#cause i usually write like 1 thing every 6 months and it is not helpful when i try to actually write a full story

[vani-ash]

we've all heard of chay - kim body swap au, now introducing:

Kim - Porsche bodyswap au (This is entirely inspired by me remembering Apo as Jeff during the KP WTF concert)

Porsche One day Porsche wakes up in some fancy hotel room and doesn't question it just yet, he's woken up in weirder places with no memory, this was nothing new, the lack of a splitting headache was nice though. Going to the bathroom and looking in the mirror is when Porsche does start to question some things. That is NOT his face staring back in the mirror. The face looks vaguely familiar but Porsche can't quite place where from. There's a sudden insistent knocking at the door. Porsche does not want to open it as knocking that frantic is never good, but it's not like there's anywhere else for him to go and they don't seem to be willing to leave if he just ignores it.

Opening it Porsche it greeted with an exasperated man,"Wik! You're going to be late! You've just woken up haven't you? Nevermind we'll get you fixed up at the venue, just come!" The man grabs Porsches arm and drags him into an elevator, out of an elevator, and then into a car.

Porsche keeps trying to tell the man that he is not whoever this 'Wik' guy is but the man just looks at him more annoyed.

It's when Porsche is once again being dragged around and forced into a Chair and a woman is putting make up on his face as he watches in a mirror does he figure out who he looks like.

He can't believe he didn't recognize it sooner, but theres a picture tapped to the mirror that Porsche had seen before in Chays room.

He was in the body of Chay's idol. The man who had brought him here is pulling him out of the chair and leading him somewhere else. He was saying something but Porsche only catches the last part of,"We changed the set list, Highway is the opening song now, okay?" Before he is being shoved on to a stage, the loud cheering startles him. There is music being blasted all around him, it's familiar, something he had heard Chay playing around the house.

In his ear he hears,"Verse in 3 2 1.." Looking down he sees a screen with lyrics on it.

Well.

Porsche opens his mouth. Kim Kim wakes up in a room not his own. It's messy. He's instantly suspicious of where he is. He didn't drink and he didn't do drugs, the most he does is a cigarette when he felt particularly stressed but he tried not to smoke too often as it would damage his voice.

Kim investigates the room, but theres nothing to note. It seemed like an average teenage boys room with the clothes being left strewn about everywhere, an assortment of band posters stuck up on the walls. Then he finds a little hidden part behind a bookcase.

There's a wall covered in his face, but hes quick to notice it's only photos of Wik.

Kim didn't know what was happening and wasn't sure what to feel.

The door to the room swings open and Kim jumps slightly, having not heard anything that should've tipped him off to someone approaching.

"Hia?" Kim turns around to see a teenage boy staring at him confused but with no signs of wanting to hurt him, he's cute, but still Kim keeps his guard up.

"What do you want?"

"Did I wake you? Go back to sleep Hia, I just came to get my phone, P'Wiks event it starting now."

P'Wik?

The boy seemed harmless as he grabbed his phone off a table, so Kim followed him down stairs.

"What are you going to watch with me Hia?"

Kim didn't know why the boy kept calling him Hia but he just nodded.

The boy had a live stream up and already playing, he turned the volume up just in time for Kim to hear the MC announce,"Please welcome to the stage, P'Wik!"

Seeing himself walk onto the stage was something.

It looked both exactly like and nothing like what he looked like. The Wik on the screen looked perfectly like him, but everything else was wrong, the walk, the way he held himself, how he seemed hesitant and unsure of what to do.

Whoevers body Kim was in, they were in Kims.

The backing track to Kims new song started playing.

"Hia, do you think P'Wik looks nervous? He's acting strange, I hope his management isn't overworking him."

Kim watches as fake him looks around before settling on looking at the ground, presumably where the lyrics would be.

Kim holds his breath. This guy wasn't going to sing as Kim... was he?

"Peung ja ru kwam songjam ti mi-"

It's painful, not a single note is on Key, and just barely in time as well.

"Hia he sounds awful! You don't think he's sick do you? God his management suck making him preform even while he's sick."

The next 3 minutes are excruciatingly painful for Kim.

[kisses4reid]

scare | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,, (part 1)

synopsis - you’re in a relationship with some one else and have a pregnancy scare, both your own reaction and spencer’s makes you realise that you’re not happy.

genre - bau!reader x spencer, friends to lovers, multi-part, pregnancy scare, reader has sort of a douche bf, one sided love (at first), angst and fluff

warnings - pregnancy talk, mentions of sex, unhealthy relationships, stress, sickness

w/c - 1.4k?? take a guess cause that’s mine.

a/n - i’ve got 9 weeks free. yeah, i have a job. and yeah, i have about 6 other hobbies i enjoy. but am i gonna make promises i can’t keep about writing more?? yeah. i am. here, enjoy. (pls lemme know abt mistakes it’s rlly late at night rn.)

The plane whirrs, small chatter from Morgan and who you assumed to be Penelope over the phone humming along with the music you try to distract yourself with. It isn’t working.

Because every song has its own special and quirky musical instrument that happens to sound like a message notification. And you keep getting your hopes up.

Your left leg started to bounce, your fingernails found their way to your anxious teeth. And Spencer noticed.

He noticed about halfway through the case, when you stopped talking as much, started drinking an influx of water, started discreetly taking pain medication. At first, he thought it was a simple stomach bug, and he knew your stomach didn’t agree with a lot of travel. But then you started getting nervous.

Spencer glanced at you a few times before moving, sitting next to you (attempting to be discreet). He can’t be discreet though, because every time he’s around you, his body does this weird thing where it can’t decide whether it should be instantly calm or instantly more nervous. Your presence stopped his fidgeting hands, his tired thoughts. But god, when he looked at you, it’s like his heart wants to see you for itself.

And right now his heart hurt, why were you scared?

You barely noticed Spencer sit down, usually you would, but your phone was annoyingly blank, silent. You turned it off and on three times, and re-entered the plane’s wifi password five times.

And now your stomach was grumbling, and not in the way that those nice small sandwiches can help out with.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped, taking your earphones out and staring at Spencer surprised. You laughed nervously, quietly, “Spencer! Sorry. Yeah, I’m fine.”

His warm eyes searched yours and for a second you could ignore the tight feeling in your chest. It made you think back around 8 months ago, when Penelope, your childhood best friend and now co-worker, created a pros and cons list for both Lloyd, and… Spencer.

It was unprofessional and inappropriate, especially when you decided to listen because you had nothing better to do. And especially when she started making some good points.

He squinted his eyes, and you sighed.

“Sorry, I’m just a bit antsy. Feeling a bit… off.”

You felt sick, and stressed, and like your thoughts were going to be the cause of your death. Because you’ve never been sick like this. And to your overworked brain, it only meant one thing.

Spencer’s a great profiler. And although the team collectively agreed to not profile each other, it becomes hard for Spencer when the girl he’s in love with is so obviously in distress. Even worse when he can’t be the hero.

“I can leave you to sleep if you want.” He says, getting up to leave.

“Oh, no. That’s okay. Honestly, I think sleeping would just make it worse.”

Ah, right. Travel sickness, Spencer thought. He gaps his mouth slightly and nods. He relaxes into the couch and looks over to you, heart picking up slightly as pieces of hair fell from your loose ponytail.

You looked over to the table he was previously sat at, the book you gifted him last Christmas open and nearly finished. You smiled to yourself, but it was bittersweet.

“You’re actually reading it?” You asked, looking back at him with slight surprise.

“Of course. I’ve read it 6 times already, it’s a great pallet cleanser- Just like you said in that Christmas card!” He smiled childishly, like he was recalling the first snow.

“I know right! It’s so simple but interesting, I mean I’ve only read it three times but to me I always found it to clear my head.”

Spencer angled himself towards you, “Did you know that the author actually interviewed his daughter’s teachers to see what ages teachers were more invested in compared to class sizes? He said in an interview that depending on a students intelligence, there’s an underlying emotional connection made between student and teacher,” he took a breath, “It plays into the intelligence to ego ratio that so many people claim isn’t true. Which I’m not trying to say you have a big ego, or that I do-“

You waved you hands, “Woah, woah. Why would I think you’re talking about me?”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “Well, you’re very intelligent.”

“Oh!… Thanks for thinking I’m intelligent, or smart.” You shrugged, “But I think you insulted yourself. You don’t have a 187 IQ for nothing do you?”

“You remembered my IQ?” He laughed nervously. His smile warms your chest like a candle. Like that candle he got you randomly in April, after you mentioned your favourite one being used up by your boyfriend.

Your boyfriend. Ugh.

You smile falters for only a second, “Of course. You only mention it to every person that second guesses you.”

He nods and smiles, “Must be my ego.”

You laugh, subconsciously bumping your shoulder with his. But- Jesus. Your stomach is queasy.

“Hey, uh, do you want some travel sickness pills?” He reached over for his satchel but you grab his forearm and smile as convincingly as you can.

“No, no. We’re landing soon, but thank you.”

You’re overreacting.

That’s what he said. When you texted your boyfriend of a year and a half that you thought you were pregnant he said, You’re overreacting. Two words, two hours after your first text, on his day off.

Maybe you are. You started feeling sick on a slightly more gory case, it’s lasted ever since the case started, you get travel sick as well.

The headaches are from the computer screen and stress. The stress is from fatigue. The fatigue is because of the lack of sleep. The lack of sleep is because of the headaches.

Why do you always do this? Always thinking that there’s something wrong with you. Always being the biggest person in your own life, selfish.

But… what if?

There’s a sudden squeak from behind you, and you instantly snapped out of it. You took a deep breath and looked at your surroundings. You were at your desk, standing, the strap of your bag clutched in your hands - god, your knuckles were white. Your eyes darted in surprise and confusion, and you jumped once again when Spencer spoke into the silence.

“You okay?”

“Um…”

You didn’t look back at him, only looking down at your shoes and taking a deep breath. You plastered on a smile despite the bile collecting in your throat.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve gonna go, the bus leaves at um…”

You took out your phone. He didn’t even respond to your text asking him to pick you up.

“I’ll drive you home. But uh, I gotta pick up some groceries. I hope you don’t mind.”

He curved to your desk and gently took your bag from your hands, glancing at the way you traced your knuckles and how the leather strap now had slight wrinkles in it. He smiled, warmly. And he started walking like you rejecting the idea wasn’t an option.

Which is wasn’t, because he knew you too well.

“Well, a cucumber actually has 3% more water than watermelon. So if you really want a refreshing snack, cucumber is your man.”

You smiled and raised your eyebrows in interest. He’s had many vegetables and fruits in the basket, not a lot of protein. Explained a lot.

My man, you thought with a smile.

My man, you shivered.

“I don’t like cucumbers.” You said like it was distraction, and he nodded, picking up some kewpie mayo as he you around to the next aisle. He glanced at you,

“I know. You say it’s tasteless. I like it.” He shrugged.

“I know.” You smiled, and he smiles back.

God, you wish you could bask in it, the warmth. But your chest was still tingly, and your heart hadn’t stopped aching ever since you got excited about an email notification.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? I noticed you’ve been tense for like… a week.” He grabbed some pasta sauce and put his hand on your shoulder to turn you around - you obviously looked too far into your own head.

“Yeah, just feeling-“

“Y/n.” He turned to you, stopping your venture into the dairy aisle. His eyes were hard, worried. The fluorescent lights swayed slightly. A worker walked by the end of the aisle with a trolley full of food.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he lifted one arm, wanting to rest his hand on your upper arm, to help you, “Don’t say sorry. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“I have been feeling sick. That’s true. And I’ve been stressed and, thinking a lot. A lot.”

It felt weird to nearly tell Spencer about your relationship problems. It was like complaining to a doctor about healing crystals. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe that’s why you never did tell him about it, because it was facing your fears.

It was the pros and cons list made by Penelope.

But I’m overreacting.

“It’s nothing.”

Spencer sighed. You had that habit, of nearly opening up, and then shutting the door just as he was about to walk in.

You heard his sigh.

“Okay. I gave Lloyd my car because he has the day off, and he likes going to his friends houses on his days off. And, I told him something that should probably freak him out. But he doesn’t really care. I don’t think he really cares, about anything. At least about me.”

You started walking, because holy shit you’ve never said that out loud before, and Spencer followed you,

“Y/n, if you want to tell me something-“

“I think I’m pregnant.” You stopped, and started picking at your fingers, acting as if it was admitting to not knowing your left and rights, or that you don’t really like coconut.

His eyes widen, and his heart drops. It was like his worst nightmare coming true- jesus, how could he even think about himself right now? The girl he loved felt trapped with a man she thought might be the father of her baby.

Spencer gulped, “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

You looked at each other, scared, you more than him. And then you cringed,

“God, I’m sorry Spencer. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“No- Y/n, it’s fine. I’m glad you told me-“

“I haven’t even, like, taken a test yet-“

“Wait so-”

You spun on your heel and looked at him exasperated.

“So… let’s go get some tests.” He said (he hopes) calmly. He was really trying, to pretend to be calm and collected. That’s what you needed, a clear head to replace yours.

He paid for everything, even the 5 pregnancy tests and the over sized lollipop you put in the basket to ease your nerves later on.

The moon was high, you were about three hours late to get home now, and your head was attacking itself with rambles and aches and honestly, you were sick of it.

You shivered, huddling in your jacket and drawing only slightly closer to Spencer. His silence was like a hook, drawing you in closer and higher and taking every word you had been thinking that day to the tip of your tongue.

You looked up to him. His hair fell into his eyes, the breeze reddening his cheeks slightly.

It’s Spencer. You’ve known him for nearly 6 years, but it feels like you’ve known each other for ever. You know everything about him, and he knows everything about you. Well, not everything. He doesn’t know how you feel in your own apartment, how every anniversary had been forgotten even when it was the ‘1 year’ mark, how you felt like you were raising an over grown child who could drink.

He knows you’re strong, but admitting all that? I’d look weak.

You have looked weak in front of Spencer. He stayed overnight in your hospital room, he held you when you watched a little girl die, he wiped your tears when you watched a sad short film during your break.

You couldn’t hide anything from him.

“I don’t think I’m pregnant- Well, I mean I might be, but there’s a very low chance,” You started, Spencer’s jaw clenched for a millisecond, “I’ve just been feeling sick and… it could be because of stress from work, or just general stress- like, I don’t know.”

Spencer moved the grocery bag to his other hand.

“Kids are great, don’t get me wrong. Some people don’t get the chance to have kids. I mean…” You gulped, and Spencer finally looked down at you. But now, all you could do was stare at the car park’s concrete floor. Speaking out loud was like clearing your brain, the fog was lifting. “Lloyd doesn’t want kids. I do, at least in the future, not right now. I just hope it’s not with-“ You cut yourself off, and slow down a bit. Spencer matches your pace.

I just hope it’s not with him.

He gulps, and clears his throat, looking down at you with understanding eyes, “With everything that’s going on.”

“Yeah… yeah. You know, my job, my…” It’s no use lying to Spencer. He knows. He’s known, for a long time.

Your chest was tight, and you made eye contact with the pregnancy tests lying on top of Spencer’s groceries. The thought of going home, rushing to the bathroom, avoiding your boyfriend who was already waiting angry, made your throat close up. Because only now, when you were three hours late from work and ignoring his one attempt at a phone call, Lloyd texted, ‘I think you need to calm down.’ It was a bare minimum, and finally Spencer could see you realizing it.

No, ‘Wre you okay?’, ‘What’s making you think this?’ ‘Where are you?’

No. He was making you out to be the crazy one, the one to be over thinking, over bearing, too much.

You were confused. To put it blankly. And scared. And questioning your life decisions. And honestly you just wanted to curl up in a ball and to have Spencer make you bad cucumber salad at his warm apartment.

You looked up to Spencer but he was already looking down at you, reaching for his keys and nodding, “You can come to mine, it’ll be okay.”

taglist (open) - @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es @0108s22m @aurorsworld @theoraekenslover @c-losur3 @littlelearningbrat @khxna @laurakirsten0502 @cultish-corner

[itsscromp]

Hi! English isn't my first language, sorry for any mistake. You're taking requests for Rocket(gotg), right? I was thinking, maybe you could write something angst/ kinda fluffy (Idk) between vol 1 and vol 2, where Rocket and reader(human) are getting along well. He is in the cockpit and reader joins him, they start to talk and it ends up in a deep conversation where Rocket shares some things he's never shared before cause he's starting to feel comfortable with her. It can be platonic or somewhat romantic, it's up to you. Well, thank you, and sorry if I made it confusing.

I feel comfortable around you

I really like this request anon, You didn't make it confusing at all :D. For this can I do a GN reader if that's ok ??. Word count:943

You became a guardian about a month after the attack on xandar. Rocket saw potential in you when he saw you fend of some people who were trying to rob you and spread the word to Quill. After which you then joined the team. You were an amazing addition to the team, You helped everyone in anyway you could. Like babysitting little Groot, or repairing the ship etc.

You and Rocket especially were becoming two peas from the same pod, Always making wack gadgets to prank the other guardians, like one which with one shot can make your whole body itchy for 15 minutes, or one where if you sneaked the gadget in their pocket, they'd be tossed around in zero gravity. They never failed to make you two laugh every time, even if you had to hid when Gamora was after your butts.

You knew Rocket usually takes rotations at night so one night, after failing to go to sleep, you decided to join him. Putting on your hoodie and some socks, you headed to the cockpit. You could hear Rocket singing softly to himself.

"I didn't know you could sing" You smiled softly as you sat down, To which he lightly jumped hearing your voice.

"Gave me a bit of a fright their pal, Don't go saying that to the others" He smirked at you.

You chuckled turning your sights to the cosmos, Every damn time it never mentioned to amaze you.

"Bet you don't see that every day on Terra huh y/n ??" He looked at you, seeing the sparkle of amazement in your eyes.

"No, you really don't. People on Terra would pay thousands to see this view." You smiled continuing to look out.

Rocket for one not being the conversation starter decided... "Ya know, I don't think you told me about your life on Terra." He said.

You nodded "Yeah I haven't actually, But I guess theirs not much to tell" You chuckled, shaking your head softly.

"No come on, I don't want that scut" He playfully scolded. "Any friends ?? Pets ??" He was actually generally curious. It's been about 6 months since you joined and he doesn't know what your life was like.

"I did have one pet" You giggled thinking about your dog. "She was a dog, we named her lucky"

"Lucky ??"

"Courtesy of my mom, Oh she was so adorable, she would always come into my room every morning to wake me up and beg me to play with her" You sighed contently thinking about it.

"She must've been a big part of ya life" He smiled softly, ears twitching softly as he listened in. You continued on to discuss your life on Terra, Your favourite things about it, and what you hated. Rocket listened contentedly to every bit of it.

"Video games... Didn't Quill mention something like that ??"

"Oh yeah, but my generation's video games in this day of age tell amazing story's that no one could dare to dream of, so don't get me started on the last of us" You chuckled.

"I won't" He snickered as he looked out into the cosmos, This whole conversation could go on for hours, Rocket could never get bored of it. He felt... Comfortable around you.

"Hearing that... I wish I had that life..." He muttered sadly.

"What do you mean ??" You looked at him, tilting your head in confusion.

He quickly landed back from his thoughts "It's nothin kid"

"Rocket, It's ok..." You reassured him, He didn't know why, but the way you said it made it very genuine.

He looked back into the cosmos, going quiet again, It took a little while but he then spoke up.

"From what you told me... I really wished I had your life, I wasn't born to love and security... I was born into pain and despair, The person that made me into this... Made sure everything hurt. Every single damn thing."

Your eyes softened as he continued.

"He would constantly prick needles into me, and perform procedures with no anesthetic." Tears formed in his eyes as the memories of the times as an experiment hit him. "I keep trying to escape, but every attempt only made things worse for me... Made the pain worse..."

"Rocket..." You grew sad for him.

"It doesn't matter... I'm stuck here now... Stuck being a monster" He wiped his nose as he sniffled.

You gently stood up from your chair and kneeled next to him. "I'm really sorry, I genuinely am" You gently reached for his hand, holding it in yours as you rubbed the top of it.

Usually, physical contact would make him very iffy, But he didn't retract his hand like he does usually. He... Leant into it lightly.

"Ya know... It's the first time I actually told someone about this... Guess I'm saying... I feel comfortable around ya kid" This made you softly smile.

"I'll always be here to listen to you Rocket, I promise ok ??" You raised your fist for a fist bump.

He chuckled and fist-bumped you. "Don't go breaking that promise y/n" He chuckled.

You smiled, ruffling his head. "Hey watch the hair" Rocket playfully scolded you.

You yawned and decided to head to bed. "Goodnight furball" You smirked.

"See ya stinky humie" He smirked back at you and looked back at the cosmos. He felt as if... A weight was lifted off his chest as he told you what he experienced. But it felt good. You didn't shut him down, you didn't walk away in horror. You listened to him... That meant to him more than anything in the galaxy.

Taglist: @callofdudes @fun-k-board

[disablednotdifferent]

Hello Friends!

it is I, Orion. It has been a while since I have checked in with you all, and I am so sorry for that! However, I do have a reason.

Just today, I found out that i have covid. I am currently writing this post curled up in bed, fighting off Nyquil because I do not want to sleep. I have been sick for a few days now, but JUST tested positive for covid today. This is my 5th or 6th time getting covid, so while I’m used to this, it still is awful.

The kicker is, covid affects me differently than most people because of my chronic illness/pain.

So you might be asking, “Orion, How does it affect you differently ?? I thought everyone got sick the same way!” Dear reader, I am glad you asked! Here is a list of 4 things that happen to me when I get covid, and why this is my actual living nightmare right now.

1. My Pain

Because I have covid, my tolerance for pain has decreased, while my pain has skyrocketed. This means it’s very difficult for me to get around, and especially makes going up and down my stairs hurt more than it usually does.

2. The Length

Most folks only get sick for a few days, normally averaging somewhere between 4-6 days ill. However, for me, I can be sick for up to two weeks, sometimes even longer. Last time I had covid, I was sick for a week and a half. I have no clue how long this time will last, but I will keep you updated!

3. My Symptoms

Like a lot of other chronically ill persons, covid symptoms tend to stay with us for up to a month after we get over covid. This means my cough, runny nose, and terrible headache can last for a long long time, even after I’ve tested negative more than once.

4. My Fever

Yes, technically a fever falls under symptoms, but I’m also giving it it’s own section for a reason. At the moment, I’m in a pain flare up, which already causes me to have a low fever pretty often. With Covid, this fever can possibly shoot up to 102* F (38.3* C), or sometimes even higher. Once, I got up to a 105* F (41.1* C), and I had to take a lovely trip to the emergency room that day.

So, with all of those and more combined, what do I do to stay safe and comfortable during these nightmare-ish times ? I’m glad you asked!

1. Stay hydrated

Currently, I keep a big water bottle full of water with electrolytes in it next to me while I’m in bed, to make sure I stay as hydrated as possible. It helps that the electrolytes are flavored to be lemon, which is a flavor I quite enjoy, especially when I’m sick.

2. Stay Cozy

I will admit, I have not changed out of pajamas and a hoodie all day today. I like to stay comfortable when I’m in pain & very sick, and so I usually end up rotating the same several pajamas (washing the ones I’m not wearing if I’m able to get up) to make sure I stay in clothes that I like.

3. Wait it out

This one is my least favorite. No matter how comfortable or hydrated I am, in the end, I have to just wait it out until I feel better. This part sucks, as I’m in pain and violently sick, etc etc. But, at the end of the day, time will eventually be on my side, and hopefully this will go away shortly.

So again, I apologize for my lack of posts. Covid kicks my butt every time!

I will hopefully be able to keep up with posting a little more consistently once I’m over this, but until then, I am giving into my nyquil, and giving up on staying awake.

Lots of Love!

~Disabled not Different

(QUESTION OF THE POST!

What are some things you do to take care of yourself when you’re sick? Let me know!)

[rollercoasterwords]

hi, good evening or whichever,

so i started reading as the worm moon dies like a year ago, when u started posting i think, then left it at regulus’ interlude because of life i guess, i had a no reading streak, but then i started reading again yesterday and binged it in 6 hours because… yes. it’s fucking great. like, you’re really an amazing writer. and i’ve just come to compliment the shit out of your fic and your choices for this story. i beg your pardon for the intrusion and this long ass ask.

1. the action. as a writer myself it’s so fucking hard to pull of action scenes and fast paced moments. i never got confused on how they went to point A to B, what happened was clear but still rushed and fast paced. especially the chamber of secrets dude. i was at the edge of my seat, almost screaming at the laptop. SO GOOD.

2. james. gosh dang it. you fucking nailed it. such a hero, such a self sacrificial guy. he intrinsically believed he was good, that he would vanquish evil. and then. HE FAILS. it hurt so bad, it felt all so wasteful. and then. HE’S KILLED BY THE SISTER OF SOME MISTAKE HE MADE. he just so carelessly and accidentally killed peter, and then he can do nothing as his sister kills him. it was so fucking good. i love when every sacrifice he made was all for him not to reap any of the fruit. christ. i still get chills. i love him.

3. remus and sirius. like, your characters in general but they killed me. i love that at the start remus was hellbent on the cause, all rationality, every sacrifice was necessary. he even suspected sirius of being to cowardly for the fight but THEN. remus is angry at sirius because he went too far in his sacrifice. how cowardly am i now remus. delicious fucking food.

and yeah i could say many more things but this is your blog and i can go insane in my own head about this fic so i will.

thank you for this story, the work that you put into it, and your generosity for sharing it. i am eagerly waiting for the last two chapters :))

hi!! responding a bit late lol but no need 2 apologize i love long asks <3 so glad ur enjoying the fic!!

action scenes can def be tricky 2 write but they're also so fun <3 helps that i usually have a little movie playing in my head while i write them so i just picture what's happening + describe that lol

& james!! yeah i knew from the beginning that i wanted his character to serve as a sort of deconstruction of the whole 'chosen one' trope in the fic, so i really wanted to write someone who embodied that figure of The Hero Destined for Greatness and have his entire life build up to that & then very decidedly have him fail!! so that ultimately what kills him is sort of like a reflection of himself: not a hero, but a kid seeking vengeance. love a tragedy etc

r&s have been very fun 2 write in this fic as well...i do love a bit of irony & u hit the nail on the head w ur summary lol. i was talking to a friend abt this as well tho to give remus a bit of credit technically sirius DID do more than he strictly had to--like he could have just erased his memory up to the point where he & r got captured by poachers & still think he'd been captured by the order rather than that he was working with them when he went back w his memory erased, bc up to that point he really hadn't been working w the order! but he knew if he only erased the 6 months he was actually w the order he'd be putting a huge target on remus's back; so really the only reason he went back further & completely erased all his time w remus was to protect him. & that's part of why remus is so angry! sirius didn't strictly have to erase literally every part of their relationship, but he did it to protect r...i love when love makes everything worse <3

anyway ty 4 ur message + the kind words etc! <3

[worldismyne]

Seeing how you actually are able to keep your promise of weekly chapters, any tipps to commiting to a schedulde? I often think with all my free time I should be able to do the same with my storys but I just get burnt out or distracted and then self loath cause when I actually have the will again I have work responsibilities or other important stuff going on

Don't commit to an upload schedule until the first draft is finished.

Write to entertain yourself, not to meet a deadline.

Write as much as you can while the idea is new and exciting.

When soft writing and/or brain storming, I like to make a playlist specific to that story. The scenes I have that are tied to specific songs are the easiest to write.

Find the 1 hr on your days off that you have the most energy. (For me it's right after breakfast). Try as often as you can to write then. Even once every other week, is amazing.

It's okay to leave fics unfinished.

Your freetime where you rest is important

Listen to audiobooks in the same genre that you're aiming to write.

Whenever stuck, don't google, put < get there > and keep writing. When editing go back and either add to the scene or just cut it. 9/10 if I think a scene needs something to start it off, it actually doesn't.

(Longer explination of my process under the cut).

DON'T COMMIT TO AN UPLOAD SCHEDULE UNTIL IT'S ALREADY DONE.

I write as much as I can while hyperfixating on a story without posting it. So the draft for the fic I'm uploading atm was finished three months ago. I started uploading when I had 16 chapters written (or 4 months of backlog).

I can't count on how long an idea will hold my interest, or if I have enough material to stretch it out over multiple chapters. (I only just recently got into one shots. If you look at my other fics, I average around 20 k for a 'long' fic, because I get bored). So don't hold yourself to a strict length. Write the important, most engadging parts, walk away, come back and make sure it flows.

The important thing is I'm writing to entertain myself. Writing for a self imposed deadline or to meet audience expectations always burns me out. (No amount of kudos or comments will ever combat that)

I work 3, 12 hr night shifts a week, so a lot of the writing I do is during downtime at work. I personally find it difficult to write at home and spend a great deal of time recovering from working. The body needs that time to recover and it took years of unlearning that rest and self care are unproductive or a waste of time. If your work doesn't allow you that luxury, have a place out of the house you go to for longer periods of writing.

The playlist thing is a lifesaver, never discount the importance of soft writing. I literally can not visualize things, so music helps me have an outline to plot out scenes or chapters (i.e. what tone am I trying to capture). Also works to reignte the spark of inspiration. The time I'm most active is the morning, but that time often gets eaten up by real life, however it's easy to budget a half hour of time to that peak writing time. Those lil bits add up. If you haven't made progress on something in a while, it isn't a bad thing that you've prioritized other things. The writing process should be fun. It's like playing pretend, but you get to keep it afterward.

It's okay to abandon fics.

I still reread unfinished fics people posted, because what they had up was full of passion. A lot of the fics I couldn't finish were either the scope of the story was too big for what I wanted to write or the direction I was taking the fic wasn't working. Crest of the Dragon was on a 6 year hiatus before I was able to come up with an ending I liked. I was surprised people who'd followed it and left tumblr came back just to congradulate me for finishing it. Your readers will understand if you have to step away from something for a while. Updating serially often puts fic writers in a corner, by having the WIP up for everyone to see.

Burnout is usually not from the writing, but the real life shit going on around us. It can take years to figure out the main source and how to deal with it. Mental and emotional rest are important. I'm a bit neuro spicy, so there are straight up weeks where I have to resign myself to not creating anything. Having the back log helps in those instances, since l typically make things in fevered burst and then have to recoop.

Recently figured out listening to disc world novels has helped with my SE fic. It has good examples of absurdest humor, world building and general descriptions. I don't have time to read, but a lot of audio books are free on youtube. If you really, really get stuck, seeing how a pro tackles things can help even subconciously.

<get there> is my new friend. I'm not big on writing non-linearly. For longer stories, I'll parse out the main story beats and then hope the characters develope in that direction. Sometimes they go off the rails on me, or a planned subplot gets scraped. So, for this fic, I had all the mystery reveals spaced out between the two storylines. For character arcs, I go on explorative vibes.

All this to say, writing for me is an escape, and most of the time I'm doing it when I'm in a position where my options are either be on my phone or write. If I got 15 min or more, I choose write. If I got a sentence out, that counts.

It doesn't have to be perfect, or finished, or written in a timely matter. It just has to be, as long as what you're writing entertains you. Worry about uploading once you're done with it.

[olderjodijournals]

Friday, December 1, 2000

One month down, 5 more to go. Only 2 if my vibe’s accurate.

Officer Means is on now. That name’s even weirder.

Tom sent me a really nice letter, along with a mouse and snake picture. He covered our options in the letter, too.

One is to pursue the fact that the courts didn’t provide me with an interpreter, but we’d need a lawyer for that because it’s complicated. Also, if we won, there’s a good chance they’d just recharge me and start the sentence all over again.

We could also try getting the sentence reduced because all I did was send the journal, not the threatening letter. Besides, what I sent is laid out like a journal, not a letter. Any idiot can see its format is like a typical journal would be. The problem with this, though, is that after reducing my sentence for the journal, they could charge me for this bullshit letter, and I could get additional time.

I think our only hope is to hope I don’t get a monster PO and work with them. Better yet, hope they’ll work with us. As Tom said, part of my probation terms is the 6 months here, so maybe Mary can adjust that, although I won’t count on it. Tom’s going to write and send her a letter along with mine. To try to avoid my having to work full-time out of the house, he’s going to see if we can get into farming. Now that would be cool. I wouldn’t mind being a cowgirl, and this is something we discussed doing anyway.

But life is never what I plan or want it to be. I’m just so fucking sick of other people telling me how to live my life! Tired of being told what to do, where to go, etc.!

Also, and I didn’t know this, my 6 months here is part of my 3-year probation term, so I’d have 2½ years of probation once I get out. Even that is an eternity and totally ridiculous, even if I had sent the fucking letter. The whole fucking thing is so asinine!

Officer Rogers is on now. She’s short black and fat. I thought she was Johnson at first.

Tom told me during yesterday’s visit that he plans to send about 10 letters to various people/places, the mayor being one of them. God, I don’t know what I’d do without him! I’m forever in his debt no matter what happens. No one’s ever loved, understood and stuck by me like this!

I guess he’s been studying my type of hearing problem. Here are some quotes from his letter: I am sure that your hearing is what has caused many of the emotional problems you have encountered. Let me explain that better, the things that your parents and others did to you as a child were horrible, but it was the stresses caused by the hearing problems that really put you in an unfair position. Many people have bad parents and bad things that happen to them, but you had a huge disadvantage because of your ear. Unfortunately, it has only been recently that they made the connection between hearing problems and various “nervous” conditions. Like so many other things, society is quick to label people “crazy” and drug them up when there is really a physical problem that needs to be dealt with. You had to deal with this stupidity of people all of your life. I’m very proud of you every time I think about all of the things you had to overcome to get to where you are as an adult. As smart as I am, I don’t know if I could have done it.

