work, anyway?” You return, and he blinks and turns to look at the appliance, which remains lifeless.

“Oh. Yeah,” he seems unfazed by the blunder. “Let’s eat.” So far, he’s seemed supremely nonchalant— except for the blip when he’d asked you to stay by his side.

Well, that was dramatic. It was just groceries and dinner, even if it felt like breaking dawn.

Conversation starts slow, because Kageyama seems so insistent on shoving all his food down before it runs away from him, in addition to some kind of health drink that looks like it tastes worse warm. While the warmth tends to curb your appetite, the walk helped, so you waste no time in chowing down yourself.

Once he’s slowed down, Kageyama speaks. You trade stories of your youth— the first time you rode a bike, the first time he set a ball— of your relatives— he speaks of his grandfather with a reverence you’ve found is increasingly rare, and with a love that you know can’t be pulled from a child with any kind of negligence— of your job and his. You ask if there’s a channel on which you can watch his games, and he offers you free tickets. You’re strangers, but the way you communicate makes you feel like you can see each step to take from here. The path you’re following is one not taken alone.

“It’s dark,” Kageyama notes, when the sun is no longer burning through the curtains. “Should you—”

“Do you have candles?” You say at the same time, then wince. “Sorry, what did you say?” He swallows, then crosses his arms and rests them on the table.

“Never mind,” he shakes his head. “I think so.”

He stands to search one of the rooms down the hall, and returns with a thick handful of taper candles, his other hand holding a bag that he dumps out on the table to reveal a number of candle holders. He winces when they clang against the table, but you’re already putting the two together, needing something to do with your hands.

“Wait,” you look at him, pupils dilated. “Do you have anything to light them with?”

He responds by grinning widely and producing a lighter, and the training of his fine motor skills is apparent as he dexterously lights each taper.

Hinata insists that his smile remains a terrifying freak occurrence when he remembers to; Kageyama’s publicist, who keeps trying to wrangle him into advertising campaigns, vehemently disagrees. His smile remains without his knowledge once every light is successfully lit, and unbeknownst to you, your opinion couldn’t be more different from his orange-haired friend’s.

In the candlelight, he’s more handsome than before, a thought you allow yourself only grudgingly. He invited you to dinner, and Kageyama doesn’t seem like the kind of person to do anything unless he really wants to.

In the candlelight, your face is lit up brilliantly, your features softened and eyes hooded in shadow. Kageyama is often oblivious to the outside world, too focused on his game and his goals to stop and smell the roses, but now he couldn’t break the moment if he tried. He drinks you in, liquid fire rippling over the both of you in slow waves.

“I should probably go,” you say, your tone quiet to match the night, eventually, once the moon is high overhead. “Thank you for being so neighborly. I’m sorry if I overstayed my welcome.”

He laughs a little at that. There’s a fondness in the sound that scratches at his throat and threatens to poke up and out of the cavity, but when you share his mirth, however light, he can’t bring himself to choke it back down.

“You didn’t,” he assures you. “You should come back sometime.”

“Yeah?” You regard him in the doorway with an amused grin.

“Yeah.”

You find yourself dropping Kageyama a line whenever you’re running short on food or company, which quickly transitions into an easy friendship bordering on something more. He tries to drag you out on morning runs, and you convince him to start using skincare products beyond a splash of water at the beginning and end of every day. He complains affectionately about his teammates and listens like you’re the Prime Minister as you rant about your worst work days. With time and care, the wasteland becomes an oasis, lush greenery thriving with every demure smile and brush of skin against skin and shared, sarcastic glance.

It’s on another warm night that Kageyama (Tobio, he reminds you to call him) invites you over, citing the fact that he’s run out of matches to rewatch (a lie) and that his friends are mostly out of town (true). You’re there all too quickly; when he teases you about it, you roll your eyes and tell him that the commute isn’t long.

You’re just finishing your meal, although Tobio’s been done for minutes yet, when the lights flicker out. There’s barely a beat before the two of you pull out your phones in sync, searching for the power map before making twin noises of understanding.

“Power outage,” he speaks first, and you nod.

“Candles?”

There’s a strange sense of remembrance hanging in the air as you walk ahead of him to find the candles; you’ve seen them before on previous expeditions to his home. Strange, the passage of time.

You gather them together, hip-bumping him before you walk out of the room. He lights them, just as he did the first night, and you watch as the sparks flare to life, growing into full flames.

There’s something new in the air this time, though. A breeze brushes over your skin, every hair on your body standing up straight at the touch of the air current. You’ve graduated from sitting across from Tobio to the seat next to him, and you can feel the warm press of his leg against yours. You kick lightly at his ankle, your intent playful, but it does nothing to dissuade the turning tide.

Like the last time, Tobio is captivated. Your eyes shine too brightly in the quickly dimming room, and he feels too relaxed, too ready to do something he hasn’t yet had the chance to think through. There’s something new in the air, but nothing unexpected; nothing that hasn’t been building gradually since he looked up at you in that stairwell and saw all too much more than there was. He was the stranger under the filtered sunshine, the dinner buddy behind the candlelight. But since the first morning, he's wanted to be your lover of tomorrow's tender dawn.

You’re not sure who leans in first.

The first press of lips is electric. You shiver, a full-body shock sweeping over you that prompts you to move quickly where you might have taken things slow, to act when you wanted to learn him first. Your hands push into his hair and cup the back of his neck, pulling him closer or pushing yourself in; you’re not sure. He doesn’t seem to mind the change of pace, just keeps kissing you. Inevitable, is what you think he is, a force of nature washing over you with a steadiness and skill you’ve never experienced.

He doesn’t break away, only lets you pull back and rest your forehead against his when you need to. You can see his blue eyes blinking at you, asking silently why you’d pulled away. You take a deep breath in response, and exhale with an oh as big hands pull you into his lap so he can nose at your neck, up your jaw, along your cheek.

“Tobio,” you whisper his name, and he hums in response, opens one of your hands and places his own in it to hold. “Shit, the lights— the lights are back on.”

They are, throwing the picture in his kitchen into sharp relief. You’re in Kageyama Tobio’s lap, kissing him like you’re promising him forever and more, letting him reciprocate with all the vibrant energy he carries in his soul.

“Everything okay?” He asks, letting go of you just enough that his hands hover over your skin instead of gluing themselves to it.

“Yes,” you say instantly. “Kiss me more.”