Another yummy chicken dinner. We had ice cream too, and it was way better than plain vanilla. It was chocolate with chunks of chocolate in it.

If today could be like it was every day, it wouldn’t be so bad here. I shit after lights out last night and slept better than usual. We all slept till around 2:00, although we had to get up, of course, for various things along the way – breakfast, our hour out, etc.

I put in a tank as soon as I got back in this giant display case. Maybe they can help me sleep even better than antihistamines can and maybe I can see Kara.

If only, if only I’d taken Deanna next door with me! That way I’d never have gotten stuck with nutty Melinda or shooed out of the other cell for Hermy, and I could’ve at least had the same celly till February. I could live just fine with Deanna. She sleeps most of the time, anyway. She gave me a couple of sharp pencils and I gave her some conditioner. I don’t know that I’ll ever buy conditioner again here, but the hair protein is great.

A lady from classification came by today to talk to the new girl next door and Madeline. Madeline’s time is up in two weeks. She wants to go to A400 to avoid the crowded dorms. The lady, though, says she has no say in where we go from here. When I spoke to her, she told me she doesn’t deal with sentenced people, and suggested I put tank orders in to “workbox” and “classification.” I wrote that I don’t feel comfortable returning to the tents because I’m nervous around so many people, and to please put me in A400 where there are fewer people. However, I’m virtually certain they’re not going to put me there. They’ll tell me it’s either here or the tents, but I already made up my mind. I’m sick of Ad-Seg and I’m returning to the tents. I don’t know how I’ll survive more than a week of it with my sleeping disorder, but at least I know, thanks to Officer Rule, who I’ll be happy to see again, that I can always rePC myself. The 2nd time around has to be for 90 days. I’m going to have to re-PC anyway, when it starts getting hot if I’m going to be here the whole 6 months.

Lora and I just made an awesome trade, since I know my only other choice is going to be to go to the tents. She had a lock from when she was in the tents, which cost $8. She’s going to sell it to me at half price, which means I’ll be buying her $4 worth of commissary.

Those fuckers are still offering me Theo – damn!

I was just chatting with Madeline, who I feel more comfortable with, now that I’m getting to know her, even if she’s still obnoxious with not much of a sense of humor, either. You could say we both annoy each other. I annoy her with all my questions, and she annoys me with her selfishness. She was screaming through the vent at the people downstairs and starting to give me a headache. When I got on her ass about it, she was like – I was here first. So I let her know I wouldn’t respect anyone who didn’t respect me and wouldn’t hesitate to yell out the door to people if I wanted to while she was sleeping, but she later apologized.

I can’t wait till Lora leaves on the 7th, although I may be gone before then, depending on whether or not I stay in Ad-Seg. She’s way too loud.

Speaking of Lora, she got a “homosecting” write-up because a DO noticed a red splotch on her tit that they thought was a hickey. This was a while ago. I think it’s wrong to forbid inmates from playing around with each other. I mean, who is it hurting? They can’t impregnate each other, so what’s the big deal as long as it’s mutual?

Saturday, December 2, 2000

The first night I was back in the big cell and sleeping on the floor by the door before I got brave enough to climb up here, Pérez caught me crying as she walked by. Everyone else was asleep, so she opened the door, motioned me out, and asked what was wrong. I told her I was homesick and we chatted for a few minutes. Her birthday’s the day before mine and we got to talking about how alike we are, which really means how different we are (compared to most people, anyway). I felt better after we chatted. She’s really nice.

So, where am I going to end up for sure, and when? I think I’m going to the tents. Another good thing about the tents is that I don’t have to have closed contact visits with Tom, and I can hug him! Or so I thought. Lora just informed me that you’re not allowed to do that. Nor can you give them anything to take home without putting in a tank order. So, I couldn’t just hand Tom these journal sheets. I’d still have to mail them.

It’s about 11 PM now and I’m nowhere near sleep. Not after sleeping on and off till 2:00

I mixed my shampoo and conditioner together, so now it’s in one bottle.

Officer Johnson filled in for a DO whose name I don’t know. I like Johnson. The girls were teasing me about it earlier too, when they caught me checking her out. Especially Madeline. We all tease each other about shit like that. I’m not attracted to her the way I am with Palma. I mostly like her for her personality, but there’s just something about her. I cleaned the tables downstairs for her and she said she might have me come out again if she had more work for me, but she didn’t.

Can’t wait for my commissary! Two more nights.

Although a part of me wants to remain in PC, there’s still an even bigger part of me that wants to return to the tents, but am I making a mistake if I did?

Sunday, December 3, 2000

Tomorrow’s birthday will be the first one where I don’t get any cards. It kind of hurts that I haven’t heard from Mom and Mary, but I understand and don’t hold anything against them. Ma’s too old and shaky to write, and Mary’s too busy with her own problems.

A mean old lady was on last night, a nice old lady was on today, Chavez, who’s OK, is on second shift. I hope Pérez or Temple is on tonight.

Palma walked by earlier when Chavez was on break and I said hi. I started to tell her I missed seeing her in A Tower, then Madeline screamed out that I liked her. I quickly cut her off by yelling at her to shut up. Palma didn’t hear, but she sure had a funny expression on her face. She looked all confused, then shook her head and walked away. I was both amused and pissed by Madeline’s little outburst. She and I have a routine now. It’s become our ritual to argue at night. We fight from dinnertime on till around midnight, but we’ve kind of taken to each other at the same time. I think she enjoys jumping down my throat as much as I enjoy jumping down hers. She’s still one of those cellies I wouldn’t miss if I never saw her again.

I didn’t know the DO’s uniforms included shorts, but they do. Miss Know It All says the inmates can wear shorts in the summer in the tents, too. They got a new rule today – shirts must be tucked in when in the hallways.

Deanna gave me a pretty bookmark and half of her eraser.

I told her about rodents and she wants a guinea pig. I made out a list of things for her to buy along with it.

I think Madeline and Lora may be making some kind of card or letter by the way they’re acting.

I may take Lora’s bunk when she leaves for 3 reasons (if I’m still here). So I can have more privacy since I can see into the tower from where I’m at now, so I can be away from the vent, and because Madeline says she’d rather it be my feet climbing up and down on her bed below it than someone else’s. Yeah, I’m sure someone will replace Lora in a day or so.

It’s almost change of shift. The lights should be going out soon. We’re not going to request that they stay on late because no one wants to read tonight.

That dump I felt I had to do all day that I was waiting for the lights to go off to do, seems to have disappeared. If all people did was piss, I could live in this cell, but I don’t want to. I want to return to the tents, but again, can I handle it? Well, if I can’t, someone taught me how to escape the jungle!

What do I do if I can’t escape, though? What if I try to re-PC myself with a DO who won’t care to help me like Rule did? I’d hate to bother Rule with re-PCing me. I don’t want to take advantage of her, and it may look funny if her name is on two PC forms.

Monday, December 4, 2000

A108

I’m back in A Tower after Deanna gave me a birthday present which got me out of that cell. Unlike Lora and Madeline, I never minded her snoring, but the moaning she was doing, especially moaning that seemed to be deliberate, was pissing me off. I went off on her and Deanna went off back, telling me she’d “get my ass” if I ever hollered at her again like I did. Although I didn’t really want to fight, I was seriously contemplating springing off my bunk and onto Deanna, when I heard the tall black DO called Tate was on her way by. Suddenly, I understood where Deanna was going with all this and we screamed at each other till the DO came in. I told the DO that being threatened wasn’t my idea of a birthday present and Deanna sort of lunged at me in a menacing way with the DO right there.

Tate said, “Happy birthday. Step out of the cell, please.”

As I waited downstairs like she instructed me to, I realized that the only place they could send me to was A Tower, since all the beds were taken, and since the third shift didn’t normally swap and shuffle people around. Sure enough, some guy DO, who was super nice, came and got me, and now I’m back with the mice and Palma. Palma’s not on tonight, though. Black Johnson and some other guy are on.

While I was waiting in M before I could get my shit, Madeline took Lora’s lock back and slipped a birthday card they made up last night in my manila envelope. The card was nice. They copied an inspirational poem and signed it. I would’ve given Lora the lock if Madeline hadn’t, though, because I obviously won’t be able to give Lora her commissary. I’ll have extra for myself this week.

Before I realized where Deanna was headed, I must say that I’m proud of myself for standing up to her. I learned a long time ago that turning the other cheek only invites people to mess with me even more and assume they can get away with it too, just because I’m little. I’m just glad we didn’t cell together like we had talked about!

When the guy brought me back here just after 6 AM, I was going to be in a downstairs cell, but its toilet was all clogged up. So I’m back in 108, the cell I was in the last time. I think this is the best cell in the pod. I was amazed at how clean it was, too. It was spotless. A trustee must’ve cleaned it. All I had to do when I was woken up at 11:30 for my hour out was shower. Then I slept till mid-afternoon.

I arrived here just in time for new stripes, sheets, panties, bras and towels. I didn’t know they did all that in one day. I need a new gown, but they don’t do gowns that often. I’m surprised they didn’t do socks. I guess they do whatever they feel like doing, whenever they feel like doing it.

During my hour out, the DO said he heard I was to be rolled up for work furlough. Again? I told him I didn’t think I was eligible for it, although I must be, and this worries me. Can they make me do it? Will it look bad to my PO if I don’t? Hey, it’s my life, I can’t keep a schedule here, and I’m not interested. Period. I’ll work at home, thank you, and for myself. Not for Joe Arpaio.

Also, I thought it through again, and PC’s the place to stay for sure if I can’t go to A400. The tents are not for me. God sent Officer Rule to be my savior that night for a reason!

I’m worried about my commissary. Will it be forwarded to me here? I’d hate to be charged for shit I never got, but you do have to sign for it, so that’s good. I just hope they bring it over and don’t return it.

I guess another good thing about my little squabble with Deanna is that that’s now one 4-man cell I couldn’t end up in when I go back there, instead of two. Deanna’s going to be there till February, so unless she moves, I can’t go back in that cell, and I’d think they’d put it in the computer about our not getting along.

God, I’m fucking pissed! I knew it, too. Just knew it. No commissary this week. They never got my order, they said. How convenient. The question is, though - was my order form lost by accident, or did someone deliberately ditch it? Thank God I at least have lotion, shampoo and shit like that, but I was really looking forward to some candy what with how bad this food is here, and now I have to wait another fucking week. Why is it that I have a feeling every 2-3 orders will be hit or miss? Another thing that sucks about not getting commissary tonight is the fact that I wouldn’t have had to have cellies trying to beg it off of me.

Johnson wished me a happy birthday (yeah, some fucking birthday!). and gave me two juices with dinner. I don’t know if she did that for everyone, or just for me, but it was nice. They’re getting better with desserts lately. Tonight it was pumpkin pie.

I finished my first book in this place and now I’ll start another.

Tuesday, December 5, 2000

Temple’s on tonight. She’s cool.

I love being by myself. If I have to be in this miserable place, couldn’t I just stay right here by myself? I wish!!!

I wonder if I’m going to end up being charged for my so-called “lost order?” I hope not! I’d rather not get it than be charged for shit I never got. Chavez was working the night we placed our orders. Would she deliberately chuck my form? I don’t know. I haven’t had a problem with her, but anything’s possible.

Johnson’s on 2nd shift again tonight. I wish Palma and white Johnson were on more often. And Nottelmann and Pérez, too.

The room stank of mice, so I swept and mopped, but that only made the smell worse.

I said hi to Becky again. I guess I’m a better lip reader than I thought because I understood her when she told me she goes to court on January 10th, among a few other things she said. She’s in A200, the unsentenced pod.

I’m still exercising daily, but not singing much lately.

Had a wonderful visit with Tom. He said he thinks I’ll get out earlier, but doesn’t know when. That enhanced my February vibe, but I don’t know. I don’t trust my vibes, given my circumstances, and I don’t want to get my hopes up. Nonetheless, we talked about him sending out letters to the mayor, the governor, the courts, etc.

He also typed my letter up to the PO and sent what he said was a hostile one of his own.

Not too hostile, I hope, or else he’ll be labeled a stalker. And if that PO’s black, they’ll call him a racist from the KKK. They may even refer to us both as Jack the Ripper. Society loves fancy labels. Especially the media.

He said he didn’t make any threats, naturally, but he implied threats pertaining to possible lawsuits when using words like disabilities, accommodate, and how poorly the courts handled things. He said that although the letter is only two pages, it took him two days to write it.

The sole reason I was on disability was because of my ear and being hard of hearing, not my mental state at the time. Well, he said that if worse came to worse and they insisted I work full-time out of the house, we can always try to get me back on disability, and they couldn’t do anything to me while the case was pending. I’d like my disability reinstated. The extra money wouldn’t hurt, but I can’t see it happening. I think they’ll just be like – lots of hard of hearing and deaf people work, so tough.

Tom says Harry’s very mellow and told me a couple of funny stories about Houdini. Houdini jumps up on the couch and even went to join him in bed! One night he couldn’t get him to go home after he let him out to run around and he was too tired to deal with it, so he said fuck it, and went to bed. After he’d been asleep a while, he suddenly felt something tugging on his hair!

Sleeping from around 4 AM to noon seems to be the only schedule I can keep in this place. It would’ve been ideal for me if I could’ve returned to the tents to work as an A Tower trustee from 3 PM-11 PM, but I know that’s just a dream. You can’t ask for what job/shift you have. If I could’ve done that, though, I’d see both Rule and Palma.

Ma’s leg is getting better and Mary’s still waiting around as far as what to do next about her cancer.

Still?!?!

So far, no one’s answered my tanks. Not classification or psych, so I put in another tank for classification, psych, and one to medical for an inhaler refill. Next comes the grievances, because I know they’re not just going to just give me a refill. No, they’ll have to play with me for a while first, the mother-fuckers!

I’ve got to see a therapist, any therapist, once every week or two while I’m here because it not only helps to get out of my cell and shit off my chest, but that’s also documentation for me that I may need someday.

The next words I gave for Tom to look up the signs to are jail, home and free.

I have a vibe about getting out of here in February. I hope so! February 5th, 9th and 14th stand out in my mind for some reason.

Someone told me there was a reason why I’m here. I can’t see any reason other than that something’s out to get me.

Tom was right – Ma did send me birthday money despite my being in here. Now he can order the doll care kit. I hope he got the electric razor that was going to be my Christmas present to him with the pennies I saved in my big old piggy bank. I’d feel bad if he didn’t, and as I told him, I already feel bad enough as it is. I mentally beat myself up every day along with the freeloaders for all the shit he’s had to endure on account of this, even though it’s not my fault. I worry about him out there, wondering if he’ll get in an accident, get ill, or decide never to see me again and whether or not he has plans to replace me. I know I’m just being paranoid and that if anyone’s going to stick by me, it’s him, but it’s because I was dumped by my parents that I get paranoid. When you can’t trust your own parents, who can you trust? But at the same time, I’m immune to being dumped and I wouldn’t hesitate to dump people myself if they gave me a good enough reason to. It takes a while to strike up a relationship, but it only takes a second to dump them and throw it all away.

The way Tom has stuck by me and understood me makes up for all those who did not. His letters, visits and praise help keep me going and I can’t wait to get out of here! Things I took for granted will be special and special things will be very special. I just hope it doesn’t take months before people read/respond to the letters! I know how busy they are.

The inmates here are not as they’re portrayed on TV. On TV they’re all drop-dead gorgeous and half of them beat the shit out of each other while the other half gets it on with each other. Of course, there are some gay/bi women as well as some fights, but not like on TV. And none of these inmates stand out in any way looks-wise.

If the PO says I have to work full-time and SS won’t reinstate me - then what? Do I kill myself right then and there, or do we run? Something’s trying to force me to remain the city girl I’ve been for the last 15 years! (minus the near year I was blessed enough to live in Maricopa)

I wish they made shirts smaller than the one I’m wearing. It’s past my ass, hanging off my shoulders, and makes me look fat because it’s so baggy. I don’t need any help looking fat!

It seems like I’ve had a million cellies, yet I’ve only had 8 so far.

I’m thinking of getting a radio, although I may live to regret it. People are going to beg to use it. They’re so rude at times, begging for people’s shit. I’m sorry some people are less fortunate, but that’s no reason to be rude. Next time I get candy begged off me, I may just be like – OK, you want some? Then cram it down their fucking throats so hard, nearly choking them to death on the shit.

They won’t be begging anymore.

Another good thing is that I can get what I want only. I stupidly let Lora talk me into getting a couple of things to make me a birthday cake. How rude, huh? Asking someone to buy things for their own birthday cake.

Wednesday, December 6, 2000

Got a letter from Tom outlining the highlights of the letter he sent the PO, and yes, he even mentioned the freeloaders’ wrongdoings. The letter was well-written and to the point, but again, I question just what kind of a PO I’ve got. I’m sure I’ve got one of those I-don’t-give-a-fuck POs. She hasn’t even returned Tom’s call. He didn’t send all the letters out at once. He’s sending some this week, and the rest next Monday. I guess he wanted to leave a little reaction time in between and says I should hear from the PO by the end of this week.

Gee, I can’t wait!

He enclosed a picture of a mouse and the one of the iguana.

The time’s flying. Sometimes it seems that way, anyway. It seems to go fast from Monday to Thursday, but from Thursday to Monday, time seems to drag.

For the most part, I don’t remember my dreams. That’s because I’m already actually in jail. Once I get out, the nightmares will begin. Better that the nightmares occur in my sleep than in real life, like they are now, but I’m still not looking forward to all the nightmares I know I’ll have about being stuck back here once I get out.

I wish all my tanks could get me results as fast as the one to Kara did! I put in medical tanks this morning for a counselor and inhaler. Naturally, I didn’t get the inhaler. That’s going to be quite a fight. But I did get to see Kara. It turns out she’s just been super busy. I explained to her I needed to see someone, not just to get out of the cell and gab, but because that’s good documentation for me if I need it. She gave me a copy of the tank sheet and says she’ll give me documentation whenever we meet. I told her it didn’t have to be every week or for a full hour.

After showing her pictures of Tom and the animals, I filled her in on my being bounced around in M, then back to here. Also, on what Tom’s been up to. Your husband’s terrific, she told me, and she also said I was getting stronger, heading towards the door.

I hope!

Thursday, December 7, 2000

I feel so much better now that I’ve had a shower. I was beginning to wonder if they’d ever let me out, or if they screwed up and listed my psych session as my hour out. That was the latest I’ve ever been out. Nearly 10:30. There was no trustee on when I was out, so I had to sharpen these pencils by hand. If the commissary could be reliable enough, I’d just order new pencils weekly. They’re only 10¢ each.

Naturally, I had to deal with the demands when I was out. Yesterday it was someone begging for a change of clothes. I played deaf with her, but tonight’s pest was hard to ignore. The freeloaders yelled in my ear as I walked by to get a lighter for her from a few cells down. I did it, even though it was stupid of me, the one who always gets caught, and who could’ve gotten in deep shit. Well, I ain’t going to make a habit of doing their dirty work for them, that’s for sure. I guess it’s just that as a former smoker, I understood their cravings.

I found a slip of paper in here when I returned from the shower, saying I’m eligible for work furlough. But I’m not interested! So I’m going to fill out a tank letting them know I live way out in Maricopa, don’t want to get caught up in anything in the city, and have other plans for when I get out (farming), not that it’s any of their business, and maybe then they’ll leave me alone. I’m also not interested in working for Joe. I heard all the money you make goes to the sheriff. Now why would I want to go to work for him or anyone else in this fucking corrupt system? That’d really be lowering myself, and I’ve been lowered enough by others already.

Now the question is – do I want to go through the big fight I’ll have to go through every couple of weeks when my inhaler runs out, or just forget it? I just don’t understand what the big deal is. I’ve already seen the doctor, so why can’t they just give the nurse a new fucking inhaler to give to me when she does her rounds? Is this just another form of punishment that goes with being in jail? Probably so, but it’s wrong. They shouldn’t be playing games when it comes to meds. Jail is hard enough as it is.

I’m amazed at how brave these mice are now. They eat right by my feet and look pretty good for jail mice. Not just because I’ve been feeding them well, but because of their fur. They look like they could pass for Fancy mice.

Dinner last night was pretty good. I actually got full for a change. I got a generous portion of plain chocolate ice cream that wasn’t fully melted, a beef patty (fake), and spinach leaves. I think they’re spinach leaves, anyway, which is better than the carrots we got my first 3-4 weeks here. I wish they’d serve yogurt for lunch! I hear they rarely do. I hope we don’t get eggs twice in a row for breakfast. We got cereal twice in a row, but I like cereal. It’s either cereal, waffles, or eggs for breakfast. Once we got cottage cheese. I wish they’d give us that again. For drinks, we get milk at breakfast, a small bottle of juice at lunch, and a cup of juice at dinner.

I wish I could go home! I can’t wait to get out of this dungeon of concrete and steel!

Now would be the perfect time for a radio. I could listen to music in between walks. Watch, I’ll get my commissary and a celly at the same time. Actually, I should have the celly long before I have the commissary.

It’s cold in here! I don’t think A’s getting any heat at all.

After breakfast, they came in with a stick to check to be sure the light fixtures and windows were secure. I woke up 4 times before I got up at noon for lunch, and then my hour out. My wish came true and we had yogurt for lunch. Even a fruit bar.

On my hour out I swept, mopped, got my pencils sharpened, a medical tank, and a grievance form. Tom said, when I saw him earlier, to keep putting in requests without taking the fit I took before. I’ll keep putting them in, but they keep ignoring them, yet Tom says that’ll look good for us in the end. I get copies of all my unanswered tanks, and they have to respond to grievances. The question is if I don’t pitch a “suicidal fit,” how long am I going to have to wait? I want to just forget it, rather than go through this fucking bullshit, but I’ll do it for Tom. My first tank went out on the 5th and tomorrow, the 8th, I’ll put my second one out. Come next Monday, though, I’ll grieve daily.

He called SS. The first time I was on SS was to get benefits through Art till I was 22, then I got on it for myself. What I didn’t know was that they keep me listed on their books as disabled all my life. All they did in ‘94 was suspend my payments. Tom’s having my medical records transferred from MA to their Snottsdale office. Once they arrive (probably after New Year’s) he’ll send me a release form to sign so he can pick up copies.

I misunderstood Tom about who got letters on Monday. The only one that’s gone out so far is the PO’s. He wants to give her a week’s response time. When she could care less about me to respond, then Tom may send other letters.

Tom thinks it’ll all work out when I get out of here. I hope he’s right because I see 1 of 3 things happening when I get out. I see me dying, us running, or us returning to PHX so I can get on a bus line so I can work because the PO won’t reason with me and accommodate me, and because SS denied my application to reinstate me.

A111

No more being alone. Now I’m with Tina W. Yes, she talks a lot, but she’s fairly tame and sane for a change. I think we’ll get along OK. That’s what I thought with Deanna, though, so you never know. For now, she seems easygoing enough. She’s older, too. She’s 40, and it’s nice to be with someone older for a change. She’s white, 5’ 4”, too thin, with shoulder-length strawberry-blond hair, light eyes, and lots of wrinkles.

She too, says prison is better than jail. They’ll even let you be with your girlfriend if you have one.

She confirms my worst fears, saying probation’s such a pain in the ass that she’d rather just do jail time. She’s been in jail a few times, as well as prison. She was in for forgery because she used credit cards that she knew were stolen, and now she’s in for drugs. She said her son was kidnapped and murdered years ago and it made her turn to coke. She has another 20-year-old son.

This is the same woman that was bullied out of M Dorm by that black bitch. The one that bragged about being in prison for 13 years.

I really appreciate Nottelmann’s seeing that I got in with a sane celly and for letting me get my old mattress. The old one that was in here was so hard, so I doubled them up and am quite comfy now. Well, as comfy as I can be for being in jail.

Tina has also had the privilege of celling with agent Tara, who supposedly returned to the tents. That’d mean she has to work. I didn’t think she had the mentality to work.

We had chicken tonight, but no dessert other than an apple. Tina gave me hers (because of her dentures) and her cottage cheese, too. I gave her my bland potatoes. She’s trying to gain weight, so I’ll give her most of my bread.

I told Tina about my case. She thinks what everyone else thinks – it’s all bullshit.

Friday, December 8, 2000

Wow! It only took two medical tanks to get a refill on my inhaler and I didn’t have to wait a year, either! That was way faster than I thought it’d be.

I weighed myself at medical. I’m 111 pounds.

I saw Becky at medical. She says she’s here in this pod now. I’ll have to see her tomorrow on my hour out, but is she PC or de-seg? I didn’t get a chance to ask her.

On the way back, Nottelmann was my escort. I let her know how much I hate M’s 4-cells, and she said that although she couldn’t make any promises, she’d try her best to 2-man cell me.

In other news, we got another celly (we always get grouped in threes when Palma’s on). This one’s great, though. Her name’s Rosa G, she’s 20 years old and speaks no English. She looks more Indian than Spanish with her straight shoulder-length hair. She’s about 5’ 3” and is pretty chunky.

I’m amazed at how much Spanish I remember. We’re having virtually no problems communicating. The one thing I don’t like about Rosa is that she stinks! Still, I thanked Palma for putting Rosa in here.

She just arrived at the jail today, and according to her papers, she’s in for child abuse and 2nd-degree murder.

I don’t believe it. I just can’t see this girl as being capable of doing any such thing. I know she’s innocent.

Tina went to court. It looks like she’s going to be here for at least a few months, but probably more.

It’s about 8:30 and both cellies are asleep. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or not that I’ll be sleeping when they’re up. I feel like I have a little space and privacy being up with them asleep, but will I be able to sleep well with them up? I hope so. They’re more mellow and less rude about that than Lora and Madeline were. Tina and Rosa can’t talk much anyway, since Tina doesn’t know Spanish, but I’m worried Tina will try anyway because she loves to talk, period. That’s the only thing I don’t like about her.

Sunday, December 10, 2000

I better get my commissary tomorrow night!

My wish came true twice and we had yogurt for lunch yesterday and the day before.

Tom sent me a copy of the PO’s letter. It was a good letter. As figured, though, neither of us has heard from her. So, if there’s still no mail from her come Monday’s mail pickup, the other letters will go out Tuesday.

He also mailed me my birthday card and a picture of me holding Butter Rum in my hand, and one of Scuttles. He said Harry bit him lightly. Glad it was light, but even so, he sure does have a way of getting bit by rodents!

He said Mary and Mom didn’t know I could get mail, and that they asked about visiting me, but Tom told them to wait till we know what’s going on with me. I’m beginning to wonder when and if I’ll ever know that.

It’s nice to know they still care. He says there’ll be a pile of holiday gifts from them waiting for me when I get out, and that they decided not to tell other family members about this because it’s none of their business.

Yes, it is. The media made sure of that. I know they know about this shit. Whether or not they believe it – I don’t know, and personally, I don’t care what they think. I know the truth and so do Tom, Mom, Mary and Dave. And Helen and Paula, too.

I also got a Christmas card from Paula and a quick note asking how I am, etc. I’ll send letters out Tuesday (commissary comes late on Monday) to Tom, Mom and Paula.

I have become very close to Rosa. She’s easily the best celly I’ve ever had. No, I’m not attracted to her, but we have so much fun talking in Spanish. This is the most Spanish I’ve ever spoken!

We discussed her case, and from what she told me, her 1-year-old daughter was killed when she fell and hit her head in the tub when she stepped out of the bathroom. That’s neglect, not murder.

I just can’t imagine for the life of me, this easy-going, funny girl having it in her to kill her kid. Kids fall all the time, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to prove it was an accident. Technically, she doesn’t have to prove it was an accident. The state has to prove it was murder, but Rosa? A murderer? I just can’t see it!

Rosa French braids as nicely as Kim did. She braided mine and Tina’s hair.

It’s about 9:00 now and we have all filled out our commissary sheets. All Rosa and Tina are getting is the indigent package.

Rosa’s so funny and so much fun to chat with. Speaking Spanish is a game to me, in a sense. I’d actually rather be with her than alone. Not even Kim and Jessica had me laugh as much.

Last night, Palma came in to talk to Rosa in Spanish. She knows I know a lot of Spanish and have been helping Rosa. It was the most attention I’ve had from her since, even if some of it was negative.

Tina and I got on each other’s nerves last night, but today all 3 of us were laughing over it. Tina was trying to sleep and we were being too loud so she started bitching at us. Tina sleeps at night and Rosa and I sleep during the day.

When Palma came by I asked that she move Tina before there was a fight, and Tina was like, “I don’t want to fight!”

I didn’t either, even though she was being such a grump and I was getting fed up.

Anyway, Palma was like, “I’m not moving anybody. Learn to compromise, or you can get into it right now and I’ll get you with my spray. Then after I get you guys cleaned up and written up, then you can be separated.”

We quieted down real fast at that point since Palma wasn’t about to budge! That’s Palma for you. Nottelmann moves people and Palma threatens to mace them.

Even so, Tina and I were carrying on like kids, calling each other spoiled, bitchy and all kinds of things, then Palma starts mimicking us in a funny way in rapid Spanish.

Tina went to sleep and I came up with the idea of Rosa and I writing rather than talking. I read Spanish better than I hear it anyway. We did whisper some, though, like Palma said when she was lecturing us on compromising. She said to Tina, “These guys are night people. Rosa’s up stressing cuz she’s got a lot of shit to deal with and just came in, and cuz she has no one to speak for her” (meaning, she’s up when I’m up). Then she told us to talk quietly.

All of us ended up sleeping well enough and quite late, too. Rosa and I were up early for a couple of hours, though, when we had our time out.

Chambers was on, so I got to say hi to her. She’s way cool.

Tina was quieter today. Rosa and I were talking and laughing while Tina read her stupid romances. I guess Tina felt like she was around a couple of silly kids, but she didn’t mind. Her romances are even sillier, and I told her so.

I’ve been helping Rosa like Kim helped me when I first came here.

I’m glad Rosa’s aunt came to visit her.

Tuesday, December 12, 2000

It’s about midnight now, and I did get my commissary this week, but not without being ripped off first. The MFs did take the $20 or so worth of shit I ordered last week that I never got. How the fuck can they charge me for something I never signed for? Fucking incompetent fools! I’d like to stuff them in their little gray carts, lock them in good, then wheel them down the fucking hall and into the wall at a good 80 MPH! Anyway, I’m going to bitch about it (bitching is my specialty around here), but I know it won’t do me a damn bit of good.

I spoke to Tom, who said he still hasn’t heard from my PO (fuck her too!), and he says he’ll put $20 in for me before next Monday.

I’m in a foul mood right now. That’s why Tina’s up on her bunk afraid to utter a sound. She won’t even look at me. She did tell me earlier, though, I was a whiny, bratty bitch. And I’m damn proud of it too, and the best in my department!

Anyway, I knew Tom wouldn’t hear from the PO. He wonders if it’s just too soon for her to respond, but as I told him, it doesn’t take a psychic to know she doesn’t give a shit, and I’m beginning to have serious doubts about getting out early. Nonetheless, Tom’s sending a few letters out at a time.

I got a radio, which sounds pretty good for a cheap piece of shit. A 5-fucking-dollar radio they charge $27 for. Rosa listened with me, using one earbud while I used the other. She loves Spanish music.

I shared some food with Rosa and Tina because I felt bad for them not having anything.

Rosa and I have a lot of fun teasing Tina and Tina doesn’t mind. I’ll mime, for example, tearing off some tissue, blowing my nose, then shoving it in Tina’s mouth while she’s sleeping. Rosa does similar shit, too. One time I picked up my lipstick and made like I was going to play connect the dots where Tina stuck herself in the arm with a zillion needles, and nearly lost it when Rosa made like she wiped her crotch with some toilet paper before shoving it up Tina’s nose.

I taught Rosa many English words last night.

I’m going to see if Tom can check into her case and try to find out more about what’s going on. I’d love to know what the pigs have, if anything, that led them to believe this is murder and not neglect or an accident.

Fucking pigs! They need to change that motto “to protect and serve” they got on their cruisers to something a bit more truthful like “to harass and control.”

I also want to see if he can load me up a Spanish/English dictionary to go with my English one on the computer.

I saw Brea yesterday, who asked why I was here, and saw white Johnson through the window. I waved to her and she nodded and smiled in return. What a nice ass that woman has!

I found Becky downstairs yesterday and she told me she’s now PC. Good. That’s one more person I know I’ll get along with if we end up together. That’s also 5 people that I know of, waiting to go to M. I passed a kite to Becky’s old pal for her through the trustee. It took a while too, because the DO was hanging around.

This pod had been fairly quiet for a change till they brought Bucket back, the loud MF. Always the fucking blacks! For a while, I couldn’t figure out who I detested more, blacks or Mexicans. Now I know it’s definitely blacks! Anyway, Bucket, the one that bullied Tina out of M, and her wife, are getting DOC’d out of here any day now.

Tina’s also been stuck with Jessica, who’s gone home (that’s why I haven’t seen her). Tina, Bucket and Jessica were cellies, and Jessica ate Bucket out so she could use her radio. And Bucket wanted to kick Jessica’s ass for calling her a bitch. Yeah, that’s something Jessica would do and something a black bitch would get all hot and bothered about. These bitches are so fucking loud, aggressive and vicious! So rude, selfish and totally stuck on themselves!

Fucking mother-fucking black bitch! Bucket’s out on her hour yelling with some other blacks. Please, DOC, come get this bitch tonight!

Jessica’s back. She was only out 2 weeks and she went right back to the crack. What a stupid loser! She’s such a dumb, hopeless case that a part of me feels bad for her.

I’m going to give Nottelmann a tank requesting she try and keep Rosa and I together, even though I understand she can’t make any promises.

I’m pissed because some asshole stole the nail clippers (probably a trustee) and now I can’t cut my nails.

This cell is so ugly. There is easily a dozen tubes worth of toothpaste on these walls and the underside of the upper bunks.

Sent out a letter to Mom, Paula, and Tom, along with journals.

I love having a radio more than I thought I would in here. I can just check these loud, selfish black bitches out anytime I want to. I exercise to the music, too.

Rosa and Tina have been great as far as not begging goes. I appreciate it, too.

Commissary also ripped Rosa off. Indigent is supposed to give you 10 sheets of paper, not 8. I gave her a few sheets from my pad.

Tom visited today and I told him all about Rosa and Tina. I asked if he thought it’d be good to try sleeping together when I come home since I’ve amazingly learned to sleep through all this noise (although I still get woken up at times), and he said that’d be a good time to try. I slept through Deanna’s snoring, after all. That leaves only movement as a possible problem. Movement isn’t an issue in here, obviously, because I don’t share a bed with anyone.

Dennis returned the clothes I left in his trailer.

Tom’s going to call Helen about visiting, in case she never got my letter.

Wednesday, December 13, 2000

It’s around midnight and the black bitches are still screaming at each other. Why did God put these creatures on this earth? I fucking go through hell to get away from them, just to end up being stuck with them all over again. Why do I always get punished for rebelling against or trying to change what the Gods have ordered for me? Is it really that important to them that I be driven crazy by loud, obnoxious black assholes? What did I ever do to these people to deserve this? I just can’t get away from them!!!

I listened to some music both by myself and with Rosa.

It’s change of shift now. I hope Nottelmann and Palma are on tomorrow. They only work here twice a week lately.

This place was so fucking noisy until around 4 AM. DOC got Bucket, but we still have other loud-mouth blacks shooting off at the mouth non-stop.

Whoever’s next door was slamming the bunk against the door to get a blanket.

People! Fucking people! I hate them! And the more I try to run from them, the more they seem to be thrown in my face. Why can’t I just go home and live in peace? There’s a reason, Tina says.

Yeah, to torture the hell out of me! Everyone tells me there’s a reason for this shit, yet no one can give me a better one than the only one I can come up with.

Kara, one of the very few sane ones in this sad, disgusting place, came and saw me today. I updated her on what’s been going on and told her that I’m beginning to doubt anyone’s going to care enough to help get me out of here sooner. Like Kara said, all it takes is one person who cares.

But where are they? How do I get their attention? I just don’t see, the more I think about it, what the governor, and other people Tom wrote to, can do to help me. And why would they care? It’s not their problem. Nobody cares when they have nothing to gain by helping someone else.

Rosa just went out for a legal visit. The poor girl has got an infected tooth that’s all swollen.

Tina’s writing a letter. Although she’s been quieter, she still talks a lot. I try not to ask her too many questions because then she just gets into a huge discussion with herself about it. The amount of self-chatter in this place is astonishing. Religion and people talking to themselves. That seems to be the main theme of this place.

Just when they finally started making it comfortable here by giving us some heat, it’s cold again. It’s colder out, from what I hear on the radio, so that’s why. They don’t bother to adjust the heat with the weather.

Rosa and I were just listening to the radio, and Tina’s gone to bed. That is, till the psycho next door wakes her up slamming the bunk against the door. I’ll be waking her up on our hour out tomorrow to let her know just what I’ll do to her if I ever get my hands on her. When’s the system going to learn that jail’s not the place for crazies? They belong in psych wards. The whole pod was pissed at this sicko. Late last night she was banging for a blanket and today it was over her meds. Doesn’t she see that that’s not going to get her what she wants when she wants it? The DOs can’t even hear her when they’re in the tower.

I can’t live without this radio I never thought I’d end up getting. Because we’re right next to Crazy, as our loving God would have it, it doesn’t drown out her banging sprees, but when the bitch gets to screaming, it’s a great escape.

I’m so sick of people. People, people, people!!! I just want some space and privacy! I want peace and quiet and time alone! I’m so sick of being forced to be with people and in places I don’t want to be! Will I ever find freedom in this life? I want out and I want my old life back. The one I had till all this shit started. But that’ll never be no matter how long I live. Even if this were all over now, I’d just get hit with some other long-term bullshit.

There’s a reason for this, Rosa says.

If one more person says that to me, I’m going to break them in half!

They’re taking the sicko next door to medical in cuffs. I hope they drug the fucker into a coma! But sadly enough, I know she’ll be back and banging about something else later. I just wish I could have 5 minutes alone with the sack of shit!

My anger seems to be making Rosa very nervous (Tina won’t even look at me), so I think I’ll go try to smile for her sake, and bitch more later.

Thursday, December 14, 2000

Another day in Estrella Jail, and damn do I miss home! I’m sick and tired of being confined like this, never having any peace and quiet. No space, no privacy, and now I can’t even cut my fucking nails! I’m so sick of having to talk and answer questions during meals when all I want to do is sit and eat in peace. I’m tired of being asked questions while trying to escape with my radio.

The nights are a little better. Rosa and I tease Tina in her sleep. Last night I rubbed red lipstick into the crotch of Tina’s spare clean panties, making them look like period stains.

I see Becky from time to time, but now I’m not so sure if she’ll make a good celly because she seems to be a bit of a beggar. The first time she wanted me to pass a kite for her, then she wanted a book. I like her, but I wonder if she’d constantly bug me for my commissary if we celled together.

After what I’ve been through, I don’t trust anybody. I still fear I’m going to get stuck with a monster PO that’ll try to make my life hell, not that it already hasn’t been made to be that way. What’s scary is knowing that all she has to do is tell the pigs I violated my probation, even if I didn’t, and they’ll believe her, pick me up and throw me back in here, and of course, I may have to violate if she makes impossible demands of me. I know she’s going to try telling me to do shit she knows I can’t possibly do. I wouldn’t just violate and stick around, though, if I were truly forced to do so. I’d violate and run.

Now, what could Tom possibly know that I don’t? He wouldn’t discuss it, saying not all conversations are private. It’s a lot more private in the visiting area than on the phone, so it must be illegal. Unless, of course, he just said this to cheer me up because I was pretty tearful (I just can’t deal with this madhouse!). He better not be fucking lying to me! Anyway, I told him to briefly put it in a letter in the fingerspelling font, as long as it’s a solid, sure thing that can really help me, and not just some hunch, belief or feeling.

He said he didn’t have money for stamps, so the other letters won’t go out till tomorrow. He wanted me to have what money he did have for commissary, which was very thoughtful of him. I just hope he doesn’t delay these letters too much longer, as useless as I know they’ll be.

Mom’s doing OK and now Mary doesn’t know what the hell’s going on. A second biopsy said she didn’t have cancer, and I guess they just can’t get a big enough sample to test.

He said Mary heard about Rosa’s case on the news, but all he knows is that they said there were signs of child abuse. What about Rosa’s husband? Just how innocent is he? They say they’re not sure about him.

Although I can’t see Rosa beating a kid any more than I can see Tom beating one, there is one thing that bugs me. Rosa doesn’t seem very remorseful. She has cried a few times, but most of the time she’s all smiles and laughs. Is she in denial, or what? I asked her if she was sad and she said yes, but it would make her sick if she was always down and crying. I guess everyone has their own way of dealing with things.

The Maury Povich Show was here filming today. I saw them on my way to my visit.

My teeth are slowly but surely shifting, and by the time I get out of here, they’ll be noticeably crooked. See? I really do get punished for trying to change things about my body and life. Straighten my teeth, and God makes sure I can’t retain them so they can be crooked again. Move out of the city and God sees to it that I’m forced right back into it.

It’s about 10:00 now, and tonight it’s the direct opposite of how it was last night. It’s dead quiet. No screaming, no banging. This is the ideal time for reading and writing. I use the radio more when it’s noisy and when I get really bored. It’s also good for escaping Tina’s chatter.

As much as I dread ending up back in a 4-man cell (and I know I will), I want to hurry up and get over there so I can cut my nails. I should be there before New Year’s. I just wish Rosa could be with me no matter who else I’m forced to cell with! But that’s just not possible, even if she remains in Ad-Seg.

I’ve been slacking off on my descriptions. So, Palma, who’s working tonight, would probably be described as plain or mean-looking by some people. She doesn’t have a great body and she needs a nose job, but she’s still good-looking as far as I’m concerned. She’s about 5’ 4”, slightly plump, with black curly hair and dark eyes. She almost looks like she could be part black because her hair’s kind of kinky.

Friday, December 15, 2000

After being woken up for breakfast, then our hour out at 9:00, I was sleeping well till the fucking loud-mouthed black bitch woke me up – fucking MFing bitch! I’m still in the city, still being woken up by these subhuman pieces of shit! Even Rosa hates them because of how loud, obnoxious, rude, selfish, vicious, vindictive and spiteful they are, and this is before I even told her that they’re the reason I’m in this hell hole. So, I didn’t influence her opinion, is what I’m saying.

Rosa was arraigned today. She’s been asleep, so I’ll find out more later.

We spoke in Spanish a lot last night after Tina crashed while it was unusually quiet. We talked mostly about our homes, food and animals. She misses her home in Mexico and regrets coming to the US. I regret moving too, as much as I love our new home/land. I knew God would get me for escaping the city (or trying to). I just didn’t know the punishment would be this severe!

Second shift is on now. It looks like Palma’s not on, but Nottelmann is. Good. I need to pass that kite, as they call notes in this place, about trying to keep Rosa and I together.

Thank God Tina reads a lot so I don’t have to listen to her babbling, although I appreciate her getting me up for gown exchange this morning. Since I can’t exchange thermals here, I have to wash it in the shower.

I helped myself to one of Tina’s toothbrushes. I figured, oh well. She’s going to be getting indigent for quite a while; 1 toothbrush a week is more than she needs. She uses my shampoo and shit like that, so it’s not like we haven’t been sharing. Sharing is what this place is all about. I’ve given Rosa shampoo and lotion, too.

This week I’m getting Tina 2 candy bars for 6 envelopes.

Tina’s not too hard to live with. She’s better than crazy Melinda and loud-mouth Lora, but I also wouldn’t miss her if we were no longer cellies.

It’s late evening and Tina and I actually had fun talking with each other, swapping stories about our lives, both good and bad. She kept wanting to chat, saying I was no fun after getting my radio, so I said – what the hell? It wouldn’t hurt to entertain her for a while. It actually felt good to bitch about life, even if that’s all I ever do lately. Tina had her share of sob stories to tell, too. Like the time she hitchhiked and was raped in a field by two guys 20 years ago.

I didn’t know this till today, but she told me she felt neglected (I guess you could say a little jealous, too) when Rosa first joined us and we hit it off and were always having fun gabbing in Spanish. It’s a good feeling to know that if it weren’t for me, Rosa would have a much harder time here, just like I would’ve if it hadn’t been for Kim.

Tina told me a good joke: Why doesn’t Santa have any kids? Because he only cums once a year, and that’s down the chimney.

Dinner was one of the most filling dinners I’ve had here. It was chicken, cabbage, lettuce, potato salad, bread and ice cream.

I worry that they may try to force me to pay more than just the standard $40-a-month probation fee. According to Tina, they really rip you off blind, and make you pay restitution fees, too. How much more must I pay for sending a lousy set of journal excerpts?! Why don’t they just execute me for it? When is the so-called punishment ever going to be enough and end? I can’t begin to put in words how humiliating it’s been having my life turned upside down and inside out by my own tormentors. They always win and I always lose. There’s no beating them or the system or getting them out of my life!

The sick fuck next door hasn’t gone bunk-banging in nearly 24 hours, but every half hour to an hour it makes a few bangs just to remind us all it still exists. It’s one thing being out in the real world with so many attention-needy people, and another being in jail with them!

I wish the little nutjob would get a celly or two. That way that bunk bed would be weighted down with someone, and I’d think any cellies she may have wouldn’t put up with her regularly timed bumps and bangs. If she’s not closed custody, then I’d bet she’s Ad-Seg. All the crazies get Ad-Segged.

Saturday, December 16, 2000

When I see Tom Tuesday, I’ll have to remind him to call and cancel my dentist appointment that was to be on the 21st (the fucking freeloaders even control my teeth!), not that they won’t be expecting the call. Somebody there has to have heard about this shit.

Tina suggested I have Tom check into something called rule 32 time cut, but I’m sure it’ll be just another dead end.

Another thing is, she says the probation department’s main concern is the fees, and that the sooner you pay your fees, the sooner they’ll let you go. That, I find hard to believe, but it’s another thing I’ll mention to Tom.

It’s almost 9:00 and Tina’s getting ready to go to bed. Rosa and I will be up late.

We were looking through magazines and I found a cute picture of a squirrel. Well, Rosa found it for me. I’ll send it home to scan into the computer when I get home.

The first half of the day, which had to be while I was trying to sleep, was noisy. The black bitches were screaming their asses off. You got these bitches standing 5 feet apart, yet they still yell at the top of their lungs as if they were yards and yards apart or deafer than a doorknob. Crazy next door went Bunk-banging a few times, too.

I’m sick of having our hour out so damn early. Most of the time we have it between 7 – 9 AM. Can’t we have it in the afternoons or evenings for a change? We rarely ever do.

I’m still learning more Spanish words. My vocabulary is good, but my grammar needs work. I understand Rosa for the most part, but sometimes I have to have her speak slower, or write. Sometimes I can’t figure out what a certain word means, since I know most, but not all Spanish words, and it’s pretty challenging because I can’t ask her in English what a word means.

The Spanish alphabet isn’t pronounced like it is in English, so when I spell English words to Rosa, I have to say the letters so she can understand them.

Palma’s on tonight and her hair looks great. She has it in two French braids with her bangs pulled down in front. I like her better with bangs, rather than with her hair swept back off her forehead. She’s quite a looker! Rosa and Tina tease me about liking her (in a good-natured way, of course). Tina’s bi and Rosa’s straight.

I told Nottelmann the Santa joke Tina told me. Trying hard to suppress a laugh, she softly mumbled, “That’s wrong,” and walked off, making sure to keep a professional air about her. Hopefully, she repeated the joke to Palma. She probably did.

Tina says she’ll send a letter to our PO Box whenever she gets to the tents (she thinks she’ll end up there) to let me know if Rule’s still there. She may get there before I leave, so Tom will have to read the letter to me over the phone since inmates can’t write to each other. From what I gather, Rule’s been there since at least ‘96. I think she’ll be there between now and April so I can send her a thank you note when I get out.

I was absolutely dumbfounded to learn that commissary credited back the money for the order I never got on my birthday! I really didn’t think they’d own up to their mistake no matter how obvious it was.

With the exception of Tina, who wanted to hear my whole life story, I decided that when people ask, I’m just going to say I’m an only child whose parents were killed in a car crash. I’m sick of hearing how “fucked up” it is that I don’t talk to my folks when in truth it’d be fucked up if I did. Why would I want to associate with such mean, vindictive control freaks who’ve done nothing but lie to me and let me down, just because they created me? I don’t owe these people here, or anyone else for that matter, any explanations as to why I don’t talk to them. A lot of people just don’t get it. If they’ve got good, loving parents, they can’t understand. Madeline, who felt the need to lie to her mother and tell her she wanted an abortion when she really didn’t – now that’s fucked up. If you can’t be yourself and be honest with someone – that’s fucked up.

All’s quiet at the moment, but sometimes, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear I was in a psych hospital and not a jail.

Sunday, December 17, 2000

Another day of Rosa not shedding one tear for her dead baby. I love Rosa; she’s been a great friend, making me smile and laugh throughout the night, but there are a couple of things that say she could be guilty. One is her lack of sadness, and two is that she thinks she’s pregnant. If she is guilty of more than neglect, then she probably is pregnant because that’s totally something God would do – watch a woman kill her child, then reward her with another one. God dumps kids on murderers all the time. So knowing they have kids like rabbits, and seeing her only cry a few times, leads me to believe there’s a possibility she could be guilty, though I still doubt it. The times she’s cried were over visits when most of us cry anyway, including myself, because we miss our loved ones and our homes. Who knows, though? Maybe it was neglect or maybe the husband’s the guilty one. Or maybe it’s just a case of denial or maybe she feels crying will only make it worse and harder to deal with.

Fucking Misery’s on today. Everyone hates Misery. She’s as by-the-book as Palma and worse. They call her Misery because she not only brings misery to those she encounters but also because of her resemblance to this character in the Stephen King movie Misery.

First I was woken up for breakfast, then our hour out which none of us wanted because it was barely 7 AM, then again when Misery came in to check the light and window. Then she tells us to take our pictures off the walls. I took my pictures down, but I intend to put them back up later.

At 35 years of age, I’m sick and fucking tired of being told what to do! My life is nothing but what everyone else but myself says I have to do or have to go or have to be. I even have to wear the clothes they say I have to wear, and I’m just so fucking fed up with being treated like a child! My life is never going to belong to me.

Fucking freeloaders, Paul, judge and pigs!!!

Palma’s on again tonight. That’s 3 nights this week!

It’s around 8:00 now and Tina’s gone to bed.

Palma was in a good mood, singing Christmas songs. In Spanish, I told her to sing Felíz Navidad, but she misunderstood me and thought I was wishing her a merry Christmas. “Gracías,” she said.

So on her next walk, I asked in English if she knew the song and would sing it, but she said (with a friendly smile) she didn’t know it. It was nice to see this serious gruff loosen up for a change. She opened the door, rather than the trap, when the trustee was serving dinner so I could get a better look at her.

Tina says Palma’s all masculine, but I disagree. Yes, she’s somewhat masculine, but to me, she’s feminine, too. Her hair’s feminine and she has gorgeous eyes. Nice smile, too. Only her nose isn’t very nice and she doesn’t have a great body either, although it’s really hard to see through her uniform. I don’t care so much about bodies as I do faces. I’m a face person because that’s what you see most of the time. I also don’t like ultra-feminine as much as I used to. I guess we lipstick lesbians, such as I’d be considered to be, really do prefer the bigger, stronger more masculine types that they can feel protected by.

Last night Rosa and I were playing this game where we’d put names to various globs of toothpaste under the upper bunks, depending on their shape.

If her commissary order goes through without any problems, she’ll have a radio tomorrow night. I hope she won’t always be singing to it when she gets hyped up (it’s bad enough dealing with her BO and bad breath)! Unlike most people, though, she’s usually pretty respectful when I’m trying to read or write.

I made a $23 order. I better get it, too!

In the afternoons, I can usually tell what time it is by where the slat of sunlight is on the wall. Someone apparently wrote the times in the different places the light hits, but of course, the angle will change with the seasons.

Just had my typical mid-cycle bleeding which goes on for a few hours. I’ll get another gush in about a week, the week before my period. My tits still get sore before periods, even without caffeine.

The black bitches were at each other’s throats again earlier. Screaming and threatening one another from their cells.

I went right along with the bitches, though, in yelling at Crazy next door when she was out on her hour. We brought her to tears, but I have no pity for her what with the way she behaves. Maybe she’ll learn something from this. In fact, she hasn’t gone bunk-banging at all today. It’s lessened since she got her meds, but as soon as she can’t get her way, the banging starts.

I flipped Misery off when she was in the tower. I’m pretty sure she saw me, but I don’t care either way. I’m sick of being told what to do. She never wrote me up, though. I guess sometimes they find it easier to ignore you and pretend they didn’t see or hear you do something you’re not supposed to do. It saves them a lot of paperwork.

Rosa and I both cried earlier. I hadn’t cried much since I last saw Tom, and I was laying on my bed crying for a while before Rosa realized I was crying, and hugged me, then began crying too, telling me to try not to be so sad so it doesn’t make me sick.

I’m just sooo homesick for Tom, the animals, the house, etc. Those freeloaders really stole my life, and my body, too. Because of them, I can’t cut my nails, take a shower when I want, etc. They own my whole life and my body, too. They robbed me of my husband, pets and home, and stole any control I may have had over my own body, too. This is one of those things we assume only happens to others. Only other people get framed, but never us!

I FUCKING HATE these sickos!!!!!!!!!!

Monday, December 18, 2000

Commissary came without any problems and Rosa got a lot of stuff too, including a radio. Since Christmas and New Year’s Day just have to fall on Mondays, commissary will be the following Wednesdays instead.

I made Palma a Christmas card. I drew a candy cane on the front and wrote: Merry Christmas. Inside on the left, I wrote: Hey Palma, you’re a good singer and a cool DO! On the right, in Spanish, I wrote: Merry Christmas & Happy New Year. Then I signed my name and wrote: Yes, I promise to behave.

As funny as it may sound, it’d really piss me off if I had gotten a 2 for 1. It’d be so frustrating knowing I could cut my time in half if only I could sleep and keep a schedule in the tents!

Unbeknownst to Tina, Rosa swiped a razor. We use it for our underarms only. I’m going to wait till I get out of here before I bother shaving my legs. I’d rather do that at home in a nice hot shower. Besides, no one sees my legs here, anyway.

Rosa showed me a couple of things. I was telling her I had no easy way of exercising my biceps in this place, and she showed me how she pushes with one arm against the other as you curl it upward. That gives you a little resistance.

She also showed me some nice designs for Palma’s card, since I didn’t really want to get into drawing. Not with these pencils and having no color. I did use Tina’s brown eyeliner pencil on parts of it, though. Tina never uses it. I guess some girl left it here. Also, the card is very small. I used the bottom half of the plain white paper my deposit info was on to make it.

I jogged in place with my radio clipped to me to half a dozen songs or so to burn all these extra calories. I’m beginning to doubt I’ll lose any more weight. Not with this weekly commissary.

When I looked at my calendar and saw how many days were crossed off, as opposed to those that weren’t, I burst out crying. It was so depressing. I’ve done barely a quarter of my time and I know I’m not getting out sooner. It’s just a feeling I have. No one gives a shit that I was fucked over by fucked up people within a fucked up system.

Tuesday, December 19, 2000

Saw Tom today. True to my vibes, he still hasn’t heard anything from the PO or bar association. He still believes I’ll get an early kick-out, but I’m rapidly losing hope. “Is that pessimism or vibes?” he asked me.

“Logic,” I told him.

He says Mary says she sent me a letter. Hope I get it today.

He also said Houdini scared him by standing up, along with the hairs on his neck, as if to attack him when he was trying to get him to go home one night. He said he really thought he was going to get him good and he had to get the tube, put cheese in it, and bring him home in that.

He said all he’s heard around the house is one engine-gunning spree, but no music. That’s because I’m not there. Either way, that place could never get a fraction of the noise that’s in this place.

As much as I want out of here, if there’s anything better about this place than Valleyhead and Brattleboro, it’s that they don’t run you ragged from 7 AM to 10 PM and you can be up and about all night listening to music, writing, or reading. They also let you have a few visits a week here and order all the junk food you could possibly want. Also, I know when I’m getting out of here, but I never knew when I’d get out of the other places till shortly before I did.

So far, Officer Palma is the best-looking DO, Pérez is the friendliest, and Rule was the most helpful.

Believe it or not, I started to fall asleep after dinner and then jogged in place to 5 songs, but people yelling and Rosa’s crying woke me up. Rosa and I both had our homesick spells.

It’s amazing how I can sleep here. For the most part, anyway, and keep a schedule, even if it’s one I’m not used to.

Tina told me about an inmate who had her computer genius boyfriend change her release date. Wish Tom could do that for me! She got caught, though, and got 3 years for it. It’s impossible to destroy or alter all the records, anyway, because they keep stuff on paper too, and not just electronically.

Loca next door has switched from bunk-banging to begging. I’d rather her beg for food she’s not going to get, than bash the doors and walls on and off like she does.

Tina was a major sucker on our hour out, letting herself be used by all the beggars. I’d never be anyone’s slave like that! I’d tell them to take care of their own shit on their own timeout. I can see a favor here and a favor there, but there were 3 or 4 of them demanding half a dozen things.

Wednesday, December 20, 2000

Right on again with the vibes – Rosa is pregnant. And she won’t do the right thing either and abort it, or at least give it up for adoption. She’s being selfish and cruel to that kid if you ask me, but I still love my buddy and I know it has to be her decision. But if she has that kid, that’s going to be one more person for her to have to miss and worry about, and imagine how that poor kid’s going to feel with its mother in jail or maybe even in prison for years and years!

Maybe Tina’s right when she guessed that maybe it was an accident due to neglect, so God’s blessed her with this kid, and she’s going to get out of here soon enough but I doubt it. Things don’t usually work out that well, and God’s not a very sympathetic God.

The craziest black bitch I ever met lives just a few doors down. It goes back and forth between screaming about the devil and singing in a voice that sounds more like it’s whining or even yelling at times.

The older lady next to us, who’s also Ad-Seg, seems to be as hyper as Melinda which would make me seem like I’m in a coma, but Tina said she seemed normal when they spoke. Yeah well, I don’t know if I’d trust Tina’s definition of the word normal.

I’m glad Rosa lent Tina her radio when she went on her legal visit. That way I can write without Tina’s non-stop mouth going.

I asked Tom yesterday, and he says I have no fines or restitution to pay. But how can he know for sure everything will be OK when I get out before talking to the PO? He said he’ll explain it to me when I get out. I can’t wait to hear this one!

I couldn’t even take a shower today because the water was so cold. I grieved the cold water and air temperature. I miss the boiling 110-degree days I used to bitch about. I’m sick of the never-ending cold in this fucking place. Jails are miserably freezing!

I hope Palma’s on tonight, but if not, she should be on tomorrow.

I heard the crazy black bitch shout really loud to someone about singing for hours because all the white inmates call her names or some shit like that. Then on her hour out, while I was listening to music, Tina said she was reciting my name and birth date from my ID card that’s in the door before running off to yell at other people. What? Is she going around getting the names of everyone who’s white? Why isn’t this loony tune in a funny farm?!

Tina made air freshener, or tried to, by mixing shampoo, water and bits of deodorant in an empty spray pump bottle.

Got a Chanukah card from Mom, Mary and Dave. It was nice and I wrote them back. I even sent Bob a letter just for the hell of it. I’m curious to see if I get a response. I wonder if he’s still alive. I think he’s due to get out in ‘06. He ain’t getting our PO Box address, though.

I’m still not sure what to make of Rosa, whose lawyer says she may have many years to do. I may not want my own kid like I did years ago, but the thought of a possible baby killer makes my blood boil. How can God allow it?! So many people are quick to be against abortion, yet they don’t realize just how much better off a lot of these kids would be if they didn’t exist. I wish I had been aborted, even though my parents had money and were never in jail.

It’s still hard for me to picture Rosa deliberately killing a kid. One thing’s for sure, though – it’s no myth when they say Hispanics are filthy and lazy. We have to coax her into doing her share of the sweeping and mopping, and she stinks because she goes days without showering. They really are filthy. They don’t like clean. Not clean things, not clean bodies, not clean anything.

Thursday, December 21, 2000

It’s still freezing in here and I know that means the water will be, too. Although, last night they had the water off for a while, claiming they were working on pipes, but I don’t know if it was to fix the hot water. I never heard anyone working on anything, so it could’ve been because I grieved, but I don’t know. We’ll find out when we have our hour out.

Today the reality and finality of the fact that I won’t be getting out of here sooner really hit and sunk in. We did all we could do. Tom says it’s not right, not fair, but that’s why I’m here. Because life isn’t fair. If it were fair, the freeloaders would be the ones suffering and I’d be living my life. Something up there obviously wants me here and feels I deserve this shit.

Anyway, bad things have a way of happening to some of us who try to change the way things are, so I asked Tom to drop it. He tried to help me, I appreciate it, and now it’s time to accept reality, like it or not.

Nobody cares. Nobody. No one’s responded to any of his phone calls/letters. I knew they wouldn’t, too. And getting a PO in the area we live in won’t change a damn thing, either. Tom says getting a PO out of Maricopa will help because they’ll know and understand how remote we are. But they won’t care. They’ll still order us to move. Again, something wants me in the city! I’m just not going to be allowed to be a country girl. I asked Tom if he had any plans to get the house up for sale and he said now’s a horrible time for that what with the economy being so bad and the new president (George W. Bush). Well, what are we going to do if we’re forced to make a move we can’t even make?

A107

After dinner, Nottelmann moved the 3 of us downstairs on the very end under the stairs because of Rosa’s pregnancy. I like this cell better because it’s more private from the tower, and I’m thrilled to get away from that fucking crazy bunk-basher!

Loca’s not Ad-Seg because she went to court with other people.

I got so pissed at Loca last night for banging like she does as soon as she can’t get her way, and I got pissed at Tina too, and nearly beat the snot out of her. Thank God I didn’t, though, because I’d be riddled with guilt. As she said, she’s never hit me, no matter what I said to her, so I have no business hitting her, as long as she isn’t trying to harm me.

Anyway, she got on my ass for threatening Loca, as much as she drives her crazy too, and for calling the crazy bitch names as much as she hates blacks, too. The reason it set me off was that to me, it was one more person lecturing me and telling me what to do and how to be. After she got me calmed down, I realized she was only trying to help, explaining that name-calling is childish, and threats don’t help, either.

Tina suggested I try to get psych to close custody me and maybe mention it to Kara, but I just don’t see why they’d give a damn. All they’d do, I’d think, was offer me drugs. I just might take them in here, too!

Nottelmann said she thinks Alex is leaving on Christmas. That’d be great if Rosa and I could be in a 2-man cell till I leave! But I highly doubt that.

The pencil sharpener broke after getting 3 pencils sharpened, but at least I got some sharpened.

The shower was hot for me, but cold by the time Tina got in it. Then it warmed up again for the next girl out. As usual, Rosa didn’t shower.

Next is my fight for nail clippers. Although if I’m over in M soon, where there are no trustees to steal them, I may not have much of a fight.

Just to see what kind of a response I’d get, I put in a tank order about my retainers to the captain, like that night shift guy with retainers suggested. I’m sure, though, they’ll tell me I can’t have them.

God, I feel like a child with a million parents telling me what to do!

It’s about 9:15 now, from what I heard, and it’s freezing!

The crazy black bitch went off on a white girl who was out on her hour. This is one crazy mother-fucker!

Rosa and Tina are asleep. Tina normally crashes early, and Rosa’s tired because she had a long day in court. Good. Now I have the whole night to myself, in a sense. I’m going to read, exercise, listen to the radio and write, although I really don’t have much to write about.

Tom couldn’t look up info on Rosa yet, because he forgot her last name. Hopefully, he can tell me more next Tuesday.

He asked me if I thought I’d want him to open my Christmas gifts for me or wait till I come home and let me do it. I let him know he can tell me what I got. I’ll want to know about it if I got a doll. I’d want a picture of it, too.

Harry bit Tom badly. What is it with him clashing with rodents? He said he reached in to put food by Houdini, and Harry ran across the cage, grabbed his finger with his paws, and bit him! I had to laugh at him about it, of course.

“How cute,” Palma said when I gave her the Christmas card through the trap, then she asked why they moved us downstairs. I told her, and she thanked me for the card.

I was pleasantly surprised by her reaction! I was worried I’d offend her or that it wouldn’t be allowed, but what could she do anyway? Throw me in jail? I thought there was a slight chance, though, that she’d tell me it was inappropriate, she couldn’t accept it, never do that again, and so on and so forth. I’ll bet I’m the only one who made her a card, too. Most people hate Palma. She’s a real stricty.

Tina kind of likes me, but she’s harmless. No, she’s not my type. She may be over 30, but I don’t do druggies, and I don’t normally like blondes and light eyes, either. When Kim first told me that 90% of these inmates are gay or bi, I thought she was exaggerating, but there does seem to be an awful lot of them.

Friday, December 22, 2000

It’s about midnight now. I just took a dump (perfect time to do it too, if you want a little privacy – when your cellies are sleeping). I just hope Rosa’s sleeping at night won’t mean she’ll be up during the day tomorrow. I doubt it, though. She needs to catch up on her sleep. At least I know that if she, Tina, or both were up when I was asleep, they’d be more considerate than Lora and Madeline. Speaking of Madeline, I’ll have to thank her for my birthday card when I see her and let her know I miss our nightly squabbles, although I don’t miss celling with her.

Nottelmann’s a cool DO, but it’ll be interesting to see just how cool she is. Will she really put me in a small cell? And with Rosa? The DOs may feel I’d be doing them a favor by putting us together, so I could interpret when DOs were on that didn’t speak Spanish. I know the trustee, who asked for Rosa’s size for her court clothes, and the DO (whoever she was) that were on late last night, were very grateful I could help with the Spanish.

I wonder why M’s Ad-Seg and juvi pods are so small compared to A’s? A has 15 per pod and M has 5 per pod.

I was thinking about what Tom said about the economy being bad. Well, what if we’re forced to sell a house we can’t possibly sell? And certainly not fast enough to meet their ludicrous demands! Am I going to be forced back into an apartment in the city? We couldn’t afford rent on top of the mortgage, but nobody cares and this city wants me back!!!

Got up sort of late today. That’s because I couldn’t fall back asleep after breakfast, and when I would start to, something would wake me up. I decided to get daily vitamin packs from commissary in case the month after month of sleeping only a few hours here and a few hours there catches up to me and gets me sick.

I put in a medical tank for refills on both my inhaler and allergy spray, but I don’t know if I’ll get lucky enough to get them again in just a few days. I heard one girl say it took her 4 weeks just to get a refill on an inhaler.

I also grieved the cold water and freezing air again. This may be jail, but we’re not animals and we shouldn’t have to live like them! Why do we have to fight for things we should have anyway? I’m sick of this hell hole! And sick of being forced to interact with these people day in and day out, too!

I have a strong feeling I’m going to M Dorm within the next few days (and I’ll lose my commissary again, too), but not with Rosa. I think if I really do go to a small cell, it’ll be with Tina. Better than Melinda, but not as good as Rosa. Nottelmann mentioned me possibly going to Alex’s cell, but that’s upstairs, so Rosa couldn’t go there too, being pregnant. Why Madeline was ever upstairs, beats me. Maybe they moved her by now.

Speaking of crazy Melinda, she’s here now. I saw her on the phone earlier. Tina said she’s seen her 4-pointed, naked to a bed here. She must’ve gone on another suicidal rampage or was run out of her cell. It’d be funny if she were in with the bunk-banger.

That was a shitty dinner. Two boring hot dogs, potato salad, zucchini and bread.

Ruby, this woman who’d been in M in the big cell with Kim and Lisa for a long time, is here now, too. She got fed up with Kim and Lisa and was sick of listening to the AB talk. Especially since her grandkids are part Mexican. Lisa’s leaving Monday and I guess Kim’s leaving on the 1st. I have a strong feeling I’ll be moved over to M Dorm by New Year’s, but I’ll tell you one thing for sure – I’m not going in a big cell. I’d rather stay here if that were my only choice. Tina doesn’t think we’ll cell together in M. I have mixed emotions about that one. She’s quiet and sane compared to some of the others, but she can be a moody bitch. Earlier, she was getting on me for bitching about the things that bother me in jail, yet why do others always have to accommodate her? She wants others to be like her, and as I told her, she’s going to have to meet me halfway if she’s going to cell with me. She’s also turning into a beggar. I want to strangle her at times!

There’s another crazy one next to us, Danielle, who’s dying of AIDS. She was a hooker who killed one of her johns with her AIDS. She never told the guy what she had. To me, even though what she did was wrong, the guy kind of asked for it, being dumb enough to screw a hooker without protection. She’s been calm since we’ve been next to her, but she’s taken many screaming and banging fits herself.

Saturday, December 23, 2000

Rosa, Tina and I had a nice talk earlier and I did a lot of interpreting. Gosh, I know a lot of Spanish! All the talking made my lungs tight, though, and Rosa whacked my back. Yeah, I would really rather stay here with these two, than be with someone I may not like in M. We talked mostly about Rosa’s case. At this point, I really believe it was an accident, and kids do fall all the time.

The crazy black bitch was out bitching about all those white inmates that call her names. You’re going to have a hard life as a black chick in this world if you gotta pitch a fit every time you get called a name. That’s part of being a black bitch, bitch, so get used to it or stop treating people like shit!

I asked a trustee who I know lives in the tents if Rule’s still there. Once in a while, she said. She usually works in the men’s tents. Yuck!

I said Pérez was the friendliest DO, but Chambers is just as friendly. It’s too bad she’s not on more often.

Sunday, December 24, 2000

A105

It’s about midnight now, and I’m now 2 doors down from Rosa and Tina with Ruby S. Tina knows her from prison. Ruby’s tolerable. She talks a lot like most inmates do, but she also reads a lot, too. Even so, I miss Rosa and even Tina the bitch!

Ruby is of average height and weight with brown hair and hazel eyes.

I got the shit scared out of me at first. I had gotten really depressed and had Tina ask Palma to pull me to chat with me, which would’ve helped cheer me up. I wasn’t comfortable with asking her myself. So Palma said she would when she got the chance, but she was so busy.

A little later she glanced in at me, then the next thing I know, she’s telling Tina and I to roll up over the intercom! I’m like, now? I knew one of us would get Melinda’s bed, and the other would be in the lower 4-man cell (probably me with my shit luck).

Then Palma said, “No, not you W. S, roll up.”

I refused to go over there, so two other girls got shipped over there instead.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Tina and I calmed a teary Rosa, who was all upset over nearly losing me. But then on our hour out, Palma told me I was going to 105. Why she picked me out of the 3 of us beats me, but I guess I’m here because Ruby’s an epileptic who needs to have someone with her, not that it should be my responsibility. Ruby’s going to general pop on Wednesday or Thursday, so Rosa, Tina and I are going to fight to get me back in with them then.

When I thanked Palma for not moving me to M, she said she’d never move me there.

What did she mean by that?

This cell is not as private because it’s right in front of the tower, but I can still pee without anyone in the tower seeing me. Ruby doesn’t have her vents blocked, yet oddly enough, it’s warmer in here.

Right after 5 of us grieved the cold showers, it was warm, but I know it won’t last.

Palma was in a wicked bad mood. I told her that Nancy D, this girl who has the hots for me, was willing to cell with Ruby, and explained why me and Rosa didn’t want to be separated, but she was like - nope. I already made up my mind, G needs to learn English, etc. I had no way of knowing at the time why Palma really moved me. At least, why I think she moved me, anyway. I’m pretty sure, looking back on it now, that she realized she was beginning to like me and was jealous of me being friends with Rosa.

Although Rosa and I are closer and have more in common, Tina and I have come to care for each other, even though we argue like Madeline and I used to. Ruby says Madeline’s gone to GP.

Kim turned out to be pretty two-faced, telling Ruby I was a whiny bitch, not that that wasn’t true at times, but what? Was Miss Tough Stuff too afraid to tell me this to my face? She’d always brag about how tough she was. Well obviously she wasn’t, or else she’d have had the balls to tell me this to my face.

Anyway, Palma and I never really talked because so much was going on. And maybe she just didn’t care, either. When she was doing a walk I said, “You really hate me, huh?” and she said she didn’t hate anybody. I told her I didn’t mean to give her a hard time, although as I explained to her, playing musical cells and bunkies really affects my nerves, and she said I wasn’t giving her a hard time. I commented about her being in as bad a mood as I was in (she was swearing, as usual), but she said it was just a busy night.

At one point, I really got PO’d when she was ordering us to lock down, and in a loud, snotty voice I yelled, “You know, it would really help if you’d open the fucking door!” (Ruby’s door was locked)

Then she said, “Not you. Them” (Rosa and Tina).

Then she had the DO in the tower pop 105 for me. I’m surprised she didn’t go off on me for yelling at her.

I asked if she got other Christmas cards from other inmates and she said she got quite a few. I was both shocked and a bit disappointed to hear this. I had hoped to surprise her by being the only one. I told Ruby I was surprised she’d get so many cards due to how many people think she’s a bitch. This is when Ruby explained to me that some people like that and that the meaner a DO is, the cooler they think they are. Well, Palma may look really good, but she sure can be a bitch!

It’s about 1 PM now, and yes, Ruby’s a good celly. That’s because she sleeps so much. She’s been sleeping for over 12 hours now. She may be up later to drive me crazy with non-stop chatter. Still, I want back in with Rosa and Tina!

Crazy Melinda’s out on her hour, doing what she did yesterday – begging, singing, and being totally weird and obnoxious.

I was surprised that Helen’s card took only a day to get to me. I’d think it’d be delayed because of the holidays, but since it wasn’t, I won’t wait till after the 1st like I was going to before I mail journal pages. It’s all local, anyway.

Helen sent a Christmas card saying she hasn’t forgotten me, she’s just been busy. That was really nice of her.

I wonder if Palma moved me here because she was worried I’d hurt myself or something because I was awfully teary-eyed yesterday and this cell’s right in front of the tower.

I just saw and waved to Rosa who’s outside the pod waiting for an escort to take her to visitation. Crazy Melinda started talking to her through the window and I signaled Rosa to let her know she was crazy. Melinda saw me motioning, came up to the door, asked if she could get me anything, then said, “Oh, it’s you,” then turned and walked away.

Whatever.

Last night when we were out on our hour before I moved in with Ruby, I called and bitched to Tom. I was so overwhelmed, I told him. The water’s cold, the air’s cold, I want my retainers, and I want everyone to stop ignoring our calls/letters. He still thinks I’ll be released early, but I don’t see it.

Now I’ve got Ruby telling me there’s a reason for all this shit, and that if I find out what it is - and I may never find out - it might not be till the end of my sentence.

I know why I’m here, goddamnit!

Even Tina talked to him, letting him know about rule 32.

Rosa was crying too, and Tom said to be strong for Rosa, who wrote me a little note of inspiration right before I moved.

I am now able to understand Rosa more and more when she talks at her normal speed. I’m finding the need less and less to tell her to slow down.

In my last envelope to Tom, I enclosed a hot dog coupon for him.

As much as I would never want to be pals on the outs with these inmates (except for Rosa), it’s really cool how you can tell them anything and they won’t freak out. Everyone I’ve ever celled with knows I like Palma, and it’s no problem. They’re either gay or bi themselves or have been around so many of them that it doesn’t faze them.

Monday, December 25, 2000

So now it’s Christmas. Another thing the freeloaders have stolen from me, even if all we would’ve done was stay home. Still, I should be home with my husband! Not here on account of this shit!

What goes around comes around. Wouldn’t that rule apply to non-whites as well as whites? I hope so!

Although Ruby’s quite immature for a 40-year-old and can bore me to death with stories of her drug days, she is quiet most of the time. She sleeps and reads a lot.

She was kind enough to loan me her sharp pencil since mine are all blunt. I’m buying her three 55¢ packs of cookies and a 25¢ chic-o-stick in exchange for 8 envelopes. That’s an awesome trade.

I was beginning to think Ruby would never go to bed so I could shit in private! She read two whole books today. I wish I could concentrate on reading hour after hour like she does. Because we slept late, we were up late. I probably won’t crash till after breakfast. I also took a nap yesterday afternoon, too.

Tina passed me a kite earlier through the girl on her hour out, telling me they’re thinking of me, be strong, don’t cry, and Merry Christmas to both Ruby and I.

I’m sure it’s just eye strain due to stress and poor lighting, but I’ve been having a little trouble seeing. So I put in a request to get my eyes checked. It only costs a few bucks, so what the hell? Ruby said I ought to get the kind of contacts where I could have a different eye color every day. Now that sounds awesome. But my eyes aren’t that bad, they’re probably expensive, and I couldn’t imagine having the guts to stick my eyes with contacts.

We’re about an hour away from 2nd shift. I hope Palma’s on.

We didn’t get anything special for breakfast or lunch. I hope they feed us well at dinner. I hope it’s chicken with some kind of dessert. We haven’t had desserts in a while. If it’s chicken, Ruby said I could have hers because she hates chicken.

Ruby’s been asleep for about 12 hours now. Most of the time I feel like I’m alone. Of course she’s a good celly – it’s only temporary. She stinks and has bad breath, though. In fact, I turned myself around on my bed. Before, our heads were barely more than a foot apart.

Although it’s nothing serious, Ruby does talk to herself a little bit. I noticed that it’s the older ones who’ve done more time that tend to talk to themselves more.

They finally got nail clippers, although they’re pretty blunt.

According to Tina, her shower water was hot. That’s nice. I spoke to both her and Rosa on my hour out. I also called Tom who said he’s going to stop by Mom’s tomorrow, got bit by Houdini, and is going to hire a lawyer. If this lawyer doesn’t get me out of here before April, nothing will. This is our last resort.

Ruby agrees with me – my PO isn’t ignoring Tom and I because of the holidays. She’s ignoring us because she’s every bit as bad as I vibed she’d be. She’s just a bitch who doesn’t give a shit. I hear so many people say how cool their POs are, well, I’ll never get one of those. I just know I won’t.

I forgot to mention something pretty funny Rosa did to Tina before I came over here. Tina was standing at the door talking to someone with her hands clasped behind her back, holding her toothbrush. She’d just finished brushing her teeth when Rosa reached for her toothpaste and put some on the toothbrush! It was sooo funny!

The only thing I don’t miss about being with them is that Tina’s so desperate for chatter. She’s not very independent at all. This constant need for chatter brings people to the door, and when they get to gabbing loudly, it really annoys the fuck out of me. I wouldn’t feel like I was alone right now if I were in with them. They’d be up wanting to talk, and Tina practically forces me to play interpreter for her so she and Rosa can chat, whether or not I’m in the mood. I’d still rather do the rest of my time with them, though, even though she smothers me and gets on my nerves at times, but I know it ain’t about to happen.

Yes! Palma and Nottelmann are on!

I just heard someone ask someone which DOs were on and they didn’t like the answer. They said that when Palma’s on, they get moved. Yeah, Palma does like to play musical cells. Almost every time a 3rd celly has come into whatever cell I’m in, they’re put there by Palma. Who’s Palma going to put in here tonight? Ruby says she won’t put anyone in here. Then she’ll move me instead.

Damn! Ruby’s going to end up being up while I’m asleep and I don’t know if I like that idea.

I’ve got a note on lined paper for Nottelmann about letting me go back to 107, or at least not putting me in a 4-man cell if I must be shipped back to M.

Tuesday, December 26, 2000

A101

Took a long, 4-hour nap. I must’ve been exhausted.

I have a lot to update on. Not even an hour after giving Nottelmann that note, Palma rolled me back to 107 and told Ruby to go to 101. I was both shocked and psyched. Tina and I were hugging, Rosa practically picked me up off the ground as she hugged me, and we were all glad I was “home” again.

I had just gotten my shit set up when in came Palma to tell me she was swapping me and Ruby. I was pissed and I totally went off on her, asking her why the fuck she was doing this to me and that if she had a fucking problem with me, she could just come out and say so.

Then she tells me not to give her any shit and that someone fucked up the roster and she was trying to fix it (how the hell I got away with cussing her out, beats me!). I guess she swapped us because Ruby’s max, and so are Rosa and Tina. Because I’m medium, I was put in with other mediums.

Anyway, as I was heading towards 101, I asked Palma if they were crazy. She said they weren’t, and that I probably knew them.

Well, I’ve never met Carolyn P and Marian M before, but at least they aren’t crazy. Just rude. They have no respect for those that are sleeping. Especially Monday, as she likes to be called. The only way I can get any sleep in here is if one of them is asleep while I’m asleep. If not, they talk to each other without bothering to lower their voices. They don’t even try to be quieter.

They’re both in for drugs and both are ugly. Carolyn’s 39 and Monday’s 43, and because she’s older, I’m sure that means she’ll be talking a lot, especially to herself. She gave Carolyn and I Christmas cards she got from tank orders. That’s premature. It was still nice of her, though.

Although gently, Carolyn’s been trying to push Jesus on me. I was shocked to find she has a boyfriend. She’s very butchy looking with boring short hair.

This is the 13th time I’ve been moved, and if I haven’t lost count, I’ve had 13 cellies now, too. Ruby, Carolyn and Monday say all I have to do is ask a shrink for closed custody and they’ll give it to me. Yeah, right! And I suppose they’ll give me a million dollars too, if I ask for it. God would never let me escape all these people, but you can bet your ass I’m still going to try!

Tom finally heard from someone – the bar association. They said to take it back to court. In other words, they don’t give a shit and they aren’t going to do anything about it.

During our visit, he signed a sentence – the rat and mouse ate cheese. He’s learning! I had to correct him a couple of times, but I needed correcting at times myself when I was first learning. Those illustrations can be tricky to comprehend.

He told me the rats were biting him and acting out. Harry ran into the bedroom while Houdini ran the opposite way and climbed up inside the couch.

I showed him how I lost enough weight to finally trade in my large pants for mediums. They’ve been feeding us shit lately! I can’t wait for tomorrow’s commissary. Our Christmas dinner was no different than any other. Tom said he wasn’t surprised, seeing that Christmas is a religious holiday and Thanksgiving is more of a generic one.

Monday’s got court tonight and Monday’s got it January 2nd. Then within 10 days, she’ll be DOC’d out of here.

I got pretty PO’d at this totally rude DO on my way to my visit who was doing escort. I’d have grieved him if I’d known his name, but I didn’t catch it (I later learned it was Bergman). I forgot to tuck my shirt in and he told me to and I did. That’s where the bald mother-fucker should’ve dropped it. Instead, the little fuck had to add that he was two seconds away from canceling my visit. That’s two seconds away from dealing with my wrath he would’ve been too, if he had canceled it, because that wouldn’t have been my loss only but Tom’s, too. That would’ve been so rude to do to Tom and so unfair to him too, after taking the time to come and see me. And over tucking in a fucking shirt! If he’d canceled it, I don’t think I’d have been able to keep from losing it on the sack of snot. How dare he threaten me! What? Do some of these DOs think they’re God just because they’re the DOs and we’re the inmates? This one can bend it backward and shove it up his ass! Sometimes I find myself wishing I didn’t have visits or commissary to lose because if I had nothing to lose, I’d have kicked many sets of teeth down many throats by now.

I thought I noticed more gray in Tom’s hair. A twinge of guilt crept over me when I saw this. And anger and sadness, too. Imagine all the gray hair I’ll have when I get out!

Carolyn and Monday have been good (so far) with not begging. They haven’t even asked to use my radio. I’ll have a total of 15 envelopes if all goes well. I’ll have 6 from Tina after I get her candy bar and pop tarts, 6 from Monday for 2 brownies and corn nuts, and 3 from Carolyn for 1 candy bar.

Carolyn and I were talking about diet and exercise and she said that if you build muscle underneath the fat, rather than lose the fat first, you won’t lose the fat. That’s what happened to me. But then she said that a good 3-4 months of eating 3 grapefruits a day will peel the outer layer of fat off. That outer layer of fat, though, is being peeled off really well, thanks to Estrella Jail and the freeloaders who put me here.

Black Johnson worked 2nd shift, and I said jokingly, “Hey, you wanna pass a kite for me?”

“Yeah, right,” she said.

We’re not supposed to pass kites to each other, so we have to do it behind the DO’s backs. Rosa had a kite made up for me with lipstick kisses which I got during the 5 minutes I was back there before Palma bounced me down here.

Speaking of kites, I got another medical one to go in for my inhaler/snot spray. I’m scheduled for an eye exam but haven’t heard about my prescriptions yet.

Oh, I hate this shit! I’m so sick of having to fight for things no one should have to fight for. At least we have hot showers and even the air temperature’s warmer. How long will it last, though?

Got two letters from Tom today, mostly mentioning how the rats bite him and misbehave. He enclosed a picture of Harry, saying he’s getting to look like Vanilla Belly. I couldn’t see his belly, but I thought he was a spitting image of Scuttles with the dark brown fur and white paws. He says mellow Harry’s turned into a hyper, rebellious thing.

He says he hasn’t been able to get any info on Rosa yet. The court website’s been down.

He also says he’s holding off on the governor and senator’s letters till he talks to a lawyer. He thinks a lawyer would cost $300–$400, but I think it’d cost more than that. His mom, God bless her, may have to help us.

Why don’t we just open up “The Freeloader Account?” Why don’t we just pay her regularly for the rest of our lives? In a sense, we’ll probably have to anyway.

Carolyn and Monday had the very unfortunate curse of having crazy Melinda for a celly for 3 days till she went back to M. They said they prayed for someone like me. I’m glad God answered their prayers. Now how about mine?

Set me free, God!

Carolyn was telling me the DOs record our daily behavior in detail, but I don’t see how they can be that detailed when 95% of the time they don’t glance in at us for longer than a second. Sometimes not at all.

Yuck! This cell is starting to reek of bad breath (they’re asleep). Commissary needs to start selling room deodorizers.

As I’ve said before, I plan to type these rough drafts up when I leave here and make a little book. My Estrella Jail Nightmare was the only thing I could think of for a title. Then Carolyn came up with Why Am I Here? Again, I know why I’m here. I’m here because something up there hates me and wants to screw me over.

Carolyn thinks I should publish it to let folks know exactly what goes on here, and when I told her what a bitch it is to get something published, she recommended I sell it at a consignment shop.

I don’t think so.

Wednesday, December 27, 2000

OK, now for my shocking news. There’s a chance Palma may actually like me. I thought about the possibility for a second, said nah, then Carolyn suggested she might like me before I even mentioned it. I don’t know, though. For everything that says she doesn’t like me, there’s something that says she might.

Ruby, Carolyn and Monday think she’s bi. I had thought she may be prejudiced because of how Madeline said she reacted to a couple of girls who got rather close to each other in K dorm. She said Palma said something like, “How could you do that shit on my shift? That’s sick!” Carolyn said the bi ones are the ones that usually react like that, and Madeline’s no reliable source of information.

Monday said she was nearly fired last May for nearly beating someone up. Palma does have a very aggressive streak in her.

If she does like me, she has a very strange way of showing it what with the way she’s played musical cells with me. Carolyn said that her bouncing me around may delay me from going back to M because it’s those who have been in the same cell here the longest that tend to go first, she says, and not who’s been in Ad-Seg for the longest, like I had thought. On the other hand, though, she moves a lot of people around, so I don’t know what to think.

Maybe she respects me for standing up to her. Maybe that’s it. Three times I yelled at her and got away with it. She could’ve written me up or done something. Then again, all I really did was swear and bitch. It’s not like I threatened to kill her. Even so, from what I’ve seen, Palma’s the wrong one to go off on. Why I got away with it is a mystery to me.

Later, once I’d gotten settled in here, I apologized for going off on her. “You’re OK, babe,” she said. It didn’t hit me till later that she used the word babe, and I asked Carolyn if she heard her say that, which she did.

Another thing that stuck in my mind was how weird I thought it was for her to say, “I’d never send you there,” when I thanked her for not sending me to M the day she put me in with Ruby. I could’ve sworn she either said that, or “I wouldn’t send you there.”

Again, I don’t know what to think. It’s nice to think that someone you like might like you back, but I can’t say for sure what’s going through her mind. There’s something there, though. It seems that ever since I gave her that card, things have changed between us, and I’ve been getting a lot more attention from her, even if most of it isn’t in a great way, and even though she’s still not very friendly overall. I must admit that as pretty as she is, there’s nothing about her personality that really grabs me. She may know two languages, but other than that, I get the feeling she’s probably pretty dumb.

A part of me doesn’t want to know if she likes me or not, as much as I’m curious, because then there’d be no fun in guessing and wondering, which is fun to do. I like playing detective games and trying to figure things out. I don’t have anything much better to do here, anyway.

Nottelmann said she’d put me in Alex’s cell if it’s not taken when she returns Thursday. If he left today, like I’m pretty sure he did, it’ll be taken long before Thursday. Thursday I’m going to try to get her to put me back with Rosa and Tina. The only problem with that is that Palma will bounce me back out.

Rosa and Tina are not happy to have Ruby for a celly, although they like her. Ruby showers only once a week and has a yeast infection that makes her stink like hell. She finally showered today. I remember how she stunk, though Rosa’s a stinker, too.

There are a couple of funny things I forgot to mention from when I was with Rosa and Tina. I wrote the Spanish word pared down, which means wall. Then I told Rosa, “Me voy a pregunta Tina al leer esta palabra” (I’m going to ask Tina to read this word). She pronounced it paired, just like I knew she would. Rosa and I got quite a kick out of that one!

Then I told Tina to tell Palma dame un beso (give me a kiss), but Tina said she doubted she could remember that and that she didn’t trust what I was telling her to tell her.

Gee, I wonder why? It was still worth the try!

Thursday, December 28, 2000

I was right when I said commissary would fuck up my order every 2-3 weeks, but at least it was a minor fuck-up. Instead of getting pink lipstick, I got Chapstick, so the guy said he’d take back the Chapstick and credit me for it.

I loaned Rosa a pair of batteries for her radio because her husband didn’t get money into her account on time. I got 15 envelopes for the stuff I got Tina, Carolyn and Monday.

I also wrote Tina the lyrics to the song Desperado like she asked me to.

That Magic Shave they sell is great. It’s a powder you mix with water like pancake batter. It really does remove hair. Carolyn helped me at first. I put it on for 5 minutes, then scraped it off with my ID card. Then I washed the area with my homemade washcloth (a piece of a torn towel).

Although I like Carolyn and Monday, I would still like to go back to Tina and Rosa, but smelly Ruby’s still there. Now that I’m settled with Carolyn and Monday, I’m sure I’ll be moved anytime now.

Where’s Palma? She hasn’t been here since Christmas. I asked Nottelmann if she was on vacation and she said no. Guess she’s working the dorms.

They’ve finally gone to bed. Now maybe I can get a little shitting privacy.

It was funny earlier how Monday was saying she wished she had a catheter running from her to the toilet so she wouldn’t have to keep climbing up and down. It’s an easy climb, though, if you ask me, but she’s kind of fat and out of shape.

Carolyn said the only experience with a woman she had was eating out a hooker she befriended in order to get her out of her house. She said it was either that or be raped but that sounds like an awfully strange story to me. Women aren’t normally that forceful.

Monday says that she’s heard that this jail is the Hilton of all jails in the US. In other countries, they beat and starve people and make them live in their own shit.

Well, this jail is bad enough. After 4 days of being blessed with warm showers, they’re cold again. It only lasted 4 days in M too, when we grieved the showers there. It’s like they count the days or something.

It’s also colder again. I remembered how someone in M covered their vent by slapping on wet wads of toilet paper, so Carolyn and I did that earlier.

They’ve fucked up with the meds again too, the incompetent fuckers! Yesterday’s trip to medical was a complete waste of time, except I got to see Rosa there. We were glad to see each other.

I was pissed to find that I haven’t lost any more weight, too. I’m still 110 pounds. I better cut back on the commissary. Maybe I should just get hard candy, which replaces the gum I usually chew on the outs that they don’t sell here.

I turned down the eye exam because Tom would have to send money in if I needed glasses, and my eyes aren’t bad enough for glasses. I’ll get a real eye exam someday on the outs.

I told the doctor why I didn’t want the Theo and she said, “That’s a lie,” when I told her I was told it’s what made my veins small. My Theo prescription has expired. That’s why they’ve finally quit offering it. The inhalers don’t expire till January 5th. Meanwhile, the doctor said I need not come to medical whenever I need refills. All I have to do is ask the nurse for refills until my prescription expires. Right away my vibes said that the nurse wouldn’t have them. Not only did she not have them, but the whole fucking jail doesn’t have them! They’re out of them and have ordered them from the distributor. How could these stupid quacks let them run out before ordering more, and just how many days will it take for them to get more? Again, I’m getting so fucking fed up with having to fight for meds that I’m tempted to say – fuck it!

A very butchy butch who noticed I was having trouble breathing on my way back from talking with Kara, gave me a hit of her inhaler. That was very nice of her. I’m saving the few precious hits I have left for when I really need them, but hopefully I won’t. I do the ballooning technique when I get really tight and it usually helps.

As for my allergy spray – instead of taking 2 squirts in each nostril a day, I’m taking 1 in each every other day.

My teeth – fuck them. If God wanted me to have straight teeth, he’d have given me them, and this is why he’s now got me in a situation that’ll force me to have crooked teeth again. I rebelled against the way they were and now I’m going to lose all I worked for. I went through so much time, money and pain to straighten them! I should’ve known better, though, about trying to change the way things are. I’m not going to bother returning to the dentist, or any other one for that matter. I’m just going to let them rot till they fall out and I need dentures.

I really love this Magic Shave. You don’t get razor stubble. On the outs, I’ll probably get the kind that’s already mixed, although it may be more expensive. All I’ll have to do is rub it on and wait 5 minutes, then hop in the shower. I may never use razors again.

Just heard a 3rd shift DO tell someone it’s 1:00.

I had a bright idea, though I don’t know that it’ll work. I want to put in a tank to classification requesting a copy of my original Ad-Seg form “for my records.” The real reason I want it is to see if I can get Rule’s first and middle initials and her ID# (even DOs have ID#’s). I want this for when I mail her a thank-you note because I heard there’s another Officer Rule floating around here somewhere.

I keep having these very depressing thoughts of being forced out of my home, away from my husband, and into the city. Into a small studio apartment near a job, only being with Tom in Maricopa on weekends.

After tanking psych, I got to see Kara today. I explained to her that my fight for an early release is over and that we’ve tried everything to no avail. I knew deep down as of 2-3 weeks ago that I wouldn’t get out before 4/29, but the reality of it really hit yesterday. I was so depressed.

I told her about the PO ignoring me and she offered to call for me, but I said no. Tom might call the PO’s supervisor. I don’t know if this is true or not, but Carolyn says she’s ignoring me because she’s not technically my PO (Carolyn would turn out to be right). The one out of Maricopa will be. Then why’d they bother to assign me to this woman in the first place?

I also explained to Kara that Tom spoke to a lawyer who said they’d love to take our money, but rule 32 isn’t for me. That applies to those in prison. He still thinks that after being here with good behavior for 90 days, since anyone can behave for just a week or two, I’ll have a better chance of an early release, but I don’t know if I can behave for that long with all these assholes, and I know I won’t get out early. I’m 100% sure of it at this point.

“That’s more time you have with Palma,” Monday said.

Sorry, but I’d rather trade in Palma for my husband, home, pets, freedom, and all the stuff I miss.

When I discussed with Kara my wanting to be closed custody because of the stress of having to be with so many different people, half of them rude or crazy, she said she’d hate to see me classified as CC because that’s for violent people. Like I really give a fuck about my reputation? I knew I’d never get it, though. God wants me with people. Lots and lots of people.

Ruby still hasn’t left for GP yet. I wonder if she ever will.

Kara said she’d talk to people about not moving me around so much, but I doubt Palma would give a shit. I also doubt there was ever a chance she ever liked me. No woman that I feel is that good-looking ever likes me. It’s almost always one-sided. If it likes me, I don’t like it, and if I like it, it doesn’t like me.

The best part of my day, which is now yesterday, was the fact that I got 2 visits back to back! First Helen, then Tom! Helen kept her word. How sweet of her to see me here. No, she definitely isn’t solely money-motivated.

She didn’t yet get the letter I sent in response to the Christmas card she sent me because she’s been in San Antonio and hasn’t been to the office.

It was hard for me not to shed some tears during our visit. Even her eyes got watery. Hope I didn’t ruin her day!

I filled her in as best I could about the good and bad, although unfortunately, there’s very little good to this place. I told her of my fears for when I get out of here and asked if she could help me find someone, if I needed it, to give me a note explaining why it would be hard on me both physically and emotionally to work outside the house. I need to work at home. I’m not going to be forced out into this sick, crazy world and into being something/somebody I’m not. I need to be the boss of my own fucking life! I can’t live my life with others always telling me what to do!

We agreed I’d give her a copy, once I get home and type up the rough drafts, of the Estrella Jail saga, so she can catch up on this nightmare quicker by reading in between sessions.

I’m in a real tug of war, as I told her. I don’t want to die, but I don’t want to live, either. I want to die right now to spare myself another 4 months of hell in here and whatever hell awaits me on the outs. Yet I want to live to be with my husband again, to play with Houdini, to do the things I love to do, eat my favorite foods and so much more. I want to beat these freeloaders once and for all! Beat them out of my life for good! Take back all that they and the courts have stolen from me!

I was just about to ask Tom what he got for Christmas when our time was up. He said he decided to wait and let me open my gifts myself when I get out. Sounds good.

Helen said my committing suicide would end my pain, but Tom’s would be forever. I don’t know about that. Tom’s a strong one who moves on very well. He could handle it and he’d get over it, but I get her point.

Friday, December 29, 2000

I slept on and off today, then after listening to people on their hour out discuss their “wives” for a while, I decided to get up.

I wish Poindexter, the girl next to us, wasn’t next to us. Everybody’s got to come gab with her on their hour out and it gets old.

My girlfriend’s on tonight. My imaginary one, that is, with a cold. I said, “It’s my favorite DO! Where you moving me to tonight?” when she came to the door to serve dinner, but she says she’s not moving me.

Wow! Really?

Ruby’s still here and I’m beginning to doubt she’ll go to GP. I just may be with Carolyn and Monday for a while, but they’re tolerable enough. Both should be gone in a couple of weeks, though. Monday to prison and Carolyn to rehab.

I’m depressed and homesick tonight, but what else is new? This is jail. My husband and my home are still way in the future. Many worlds away. I want to cry, but I don’t want to. It’d make me feel better, but I don’t want to run my mascara and depress Carolyn and Monday.

For jail mail, I got a receipt saying a friend deposited $20 yesterday. It couldn’t have been Helen. She wouldn’t do that, I don’t think, so it must’ve been Tom. I’ll call and ask him tomorrow.

No arm exercises for me tonight. I hurt my shoulder. I’ve been having problems on and off with that shoulder for nearly a year. I wonder if I might have tendonitis.

I’m through grieving for warmer air and hot showers just to have it granted for only 4 days. I’ll just suffer for 4 more months.

Palma started singing in Spanish as she approached our door on a walk, then stopped as she moved away. Hmm…trying to impress me? I wish! I also wish my Spanish was as good as hers and that Ruby would get the fuck out of here! I heard her talking to Palma about it earlier. She ain’t going anywhere. Not for a while, anyway. At least I’m not in a huge cell in M or with someone like Melinda.

Carolyn and Monday sleep and read most of the time. In the evenings they’re up chatting. Neither of them stinks, which is good, but Carolyn is one very misguided woman! She’s the one that’s very religious and she claims that the world will end in 10 years. Anything’s possible, but if it does, I highly doubt it’ll be in the way she says it will. She says the whole world, even those that live in the desert, far away from the ocean, will see Jesus place one foot on land and the other on water. Then after Satan tries to fool people into thinking he’s God, God’s going to pull his followers into heaven and kill the rest of us. It’s called The Rapture. Carolyn’s going to be one very disappointed person if she’s right, yet doesn’t make it to heaven. Or very shocked if none of this happens at all, but she strikes me as the type that would come up with a logical reason in her delusional mind for why it never happened. I mean, doesn’t she realize how ridiculous this story sounds? I try not to judge/change others and I expect others not to judge/change me, but it all sounds crazy to me.

She asked me what I thought about it all. I told her I believe in God, but not in God the way most people who believe in him do, and I don’t believe in religion. To me, religion is nothing but a bunch of silly rules and superstitious beliefs.

I jogged earlier. Because of my shoulder, I think I’ll only do leg and ab exercises tonight. Then I’ll listen to music, think of Tom, get homesick, and then cry.

Sunday, December 31, 2000

Tonight’s New Year’s Eve, my favorite holiday. Another thing the freeloaders stole from me. But not totally. Tom said to me on the phone today how he’d like to celebrate Christmas, my birthday, and the new year when I get out and make up for all we’ve lost together. How sweet of him. It’s another thing I can look forward to, in the midst of all I have to not look forward to.

He also offered to visit more, but I know how hectic Sundays are. He needs his days off to himself, and I can hardly hear him over all the people who visit on Sundays anyway.

He offered to put $30 a week in which would be even better than $20. Just knowing the money was there, even if I don’t use it all, makes me feel better. I want to get more hard candy and less chocolate so it lasts longer since I can’t chew gum here.

Although I know there’s no way I’ll get out of here before 4/29, he still thinks I will, but not because of anything he does. He thinks the jail will review me and let me out early after seeing how well I behave. He said he doesn’t think the inmates are really aware of this. I can’t imagine this happening, though. If it were something that happened, I’m sure I’d have heard about it. Besides, that sounds more like something that’d happen in prison, not jail.

Ruby’s still here, and if she gets out, it won’t be till next week after she talks to classification. I guess they fucked up on the computer.

By no means am I desperate to escape Carolyn and Monday, but they won’t always let me sleep. After our hour out at 9:00 this morning, they wouldn’t let me go back to sleep! They were talking on and off and wouldn’t even pretend to try to talk softly. They’re fine cellies when you’re awake. They don’t stink and don’t beg for my radio, but trying to get any sleep with them around is hit or miss. Carolyn said I should be more tolerable, but there’s only so much a person can tolerate, and they need to do their share of compromising, too. They can’t expect to throw all the compromising on me. I also made it clear to them that I won’t respect their sleep if they don’t respect mine.

I told Carolyn I sometimes wake up grouchy and not to take it personally.

“But we do take it personally,” she said.

“Well, that’s your problem then,” I told her. “I can’t worry and be responsible for how you may react to things. All I can do is tell you like it is and then you handle it however you’re going to handle it.”

The nurse surprised me by bringing me my allergy spray on his evening rounds, but they’re still out of the asthma inhaler. This nose spray is better because it sprays a finer mist like the lung inhalers. The other ones were like squirting water up my nose, but with this one, I don’t even need to dab at my nose with a tissue afterward.

It’s late afternoon right now. Carolyn, who’s sick to her stomach, is getting a taste of her own medicine and experiencing a good old-fashioned case of karma. The assholes out on their hour were keeping her up. Actually, she slept most of the day, which was the only reason I could get caught up on my sleep, but she wanted to sleep longer than I did. Yet even the DOs don’t have any respect, as Carolyn would find out when the rude dickhead we got on tonight went banging on tables. I’m sure Carolyn will steal my sleep (along with Monday) tomorrow and the next day, but today it’s nice to see that God, or something, took care of Carolyn and showed her what it’s like to ask someone the simple little favor of lowering their voice, only to be ignored.

Karma got Carolyn, but what about the freeloaders? Yeah, what about the freeloaders? That’s another good title for this book - What About the Freeloaders?!?!

Tom’s Christmas gifts consisted of a new shirt (he always gets a new shirt), a weird stuffed animal in a box, a wrench, and an electronic toy.

It’s about 10 PM now. Earlier we had another disappointing dinner; a cold, greasy hot dog with a little scoop of potato salad, a couple of pieces of cauliflower, and 5 crackers.

I can’t wait for commissary!

It’s going to be a long boring night for me. I can only read and write so much. I can only sleep so much, too.

Monday says she’s going to sleep as much as she can tomorrow because she has to be pulled for court at 2 AM. I treasure any time I can get with just one celly. With her gone, Carolyn won’t be chatting, and fortunately, she doesn’t talk to herself.

I’m getting a copy of this thing called Hart vs. MCSO through a tank order. It’s about a girl who took this place to court to better the living conditions around here. According to what I read in Carolyn’s copy (she’s rude, yet she’s enlightened me) it’s illegal for them to put more than 2 people in these small cells. I’m going to tank the captain and ask him why MCSO (Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office) can break the law, but we can’t. Then I’m going to send my copy home to Tom and see if he can have it investigated. It pisses me off, even scares me, to know that no investigators check up on things around here periodically. There’s got to be someone Tom can contact to stop them from putting 3 of us in here like this, as well as to maybe get some hot showers here, too.

[rose-tinted-juls]

I'M SCREAMING OMG i should be packing rn bc i move into my new rent for uni today, instead what was i doing? reading this bc i couldn't stop thinking about a house a home and wanted to know what happens next. do i have to rush impossibly now with the packing? yes. do i regret choosing to read where do we go instead? 100% no.

1. THE PARALLELS!!!! i was honestly squealing after reading the first line and the last but let's talk about that later shall we so yeah, the "carlos sainz is a ..." sentences straight on killed me. from the very first second.

2. "charles's eyes are still bright, elated you had decidd to come alongside him. all he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months."

3. "however, his grasp, like the entirely of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. charles' thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. he'd taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he'd never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. it was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you."

4. this conversation: "i didn't realise you'd be here, mariposa. come to make sure your husband behaves?" - "no. i came to see how his teammate is behaving. i'm a married woman, carlos." - *your marital status doesn't change the way i feel for you." I'M DEAD I'M SCREAMING I LOVE THESE TWO SO MUCH

5. "he tries to keep his breathing calm, your presense practically overpowering him." oh to be that woman who has that effect on carlos sainz jr himself.

6. "when you take a sip of the rich red, you're blissfully unaware of your husband's eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don't want to focus on anything else." AHHHHH honestly jay you're killing me over here

7. also, "nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head. you were his wife, after all." EXCUSE ME. i don't even know why am i crying at this so hard i just do

8. "it didn't stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you'd regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning." DOMESTIC CHARLES 😭😭 also this is finally something so husband of him why are you so late with this charles why couldn't you be like this a year ago 😭

9. "you can'thelp but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. but this wasn't a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first." SHE STRONG omg i could never be her, half broken relationship or not i would kiss charles leclerc no matter what.

10. CHARLES AND HER LITTLE SISTER 😭😭 and how she reminds him of baby arthur 😭 i'm not okay rn

11. "undeniably, carlos sainz looks good in any situation." *george russell voice* FACT. carlos is honestly unreal by how good he always looks.

12. again, the beginning and end of "carlos sainz is a best friend" and "carlos sainz is your best friend" ughh *chefs kiss* breathtaking writing once more

13. i FEAR that the photo carlos took of her sleeping will come back somehow and it will cause me pain i'm AFRAID

14. so back to the parallels. FINISHING AGAIN WITH A CONFESSING TEXT!!!! AND THIS TIME IT'S CHARLES ADMITTING TO BE IN LOVE WITH HER. I'M DECEASED AND IN HEAVEN FOR SURE. charles babe why are you so late and make things so much more complicated </3

another gorgeous chapter by the queen herself that i couldn't help but read asap. now i just have to find time to read the third part and my life will be complete. new fave c2 fic? easily. i ADORE everything about this fic and about its precious writer. there are no words that could properly express how much i love you, @forteafy <333

Where Do We Go? | CL16 & CS55

Summary: Charles will do anything to fix his marriage with you, Carlos will do anything to prove you're worth more. The question is where do you go between the two men fighting for your affection?

Word Count: 9.7k

Warnings: angst, a lotta angst, cheating, light smut, character death.

Note: You all really wanted a Part 2 to this one, and of course, I wanted to deliver! This is a little bit more angsty, we’re trying to save a relationship, after all. Or…are we? Also, a massive thank you to @formulaforza for proof-reading this for me and pulling me up on my addiction to italics; my brain is literally jelly right now. Enjoy, everybody!

You can read part 1, ‘A House, A Home,’ HERE!

Carlos Sainz is a best friend. 

Best friends, however, do not text a love confession to one another in the hours of a rising sun, especially not when their declaration is to a woman who is wrapped up in the arms of her husband. 

The confession had run cold through your veins; if it hadn’t been for the sheer exhaustion taking over your body from the events of the past 48 hours, you were certain you would have been up the entire night, contemplating the words he had sent to you. He wasn’t drunk; far from it, the man had driven you down the dusky streets to your home mere hours before. Was he lonely? Did he feel sorry for you? More importantly, did he mean those precious words that had lit up your screen?

Eventually, the desire for sleep, for the warmth of your estranged husband’s chest pillowing your back overtakes your body. You hadn’t slept in a bed with him since the last day of your supposed honeymoon; even then, you had slept with an infinite gap between the two of you, cuddling instead into a pillow, rageful tears in your eyes at the realization that this was now your life. 

This was entirely different. Charles pressed into you as if holding you together; his warm breath danced across the nape of your neck, a hand pressed into your stomach, cradling you between the warm blankets and soft cushions you had picked out when decorating your room. You didn’t rouse during the night, the two before had been filled with tears, constantly awakening to call for your mother as if you were a child again, the harsh realization that she wasn’t around anymore. 

When you did wake, the bed was empty. 

You had subconsciously turned in the blankets when you arose, expecting to see the figure of your husband next to you. The pillow was still rumpled, his glasses disappeared from the nightstand, every single trace of him had seemed to evaporate. Clearly, one night next to you had been a big enough mistake in his eyes. 

Instead, your attention turns towards your phone. Silently, you remove the device from its charger, the homescreen being flooded with sympathetic messages and photographs of you arriving at your father’s home. Luckily, no photographs of Carlos picking you up himself had been released; that would have caused a frenzy which wasn’t desired on either side. 

However, his last text to you that evening before still stayed burned into your screen. In curiosity, you’d once again opened the text thread, seeing th

e words stand strong, his confession to his feelings presents for your eyes. He had laid it out so clearly, Carlos Sainz was in love with you. 

But, were you in love with him? You loved your family; you loved the smell of fresh candles. You adored the sounds of the fastest cars in the world racing around a track whilst you watched with ease. Did you categorize your best friend into the love you so carefully crafted? Was the desire you felt for contact solely directed towards him? 

You never had time to answer yourself that morning. Your subconscious state recognised the sound of footsteps; it was most likely Charles, on his way to his own room for some private time. Maybe he’d have his mistress with him, having snuck out of bed early that morning to possibly go and pick her up himself. 

The footsteps get louder, the door to your room opens, much to your confusion. In the doorway, stands your husband. You’ve never seen him like this; a soft smile, hair pushed back by a bandana, glasses resting on the bridge of his small nose. He’s dressed in a soft, grey jumper and matching tracksuit bottoms, fluffy socks warming his feet. In one arm, he cradles a washing bag. Upon closer inspection, you see that it’s your washing from the case you had lugged in the night before, ironed and folded. In his other hand, he holds a steaming mug of tea. 

He looks beautiful like this, almost ethereal. He looks domestic. 

“Good morning.” He speaks gently, as if any sudden sound would hurt you. You looked…so precious, covered in blankets, your pajamas covering your modesty. “I’m sorry I had to leave early. I went to get your washing done and…pick up some tea.” He offers, holding up the bag of washing in confirmation. Charles offers you a smile as walks into the room, placing the pile of clothing on your vanity. Cradling the mug of hot tea in his hand, he walks back over to where you’re now sat up, surrounded by soft furnishings, offering you the drink which you gladly accept. 

It's a mediocre cup of tea at best; the teabag hasn’t diluted properly, there’s too little milk and too much sugar. Yet, the fact he had made the drink himself caused your heart to soften, despite the past twelve months of actions. You offer him a soft ‘thank you,’ as the drink touches your lips. You’re half-expecting him to stand up and leave immediately. Instead, Charles sits himself down on the edge of the bed, making certain he doesn’t sit on your outstretched legs. 

There’s a moment of bliss; you’re somewhat enjoying the drink cradled in your hands, your husband’s eyes trained on your movements. At one moment, he reaches out his hand towards your face. You flinch, not too sure on what was happening, before his palm simply tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t bring your own eye gaze to meet him, simply focusing on the hot drink in your hand. You can’t help but notice the way his shoulders fall, clearly not satisfied with the lack of eye-contact. 

You can’t help it; it’s as if Charles believes with one night wrapped in his arms would solve the past twelve months. You couldn’t forget, not everything that had happened. Your husband had shattered this relationship, well and truly. He could only hope he’d realised in enough time to somehow win you back. Silently, he stands up from the edge of the comforter, walking towards the vanity, beginning to remove the clothing from its basket. It’s… humorous, to see him try and figure out where each category goes. It’s also a stark reminder of how this is ‘your’ room, not ‘our’ room.  

Whilst picking out a rather revealing pair of panties, folding them up and placing them into your draw, he begins to speak again. “What are you doing this afternoon?” His voice is soft, but in the silent room it carries well.

You shrug, before realizing Charles has his back to you. “I’m…nothing much.” You cut yourself off, placing the cup of tea on your bedside table, letting your hands pull up the comforter a little higher. “My father is going to the funeral parlor today.” Are you…having a conversation with your husband? “How about you?”

“I have lunch with the Ferrari team this afternoon. Nothing serious, just a talk on the next part of the season.” He explains. Charles isn’t stupid; he knows despite your father’s input that you constantly worry about his job. Not because you care about his fame, wealth or power; you care about him. 

“I was,” he takes a breath. “I was wondering if you would like to come along.” 

You feel goosebumps prickle across your exposed skin. Charles Leclerc never invited you to his lunches. He’d always have a reason as to why his darling Mrs. Leclerc could never attend their lunch meetings alongside him. The only time you’d ever appear by his side, fingers harshly interlinked and a cold barrier between you both was when your father insisted upon it. He wouldn’t be there today, there was no way he’d be present for any form of meeting for a while now. 

“You don’t have to, of course.” His explanation runs further. “I know it might be too much for you now. I just thought…maybe we could go for a drive after. Carlos and Xavi will be there, you’ll know some of the others from the Paddock…” His voice trails off in your mind. It had started to  the moment he had said the Spaniards name. 

Were you… ready to see Carlos? The day after a text message you had never thought you’d see. Would he acknowledge the message, was it a drunken mistake? Most importantly, did you want him to love you? 

When you come back out of your trail of thoughts, Charles is still talking, carefully hanging one of your summer dresses onto a velvet coat hanger. He takes a moment to brush the fabric under his fingertips, feeling the soft cotton under his touch. He’s so gentle. The touch is almost identical to the way he had held you mere hours ago.

“I’ll come.” You cut him off, watching as his head snaps in your direction, eyes bright underneath his glasses. “Yeah. It will be…nice.” You finish your sentence, trying not to ramble or to float off topic. Charles’ eyes are still bright, elated you had decided to come alongside him. All he had to do now was fix every other mistake spanning over twelve months. 

Carlos Sainz is a red-wine gentleman. 

You’d immediately spotted him the moment you had entered the waterside restaurant; his back was to the entrance, but you’d recognise the powdered blue shirt and dark wisps of hair in any circumstance. You could have just walked over, stood next to him and ordered a drink, but your fingers stayed tightly interlocked with your husbands, a force of habit in public at the current rate. 

However, his grasp, like the entirety of his actions over the past twenty-four hours, was different. Charles’ thumb gently stroked over your knuckle, his fingers gently resting against yours instead of the firm grip he usually held for the sake of actions. He’d taken a moment to look at you before entering the building, something he’d never done in the past, simply having dragged you into whatever location instead. It was as if his eyes told you a million things; that he had your back and the moment you wanted to leave, he was right behind you. 

The moment you’re in the presence of company, the façade still comes alive, the act you had been creating for all this time is still a force of habit. Charles’ hand comes around your waist, greeting the many members of the Scuderia Ferrari team, thanking them for his time and attention to the matter. As always, you tactfully excuse yourself from the side of your husband, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek and removing yourself from the crowd. Usually, he wouldn’t so much as flinch from the chaste action, but you don’t miss his eyes longing for you to stay this time. 

Instead, your heel-clad feet press through the tiles of the place, making advancements towards the white marbled-bar. You receive a nod from the friendly-looking gentleman mixing cocktails, a silent signal to let him know when you’re ready. Maybe you stand too close to Carlos, so much so that you can smell his cologne, you can feel his body warmth radiating through that shirt. It doesn’t take long for him to notice your presence, his eyes widening upon the realization that it was, in fact, you–the woman he had confessed his feelings to less than twelve hours ago. 

“I didn’t realize you’d be here, Mariposa,” he taunts, pulling you into his side. You’re grinning immediately, happy to be reunited with your close friend after how he had left you last night, promising he’d be there if you needed anything. “Come to make sure your husband behaves?” 

“No. I came to see how his teammate is behaving.” You let him ponder for a moment, but he realizes, the blush growing from his neck to his cheeks. “I’m a married woman, Carlos.” You remind him but make no attempt to move further away. The idea is completely eradicated when his hand comes out to rest on the small of your back. His eyes are still fixed on you. He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. It’s not fair to you. He couldn’t care less about his teammate’s position, the way he’s treated you all this time leaves a sour taste on his tongue. 

“Your marital status doesn’t change the way I feel for you.” He thinks back to that moment in the ocean. What on Earth would be happening if he had kissed you at that moment? He could never be certain, but something tells him you’d be his date to this luncheon right now. Sighing, Carlos turns to face you directly, the bottle of wine he had originally come to pick up having been left on the counter. 

“I’m going to ask you something, and you don’t have to respond.” He tries to keep his breathing calm, your presence practically overpowering him. “But...I would love to take you out for a date sometime. A proper date. With flowers and dinner and being able to make you smile.” Your heart is softening by the moment with the Spaniard’s pleads of everything your husband had never given you. “Would you like that?” 

“I would.” You don’t even have to think of your response. “I would like that, Carlos.” At that moment, your estranged husband is the last thought of your mind; instead it’s overpowered by the fantasies of a date with the man standing in front of you. This time, Carlos can’t help the grin on his lips, reaching for the bottle of red wine on the bar. His careful hands carefully unlatch the stopper, the liquid hitting two crystal glasses, one of which he passes to you.

“Well, shall we toast the idea, no?” he holds up the glass delicately, to which you raise your own, grinning at the satisfying sound of clinking crockery. When you take a sip of the rich red, you’re blissfully unaware of your husband’s eyes; the ones which are never attached to you, but in that moment, don’t want to focus on anything else. Nobody misses the way he purposely sits between yourself and his teammate, fingers interlocked into yours tightly, the occasional kiss on the temple of your head. 

You were his wife, after all. 

Carlos Sainz is a brilliant cook. 

The intimacy between yourself and your husband had oddly grown within the past week. To start, his messages became more frequent, checking in when he couldn’t be at the house. Your pantry had stocked overnight, begging for your home cooking whenever he could be there to sample it. Most importantly, the interaction. You’d been hesitant to even let your husband touch you in the beginning. You had kept it simple, a hug before you’d headed off to bed in your room, (sleeping in the same bed as him had been that one-off.) His arms would find their way onto your waist if you were cooking, his fingers would tuck a lock of hair behind your ear when you found yourself engrossed in studies. 

Your husband had been elated when you had spoken to him two days before he was due to leave for Qatar, announcing you would like to attend alongside him; it was also your father’s wishes to attend that race, wanting to signal to his fellow associates that he was okay, that you could pass on a message from your family. Charles’ eyes had glossed over with happiness, taking your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. 

You were ready for your entrance to the Paddock 72 hours later; after arriving in Qatar, you’d barely seen anything from the transport from his jet to the hotel. Your eyes had grown heavy the moment your feet were removed from their shoes, two large beds welcoming you with their soft blankets and heavy pillows. (He’d made sure to give you the sleeping space that you needed.) Charles’ heart had softened when he’d seen you curl into one bed. When he returned from the bathroom, you were out like a light. 

It didn’t stop him from gently rubbing a makeup wipe over your features, knowing you’d regret your lack of attention to appearance in the morning. Hesitantly, he leans forward, pressing a kiss to your hairline, one hand stroking over the back of your head before he returns to unpacking both yours and his suitcase. 

You had been hesitant of attending the Paddock alongside Charles that morning, not because you were worried of the bombarding questions. No, this was the first time you had attended the paddock with a husband who seemed comforted by your presence. His heart felt gentle when he saw you look out of the front windscreen, eyes transfixed on the countless photographers standing by the barriers. Immediately, his hand finds yours, resting atop your thigh, the hot weather pleading for a cooler outfit. 

“You don’t have to do this.” He removes his sunglasses, those ocean eyes finding your own. “You can wait here, or I can have somebody drive you back to the hotel now.” He promises, the worry flickering over his face. Your hand removes itself from his firm grasp, instead reaching forward and resting your hand on his bristled cheek. 

“I’m okay.” You promise him, thumb dancing over his soft cheekbone. He offers you a soft smile, eyelashes fluttering as your face gets closer to his; you have no panic leaning over the console of the hire-car, gently pressing a warm kiss to the cheek your hand wasn’t resting upon. You can’t help but hesitate when you pull back from his face, lingering within mere millimeters of his lips for a long moment; you could just lean forward, press your lips to his and give into all those nights you had dreamed of. But this wasn’t a dream; this was your husband whom you needed to fix a relationship with first. 

Charles isn’t going to lean forward and kiss you himself, not until the signals you are giving him are crystal clear. Instead, he presses his forehead close to yours, tips of your noses gently brushing against one another before he steps out of the car, and you’re quick to follow. 

This time, he doesn’t walk in silence, ignoring your presence. Instead, as the two of you flash your paddock passes towards the security guards, he’s openly commenting on different happenings around Media Day, both of you falling into giggles upon seeing Toto Wolff’s broken arm; he was truly beginning to become an icon at the local emergency room. You’re happy. Subdued in a bubble alongside your husband, hands interlocked as you work your way through the paddock. 

You’ve never experienced such a harsh blow to reality when you see an all-too-familiar figure lurking outside of the Williams Racing building. Her hair is shorter, her skirt is skimpier and a ghastly color. However, she still looks beautiful. She is undoubtedly the woman you’ve fought and lost your husband’s affection from, his mistress. 

Charles seems to clock less than a moment after you do, both bodies freezing upon notifying her presence. You seem to have a quicker reaction time, despite being in the presence of a world-class Formula Driver. Immediately, you rip your grasp from Charles’ hand, showing him no emotion as you step away and into the Ferrari Building. You’re fortunate enough to avoid most of your fathers’ colleges, only once having to stop to give a sympathizing message of your mothers’ passing, the words being used are minute compared to the ache in your heart for her presence. 

When you reach the top of the dark stairs, almost certain you can hear Charles’ voice below you. He’s searching for you now, but instead is overwhelmed by the amount of people in his presence. You’re able to sneak through the makeshift corridor, finding a large number ’55,’ pressed onto the door. You don’t even think, opening the door to a very tanned, very shirtless Carlos Sainz.

He's so… toned. The natural light from the window is reflecting beautifully onto his chest, broader than you’d last seen during your adventures at sea. His shorts hang low on his waist, making no attempt to shift his body despite your appearance. Instead, his dressing is overtaken by his concern for your face, immediately dropping the shirt fisted in his right hand, taking your gentle face in between both of his palms. You didn’t even realize the tears resting on your cheeks, the fear glossed over in your eyes that you’d ever trusted Charles.

Carlos doesn’t need to ask; he saw her on his own entry to the Paddock. Admittedly, he had to double-take; surely Charles wouldn’t have the audacity to bring his mistress to the other side of the world. He didn’t bother to glance in her direction too long, instead greeting the Ferrari team, excusing himself to go and get changed for their upcoming press appearances. In this moment, he’s held you against his bare chest, hushing you gently as one hand threads through your hair. Your mind is overwhelmed, from seeing your husband’s mistress, but from being pressed against his oh-so warm chest. 

You don’t even realize, but your palms are resting on his chest, his skin so soft beneath your touch. Carlos gently hushes you, tilting your head up to face him, still cradled in his grasp. He could so easily reach forward, claim you there and then, but he realizes in that moment, under your soft touch and those doe eyes, you are the one who has claimed him. After a moment, he pulls back, motioning for you to follow him towards the couch, littered in Spanish-themed cushions and the enormous chili plushie you had bought him several months ago. 

You can’t help the slight disappointment when Carlos eventually slips on his Ferrari Polo; however, you are interested when he reaches for his small fridge, pulling out a neat lunchbox, motioning for you to grasp it whilst he reaches for another. Curiosity takes the better of you, gently unclasping the lid of the Tupperware box. A beautiful aroma overtakes your senses, a carefully crafted meal nestled into the lunchbox. The Spaniard can’t help but grin at your reaction; sometimes something as simple as a homemade meal could lift your spirits.

And that’s how you spent the next forty-five minutes, sat on the sofa of Carlos Sainz’s driver room, the man sat on the floor as the two of you exchanged bites of food. There’s one particular moment where you offer him a spoonful of your lunchbox, watching as he arches his torso towards you. 

It’s almost…sensual, the way his lips wrap around the top of the spoon, maintaining sole eye contact as he retracts his mouth from the utensil, letting his tongue trace around his lips for a chase of the taste. He knows what he’s doing; in his mind, all he wants is to show how adored you could be, to show he could be everything your husband never was.

It isn’t until Charles is finally free from the bombarding questions of his sponsors that he finally locates you in Carlos’ room. The man isn’t oblivious; he can see that the two of you have grown undeniably close. He can’t bring himself to say anything on the matter. He knows, in his heart of hearts, he has no right to make any assumptions; he was the one who had spent hours with a mistress, after all. Silently, he opens the door to the driver’s room, your figure perched upon the sofa, a grin plastering your soft features. You looked happy.

You looked like the most beautiful girl he had seen in his life. 

You acknowledge his presence after a few moments, standing up from your place on the sofa, insisting the man tries Carlos’ cooking. It takes less than a few blinks of your eyes for him to submit, taking the spoonful off your utensil, making a comment towards his teammate that he would have to give him some lessons at some point. The man says nothing, simply nodding in a passive agreement. 

There’s a sharp call for Charles after he wipes his mouth on the back of his hand. He shoots both you and his teammate an apologetic look before he makes his way down the corridor, gently closing the door behind him as to give you a sense of privacy; the last thing he wanted was to have you plastered all over social media pages when he knew it would purely be used for publicity purposes. 

You’re still smiling when the door closes, your back to Carlos’ front. “He seems to like you-“ 

You were destined to never finish that sentence. Within a split moment, there are warm hands, rough hands resting on either side of your waist, twisting your body within his grasp. He takes two steps backwards, enough pacing to have your back pressed against the closed door: the coldness of the wood contrasting violently with the heat radiating off your best friend. 

He couldn’t hold any emotion. Carlos Sainz wears his heart on his sleeve. That much is adamant, from the way his text messages were drafted, to the way he tilts his head, meshing his lips to your own. 

They’re surprisingly soft; there’s nothing soft in the way his hands grasp at your waist, the way his body is pressing so deeply into yours. Yet, as his lips continue to entrance yours, they feel like clouds; a gentle stroke of a paintbrush. His artistry continues when his kisses get deeper, one of his hands enclosing yours, bringing it to rest around his shoulders, pushing the two of you closer together. Your other hand is interlocked by his, being stretched above your head, pinned to the door you’re resting upon. 

He's waited so long for this, before lunch, before your moment in the sea. He’s wanted this since the moment you walked into the Ferrari Paddock alongside your father, you must have been etched into his heart. 

Carlos isn’t thinking; his kisses are becoming rougher, one hand blindly reaching for your leg, almost bare from the shorts you had opted from your wardrobe earlier. He guides it to rest upon his hip, grunting when he can feel his hardened crotch press between your legs. His reality comes crashing down when he feels the cool band on your fingers entangling in his hair. Your wedding ring. 

Ragged breaths, panting, he pulls away from your lips, pressing his forehead to your own in a sheer plea of comfort. Both your breaths are synchronized, both grasping for some form of air in the room. 

“You’re everything, Mariposa.” He whispers, closing his dark eyes, enjoying his moment, taking every opportunity to imprint the feeling of your body, of your lips into his mind. He prays this won’t be the last time he holds you this way. 

Carlos Sainz is a fast texter. 

In the moments after you had shared the intimacy, hidden away in his driver’s room, he’s gone into a sheer panic. He’d overstepped, he’d made an advancement on you at your most vulnerable. When he had left for the press alongside your husband, he didn’t have a single chance to pull you aside, not when you had left the moment after the duo had been pulled into their press conferences. Simply, you were not waiting around to catch glimpses of the mistress, still proudly flocking around the Paddock as if it was her home.

It had taken a matter of moments to request a car home, having slipped out of the Ferrari building, talking to one of your father’s colleagues about your departure. Silently, you paced out of the building, a direct beeline towards the car park, head down from the ever-present photographers. 

You hadn’t expected a text from either your husband or his teammate, considering that they were both in press conferences until further notice. However, when you had felt and grasped the device in your shorts, you had immediately noticed the soft vibrations, pulling your device out of your pocket, your eyes being illuminated by the screen of your phone. Two text messages. One from your father, one from Carlos. Your attention is drawn to the latter, curious on what your best friend has to say. 

11:32: Carlos Sainz: 

I’m really, truly sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. I haven’t seen Charles yet to let him know you left. You don’t have to see me again if you do not wish. 

11:36: You

It wasn’t you at all, I promise! I was aware that Charles’ mistress was about, I couldn’t stick about for that. 

Carlos messages you back, almost immediately. You’re confused, considering he is due to be in press alongside Charles. He could be having a break; he could have completely skipped out on several media appearances. 

11:38: Carlos Sainz

I wish you could have stayed longer. I meant what I said, every single word. Please let me know if you need anything.

11:41: You

I know, C. I appreciate it, even if I express it terribly. I’ll always be here for you, too. Always. 

You never get to see the next message that Carlos sends to you. Instead, your phone starts ringing, an incoming call from your father. You’re certain that the chauffeur won’t mind you taking the call whatsoever, holding the device to your ear as your father’s tone fills the void, his words becoming numbing as he runs through the details of your mother’s funeral, the tears in his voice beginning to swell heavily. 

Charles had left the Paddock as soon as he got notice of your departure. He hadn’t bothered to message, his sole focus being on returning to the hotel, to find out what on Earth had happened to you. He was fortunate enough to escape the wandering eyes of his ex-mistress, how on Earth she had gotten into the Paddock for that race was beyond him, especially since he had ceased contact from that day. 

The car arrives swiftly outside of the hotel; immediately, Charles is rushing through the back entrance, beelining for the staircase; waiting for an elevator at this moment would be too much. Within moments, he’s fumbling for his key card, pushing the door open, his heart shattering at the vision in front of him. 

You, his wife, sat on the edge of one of the king-size beds; your head is buried into your hands, heavy sobs racking through your body. He can see the goosebumps littering your skin, the solemn shakes running through you, the trauma of losing somebody you cared about so deeply, combined with a cocktail of emotions from your entrance to the Paddock had become too much. 

He doesn’t care about boundaries, not at this point. Immediately, Charles has crouched in front of you, his gentle hands reaching to grasp around your wrists. There’s a flinch at the sudden contact; your skin had overheated from the sheer energy of crying; your husband’s cool touch was a stark contrast which made you shiver. Delicate touches pull your hands away from your eyes. They’re so red, so swollen. Had he ever made you react like that from his own actions. The Monegasque doesn’t want to question that right now, he can’t even bring himself to look into your broken eyes. Instead, he feels as your arms wrap around his neck, hiding your face in his neck, craving for somebody to just…hold you. 

Your husband has no issue in that desire; he lets you remain like that, Charles on his knees whilst you cling to him, the tears dampening through his shirt. One hand slides across your back, kneading gentle circles into your skin. At some point, you move onto the bed, the man lying back on the soft furnishings whilst you rest your head on his chest, arms encircling you as if he could hold you together, until the storm in your mind passes. 

When the tears subside, you finally find the energy to look up to your husband. He hadn’t reached for his phone, tried to find some form of entertainment whilst he held you to his chest for hours. Instead, his gaze had been fixed upon you, brushing a gentle stroke over your cheek, his fingers dancing against your skin, brushing away the tension from heavy lines and sobs. When your eyes do open, you’re greeted with a soft smile, Charles leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. 

“Do you need some water?” His concern is to bring you back up to health; now the tears have stopped, he can do this. “I can order some food; would you like that?” His voice is so quiet, as if a simple loud sound could shatter through your veins. You can’t muster up more than a nod, your body becoming colder when Charles’ gently shifts away, sitting up so he can reach for the telephone. His voice is so mesmerizing, speaking down the line as he requests different foods; he doesn’t mind how much he orders, if he can coax you into even eating a little, the man will be satisfied. 

The call finishes, but the man doesn’t sink back down into his previous position. Instead, whilst he remains sat up, Charles guides you to join him, your body still aching from your emotional breakdown. He murmurs under his breath as he pulls you into his lap, your body is tense until his strong arms wrap around your waist, the warmth instantly allowing you to relax, lean back into his firm chest. 

“I’ve wanted to speak to you for a few days.” His voice is soft, but the phrase causes you to feel a sharp panic dance down your chest. Surely, this can’t be good. The relationship had evolved from barely speaking to intimate conversations within a span of two weeks. You try, try so hard to keep a clear mind as your husband continues to address you. 

“How I’ve acted…how I treated you, all that time-“ He must stop himself, trying not to let his own emotion overpower his words. “I’m never going to be able to take it all back, and I will never be able to stop apologizing for it.” His whispers, his eyes growing misty with regret. “I will never forgive myself for how I treated you, nor do I ever expect you to forgive me. But…I want to try. I want to try and spend the rest of my days as you husband. I know…it won’t be overnight, but I’ll do anything, anything for you.”  

The tears are rolling down your own cheeks now; never, in your wildest dreams, did you expect for Charles to speak those words of affirmation to you. His hand moves cautiously, to your face, wiping the tears which were pooling across your features.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, letting one of his hands remain on your cheek. The man leans forward, pressing gentle butterfly kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose…he pauses, mere inches from your lips. He wants to kiss you; he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to push you; his mind and his heart are complete opposites. 

His mind goes into overdrive when you lean forward and press your lips to his own. They’re salty, slightly chapped, but undeniably something he has been craving for oh-so-long. Charles is immediately kissing you back, his grip around you tightening, keeping your body close to his own. Carefully, he shuffles the two of you back into a lying position, never once breaking the kiss, tumbling back onto the mattress.

Of course, you don’t miss his grumble of annoyance when the food eventually arrives.

 Carlos Sainz is a gentle kisser. 

An autumn breeze was strong on the dreaded day; the funeral had rolled around way too soon for your liking. Rows of family connections, close and distant friends lined the outside of the cemetery, eyes all transfixed on the black hearse rolling into view. Murmurs were pressed into silence, a bitter air all-too present as the ivory coffin was removed from the vehicle. Your elder brother and two cousins were to assist in carrying the piece into the church. Plans were soon suspended when the eldest of your siblings collapsed into tears, head in his hands upon the sheer realization that this was it.

Your father is desperately looking around, practically praying outside a place of worship that the eldest could pull himself together; it’s impossible. Whilst one of your arms is occupied, holding the hand of your young sister, the other gently wraps around his torso, comforting him in the ways he had done for you when you were nothing more than a young girl in messy braids and mismatched socks. 

His wife stood on his right-hand side, adamant on consoling the man as you were, a caring hand running across his back. Your husband stood next to your sister, her childish eyes blinking in confusion; just like you, she had never seen her brother this inconsolable. 

Charles feels a pain wash through him, he wants nothing more than to help his dear family through this moment. Maybe the act he was playing for so long was just a way of shielding himself from caring. Now he had bared his soul towards you, pleading for a second chance, the man wanted to be there for you, in every sense of the word. 

He murmurs something incoherently, stepping away from your side, leaning towards your father’s ear. Whatever he mumbles is met with a sharp nod, a firm pat on the shoulder in confirmation. Your husband keeps a firm gaze on the coffin, not catching your own eyes as he walks towards the piece to join your cousins. There’s a quick whisper between the men, before the ivory is shuffled from the car, resting on their suit-clad shoulders. Silence falls over the attendants as your mother is carried into the church, immediate family following closely behind. Hesitantly, your eyes look to the crowding people, and as if by fate, you see his dark eyes, the fluffy curls brushed back to conform. He shouldn’t look that good in a dark suit. 

Most noticeably, his gaze isn’t fixed on the church, on the six men carrying your mother. It’s transfixed on you. 

The service is beautiful, if you can describe it like that. Flowers are placed atop of your mother’s coffin, the service of words correlating to her soul, the hymns sung were always her favorite when you had frequented church as a young girl. However, there’s a turning point. When the priest begins to speak of her dear children, tears pool in your lower lash-line. You want to take the time for yourself, to mourn, but louder sobs are emitting from next to you; the youngest child is beginning to realize her mother is truly gone. 

You’re torn; pulling her towards you would only make you cry harder; you had already seen your father and brother fall apart, silently knowing you would have to be the one to wait by the door, thanking the copious guests for attending. Her tears are suddenly quietened when you see her gently shuffled into Charles’ lap; despite the estranged relationship for the past twelve months, he’d always had a soft spot for your sister, she reminded him of when Arthur was young. Whilst her tears turn softer, he runs a hand over her back, letting the young girl rest her heavy head in his sternum. 

The open gap in the seating allowed for you to shuffle closer towards your husband, his free arm wrapping around your torso. You had to remain sitting up straight; his presence right now would have to be enough for your comfort. To any unassuming eye, you would probably look like a family, the crowds of attendants would have no idea of the true story behind your marriage. Even on the darkest days, the narrative was played well.

When the service draws to a close, final prayers are spoken. The first to rise are your father and brother, both clinging to one-another as they must leave the building. Silently, you pull yourself away from your husband’s grasp, smoothing the skirt of your dress. Charles remains seated, your sister practically passing out atop of him. Today had been a heavy day for a child, after all. 

There are rows of people pausing to console you on your loss whilst you stand at the door of the church; friends you had known for oh-so-long, members of the Scuderia Ferrari team; you had never seen Fred Vasseur cry, but the redness of his eyes told you something completely different as he took one of your hands in his, squeezing it in apology. 

The pews filter out silently, a large group of the guests making their way back to your father’s home, the wake soon to begin, a blessing and want of your late mother. Sharp footsteps are emitted through the church, the penultimate duo being your husband and sister. He was still carrying her, head resting on his shoulder, almost completely asleep. Charles smiles at finally seeing you, using his free hand to run across the back of your head. 

“I’m going to take her back.” Charles explains to you. He understands you don't need the pressure of looking after her atop of everything else bound to come your way. “Let me know when you’re done here, please?” Silently, you nod, no hesitation needed as he leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, bidding you farewell as he paces out of the church, holding your sister tightly in comfort. 

You believe that’s everybody, ready to collect your belongings and thank the priest for a heart-warming farewell. Before you can even think to turn around, there’s a light cough, emitting you to spin on your heel. 

He’s there. Still clad in his designer suit, hair pushed back behind his ears. Undeniably, Carlos Sainz looks good in any situation. He holds your bag in one hand, the other reaching out to clasp around your wrist. You gasp at the warm skin pressing to your own, heat radiating through your body. The man leans down, letting his lips brush against your own, a sweet feathering brush pressing onto you. Carlos wanted to be there for you, more than ever on what would be the hardest day. 

Seeing Charles take that position had made his blood boil. 

His grip on you remains tight as he leads you out of the church and towards his own car, parked in the most secluded section of the lot. When his grip falters to hold your hand instead, he doesn’t aim to correct it, instead only holding tighter. He only removes his grasp to unlock his car, sliding himself into the driving seat, pushing the recliner back as far as it would go. When the space is present, he guides you to rest atop of his lap, arms tightening around your waist as he lets the door close, bodies pressed together tightly. 

“Is this okay?” He murmurs, keeping your faces so close together. The built-up emotion, the desire since your last kiss had built a fire in your stomach, not so much as speaking before pressing your lips to his own. Whilst your own movements had become desperate, craving for some form of emotional release, his remained feather-light, one hand tangled into your hair, the other resting firmly on your waist. 

His lips are soon ghosting over your cheek, fluttering across your jawline and landing on your neck, small whines emitting from your lips as he seeks to trace his tongue over your sweetest spot. The sensation across your body, the hot touch of his skin and an undeniable bulge now settling between your legs. 

There’s a sudden realization that you needed to go home. Being with Carlos was the affection you desired, your heart knows however that right now, your family needs you. Hesitantly, you pull away from the man’s lips, feeling utterly guilty for the pleading look in his eyes as you rest your forehead against his own. He could never hate you for it, though. In his eyes, you could never draw that feeling from him. You don’t need to say anything, he knows. 

“I’ll drive you back.” He murmurs, pressing one final kiss to your lips before allowing you to slide into the leather passenger seat. 

The drive to your father’s home is almost silent; there’s an occasional rev of the engine, various horns from different cars along the highway. A part of you always prays that each drive with the Spaniard could last forever, you could drive into the distance and live happily ever after. The fairy-tale is soon dissolved when you pull to the driveway, hearing the engine of the car cease. Your eyes find Carlos’ side profile, still transfixed on the road ahead. 

“Are you coming in?” You ask gently. He sighs, the grip on his steering wheel becoming tighter.

“I can’t see you that close to him, Mariposa.” He murmurs, finally finding the courage to look you in the eyes. “Not when I want to be that close to you.” One hand finds its way off the wheel, entwining your fingers together, peppering light kisses against your knuckles. “Please call me when you go back. I’ll miss you.” 

“I’ll miss you too.” You whisper, leaning to press a kiss to his stubbled cheek. In that moment, Carlos Sainz is your savior. He’s your truth. 

Carlos Sainz is a liar. 

Your knuckles had turned white from the grasp on your phone, you didn’t want to believe anything you were seeing. What was supposed to be an impromptu browse of Twitter whilst waiting for your husband to finish in the en-suite, had turned into a deep dive through a certain hashtag, having seen information spread on a certain Ferrari driver.

It had started as a simple few tweets, some fans and gossip pages reckoning they had seen the driver in an exclusive club, some random blonde sitting on top of him. The photos came second, though the angle was skewed, the quality too weak to see who was there. The final nail was the video; Carlos’ hand placed on her waist, how he had done to you mere hours ago, his mouth pressing against hers, clearly nothing else on his mind. 

Granted, you knew you had no right to feel the anger you did; after all, you were married, Carlos was a single man, free to do as he desired. Yet, your rage was fuelled by the romantic, now seemingly empty promises he had made you; how you were his everything, how he would treat you better than Charles ever did. He was no different than Charles Leclerc, and as your fumbled fingers reached to his contact, your rage felt inclined to tell him that. 

The phone rings once, twice, three times. You’re set to hang up, leave a particularly nasty text message to the man before the line connects. Immediately, your eardrums are overtaken by the loud pulse of a nightclub, some feminine laughter almost directly on top of him. 

“Are you okay?” He asks. Clearly, he’s now intoxicated, his accent is always thicker when he is. You hear another voice, telling him to hang up the phone and to come and dance with her. “Hey- are you there?”

“I’m here.” You snap; why do you feel this enraged? You must have done so when you first saw Charles with his mistress; that had become such a common occurrence that the fire in your stomach must have eventually drained. “And clearly, you’re busy with the woman climbing all over you.” 

“Fuck- you left me hanging!” He retorts, drunken mind clearly pressing against any form of sober thought. “You went back to your husband. Left me with nothing. Fuck the funeral.” He snaps, clearly now becoming enraged with the entire situation, with the fact he had been caught out. The words pressed through the speaker of your phone and emitted a wave of sobs from your stomach, immediately pressing the red button on your device.

Carlos Sainz wasn’t in love with you. He just liked the distraction. 

Of course, as fate would have it, the moment that your tears began again was the moment Charles had left the bathroom. He’s dressed in just a pair of boxers, chest bare and tone after his warm shower. The sound of the door opening caused you to turn to the source. His eyes widen, scampering towards you, cradling you in his arms, bare chest against your cheek. Silently, you sob into his body for the third time that day, wanting nothing more than for every form of pain to stop.

“Hey, come on.” He whispers, arms circling your body, pulling you tight against him. He thinks that seeing you cry will get easier each time, that the pain in the pit of his stomach won’t continue to eat him away. However, it never gets easier; he hates seeing you cry, every single time. “It’s been a long day, yeah? Let’s get some sleep, baby.”

The nickname sounds foreign on his tongue, though neither of you question it. If anything it causes more emotion to flicker through your body, the fact that your estranged husband was finally beginning to give you. Silently, he guides the two of you into the large bed, cradling you to his chest as he had done whilst in Qatar. Sleep and emotion overtake you, pressing a soft kiss to his shoulder as a ‘thank you,’ before drifting into a state of slumber.

The sleep means you miss a vital update from the Twitter threads you had been closely following earlier. 

‘Carlos Sainz leaves exclusive club ALONE, despite dating rumors arising with mystery blonde.’

Carlos Sainz is your best friend.

You returned to the following day; the entire time remaining at your father’s house had consisted of nothing but tears. You had been especially concerned for your sister, watching the way she had clinged to Charles when the duo was saying their fond farewells. After a tight hug from each family member, your husband hand interlinked your fingers together, guiding the two of you to his own car, each free hand carrying along the suitcases. 

The first hour of the drive home had been quiet, the buzzing streets had morphed into greenery, the sun beginning to set across the coast. Your eyelids couldn’t find it to grow heavy, having done nothing but sob and sleep for the past twenty-four hours. Instead, your focus turned to the radio, a familiar song trickling out of the speaker, one you hadn’t heard in almost eighteen months. 

“Is this…” You ask, fingers reaching towards the dial, turning the volume up slightly. Behind his sunglasses, Charles grins. You hadn’t expected him to recognise the song, let alone be aware of where he recognised it from. 

“Our first dance.” Your husband laughs, both nodding your head to the music. One hand on the wheel, he reached out his other hand to grasp yours on his own, a gentle squeeze passing through each hand. “We’ll have to dance to it again, properly next time.” He promises to himself, eyes focused on the road as he continues to drive you both home. 

It’s almost dark by the time you have arrived back at your driveway. The stones are dipped in the darkness, the only illumination being from the headlights of Charles’ iconic vehicle. Your eyes flicker towards the doorstep, convinced the sleep is playing tricks on your mind; why on earth was there a figure standing on the doorstep to your house? They were slim, feminine, holding a cream envelope in one hand, a designer bag resting atop the other. 

The familiar feeling of who she was began to nestle in your stomach. Surely, it couldn’t have been her; even your husband would not have the audacity to invite her to the house, right after you had returned home from what was quite possibly the saddest moment of your life. It couldn’t be her, even if every sign pointed towards the truth, you’d begin to search for the tiniest detail; her hair was too short. Your stomach snaps when you realize it’s the identical haircut from the Paddock mere days ago. 

“What on earth-“ You hear your husband begin to speak, turning off the engine to the car. He looks over to your figure, but you show no emotion, no reaction on the exterior. Immediately, he has stepped out of the car, violently slamming the door behind him, causing you to snap out of the trance the woman had placed you upon. 

Your eyes fixed upon Charles, his mistress trying to reach out into his touch. She’d pressed the envelope into his hand, continuing to speak. The words were clear through the thin glass of the car’s windscreen, divorce, pictures, evidence. 

You couldn’t stick around to watch this activity play out. Immediately, you reach out for your phone, breathing uneven as you scroll through the contact list, searching for his name. Despite the last twenty-four hours, you were not too sure who else to call. It takes less than a moment for him to answer, your words rambling and falling over one another, pleading for him to come and collect you. He speaks firmly, commanding you to stay in the car, he would be there as soon as possible. 

Charles is so deep in conversation, pleading for his mistress to reconsider, that he doesn’t see you slip out of the car, stepping down the driveway into the awaiting car of Carlos Sainz. He makes no intention to show you affection when first stepping into the vehicle, his only intention to get you out of the situation as soon as possible. Whilst silence filled the space between you both, you had sent a text to your husband, confirming your disappearance. 

23:01: You

I’m so sorry, I can’t be there when she is, not anymore. I’ll be back at the house tomorrow. Thank you for everything.  

There’s no response. If you’re completely honest, you were not expecting anything else, not whilst he was engrossed in conversation. The street is quiet as you pull into Carlos’ driveway. Saying nothing, the man simply removes his keys from the ignition, before leaning over your frame to open your door, ever the gentleman. Of course, his eyes catch yours as he leans back, creating a deep gaze for oh-so-long. Carefully slipping out of his gaze, you leave the car, walking up the steps to his apartment, the door opening for your arrival. 

It's homely. Clearly lived in. Shoes are thrown across the entrance mat, coats hanging in the rack. Although it is primarily basic, a little bare, there’s touches around the complex which warm your heart; a photograph of the man with his sisters and father, a helmet you immediately recognise as Lando Norris’ resting atop of a bookshelf. There’s fine wine glasses resting atop of his coffee table; clearly ready for their usage before your untimely call. 

The details become irrelevant the moment you feel his warm arms circle around your middle; the rising of your hoodie lets his body heat radiate onto yours. Carlos doesn’t need to say anything, his face comes towards the joint between your neck and your shoulder, using his nose to brush your hair away, exposing the skin he craves to mark. 

“Mariposa.” He whispers, hiding his expression in your soft skin. “I can explain her, I can explain who she is, I didn’t-“ 

This time, it’s you who rolls around in Carlos’ touch, your arms entwining around his neck, pulling his lips to touch yours. The Spaniard does not need convincing, his grip on your waist immediately tightening, pushing your bodies closer together, if that was even humanly possible. This time, when his lips begin to trail down your neck, there’s no hesitation left in your mind, letting the man dance across your skin, leaving small bites, trails of his tongue against you. 

You realize it’s you, making a small whine as he pulls away from your body, catching his breath whilst his tanned arms reach to the bottom of his shirt, exposing his chest once more. This time, your fingers fumble to find the hem of your hoodie, pulling the clothing atop of your head, exposing the laciest bra Carlos had ever seen. There’s a grunt from the back of his mouth as he darts forward, one rough palm scooping your breast from the lingerie, his mouth immediately finding your nipple, tongue tracing across the sensitive skin whilst his stubble rubs against your exposed flesh. 

He doesn’t let up, not even when your legs go weak. His mouth remains firmly attached, using his arms to instead scoop you into his grasp, your whining sheer pornography to his ears whilst he carries you into his bedroom. 

He will simply ruin you for every other person, and god forbid if he lost you now. 

You realize hours later, somewhere between your post-orgasm haze and the combined warmth of Carlos’ hoodie and his firm arms that best friends did not have intense, body-numbing sex in the middle of the night, specifically when one of them was married, the other one a close friend of her husband. Yet, it somehow feels normal, as if this had been the longest impending explosion. Of course, you had explained to the man the reasoning for calling him out so late, for him to simply hush you, promising you would have never been a burden to him. The further questions of what is to come next are pushed to the back of your mind. 

Your sleeping state misses two key moments. The first? The slight camera shutter from a phone as Carlos places his device back on the nightstand, snuggling down into the blankets, his dream to hold you whilst he slept finally arising.

The second? Your phone finally buzzed with a response from your husband, unable to sleep without knowing you were in the large house alongside him. 

02:51: Charles Leclerc

I’m in love with you.

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover @barnestatic @omgsuperstarg @chimchimjiminie16 @caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog @junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt @crowdthena @screemqueen @lewislvr @styles-sunflower @itspaddockprincess @adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins @formulanando @lorarri @christianpulisic10 @gaypoetsblog @thisbitxhs-blog @goldsainz @ru-kru @magical-spit @hrlzy @nooshytushie @gaslysainz @marvel-at-stucky @sugarvibez

[so-boredtoday]

Medical appointment

Trafalgar D. Law x fem!reader

Summary: After dealing with menstrual pain for the last few months, you decide to make an appointment with your captain for a check-up.

Word count: 4K almost 5k

Rated: M / NSFW

Tags/warnings: Medical Kink, Doctor/Patient, Dubious consent in the beginning, Sexual health, Fingering, over stimulation, slightly use of pet names, She/Her pronouns, No beta reader we die as cowards, this is not good don’t let the tags fool you.

Author notes: I was thinking about it since forever so here it is ✨ I changed the quotes to hyphens this time and I don't know if it's the best idea but I hope you can understand it. Let me know if it's horrible hahaha… And remember to go to the doctor for a check up at least once a year even if it is not as attractive as Law

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You had been to the medical wing a couple of times, it had always been simple things like checking some minor battle wounds or for the annual exams, however this was your first time for consultation. Law was sitting at the desk with his white coat on, there were a couple of things that didn't belong to the medical wing: Some half-opened maps, a notepad and a den den mushi, he had brought all those things to keep up with his work while he waited for your arrival for the medical appointment.

– Hello Captain – You said smiling as you approached – I hope I won't take up too much of your time –

He looked at you while shaking his head – That's what I'm here for, I'm the ship's doctor, don't worry about that – His hand went across the desk to point to the chair – Come on, sit down – He continued – How can I help you – He said kindly but without changing his characteristic serious countenance

– I was talking to Ikkaku about my menstrual period... – It wasn't a topic that would embarrass you at all but it was a bit strange to talk about it with Law – I have pain every month and I thought it was something normal you know? But apparently it's not and I wanted to see if you can help me with that –

– You are right, it is not normal however I need more info to be able to determine the cause and give you a treatment – He said while taking notes without looking at you – Does it occur every day of the period? –

– Most of the time yes, however it is stronger on the second and third day – You answered.

– On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate your pain? – He asked looking at you without taking his hand off the paper.

– On a good day... a 6 and on a bad one an 8 – I said grimacing – It's hard to stand up and I feel dizzy, I usually put on some heat and take an analgesic to continue with my tasks – You answered

– It's not very good to self-medicate... – He continued writing without looking at you – That's what I'm here for – He continued as he got up and walked towards the stretcher – Please lie down – You walked, got on the stretcher and looked up at the ceiling.

– I'm going to pull up your blouse to locate the pain zone, are you okay with that? – He said approaching the edge of the gurney.

– Sure – You said without taking your eyes off the ceiling.

– Do you have a regular cycle? – He said as he began to press on your lower stomach.

– Not really... I have spurts of months where it only varies for a couple of days and others where it skipped by almost a month – You answered while his fingers run across your lower belly it was a pleasant feeling – I'd say it's right there – his movements stopped.

– Okay... You can get up – He walked to the desk again – When do you think your period will start? – he asked

– I think in about a week if it's not delayed – you told him as you sat down on the stretcher.

– I need you to record some data for me: The start date, number of days, symptoms such as nausea, night sweats, fatigue but mostly pain and its intensity – He said while opening one of the side drawers to take some gloves – Active sex life?

You blushed a little – Not as active as I would like but yes – You replied automatically regretting your words right after you said them, he gave a small amused laugh in response.

– I'm going to do a little exploration – He said approaching, you looked at him a little alarmed – It may be a little uncomfortable, but it shouldn't be too painful... There are gowns in the first drawer of the bureau. I'll prepare the stretcher you can change behind the screen – He pulled one of the stretcher’s levers as you walked to the bureau and took out the gown.

You started to take off your clothes unsure, this definitely had not been your best idea. It was necessary but you weren't ready for Law to check you. You took a breath as you pulled down your underwear and folded it along with your other clothes, put on the medical gown and walked out.

Law was finishing placing the equipment as you walked to the stretcher – You can go seat now, place your legs on the supports... – He said as he took the chair to sit right in front of the stretcher – This test is called cervical cytology – He said as he put on his gloves without looking at you.

Your legs were open in front of him, again you fixed your gaze to the ceiling without saying a word – For the moment it will only be manual since I don't have the necessary equipment but this way we can check things like the position of your uterus, sensitivity or pain... are you ready? – He ask

– Not really – You said, he didn't say anything but looked at you raising his eyebrows. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath - Okay... I'm ready -

The wheels of his chair rattled against the floor as he approached – I'm going to touch – He began to move his hands across your crotch – I'm going to examine the outside.... Normally this is not painful but please let me know if you have any discomfort – His hands ran over your labia majora slowly, after a few seconds he started to move to the minors, you were breathing slowly trying to imagine anything to distract you until his fingers touched your clit. You opened your eyes and moved backwards with the help of your arms making his hand move away from you - Pain? - He said in a totally professional neutral tone.

– No... it's not painful…it was just a reflex... sorry – You said embarrassed.

– No problem, try to relax and we will finish faster – He said kindly, you went back to take the initial position while breathing – I'm going to touch again. Try not to move – His fingers went back to your clit. He ran it in up and down movements and then a couple of circular movements – It seems that everything is fine – He said while he went down a little towards your entrance that was now a little wet and then give a couple of more circles on your clit, your heart was beating fast inside your chest while you felt how his long fingers rubbed your most sensitive spot.

You closed your eyes and tried to stifle any sound that might come out of your mouth, none of this seemed abnormal to him so you calmed yourself everything is fine. He returned to your entrance and moistened his fingertips to give you a couple of more strokes on your clit, you gasped quietly and then he moved his hands away and turned on the chair to take a bottle from the side table – The flow seems normal for this stage of your cycle – he said as you heard the sound of the liquid coming out of the bottle – I will check the inside now… I’m going to press on your pelvis at the same time... if it needs more lubricant feel free to tell me – he continued – If there is any kind of pain please let me know.

– Okay… – You answered as you took a breath, a warm familiar feeling was forming in your lower belly and you began to feel embarrassed to feel that way.

Law is just doing his job You thought I just have to breathe and it will pass soon

It was then when his fingers brushed your entrance, you swallow nervously trying to stay calm. His left hand rolled your pelvis, his fingers entered without difficulty thanks to his lubricant (and your own wetness).

– Very good – He said suddenly – I'm going to press ok? – you felt how the fingers of his right hand began to digit inside you while the left one pressed on your pelvis – I may have to go in and out a couple of times but it's normal – After a few times of pressing inside he pulled his fingers out and went back in in a slow movement and repeated a couple of times more, an involuntary moan came out of your lips when he brushed a sensitive area inside – Is it painful?... I'm going to press again and let me know the intensity – before you could answer he curled his fingers inside you again pressing that sensitive spot and you let out a needy sigh.

– Law... it's not pain... – You said while breathing heavily.

That he knew perfectly well he had been looking for your sweet spot for a while, he smiled to himself as he saw how your body reacted to his touch. Then suddenly the pressure on your pelvis disappeared, without another word he withdrew his fingers and turned the chair around to grab a towel.

– Everything seems to be excellent – He said in a casual tone ignoring how your chest was rising and falling rapidly – I'm going to clean you so you can change – He passed a paper towel over the area in circular movements with special attention on the upper part – We are done now... I think we have all the drugs available… I'll get them while you change, I'll be back in a second – He said getting up.

You lowered your legs from the supports with difficulty and sat; your cheeks were red and your vision blurred. Clearly it was all part of the examination but your body did not agree with the lack of contact and longed for release. You walked over to the screens to put on your clothes trying to ignore the forming wetness between your legs then you sat in the chair in front of the desk while looking at the stretcher and unconsciously squeezed your thighs together, you let out a frustrated gasp as you waited.

He had entered the medical storage closet, a small room inside the medical wing that was normally kept locked; you looked at the maps to distract yourself from the warm feeling that was tenting your cunt. You slightly heard the tinkling of the glass through the closed door while he was looking for the medicines, a few minutes passed and you heard a little frustrated sigh from Law; maybe we didn't have the drugs after all but after about 5 minutes the door opened. Law entered the office again with a frown on his face with a small metal box in his right hand, but something was missing... his white coat was gone and he was just in his usual attire.

– We have two options... – He said taking a seat while running his hand across his forehead – The first one is simple but has some side effects that could be quite strong and annoying – He continued looking at you – It consists of a hormonal treatment, specifically with contraceptive mechanisms there are several options we can review for you – He turned back to his notes – It would be the simplest way out however we also have option number two – He continued and looked at you again.

–We can try with supplements, changes in your diet and rest cycles, besides reducing stress there are some.... exercises that I would like you to try – His look darkened a little on the last sentence – We will give you a 3 month trial period and if that doesn't work we go back to option one, what do you think? –

You blinked a couple of times processing the information – I like the sound of the second one… I don't really lose anything by trying – You pondered

– Very good – He smiled slightly – Let's create a basic regimen – He opened the box and took out a couple of amber glass bottles – The supplements consist of vitamin b and magnesium that will help you with muscle compression during your period.... – He slid them slowly to your side of the table as he wrote on a new note – One pill of each a day and also recommend that you replace coffee with tea especially chamomile or ginger tea and avoid red meat – You took the bottles and watched him write down when he finished he looked up at you – There is something else... – You looked back at him carefully – I need you to touch yourself – You opened your eyes in surprise and looked at him in confusion.

– I beg your pardon captain? – You said while blushing

– At least once or twice a week… you will see… there are some studies on the effectiveness of masturbation as an agent in controlling the intensity and frequency of menstrual pain – His tone was still serious there was no trace of joking in it – If that doesn't work then we will evaluate hormonal treatment – In one motion he tore off the clinical sheet and handed it to you – Do you have any questions? –

– Is there... is there a problem if I don't... if I don't do the exercises – You asked embarrassed – I share a room with Ikkaku and there is not much time when I am alone – Besides you didn't want to talk about it in the future.

– You can do it here – He said lifting his shoulders – No one will bother you here… Just make sure you close the door and keep the area clean – You looked at him in shock. He was treating it as if it was something usual like putting a bandage or a blood pressure measurement – But…– He looked at you with understanding – If you find it uncomfortable you can skip it, however as a medical professional I suggest you consider it –

You looked away from the medical note – I... will think about it... thank you very much Captain – you said getting up from your seat.

– No problem – He said – Don't forget to monitor your period. I will schedule you for a check-up in two weeks to evaluate the effectiveness of the treatment

– Sure... I won't forget – You told him as you quickly left the room. Law let out a sigh as soon as the door closed, normally he wasn't this kind of person, the medical profession was sacred to him; he had promised his father that he would be a good doctor when he was a kid but it was hard to stay professional when it came to you.

When he scheduled you a medical appointment he never imagined he would end up with his fingers inside your pussy, just remembering it made his pants tighten again.

It had been hard to stop touching you when he could hear the little sighs coming out of your mouth or seeing how your body reacted to his touch and it had been even harder to keep quiet inside the medicine cabinet as he cummed in his hand imagining how he would take you on the gurney, hell he had even had to clean up the mess with his medical coat.

In spite of everything the suggested treatment was not a lie… you needed to relax and a couple of orgasms could help you a lot. He knew perfectly well that you hadn't slept with anyone for months and part of it was his fault; he had scared off most of the people who had any intentions with you and those who had escaped him weren't exactly your type, God knows you were a difficult one and you didn't hesitate to kick the ass of anyone who insisted too much. He gave a frustrated grunt and forced himself to get on with his work.

-

Three days passed since your consultation and things were not going as you expected and that had nothing to do with the supplements or the lack of meatballs in the food. It was rather the fact that it was the second night you had woken up in the middle of the night thanks to a dream in which Law's long fingers were sliding over your clit and his mouth over yours kissing you tightly. The first time you woke up so agitated that Ikkaku thought you were going to die, you looked at her embarrassed and lied to her telling her it had been a nightmare and the second time you had woken up suddenly drenched in sweat around 4 am and couldn't fall asleep again.

You definitely had to do something about it or you would end up totally tired in the middle of the day. You had joined the heart pirates about a year ago, since then your only make out had been behind a bar after drinking a lot and it had ended in a not so satisfactory way; you thought that being a pirate would bring you more opportunities with men however there were not many who were interested in you and clearly you had no intention of repeating that experience so you avoided drunks no matter how attractive they were. It seemed pathetic but after a while you began to accept it, there hadn't been any problems so far.

Sure sometimes you felt horny, especially when you ovulated, however it was something you had coped with calmly but now you couldn't stop thinking about it and the situation got worse when the object of your desire was your captain. The metal floor felt cold on your bare feet as you walked to the medical bay, it was 2 am so you were sure you would be alone; you opened the door cautiously and walked in making sure to close the door.

– It's late... – A voice sounded in the darkness, you shivered even with your hands on the door lock.

– Ca... captain I didn't know you were here – Your gaze wandered to the desk to find him sitting there illuminated only by the dim flickering light of the outside light. What was he doing in the middle of the night with the light off anyway? – I’m sorry… I'll... I'll go back to my room – You said turning your gaze to the door.

– It seems wise but… – He said with a smirk – I thought you didn't want to do your exercises but here you are walking in the dark without shoes... I couldn't hear you until you opened the door – Your face felt hot with embarrassment – Have you had any strange symptoms? – His voice that until now had seemed casual changed to a more serious tone like the one you had heard during the medical appointment. You remained quiet still in front of the door – Well? – He insisted, you turned around to meet his gaze.

– I have a little insomnia, that's all – You lied.

– Then what are you doing here? You could go anywhere else – You opened your mouth to answer but he was quicker – It's not good to lie to your doctor… How will you get well that way? – He opened the drawer to pull out a pair of gloves and moved the chair a bit away from the desk and sat again – Come here – His tone still sounded professional yet there was a spark of mandate that hadn't been there before.

You walked hesitantly to the front of the desk as he put his gloves on. You looked at his hands carefully and after a few seconds you looked away, he did not move from his chair just looked you up and down. You felt totally vulnerable: You were not wearing a bra, just a light blouse with thin straps that barely covered your belly button and elastic shorts, you were on their way to a summer island so it was a little hot.

– I said come here – He tapped the desk a couple of times. You looked at him confused for a moment, but his look seemed serious so you circled the desk cautiously, you positioned yourself between his chair and the desk – Perfect, now sit please – He said looking at you from the chair and you bit your lip nervously while you leaned slightly on the table – Ideally we should do this on the stretcher but we don't want to make too much noise.... as I say it's late – He repeated and then his covered hand stretched towards you until it touched the inside of your knee – I suggest you sit or you will fall – You sat up fully and his hand started to move up on your bare thighs – I'm going to show you how to do it properly – Your breathing started to quicken.

His hand caressed your thighs going up slowly until he reached the bottom of the fabric that now it seemed to be too short – Oh pretty cute – He said while he played with the small lace that adorned the edges of the bastille and with a slow movement he began to caress your crotch on the fabric with his right hand while his left hand continued to go up and down on your thighs. After a few seconds a sigh left your mouth as his hands worked masterfully over your clothes, you closed your eyes.

It's not real You thought trying to flooded your mind I am dreaming

His hand went inside your shorts and caressed over your underwear that was starting to get wet – Let's take this off – He said in a neutral tone.

You opened your eyes and met him, there were a couple of things you hadn't noticed: his hair was a little messy and his shirt had all the buttons open. You leaned on your feet and slid the fabric down your hips to the floor, nervously you sat back on the desk with your legs closed – Excellent – He indicated, you hesitated a few seconds until you felt his hand on your knee – I need you to open your legs again – You opened them slowly. He positioned himself again in the center – I want you to watch carefully – His hands went up your thighs cautiously until they reached your pussy, the tip of his fingers began to trace the shape of your labia majora until he went to the a little up where he found your clit – We are going to work your clit today.... I'm going to show you how and then you'll do it for yourself – He made a circular motion over your sensitive skin and then down to your entrance – You're pretty wet so we can work with that – He moistened his fingers at your entrance and returned to your clit just like he had done during the exam.

– Let's play with a medium pressure in a circular way to stimulate you – you let out a sigh when his fingers started to move – Like this... it feels good doesn't it? – You nodded looking at him as his fingers were sliding creating a delicious friction – I prefer the answers to be verbal, let's try, shall we? – He said looking into your eyes

– Yes... yes captain – You said with difficulty.

– Very good girl, you are an excellent patient – He answered pleased – Now we are going to alternate with ascending and descending movements, these are going to be in a faster rhythm – As soon as his movements changed your breathing instantly became agitated, he looked at you and smiled. You started to feel more aroused, you fully open your legs to allowed him to moisten his fingers with your juices making the rhythm accelerate. You began to gasp and suddenly he returned to the initial slow gyrating rhythm causing an electric sensation to rise from your pussy to your lower stomach and you let out a low moan – How was that? Did you feel it? – He loved to watch you fall apart in his hands.

– We... well... yes it was very good – You tried to gather your thoughts but he started to pick up the pace again.

– It's called edging – He said – Let's do it a couple more times – With that you began to feel the pressure build up again – That’s it... very good – His left hand left your thigh and rested in his lap without stopping touching you.

You let out a needy moan – Are you close honey? – the pet name had escaped him as his professional side was beginning to slip. Then just as the knot was about to loosen inside you he pulled his hand away, a sound of frustration left your lips and you began to tremble.

– Please... – you said looking at him imploringly – please captain....–

– Look at this, you're soaking wet darling – he patted a couple of times over pussy and got his fingers wet from your entrance – Alright... let's make you cum – He started touching you again making circular movements in a medium rhythm, at some point the hand in his lap started moving over his length.

Your arms began to give out and you had to lean your elbows on the desk – Captain... damn it – his fingers moved mercilessly over your clit, you could feel the spasms of your orgasm building inside you. Your eyes closed, your hips shook and your breathing became erratic.

– Don't hold back – He told you in a growl, you let out a high pitched scream and then you saw stars. The warm sensation spread through your lower stomach and you flexed your knees trying to close your legs – No... let's spread it – his other hand came back to you to keep your legs open and he looked at you without stopping touching you, you were trembling from the over stimulation you couldn't hold yourself anymore and you leaned back completely on the desk.

One of your hands took his with a weak grip to stop the movements – I can't... I... it's too much – You said pleadingly, his eyes were darker than usual and looked at you hungrily, for a moment you thought he was going to get angry but he just smiled. He lifted his wet hand and put it in your mouth, you moaned into his fingers as you tasted yourself, he pumped a couple of times and pulled them out without further creating a trail of saliva.

– Perfect – He said as he settled back in his chair, took off his gloves and threw them into the trash can – Let's rest for a moment – You tried to understand his words as you regulated your breathing with difficulty – You have to show me that you can do it alone – A few minutes passed and just when the endorphins began to leave your body, reality fell upon you.

Clearly this was not a dream, you were practically naked in the medical bay in front of him, he had touched you and you had the best orgasm of your fucking life. You began to get up gingerly, Law looked up from the chair without saying anything; your feet touched the floor and your trembling legs struggled to support you.

– I'm waiting honey – He said without taking any notice of your attempt to run away – Show me what you learned and you'll be free to go –

The button of his jeans was open and the zipper down, his erection was noticeable – Law… – His name sounded glorious on your lips.

– Be a good girl and show me – He interrupted you. His hand began to move over his boxers revealing his erection, you lost your breath as he began to slowly stroke and it was huge and curved slightly upwards. You feel yourself craving for him.

The heat was starting to build up between your legs again, you licked your lips and closed your eyes to take a breath. You leaned back on the desk and spread your legs, your hand went to your pussy; you started to slowly caress it, feeling small shivers. Two of your fingers were making circular movements over your clit and you opened your eyes… He was watching you from the chair with his hand on his cock, you started to tremble as you accelerated the rhythm – That darling, very nice – His hand was sliding down his shaft following the rhythm of your movements – Now slower... – Your pussy protested with a spasm when you stopped to slow down the rhythm.

– Holy shit... – You said in a low voice while trying to recover your eyes couldn't stop looking at him. He was breathing heavily, his eyes were fixed on you, he let out a small sigh when you started again and ran his other hand through his hair to see you clearly.

You speed up the rhythm again at his image, that was all, you didn't intend to make it longer or you were going to faint. With linear movements you traced a fast rhythm over your clit, your legs trembled as the orgasm began to form inside you – Slowly – He said with a grunt, you could see how the pre seminal fluid adorned his tip.

You decided that was enough, your rhythm remained steady until you climaxed closing your eyes. You were a difficult person, he knew that and making you follow instructions sometimes was not easy. However he was also quite close, he stroked faster and after a few moments he cum at the sight of your body sunk in ecstasy, he could punish you later.

Both of you were breathing heavily as you recovered, after a moment you heard him get up but you didn't open your eyes. After a while you felt something soft between your legs: he was cleaning you.

– Not listening to your doctor can have consequences – He said seriously – Especially if he is also your captain –

– It was quite a difficult task… – you answered between breaths.

– You're going to have to put more effort into it tomorrow – he replied as he helped you up.

You looked at him as he lifted your clothes off the floor and helped you put them back on – 02:00 am – He said putting his hands on your hips and looked you in the eyes – Now rest and remember to drink plenty of water to recover fluids – With that he walked away.

[fullyanimated]

ok i ended up writing a lot of tags so lets just do this instead

YOU'RE REALLY COOL AND I LOVED READING THIS!!! never seen anything so relatable in my life and i'm so happy you put this out

i'll put a bit about my experience here

mine are pretty rare but they have huge impact. a few months ago i got one who will remain unnamed (they're always totally secret because they're just for me and there can't be exceptions i don't make the rules), and that character and his values got me deeply reevaluating things i've forgotten to reevaluate, it made me cut out people i shouldn't have had in my life in the first place, my life was drastically changed after the obsession started for just being a fictional character. i actually didn't care about him much at first, didn't pay much attention to him, and after a couple weeks it crept in on me. it was kind of like

1. who?

2. huh look at him go

3. feels like a little obsession incoming... let's just curb this now

4. it's stronger this time. i'm sure it'll pass

5. just thinking about him sometimes in a normal, regular way is fine that's fine

6. oh i opened the floodgates

7. this is my [character] folder it has all the information you could possibly find online about him, i've personally read all the opened tabs several times and will be able to answer any and all questions and where i don't have facts i have headcanons aplenty

when it first started i hadn't been on antidepressants for a little while and well that had consequences and i needed a coping mechanism desperately. so during that time i was daydreaming like 80%-100% of the day, closer to 80% if i was with someone else at all that day, closer to 100% if not. there was literally nothing i would rather do than daydream. maybe do research on whatever i was incorporating so it would be accurate. and it helped a lot, i was happy in a time i would otherwise be extremely unhappy to put it like that. now it's just when i'm bored, if i need to cope but not so much i put on studio ghibli, and before sleeping as that's become routine (it goes level 1 cope: normal although intense hyperfixation, level 2 cope: constant daydreaming, level 3 cope: studio ghibli marathon to distract me so i'll stop constantly crying)

my daydreams are also ocxcanon in some way but it's usually just a name and some rough details and then i scratch everything except that every time i feel like it. say i'm feeling really angsty one day, well now she's made for that. say i want to explore a character trait, i have a character for that. some storylines last days, some a week, some just one daydream session. so i can do the most important scenes again and again but different each time. i also like lying down and closing my eyes and i'll usually do soft expressions, it helps with the immersion

hm yeah that's it brain feels done anyway thank youuu so much for this post i'm super super tired rn cause i had a major depression hit (which means i can't sleep because i'm scared of being alone with my thoughts) and this post got the dopamine flowing again✨💕

A Very Long, Personal [but positive] Ramble about Neurodivgerency and Character Hyperfixation

[u can ignore this if you want this is just an ADHD ramble - this is a kinda 'mask off' talk about ADHD, autism and my personal history with it all. I also talk about the upsides and downsides - and the importance of Hobie to me personally - I just wanna normalize this stuff lol]

a.k.a The story of how I sent from obsessing over him to HIM in 10 years (what a glowup on my part ik)

(I know a lot of peeps on here can feel self-conscious about being neurodivergent and character connection or whatever you wanna call it and so do I! So I wanted to write it out or just ramble for my own sake)

I don't know if it's obvious or not, but I LOVE HOBIE BROWN. I'm going to be completely candid - I think about him maybe 85 percent of the day if not more, and that's in no way an exaggeration.

No matter what I'm doing, there's a least one tab open in my brain thinking about him. It may not be the focus, but it's there.

That's just how I operate. And I've been this way for a LONG time. In fact, Hobie isn't my first 'total focus' character in Marvel.

I gain VERY deep hyperfixations on Marvel Characters, many lasting years. And there's nothing wrong with that - in fact it's rad!

!!!! ATTENTION: This is a whimsical care-free zone. For Happy Funny Folk !!!!!!!!!

Loki - My introduction to hyperfixation with characters

I don't know if this is surprising or you'd be like 'yeah u seem like the type' but I use to LOVE Loki. For YEARS.

I'm AuDHD and when I was 13/14, a freshman in HS, he was my hyperfixation. Eerything I do for Hobie, I did for Loki. I even had a Loki blog for like 3/4 years.

This was back in 2012-2013, when Avengers had just came out, and the MCU wasn't - well, the MCU yet.

But even back then, the Loki fandom was HUGE. I have no idea who was also on Tumblr back then but it was gigantic. Because movies weren't coming out every 3 months, it went on for yearrrrsssss. Art, edits, fics, everything.

I was soooo into, I loved Loki. Like Hobie, I probably thought about Loki maybe 85-90% of the day.

And sure I was doing a lot of other stuff but in the back of my head there was always the oc x canon storyline running in my head, or replaying scenes from memory and analyzing, or wondering and speculating about his character.

I mask very minimally or not at all - so everyone in my school knew me for it. And at the time I didn't know I was neurodivergent, but that didn't stop me - I was genuinely proud of it.

I wore Loki shirts to school and brought the Avengers DVD the day it dropped (this was back before streaming in ye' old 2013). I knew the Avengers movie back to front.

I saw Thor: The Dark World the day it released and SOBBED openly in the theater when he 'died'. (I remember my mom leaning over and whispering 'Do you wanna leave?' cause I seemed that upset lol)

And everyday I use to wear a necklace like this -

(credit IJSY on Etsy)

But in black, until one day I had it in my pocket and I sat on it in class and broke it in two. And people around me deadass were like 'daammnn I know that shit hurt in ur soul' cause I LOVED Loki and people knew it. And I didn't care if they did.

And I was like that for years. Overtime the Loki fandom fizzled out, especially around Phase 2 when things like GOTG first came out.

But I had a Loki fixation like maybe up until the show came out. And even then I've seen the whole thing (I ain't even like it that much 4.5/10) and I'm gonna watch the second one (I'm a fool)

But any way like to this day I still remember the first time I saw Loki and how it made me feel and I can like picture it in my head and I consider it a pretty influencial albeit mundane moment in my life.

And it was a very specific feeling but it was like as soon as I saw Loki's first scene in Avengers, I was plugged into the screen.

Other Hyperfixations - Charles Xavier, Peter Parker

All of my hyperfixations are on men in marvel and they have always been. There's been others I've cycled through, usually based on the newest movie. I even went through a LENGTHY and very in depth K-pop era (don't get me started).

Charles Xavier was a favorite of mine (from X-Men First Class), and I LOVE MCU Peter Parker. I still do. But none hit like Loki did.

There was never THAT feeling, like the fantastical electric feeling.

And I had never felt that feeling again UNTIL I SAW HOBIE (i wanna cry)

My fixation with HOBIE BROWN HOBIE BROWN HOBIE BROWN (sorry I can't say his name only one time im too excited)

In the theatre my jaw genuinely dropped like I'm pretty sure I said 'OH NAH' to myself when i first saw him

Cause he was the prettiest character I've ever seen and I mean that

I didn't recognize what that feeling was until just now like YES, it's the same feeling. And I can't even describe it.

It's like every other character is normal but as soon as you lay eyes on this character for the first time it's like suddenly they're under your skin and curled up in your heart and you can FEEL them and the weight of them PHYSICALLY like not body wise but like astral personhood wise (do I sound unhinged)

And Hobie was just so pretty.

First of all - I didn't know he was black fgsbtgtuiuigs id never heard of spiderpunk

The wicks were what caught me off guard first. I know what wicks are, I've seen them before. But never animated.

And although Miles and Gwen and Pavi all look realistic - Hobie looked real to me. The high cheekbones and broad lips, the raised brow ridge and wide set eyes - he looked different from them, not just in art style but like - I DONT KNOW.

But that's how it is, you know what I mean. There was just something in my brain that was like 'he has meaning to me'. Like 'Idk who this man is, but whatever story he's writing, I'm reading it'.

That's what hyperfixation feels like.

And Hobie in specific held and holds so much more weight for me IN ADDITION.

I started falling out of my Loki phase around Thor: Ragnorok in 2017 - which is to say I was varying degrees of 'obsessed' with Loki for about 5 years.

Around that time, maybe starting in 2015, police brutality in NYC picked up. Me and my friends started getting more radicalized, going to protests, and identifying as communists, anarchists, or both.

One of my favorite things at the time was The Black Panther Party handbook I'd found at a second hand-book store. And for a while the Black Panther Party was a special interest of mine.

It made me really interested in the 70's, the civil rights movement, and the rise of punk that happened at the same time. Around this time, I made my first 'battle jacket' with a patch that said "Black Lives Matter, Bitch." and begged my parents for a pair of doc martens.

I didn't have Hobie back then, but I have him now. And he still resonates.

There was very much a time where I was that homeless, punk teen, angry at police, who wanted to be taken in by my favorite heros.

My admiration for Hobie comes from like - everything he is. Everything he stands for and represents. I don't need Hobie like I would've as a teen. But I know deep down the healing he could bring other people as a comfort character.

Or even in terms of a good political example, or great rep for alt black people. All of it.

That can't really be said for Loki. Or Charles Xavier (even if X-men is a race allegory), or even Peter Parker.

I grew up in NYC all my life, and I LOVE Spider-man, but I never felt Connected to Peter Parker as if we lived in the same city. I never felt something in common with Peter even if he was broke too.

Hobie's just different, y'know.

The Downsides

It's easy to feel really embarrassed by all this - and even now I'm feeling shy even describing how it feels.

Cringe culture gets in your head before you know it. I'm CONSTANTLY telling myself 'no, Hobie would understand that you're neurodivergent and this is you expressing yourself he wouldn't think youre cringe youre not cringe okay' As if my comfort character Hobie Brown thinking I'm cringe is like jksjfkjf the worst thing ever - i can't, i can't with myself.

I genuinely want to hug Hobie more than I want to huge most celebrities or influential real-life people.

I genuinely think hugging him would be more healing to my being than hugging the Pope or the Dhali Lama or something. I admire him and care about him but he's NOT REAL. It's PARASOCIAL And like duh, I know that - i'm grown as fuck.

Sometimes it can genuinely get you down that you care about this character-person and you can't be with them

It's like you miss them. But they're not real and you don't know them. And I know that sounds tragic or bizarre. But it's kinda just weird. It feels weird not in a sad way, but in a 'why brain?? why is this possible in my brain?? huh???' way.

Like...I know it's parasocial, but like it's not like a fan and a youtuber. He's not real, I'm not giving him money or hurting anyone. I know there's nothing to be ashamed of, but it's just WEIRD.

Like... I know my cat isn't a person and mentally I don't see them as a person and can't like analyze them like a full formed person even if I wanted to. But with Hobie - someone who is not a person - my brain can???? Like I've never met him but like... I can imagine a full conversation with him beginning to end in his place of residence I've also never seen before??????? SO WEIRD.

Also theres that thing of him running in the back of my head 85% of the time.

Even if I'm talking or cooking or something, I'm still daydreaming about him - I have ADHD. And during those times if i'm interrupted and someone give me a THIRD thing to do (besides thing 1 and thinking about Hobie) I get irritated. Because now I have less brain room for Hobie stuff.

The Upsides

Now reading all of this you might be like 'sib this sounds like nothing but a problem r u okay' but I PROMISE ITS REAL FUN SOMETIMES

And it's nothing to feel ashamed of!

Now the last part was just a list of downsides, but the upsides are more things I can do because of my hyperfixation on Hobie that makes me happy

Like I said, I daydream a LOT. Like a LOT.

Mainly with OCs You can probably tell how much I like OCs, and how much OCs - even others', mean to me. And usually, my OCs are the ones who I see the in-media universe through. I don't have to think about making an OC much, for me personally they come fully formed. Because of this, while I'm watching movies I begin to have involuntary daydreams of where I can add in an OC, or what they'd be doing. I typically only do this for Marvel though. Hardly DC or any other media other than maybe Batman. For Loki, it was a character named Asdisira Heimdaldottir who I shipped with him. And for Hobie it's Diane Pastors (Disco-Spider).

And although I am in completely control of what these daydreams are, they are vividly realistic, and can come on at different times.

For me, it's while listening to music mostly. But anything can trigger it - from a good text post, to hearing a phrase. And these daydreams are extremely vivid. Most times, you can visibly see when I'm doing it. My eyes will glaze over or start moving as if I'm trying to remember something. Sometimes I may say 'random' phrases. I say lines from the scene I'm in outloud. (Like saying 'How could you!' in an offended tone to myself, if that's what the character in the daydream is saying). I also make facial expressions. I can do it on purpose, like hitting play on a movie and resuming where I left off. Usually, when I do this, I close my eyes. I much prefer to sit and do it without multitasking, but I often do it while doing something else.

These daydreams connect, and arcs/storylines can go on for months/years.

Usually these stories go on for months in IRL time, and span the whole history of the character. For Loki, I probably has Asdisira for 4 years at most. Which is still a LONG time. These arcs can take different pathways, and I may imagine a scene multiple times - in different ways, but usuall the timeline of the oc x canon stays overall the same. Sadly, I almost never write these down. I would pull my hair out and theres not enough time in the world for me to write Diane and Hobie's full narrative down in detail that does it justice. I wanna make a bullet list of their narrative but i dont wanna clog dashes

I can genuinely use them as a comfort character.

I don't need this much now, and nowhere as much as I needed it in high school, but having the ability to daydream vividly at will about a character you feel safe and happy with - it's dope. Sometimes it really helps. There were a lot of times I imagined Loki comforting me or showing me kindness or helping me calm down. And sometimes you can do it just for fun. Like, as a treat. Whenever. I'm imagining Diane and Hobie at a fish n' chip shop right now. It's drizzling outside and it smells like oil and Hobie douses his chips in wayyy to much vinegar. It's like I'm there. Like...I just do that. thats rad as hell. (and I don't know how to describe it if you can't do it but hopefully others know how it is but it's VIVID, like wayyyy more than any dream.)

Literally a walking fact book about them.

I'm smug AS FUCK. I use to love when dudes in high school challenged me about the MCU cause I wore a shirt. Like, oh buddy. Oh pal. Just you fucking wait. I know this character better than you know your own mother - try me hoe. I love reading characters like a book and rewatching scenes, breaking down motives, watching their movements, looking for patterns and drawing connections to real world history, cultures, or psychology. I LOVE watching behavior and personality in the movies, and making conclusions about where they'd come from, reasonably, for the character, and how it affects them outside the scope of the film.

And most of all - It's Free Joy we're almost at the end I promise

This is long as all hell and unlike my other posts there really isn't a neat little character study but uhhh I wanna end with this I guess -

The best part of it, is it's free joy. Literally.

My brain can do something a lot of others can't. I can feel a kind a comfort and understanding with a character, I can entertain myself and come up with amazing stories that have mean to me.

I can make wonderful worlds and all that without lifting a finger, and hangout with my favorite characters just by going

(literally how i be sitting there - professor x headass)

I hoping the fucking multiverse with my mind.

But there's nothing cringe about that. And there's nothing cringe about drawing Hobie for hours on end, by himself or with an oc. There's nothing cringe about thinking about them a lot, or wanting to buy or make a lot of merch.

We aren't hurting anyone. It's not like a celebrity or a youtuber. Nothing we're doing is taboo or anything we're literally just being happy. And squealing about a character we deeply love

Like..Golly if more mfers in this world were squealing like us once a week maybe they'd be happier, you know what I mean. People be walking around mad as hell at the world...like why don't you look at this picture of Hobie and calm down? That's what makes me calm down.

__________________________________________________

Anyway uh this is LONG and not connected much to ATSV but if you read down this low THANK YOU so deeply it means a lot. If you relate to this at all I'd love to hear.

And if you think I'm unhinged. Absolutely. But that has nothing to do with this and ain't nothing wrong about it, in the words of megan the stallion... 'ah'.

I leave you with this pic of Hobie goodbye :)

im using my magic autism powers to hold his hand :) now im giving him a hug im having fun

[venomous-ragno]

Writing advice...

... About military things by a soldier :)

Disclaimer: My experiences and knowledge are mostly based on the German military, the Bundeswehr. They may differ from those of other countries.

Happy writing y'all :)

Pt. 6 / ?: Combat wounds (Pt.1)

Before we get into this, let me make one thing clear:

Most people imagine battle hardened soldiers to be terribly scarred, but that is most often not the case. If something gets close enough to scar you, it's close enough to kill you. In war it's either death or not; if it can kill you, it will. Having lots of scars could also just be an indicator that they're unskilled enough to let themself almost get killed one too many times, so think good and hard what scars your character has and how they came to be.

What are scars and how do they come to be?

Whenever your tissue gets damaged, your body tries to fix the loss by releasing this funky lil protein you may know from skin- or haircare: Collagen. It builds up where the tissue got damaged and helps heal and build up fresh new skin, hence why scars are lighter in colour. As collagen builds up for several months the blood supply to that new tissue increases, which is what causes scars to protrude.

But scars aren't just scars: They come in different types.

1. We have contracture scars for one, which are typically burn scars. They cause the skin to tighten and may possibly restrict movement, which can be quite frustrating if the scar is big in size. This comes from the underlying tissue healing by pulling together. Contracture scars can impact the muscles, joints and tendons.

2. Next up are atrophic scars. Fancy word that you may not know, but I bet you've heard of acne scars before. When the skin is unable to form new tissue, a little dent will appear, and that's an atrophic scar.

3. Flat scars are pretty boring. They're called flaz scars cause they flatten down over time, and go from a pinkish red colour to one that somewhat resembles your skin tone.

4. The nastiest ones in my opinion are keloid scars. These lil shits are basically clumps of tissue that grow near the wound, but can also expand past it. They're thick and look somewhat misshapen. Keloids are the result of excessive healing, which means they can pop up anywhere. Perhaps you've seen a friend w an infected piercing that didn't heal well, and they have these dark bumps around it. Yep, those are keloids.

5. Conversely to the atrophic scars we have hyperthropic scars. Sounds fancy, but when medicine names one thing with a- in the beggining, hyper- is usually the exact opposite. Whereas a- indicates too little, hyper- indicates too much of smth. In this case, hypertrophic scars are raised scars. They come to be when too much collagen builds up around a wound, which makes them similar to keloids, which but one decisive difference: Hypertrophic scars don't grow past the wound. Thank god.

6. My favourite scar of all are definitely stretch marks. I have 'em, you have 'em, they're absolutely normal. Stretch marks occur when the skin shrinks or grows too quickly for your body to catch up, thus causing tissues underneath the skin to become damaged.

Anything can happen in war - what are the most common combat injuries?

If I tried listing every possible injury I'd never finish this post, so I'm starting with the most common ones: Second and third degree burns, broken bones, shrapnel wounds, nerve damage, paralysis, loss of sight and / or hearing, PTSD and limb loss.

Sounds scary? Well, it is. But the best weapon against fear is information, which is why I'll break down the first four of those injuries in this post, and the rest in a second part.

Burns

What is a burn? A burn is an injury to the skin (or other organic tissue) caused by heat, radiation, radioactivity, electricity, friction or chemicals.

Burns are classified in four degrees, whereas one is the lightest and six the most serious type of burn.

First degree: Superficial burns, like a sunburn. Red, dry, and ouch but without blisters. Temporary change in skin colour but heals well.

Second degree: Red, swollen and blistered skin. May cause an increase in skin thickness but heals well.

Third degree: White and charred skin. Extensive skin damage. Will heal in (possibly) thick scars.

Fourth degree: Charred skin. Possibly exposing bone or organs. Probably causes permanent damage; may require an amputation.

Fifth degree: Charred skin. Will definitely expose bones etc. Definite permanent damage; amputation required.

Sixth degree: Loss of skin. Damage extends to the bones. Definite permanent damage that requires an amputation, but can lead to fatalities.

Broken bones

A broken bone, or fracture, happens when pressure is exerted unto a bone that it cannot withstand, because of which the bone can break partially or completely. A fracture has to be immobilised with a cast or surgically inserted metal rods / plates. The exact treatment method depends on what bone is fractured and how severe the fracture is.

Are broken bones fatal? Well, they certainly can have severe impacts on your health if not properly treated. Infections, permanent deformities or long-term joint problems are all feasible consequences to a botched treatment.

Luckily for us tho, bones are really good at healing. Doesn't mean a fracture ain't painful tho - the most painful bones to break are the femur, tailbone and the ribs.

If you wanna be mean but not fatally mean, I'd recommend giving your character a cracked rib or two. It's a serious injury that'll put 'em out of commission for a good two months, but they will most certainly recover; be careful of breaking them tho, as the jagged edges can puncture major blood vessels or internal organs, such as the lung. The two lower ribs rarely fracture as they are more flexible than the upper and middle ribs, which are anchored to the breastbone. If you break them however, they can cause serious damage to the spleen, liver or kidney.

Symptoms of a cracked / broken rib include strong pain in your chest area that worsens when breathing or bending the body, swelling and / or tenderness surrounding the ribs, eventual bruising on the skin, and quite literally hearing your ribs crack as they break.

Cracked / broken ribs cannot be as easily supported as other bones, so they're left to heal by themselves.

Shrapnel wounds

When the metal of an explosive pierces the skin, that's when it's called a shrapnel wound. The type of wound depends on whatever caused the injury; most often though they stem from so called IED's - Improvised Explosive Devices. In other words: Bombs, mines, bullets, or even shrapnel bombs and ammo, which are specifically made to cause as much damage to the human body as possible.

Some of these can contain uranium, which makes them poisonous to life forms.

Shrapnel is a nightmare to deal with. The pieces can travel within the body, making them harder to find and remove. You definitely wanna remove them cause they can be hot zones for infections; contrary to what you may have heard though, shrapnel is a relatively rare cause for lead poisoning. I'm gonna focus on gunshot wounds, but if you have any questions concerning other types of shrapnel wounds feel free to shoot me an ask!

Gunshot wounds

Gunshot wounds are caused when a bullet is shot into, or through, the body. They can cause serious injuries such as: Severe bleeding, damage to tissues and organs, broken bones, wound infections, and paralysis.

The exact damage depends on the location of the injury as well as speed and type of the bullet, though wounds to the head or torso are likey to cause more damage. Someone who's been shot has probably had surgery to do either of these:

Stop the bleeding

Clean the wound

Find and remove bullet pieces

Place drains / tubes for bodily fluids

Remove portions of organs (or even whole organs)

There may however be bullet pieces that remain in the body. Often these cannot be removed without causing more damage. Scar tissue will form around these remaining pieces, which may cause ongoing pain or other discomfort. In case of worsening pain, bleeding that won't stop even after applying pressure, increased drainage from the wound, rising body temperature (fever), or red streaks leading away from the wound, paying the doc a visit is a must. This means the wound isn't healing well and needs medical attention.

It will take months, perhaps even years, for a gunshot wound to heal properly - and that's if the victim is lucky enough that the bullet didn't shatter bone, or pass through arteries and nerves. Loss of limbs is also a very possible outcome. Skin-deep cuts and abrasions don't pose much of a problem in terms of healing. Following that would be muscle groups, which may heal in weeks. Tendons and bone can take months. Organ damage will take just as long, or they may be permanently damaged and never heal.

Remember that people heal differently. Especially when it comes to wounds so dependant on the exact caliber and loading of the gun; The size of a bullet and the energy it carries affect the size of the wound channel and cavity. Low powered rounds would not do as much damage as higher powered rounds (e.g. .22 LR vs .223 Rem), and smaller calibers will do less than larger calibers (eg. 9mm vs .45 ACP).

Combat knives

They weren't mentioned above, but seeing as this is supposed to be helpful to writers, oc creators and rp players, I decided to include knife wounds as well.

What is a combat knife?

It's a military issued knife that every soldier is required to carry on them at all times. It is designed with hand to hand combat in mind, thus functioning in a way that the blade can be flipped open and wielded with one hand. The blade is made to 'stand' on its own, aka two hands are needed to fold the blade back into the knife. These two criteria may put the military combat knife under assault weapons law in some countries (e.g. Germany). They are also designed to for utility use, e.g. cutting through shrubbery, thick ropes or opening ammunition crates. Now, I don't know what combat knives look like around the world, but our German one is embossed with the Bundesadler, the eagle that's our national emblem, and it's also a Swiss army knife - meaning that it has additional gadgets like a screwdriver built in.

What are knive wounds and how do they work?

The overall shape of the wound mimics that of the blade being used. Generally speaking, combat knives are meant to stab and slash, although stabbing has a greater possibility of internal organ damage. A well placed slash may sever an artery tho, so your character would do best not to let a knife get close at all.

Most often, a person doesn't die from the wound itself but from shock - not the emotional kind of shock, but the kind that your body goes into when it loses 20% of its blood in volume. In other words, the victim is more likely to die due to bleeding out rather than the wound itself.

That being said however: A stab and some blood loss won't be stopping someone powered by adrenaline and the need for survival. It's quite possible the brain simply drowns the wound out until the body collapses from cumulative blood loss. Every second counts in a real self defense situation. The assailant may be mortally wounded, but as long as they're able to do the same to you, you'll still die.

A trained fighter won't go or the head or neck, but the attacker's weapon wielding arm. Think of it like pulling the fangs out of a snake: By severing the tendons or the muscles that power them, the hand can no longer close and grip anything. A well placed slash can and will have more stopping power than a stab.

How and if a knife wound heals depends on the type of knife used, wether it stabbed or slashed and how deep, as well as the location of the wound. Much like gunshot wounds it can take years to fully recover, if the victim even recovers at all.

[thatoneidiotdts]

Sleeping (+morning routine) headcanons for some genshin boys

A/n: hello ladies and gentlemen I'm happy to announce that I may be back now that my life has decided to stop throwing endless shit at me. Now I also write for genshin so feel free to send asks in my inbox!!

Warnings: nightmares for xiao, favoritism in diluc's part, purposeful misspelling and slander in C*ilde's part,overall tooth rotting fluff

Zhong li

Sleeps like a rock (pun intended)

This man will not wake up unless there is an emergency

No matter how much noise you make or whatever is going on around him he'll stay there laying in bed completely silent

His breathing is so quiet you think he's dead half the time if not for his endless sleep talking

And you can actually have full on conversations with him while he's asleep

Also he sleeps in a solider position which leaves you to cling on him like a koala on a big ass tree

Sleeps in really soft bamboo pyjamas that you bought for him

Zhong li will only wake up at exactly 7:30 am no matter if it's a week day or a weekend/ his day off

He also doesn't stay in bed for more than 10 minutes unless as stated before its his day off and you aren't awake yet

The man will stay there taking in the sunshine rays from the window as he's looking at your peaceful face

After an hour or two hell rub your back and gently wake you up with forehead kisses while softly calling your name

When you finally wake up you usually start with the morning hygiene and whatnot

Also he will ask you if you want to take a morning bath together but absolutely respects you decision if you won't and you don't need to even give him a reason you declined in the first place but will make sure you know he loves you no matter what

After that he will sit down with you and drink tea and have breakfast with you for the next two hours

It's the only reason he wakes up so early

T̵̻̦̥͌͝e̸̟̗̮̮͌a̷̙͕͉̿̍͝

After that he goes to do his usual shift at the wangsheng funeral parlor

Venti

Menace to society

He either sleeps sprawled out in a starfish position with his arm and leg over your body or in a fetal position with his face buried in your breasts/chest

He usually sleeps in your clothes or in his everyday clothes

His little snores are super cute tho

Venti's snoring isn't super loud, it's actually really quiet but still there

Since he's a bard he stays at the Angel's share until it closes which is usually very late into the night so he sleeps until like 2pm

He isn't a heavy sleeper so you usually accidentally wake him up if you have some errands to run early in the morning

Venti will cling to you and pretend that he's asleep so that you can stay in bed with him

After like 20 minutes of this he finally let's you go and makes you promise him that you'll be back quickly

When you returned to your shared house from doing commissions you found him still sleeping in the bed so you quietly took a shower and snuggled in with him for another hour or two

After he finally wakes up for real this time he has breakfast lunch with you and goes off to Angel's share but not before giving you a thousand kisses

Kaeya

He's sleep schedule is ON POINT

He always gets back from Angel's share at exactly 1:00am, showers, eats and does his skin care routine and gets in bed around 1:30am

He also wakes up at exactly 9am but stays in bed until ten

He trashes through the night, he also talks in his sleep but it really weird and it's mostly things that are in English but you can't understand them at all

Kaeya is also a blanket snatcher and will snatch your blanket if you aren't holding it tightly

I feel like he also sleeps with socks on but has a few special pairs of socks that have some cute patterns that he would rather be caught working with the fatui by his own brother than wear them outside once

Also sleeps in silk pyjamas, doesn't care if the cotton ones are easier to breathe through, he likes the feeling of silk on his skin

Kaeya loves his personal space and he doesn't like to be touched while he sleeps but makes up for it when he's awake but still in bed

The only exception is when it's cold outside, I headcannon he's naturally cold and he doesn't like it at all

His morning routine is 90% of him taking care of his face and showering

His skincare routine is also more expensive than some people's houses so don't touch his products plz

Kaeya will gladly teach you the basics of skin care and will buy you your own products that thinks will suit your skin better

He's also almost late to work every day so every day you see him put on his shoes calmly, take in a deep breath and then he kisses you goodbye and runs off like a mad man in order to get to the headquarters on time

Diluc

He has so much unprocessed trauma I would be surprised is sleep schedule is anything but a mess

Diluc doesn't sleep a lot, he would have a normal sleep schedule but since he has a lot of stuff to do all the time it stops him from sleeping property

Not only does he work as a bartender at Angel's share when Charles can't he also works as the Mondstat's one and only Dark Night Hero

He usually comes home around 4 or 5 am and will only sleep until like 8 and you will have to force him to have a nap in the afternoon

Also he sleeps in his everyday clothing and he's sometimes too tired to even take his coat off

Diluc sleeps on his stomach which causes him to have back and neck problems but it's the only way he can actually fall asleep

He's a really light sleeper which also adds up to his sleeping problem

Also he snores loudly, like really loudly, and he only snores at night for some weird reason

You discovered that because one day you accidentally woke up at like 6 am and you couldn't fall back asleep because of his loud snoring but you didn't dare to move since you knew how little rest he gets

He's not a morning person at all, if he didn't hate alcohol, he would be the person that chugs half a bottle of vodka in the morning just to keep him awake

Diluc usually starts his morning off with some personal hygiene and then starts doing the endless paperwork without even having breakfast or anything to drink

So out will have to force him to eat and drink so that he doesn't pass out from work

On the rare days he doesn't have any work to do he usually sleeps them off to make up for the time he didn't sleep

Albedo

Chalk boy over here also has a terrible sleep schedule

He's not really forcing himself to stay up but rather doesn't realize how late it is

You will have to pull him out of his work in order for him to go to sleep

Albedo has a special pair of pyjamas that he wears when he's sleeping and he only wears them because for his last birthday Klee has given him a pair of pyjamas that were originally grey but she hand painted them herself with the help of Jean and Lisa and he's been sleeping in them ever since

And when i say every day I mean every day

But don't worry he hand washes them every two days and takes special care of them in order to not wash of the fabric paint

His snores are also really quiet and quite cute, I recommend commenting on that if you wanna see him blush ^-^

Albedo usually sleeps on his stomach but unlike Diluc he is small enough to not crush you under his weight so he usually sleeps with his head on your stomach or buried in your neck

Pease touch his hair he melts when you do

Albedo can sleep for a looonng time if you don't wake him up so he relies on you to wake him up or else he'll spend the next 16 hours in bed sleeping without a care in the wold

When he wake up he does his usual morning routine, which is usually a quick shower, breakfast, brushing his teeth and his hair out, and then goes off to work

He will absolutely make you have a nap with him in the afternoon or whenever he feels tired

Xiao

He doesn't sleep much, hell I don't this man sleeps at all sometimes

Adepti don't really require sleep or food like normal humans do

It took a lot of time for him to trust you enough to sleep besides him

Xiao doesn't feel safe while sleeping at all, he also fears that his karmic dept might take affect on you so he keeps his distance for quite some time

For the first month or two he would wear his normal every day clothes but then you gift him a cute plain green onesie and at first he straight up refused to put 'that thing' on but he gave in and hasn't sleep in anything else since

At first he would be the big spoon so that he can protect you from any harm but when you spooned him for the first time he felt so safe and warm he never wanted to let go of that feeling ever again

After that he would ask you under his breath if you could spoon him more often, you barely understood what he was saying but perfectly understood what he wanted and needed.

He also regularly has nightmares which causes him to trash around and maybe whack you in the face once or twice but you're quick to calm him down

Xiao never really realized that he was hurting you until he gently hugged you and you winced because he accidentally touched the small mark he left the previous night after having another nightmare

Doesn't touch you or sleep with you for a week after that, he already hurt you enough but you don't really care so you coaxed him into sleeping with you again very easily since he missed your warmth a lot

He doesn't really have a morning routine but he does wake up every morning before you so that he can teleport to the Huaguang Stone Forest to pick some Qingxin flowers for you

He's also gets back into your arms right before you wake up so that it seems like he never left in the first place

But you always notice the new fresh bouquet of the beautiful white flower on your desk and thank him for it

T*rtaglia

Listen here ok I'mma be real with y'all

Turbulence sleeps exactly one hour less than normal people but makes it seem like he gets like 2 hours of sleep per night

"Ugh I didn't sleep last night at all😩😏" Like bro stfu

He also makes jokes about sleeping so little because he was with you last night or that he was training so hard or doing a mountain of paper work

While you know damn well he was with you entire night sleeping like a baby right by your side

He sleeps naked solely so that one day when a hypothetical intruder gets into your home he can scare them off by yelling at them while being completely naked 💀

But he will put a pair of pyjamas on if you're uncomfortable

He mostly sleeps on his side because he needs to hold something while he's sleeping, if you aren't with him that night he will hug your pillow and sleep like that

Tagliatelle also doesn't like to sleep when in a cold room so he will have one of those water bottles that people use for back pain and will put one in the pillow he's holding and two in the blanket itself

He's totally a morning person and has no problem with getting out of the bed in less than like 10 minutes unless you ask him not to

If he has a day off he won't sleep in that much but he will curl up beside you and 'accidentally' place his head on your boobs/chest

Y'all saying Terrorism is the caring older brother? WRONG he's the forgotten middle child. we ofc know about Tonia, Anthon and Teucer but he also has two older brothers and at least one older sister

I feel like he's the middle child that had to take all the responsibilities when the older three/four moved out

So yeah he can make a damn fine breakfast for you without skipping a beat

But don't let me even start on his personal hygiene

Like shower are fine ok and he baths once a week only because he can but like

I know damn well his back teeth are ROTTING

He only uses mouthwash and brushes the front and bottom part of the teeth so that they look presentable meanwhile his back teeth got their souls sucked out

Moving on from that Tellurium can't really spend the whole morning with you so he will have to leave you late in the morning.

Coffee? :>

[eric-cartman-my-beloved]

Teen Eric headcanons

(Originally I wanted to write an one-shot for Eric’s birthday, but I ended up focusing on a multi-chaptered fic of mine, so I wouldn’t make it on time for the 1st of July. I wrote this instead, because I also had no ideas to draw, and I figured headcanons would be better than nothing.)

Eric never quits his habit of overeating, but grows rather tall regardless, due to the genes from his father’s side of the family. His full height is about 6 feet 1, and he ends up being the tallest out of the main four (and Butters) in high-school and later on in adulthood.

Actually has naturally really nice skin, with no acne or zits and very smooth. Though he does help a bit by putting on some skincare products that he’d never let anyone besides Liane find out that he uses. (Because that’d be “gay”.)

Stops wearing a hat for the most part because it keeps messing up his hair. And he spends quite a bit of time combing it and taking care of it. (Not that he’d tell anyone.)

Has a cute, small, round nose and thin, nicely-shaped eyebrows.

Of course he’s still heavy (over 105kg or 231 pounds), but as he was growing taller the weight has been distributed to his body more gracefully, so he is more bulky than he is “fat”, though his belly is still quite visible and his cheeks are round.

Dresses semi-formally even on regular days at school. Button-up shirts, corduroy pants, suede shoes, trench coats occasionally, things like that. Likes to brag about how expensive the brands are all the time.

His overall situation has not been getting any better with time. On the contrary, the more that time passes, the worse he gets mentally. He lashes out and is rude at innocent people far more easily, gets more irritable and is more prone to anger bursts.

Eric is unbearable to be around to the point their group almost splits up. It becomes a vicious cycle and the less Kyle, Stan and Kenny want to hang out with him, the more he clings to his racist ideals.

The only friend who mostly remains by his side is Butters, whom he often involves in schemes in order to make money.

Like it happened with his therapist’s wife, he has caused more people who irritated him once or twice to commit suicide, as, after that and the incident with Scott, he steadily only becomes bolder with what he can get away with.

His relationship with Liane also worsens over time. After several failed attempts to try and control him, Liane eventually regresses back to her usual ways and tries to give him anything he wants, because of how detrimental and exhausting arguing with him all the time is.

He still experiences hallucinations every now and then. He stopped seeing his stuffed animals around when he was about 15, but Cupid Me persisted.

Liane has tried to take him to therapists (for…everything) but Eric does not believe he needs help, thinks him going there is a violation of his rights and is always hostile to the doctors, therefore, they have to cut ties after less than two months.

He is nearly always unable to sit through an entire period without causing some kind of disturbance in the classroom. Be it bothering his classmates (Kyle especially) or casually pulling his phone out, and expects no repercussions about anything. Hence, he’s always exasperated and irritated when a teacher reprimands him.

It isn’t often that teachers reprimand him, however, because he almost always shouts at them even at a simple “be quiet, Eric”, and given that his worsening mental condition is obvious, they are unsure and/or afraid of what he might do, as he can be unpredictable. So they prefer to return home with a headache, rather than try to get Eric to behave.

He has gotten into trouble with the principal for being caught owning nazi paraphernalia, and Liane was also informed, but Eric never bothered to reconsider about stopping to buy such items.  

For a couple of weeks, he attended the meetings of a far-right organization, but eventually quitted because “they were sitting on their asses all day long”.

Wanted to get a swastika tattoo on his arm, but he chickened out at the last minute because he was scared of the pain.

He ran for president of the student council in 12th grade, but he was elected vice-president, and his pride could not afford Wendy being elected president, so he quitted on his own.

Has managed to teach himself nearly fluent German, semi-fluent Spanish and a bit of French.

Unsurprisingly, he does not do well in school except for German class. His grades in the other subjects are just… tragic. But he doesn’t care because he thinks that studying and getting into college is “overrated anyway”.

Eventually grows out of crossdressing, but still goes through a crisis about his sexuality. Luckily for him, his primary attraction is females, which makes it easier for him to repress the part of his brain that is attracted to males.

They have an on-and-off kind of relationship with Heidi ever since 10th grade. Heidi was understandably reluctant to date him after what she had gone through in 4th grade, but Eric managed to convince her that he has changed, and that he’s a different, better person.

He loves bragging about having a girlfriend, and tells lots of stories about how their relationship progresses (though some are fake, or have a bit of an extra spice to them).

Not all girls find him as intolerable to look at anymore. Though, of course, they still can’t stand his personality, which is why, since Eric really wanted a girlfriend, he chose to go to Heidi, whom he knew he could convince of his change.

He has a small crush on Wendy, but he’d rather give all his progress in a video game up than ever admit it to anyone – even to himself.

He often sleeps over at Heidi’s place without letting Liane know beforehand, and when he returns the next morning, she doesn’t bat an eye. (Heidi’s parents are a different story, however.)

A few months before the end of 12th grade he takes up smoking. At first he just thinks that it looks “kinda cool” but eventually he ends up actually liking it.

He gets warnings about how his habits are going to affect his health badly in the long term, but he always ignores people. Eric always thinks he knows better than anybody else around him.

  Alright, so, that about does it for the headcanons. I’d also like to share a few songs that I personally strongly associate with Eric (even if not all the lyrics fit him perfectly):

1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

[dirty-bosmer]

Now that I'm almost caught up on The Illusionist, I was wondering if you'd be willing to enlighten me on your writing process. Also, if you feel comfortable sharing, was there anything unexpected or surprising that you learned about writing fic?? Super curious and super nosy :>

Thank you for the ask, Z!! I will be honest, my writing process is a MESS, especially now that I'm super busy with school. For each chapter, I usually have a scaffold to work with, and the very least some bullet points that outline each scene. It is almost unimaginable to me that in the early days of my fic, I could write a chapter every few weeks over several regular writing sessions. These days it's so chaotic. I write nothing at all for months at a time then get hit by inspiration ray and stay up from 5 AM to 3 AM writing the bulk of a chapter. It's so unsustainable lol. It usually goes like this:

Write a line.

Agonize over said line.

Write a few paragraphs. Go back to original line and rewrite it three times. End up with the same line I started with.

Forget about things for a few weeks. Write another paragraph. Rewrite said paragraph. Rewrite first line again.

Rearrange all the sentences and re-read it until I'm sick of myself.

Brood for a bit. Get distracted for a few more weeks.

Scrounge for inspiration in my dreamscape. When it hits, spend all of Saturday writing and doing nothing but writing. Don't contact anyone. Don't go outside. Don't do anything. Don't even blink.

Edit while burnt out cause I slept for 6 hours over the entire weekend and hopefully don't get sick of myself again :D

So yeah, I don't recommend that, eheh. I think it's been so difficult cause I'm at the end of a long fic and feeling the pressure, but hopefully when I get back into my Skyrim fic, I'll have planned it out a bit more and it will not be so lawless. Also I've found that chipping away little by little and having someone to do writing sprints with helps a ton with maintaining creative flow (thanks @gilgamish <3)

As for the second part of the question, I'd say what surprised me the most was 1) how much I enjoy writing and 2) how many people have enjoyed my writing. I started The Illusionist back in 2017 with no real writing experience or intention of publishing online, kind of just went *dooot dooot* on the keyboard for a few years, then realized "omg there's a story here" (is it obvious that i pantsed 😅). At some point, I realized it had become a serious hobby, and I actually wanted to improve my skill which is a blessing and a curse cause I've found a real passion for the craft but that also means I'm a lot harsher on myself now.

The second point was far more unexpected tho— I'm truly blown away by how welcoming this community has been and how supportive my friends are. Absolutely mind-boggled that anyone has taken time out their day to read my fic, let alone dropped a message to tell me they liked it 😭 I'm incredibly grateful. Oblivion is almost TWO DECADES OLD, and when I first started writing, my fic was a rare-pair that centered around the mages. THE MAGES GUILD. It was so unbelievably unsexy and understandably received very little engagement XD For years it was like that, so my expectations have always been and will remain very low. Still, I'm having such a blast and hope to be writing for a while :)

[bellasgreensweater]

✨Why I Think Bella Swan Is On The Autism Spectrum ✨

In this post I’m going to talk about why I personally believe that Bella Swan is autistic. As an autistic person myself, I really relate to Bella and I see a lot of autistic traits in her.

Disclaimer: This is just a headcanon- I don’t think Stephenie Meyer intentionally wrote Bella as autistic, and she or the movie producers never confirmed it, so I’m not saying to everyone that she is CONFIRMED to be autistic and that every one has to see her that way, I’m just saying that I personally think she is, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Autistic people hardly have any representation in the media, and with the representation that we do have, it is almost always stereotypical, inaccurate and offensive. You do not have to agree with me on this, but just please be respectful in the comments and don’t hate :)

Ok let’s go:

1. She always felt different from everyone/she felt like nobody truly understood her and that she never really understood anyone either: this is what basically all autistic people feel, myself included. Feeling like nobody understands the way your brain works and the way you see the world. (And this is true, because autistic people do see the world differently than non- autistic people and autistic peoples brains are wired differently from non- autistic brains). Bella mentions this multiple times in the books and movies, at one point in the first book in the car with Edward, she tells him that she thinks he can’t read her mind because they’re a probably a glitch in her brain and that it’s not like other people’s. There is also this quote from the 1st chapter of twilight which sums up how she feels: “ Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn’t just physically that I’d never fit in. And if I couldn’t find a niche in a school with three thousand people, what were my chances here? I didn’t relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn’t relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain”.

2. Her motor skills: She’s constantly tripping over her own feet, has bad balance, doesn’t realize that she’s walking into things, constantly dropping things ect, a common thing for autistic people is to have poor motor skills and find it hard to navigate their body.

Another disclaimer about autism: not ever autistic person is the exact same, every autistic person expresses their autism in a slightly different way, for example, some autistic people are overly sensitive to sound, and some are under-sensitive to it, these are just the specific things I’ve noticed for Bella in this post, it’s not supposed to be a generalization of autism in any way! :)

3. Social disinterest and difficultly: all throughout her childhood and her time in forks, she wasn’t very interested in making friends or hanging out or going to parties, and she found that she could never make friends with someone easily, she just never fully clicked with someone. She did have some very nice friends in forks, however she never related to them too well or was very attached to them.

4. Dresses for comfort and not fashion: Bella typically dresses in what feels most comfortable for her, not what is the most fashionable thing, this is a common thing with autism. A lot of autistic people like myself are quite sensitive to clothing and fabric and will not tolerate uncomfortable clothing.

5. Limited interests/special interests: Bella doesn’t really have many interests, but the ones she does have, she’s very passionate about. A special interest is an autism-specific term used to describe interests and hobbies that autistic people have that are very important to them. They help regulate emotions, calm people down, provide escapism ect. Autistic people can hyper fixate on these interests for hours and hours and not get bored, they can get so engrossed that they forget to do basic tasks to take care of themselves like drinking or going to the bathroom. These interests can last for years, sometimes a lifetime and they are very important to autistics. Bella swans special interests would be reading, wuthering heights, and vampires. Bella says in midnight sun that she has loved reading all her life and it is one of the few things that bring her intense joy. She said she could read for hours at a time and would try to sneak books into her lessons and read any chance she could get. Bella says that her favorite book is wuthering heights and she has read it so many times that it is beaten up beyond repair and the spine is so cracked that the book lays flat. This would clearly be her special interest. Her other special interest is clearly vampires.

6. Burnouts and meltdowns when Edward leaves: when Edward left in new moon, Bella obviously fell into a huge depression, but I also think she fell into an autistic burnout (if you don’t know what that is pls research or ask me cause this post is already too goddamn long). And in eclipse, when Edward leaves to go home in the afternoon or to go hunting, she can barely focus without him and gets very anxious (this is obviously because she loves him and is literally obsessed with him lol, but I also think it could be a meltdown from separation anxiety and also a change in routine (a lot of autistics get very upset when their usual routine is disrupted or changed))

7. Sensitive to sounds: In the book, often Bella cannot concentrate or fall asleep because of little sounds like the rain, sometimes it takes ages for her to sleep because the rain or tapping is too distracting. (This is a common autistic struggle).

8. Stims & facial twitches & stuttering: in the movie, she is constantly stuttering over her words, and her face and body twitches a lot. She also stims a lot in the book by playing with her hair or sleeves or the zip of her jacket, or her hands or edwards hands. She also covers some of her face with her hair, this could be to do with sensory overload, seeing too much in her field of vision may be overwhelming for her, like a lot of autistics.

9. Trouble expressing feelings/ thoughts: bella struggles a lot sometimes with communication and telling people how she feels. You can see this in her relationship with Charlie. They both love eachother very much but they never say it and when they do it comes out very awkward and sometimes they use the wrong words. You can also see this when she is hesitant to tell Edward in eclipse when she doesn’t want him to leave for the fight, it takes her ages to work up to telling someone how she feels. She also tends to be quite private. This is common for some autistics to feel.

10. Sensory experiences: bella loves the sun and heat, she says that she loves feeling the sun seep into her skin- a lot of autistics feel the sensory world very strongly and love certain sensations and detest others. When Bella moves to forks, she hates the sudden change in weather and gets anxious and upset at the feel of the cold, and the rain against her skin. This links back to my other point where I was talking about how autistics fear sudden changes in routine. Bella is very relieved when there’s a sunny day in forks and goes and sits outside, savouring the weather which reminds her of home.

11. Not too concerned with how she looks: obviously not every autistic person is like this, but quite a few autistics don’t really focus on how they look/present and what they wear. They don’t really know about the social norms and what other people wear so they do what they want. This is something I often see in Bella in the books especially.

12. More quiet/ reserved and socially withdrawn and awkward: this is basically self explanatory. Bella is very well known for this. I touch a bit more on this in point 3.

If you made it this far then thank you so much! This took a long ass time to write and I’ve been thinking of making this post for months. There are more things that make me headcanon her as autistic, but these are just from the top of my head. When I re-read the series (for like the 100th time lol) later this year, I’ll annotate the book so that I can update this post in the future with more supporting this).

Again this is just my opinion and my personal headcanon, it is not factual (but I’d obviously want it to be canon) so please no hate :)

If you have any more things to add on then please do!! I’d love to hear your thoughts!

[kookingtae]

falling into you (pt. 8) PREVIEW

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4 | pt 5 | pt 6 | pt 7

→scenario: Jungkook’s innocence is like a breath of fresh air in your wild life, and though you know you’re toxic for him, you just can’t seem to stay away.

→genre: college au, slow burn, mutual pining, shy/nerd jk + bad girl oc (mature themes)

→a/n: so i’m not finished with pt 8 yet, since it’s such a climactic chapter it’s taking a bit longer than i anticipated unfortunately BUT i dont want u guys to think ive forgotten about it!!! i know u all are waiting so patiently, and i cannot thank you enough from the bottom of my heart <3 i hope this preview keeps you excited for what’s to come!

Jungkook could never face Y/N again.

God, how could he, knowing that he’d not only finished in five minutes like a pubescent teenager, but also in his pants while she was on top of him?

Embarrassment didn’t even begin to describe the mortification he felt. He’d never wanted the earth to swallow him whole as much as he did in that moment. Sure, he was aware of his slight social anxiety, the way he was constantly looking to bolt from uncomfortable situations—but this was different entirely. This was new territory for him; he’d never done anything remotely sexual with someone else, period, much less with the girl who hung the stars, moon, and sun in his eyes. What was he supposed to do? There was nowhere to escape to in his own bedroom, no running away from his problems that made him uncomfortable. No, he had to stand there with his head down and his crotch dripping wet while he practically begged her to leave. He had never been so ashamed of himself. He had never felt so pathetic.

But then Y/N surprised him like she never failed to do: she’d given him reassurance, another kiss even, while telling him that she actually enjoyed the experience—went so far as to say it was the best in her life. Now he knew she was lying to spare his feelings. Of all the men Y/N had been with, there was no way a virgin cumming untouched in his pants was the best of them. She was cruel to make him believe otherwise, to give him false hope.

He wouldn’t allow himself to think any differently. He couldn’t allow himself to get hurt.

Which was why he made it his mission to avoid her at all costs—something he’d gotten very good at over the past few months, and the past few weeks, specifically.

But in the same way he’d learned from the patterns of her daily routine and used them as a means to remain hidden, she’d also learned his and utilized them to her advantage as well. It was the only explanation as to how he was turning a corner inside the art building (about to take the rear exit, since she usually waited for him out front) and suddenly she was standing right in front of him.

He instantly skidded to a halt, heart rate shooting to astronomical levels and eyes widening on their own accord. “Y-Y/N,” he stuttered out involuntarily, the sight of her causing every single detail of their time spent together to come rushing back to him like a tidal wave ready to wipe him out.

As if he needed another excuse to think about the moment they shared that had changed him forever, about the way her moans sounded in his ear and her body felt on his lap and the way she touched his cheek, his neck, the way her lips felt on his skin, god help him—

Already he could feel the beginnings of a blush start to rise to his suddenly hot cheeks, and he cleared his throat and shifted his weight from one foot to the other to keep from springing yet another boner in front of her.

He slid his books in front of his waist, just in case.

While she usually approached him with the natural ease of self-confidence and charm, today she seemed worried, unsure. She chewed at her lower lip—something he didn’t think she really ever did, as he would certainly remember the way it stirred within him—and looked up at him beneath delicate lashes that framed her eyes.

He didn’t have it in him to keep from outright staring at her beauty.

“I… I missed you,” she finally murmured, and he felt the breath physically whoosh from his lungs to join his butterfly-filled stomach all the way at the floor.

It had been a few days since he’d last seen her, since she’d been in his room that night where they opened up about their past and confessed how they truly felt about one another and shared the most life-altering moment he’d ever experienced. He missed her too, god he missed her. He missed everything about her the moment she left his side—would picture her face in his mind as soon as she left his field of vision. But for some reason unknown to him, she was too kind to him, spared his feelings despite knowing what little experience he had. There was no way he’d be able to satisfy a girl—mentally, physically, emotionally—who could have anyone she wanted. Perhaps she pitied him. Either way, if she wouldn’t put a stop to it, then he would.

Or so he’d try, but alas, nothing ever went according to his plans where Y/N was concerned. And here she was, three simple words mumbled into existence and he couldn’t even remember his own name, much less why he’d been trying to fight this.

She seemed to expect he would say nothing—either that or she’d grown used to his silence—because before he had enough sense in him to even think about responding, she was speaking again. “How have you been?”

The question was asked with deliberate, genuine curiosity and concern; she really wanted to know if he was okay, how he was handling things after what had transpired between them. And no matter how hard Jungkook tried to fight this, fight her, fight himself, he was only human.

And so he stopped fighting.

“I– I missed you too,” he breathed out, and it was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and relocated to his gut. He tensed at his confession, mentally berated himself for his words even though she’d been the one to say them first. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, what with the way his throat locked up.

Though the second he witnessed the smile that sprang to her tantalizing lips, he felt as light as a feather floating in the breeze.

“You did?” Her eyes lit up, sparkled under the fluorescent hallway lights that still managed to capture all of her beauty despite the unflattering lighting. He didn’t think it was possible for any scenery, not even that of a dull and stuffy university building, to make her appear any less breathtaking than she always was.

“I was so worried after I left last week,” she continued without prompt. The mention of his premature finish had him stiffening in dread, though she didn’t let enough silence fester between her words for the anxiety to claw its way up his throat. “I didn’t want you to beat yourself up. I’ve noticed you tend to be too hard on yourself sometimes.” She glanced up at him with the hint of a sheepish grin dancing on her lips.

Her expression said it all: that’s an understatement.

And this shocked him to his core, because she was absolutely right.

Just how well had she gotten to know him in their time spent together over the last few months? And how? And why?

The last question would always boggle him until the end of time; he would never understand why she was interested in him. Why was he the one she had feelings for, when she claimed she never had feelings for anybody? Though he supposed he could ask himself the same thing: why did he feel things for Y/N that he had never felt for anyone else in his life? And the answer was quite simple, really: because it was her.

He didn’t know what about himself was so special to make him stand out in her mind, and as a result he still couldn’t help but be skeptical, even after her confession. But it wasn’t like he had any choice in the matter on what to do with that skepticism—not when his heart kept leading him back to her.

At some point after her accurate description of the inner turmoil that’s been plaguing his mind, his mouth had fallen open slightly. He couldn’t hide the surprise from his face even if he tried; he was speechless.

Y/N gazed up at him, not seeming in any hurry to rush the conversation along, and for that he was grateful. He’d never met somebody so patient and understanding before—just another reason to make Jungkook’s heart flutter with endearment. And it was no secret to himself anymore that he yearned to be in Y/N’s presence for as long as possible whether he was aware of it or not.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know,” she continued as if she could read his mind, and that was when he realized the way his eyes avoided hers and the fact that his skin was the color of tomatoes must’ve been dead giveaways. “I meant it when I said that was the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Jungkook balked, practically choking on his spit at her forward, shameless words. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to the way she spoke her mind so openly without any fear holding her back. She’d gone through so much in her childhood, in her life—Jungkook not even knowing the half of it, he’s sure—and yet she was still so strong and brave and everything he wasn’t. He couldn’t help but admire the person she was today, despite all the prejudice and judgment he’d held for her when they first met.

He realized now that he was too quick to judge her, to write her off based on rumors and first impressions. He realized now that he was too quick to do that to a lot of people. Just how long had he closed himself off from others based on his skewed, morally righteous perspective? His whole life, if he had to say.

The epiphany that she was physically prying open his third eye with a crowbar, that he was now self aware and changing for the better for her—for himself—hit him all at once.

It was the most frightening sensation of his life, the introvert in him wanting to crawl back into his shell where it was safe and comfortable and dull. But deep down he knew it was also for the best.

“W-why?” He heard himself asking before he knew what he was doing. “Why do you keep saying that?”

He had to know why she insisted on standing by her statement that his mishap was not only hot, but the hottest ever. Why did she insist on lying to him, on giving him false hope? She spoke her mind in every other situation, or at least that’s what he assumed; why did she insist on sparing his feelings in this incident? Was he really that pathetic? Did she pity him that much?

She simply blinked at him once, twice, before: “Because I really like you, Jungkook.”

As if in slow motion, you could visibly see his eyes expand to the size of saucers at your words.

You would’ve found the sight comical had the situation been any different. But the way he continued to disbelieve that you could have feelings for him, that you could be attracted to everything about him despite who he was, despite his inexperience—it made your heart break in your chest. You now knew from where this inferiority complex stemmed—he’d told you himself about his family situation—and if anything, it made you want to rebuild his confidence that much more. He needed to see himself the way you saw him.

But you also didn’t want to overwhelm him, either. And you were more than willing to walk that fine line with Jungkook no matter how long it took.

“So are we on for a study sesh tonight?” You continued nonchalantly, wanting to return things to normalcy for him as much as possible before he ran away mid-conversation as he’d done so many times before. You wanted to ease his self-doubt so he’d stop avoiding you—like he’d been doing the past few days—as much as possible.

Jungkook blinked as if trying to adjust from the whiplash of your subject-change. “U–uh… if you want?”

“Of course I want to,” you replied without missing a beat, not caring how desperate you seemed so long as he didn’t question where you stood. You took a step forward, unable to help the intangible, magnetic draw you felt to him as you gazed up at him beneath your lashes. “That is… if you want to.”

You watched in agony as a gulp slowly raked its way down his throat.

“I–” his voice was hoarse before he cleared his throat. “I uh, can’t tonight. I have to study for math.”

You weren’t even sure how one studied for math, but you weren’t about to question the expert. “That’s fine! We could… do it tomorrow?”

Jungkook chewed at his bottom lip, an action he always did when he was internally struggling with something before he finally nodded his head yes in a slow, hesitant manner. “N–not in my room though,” he added as an afterthought, and when your gaze snapped to his he had a pleading expression in his eyes.

A mix of emotions rolled through you. On one hand, you were horrified at the possibility that he thought the only reason you wanted to study again was so that you could get in his pants. Which—okay, you’re not going to lie, you would love to have a repeat of last week—but that definitely wasn’t why you wanted to see him. He meant more to you than just a means to get off, which was what you’d thought of flings in the past. You didn’t want him to be just a fling, though.

You didn’t want to think of the meaning behind that fact right now, either.

But on another hand, you understood where Jungkook was coming from. Maybe it was because you’d studied him enough over the past few months to learn some of his behavior (for once you finally saw the appeal of studying), so you knew that level of intimacy was probably extremely overwhelming for Jungkook and he needed a moment to step back. Hell, it was even overwhelming for you, and that was saying something. Never had your senses, your heart, your body, your soul been attacked like that with such an abundance of emotional pleasure, and you hoped with all your might that Jungkook was feeling the same—that that was the reason he needed a breather from being alone with you, and not the fact that he just didn’t want to be intimate with you.

Unless…

Oh god, had you misread the situation entirely? Had Jungkook hated everything about that night?

Suddenly you were feeling sick to your stomach. The thought of you misunderstanding his confession—or worse, him changing his mind completely—made you want to escape to a dark and desolate stairwell and cry in the hidden nooks of the windowsill again; the irony that not only would you be pulling a Jungkook by escaping mid-conversation, but that the stairwell was also the place the two of you had your first real conversation, wasn’t lost on you.

“M–my roommate is staying in, studying for finals.” The sound of Jungkook’s voice was like a breath of fresh air whooshing into your lungs after almost drowning underwater. You blinked out of your inner turmoil, focusing on him. “So he’ll be there, i–in my room, this whole week.”

And suddenly your heart was warming with relief, hope, appreciation, like flowers blooming in the spring after a torrential downpour. Just when you thought you had him figured out, this enigma of a boy continued to surprise you. It was usually easy for you to hide your emotions—you’d been doing so for years, always wore a mask around others so that they couldn’t see the real you—and yet somehow, Jungkook must’ve sensed them anyway. He sensed the doubt, the pain, the fear that you vowed never to cage you crawling up your throat and threatening to consume you whole, and he eased it. He didn’t want you to misunderstand him. He wanted to reassure you.

If anything, that was just a testament to how Jungkook had broken down your walls—how much you had let him in, how well he was able to read the emotions you wanted to keep hidden. Your mask had begun to break, the real you showing through the cracks, and Jungkook was still standing here. He hadn’t run away.

You fought the urge to grab him and slam your lips onto his.

“Not in your room, then,” is all you managed to breathe out beneath a fluttering smile.