#i’ve also confronted them personally plenty of times before

[citricacidprince]

...Mable stuck with bill timestuck, you say? I wonder if that would go better or worse than dipper being alone with bill.

Here to mention that I somehow only noticed your signature when it was next to fiddleford, and thought you were (rightly) calling him a prince. It took an embarrassingly long time for me to connect the dots.

Haha you’re not the first person to mistake my signature for actual writing so dw you’re good lol!

And as for my thoughts of Mabel and Bill in a Timestuck AU,,,

I may or may not have written a drabble in a mutuals DMs a few years back about a confrontation between Mabel and Bill and the aftermath of it! I also may or may not have just fixed it up and straight up doubled the word count haha-

Since I’m feeling a tad bit brave I’m gonna post the drabble under the cut for anyone to read along with two doodles I’ve done for it, I only ask that yall be nice to me since I don’t write very often and know I ain’t that good at it hehe-

Also I’m not lying this is like,,, 4707 words… I got possessed to write this haha

Before I begin!!! Important!!!

Trigger Warnings: Choking/Asphyxiation, harm to children, minor descriptions of small cuts and minuscule amounts of blood, verbal planning of commiting a murder/killing

(if I missed any please tell me!)

With that out of the way here's my stupidly long Timestuck AU drabble that's been on my back burner for years! The only thing you really need to know is that the twins time-traveled back after Weirdmagenddon of their own volition. Dipper is with Stan and Mabel is with Ford and Fiddleford. Mabel has been staying with the two for almost a month now and Fiddleford is the only one who knows she's a time traveler.

With the stage set, please enjoy!

💫—————————————🚩

It’s late into the night, Mabel is tossing and turning and can't go to sleep. Her mind is spiraling as she overthinks and worries about Bill, her brother, her Grunkles, everything. So at about 1AM she decides that she’s not going to bed anytime soon and gets up off the living room couch which she has called her new bed while staying with her younger Grunkle Ford and Fiddleford.

Despite it being the dead of night Mabel thought it’d be a good idea to just make something food related in hopes it would tire her out. Also, she figured it would be a fun idea since she knows Stanford is most likely still awake and probably hasn’t eaten in a while. She could make him something easy and sweet, like a batch of cookies, and give them to him as a gift! Who doesn’t like 1AM cookies?! If she doesn’t have the stuff to make that, eh, she’ll figure it out and make something else!

A bonus to this is that if Ford says he’s not hungry, a bold faced lie, she’d use her sweetest and biggest puppy eyes until he ate some. Maybe she could even convince him to go to bed and not stay up till 4AM!

The brunette starts making a batch of cookies in the cover of night, making sure to have plenty enough for Fidd's in the morning, and putting her entire heart and all her worries into the mix in hopes the oven would ease away the stress weighing down her mind.

Sure it took a while, but it would totally be worth it to see her young Grunkle's face light up in shock at the sight of a warm batch of cookies shoved into his face and getting crumbs on his nerdy notes!

Right as she was finishing up wrapping up three separate plates worth of cookies in a napkin with a pretty little bow, for the ✨aesthetic✨ she happily told herself, she hears a pair of heavy boots walk into the kitchen.

The voice of her, now young, Grunkle Ford calls out her name in the quiet kitchen. Just as she had expected, he was awake.

Before the excited brunette could whirl around and surprise Ford with the 1-2 AM batch of cookies she lovingly went and made by hand, his low voice rumbled out, “Could you grab me a mug? One from the cabinet.”

He sounded a little funny, like he just woke up. Mabel smiled as she could already picture Stanford’s bleary and tired face as he goes to make a cup of coffee with the mug he’s asking for. She lets out a small sound of exertion as she pushes herself onto the counter since she’s too short to reach the cabinets otherwise and gingerly opens the cabinet so it doesn’t squeak and pulls out a mug. Based on the small cracks and worn paint on the ceramic it seemed a tad old, the faded words of ‘Backupsmore 1973’ barely legible.

Just as Mabel turns around, about to lightly scold her young Great Uncle for drinking coffee at 2 AM instead of getting some rest, a large hand wraps around her little neck. She didn’t even have a chance to scream as she’s suddenly slammed into the now closed cabinet, the air knocked out of her lungs and her head spinning from the impact, a loud sound of ceramic shattering on the wooden floor echoing through the kitchen and Mabel’s ringing ears

A fearful confusion consumes her mind as she, unsure of what’s happening in her dazed state until she catches a glimpse of Stanford. Gone were the warm brown eyes she’s grown accustomed to, in their place were the sickly yellow slit eyes of a monster she knew all to well.

Bill Cipher.

“Shooting Star, there you are! I think you're getting a tad too comfortable around here! Let's fix that!"

Malice built in her throat as she spat out, her brows furrowed and her brown eyes glaring down his yellow ones, “Bill! You-”

“Ah, so you do know me! I assumed so, but wasn’t quite sure!”

The six fingered hand around her neck pressed a tad harder against the wooden cabinet behind her, making her wince from the pressure.

“Here’s the deal, Shooting Star, you’re being a massive thorn in my side.”

Her back was already aching from the impact of her getting slammed against the cabinet.

“Making Sixer second guess his trust in me with your insufferable kindness and child-like whimsy.”

Her sock-covered feet were slipping and sliding on the wooden countertop, legs uncontrollably trembling as her fingers gripped at Stanford’s large forearm in hopes of steadying herself.

“It was amusing at first but now it’s just annoying. So I need you,”

His hand tightened even more, making Mabel let out a sharp hiss of pain.

“Out of the picture.”

Mabel’s feet no longer are touching the countertop as Bill suddenly pulls her away from the cabinet, easily dangling her little body in the air and effectively hanging her. Panic instantly shoots through her and tears well up in her eyes as her airway is suddenly completely cut off, her little hands grabbing and clawing at her possessed great uncle’s forearm while her legs wildly kick at the air, too short to even graze against Bill’s chest.

Bill’s free hand raises up and idly taps his chin, as his musing over something indecisively, an wide and uncanny grin stretched across the possessed scientist’s face as he loudly questions, “Hmmm… how about… throwing you in the lake! If the water doesn’t kill you the cold air will!”

Mabel started to thrash around even harder, her heart pounding in her chest as fear coursed through every nerve in her body, her flight response in full gear as she tried over and over again to get out of Bill’s grip with no avail.

“Oooh! Or I could just tie you up and bury you in the snow! I hear frostbite is real killer these days!”

Blood was rushing to her ears; she could barely hear a word he was saying. All she could focus on was the panic bubbling in her chest and adrenaline pumping in her veins, screaming at her that she didn’t want to die.

It didn’t take long before her vision began to blur, her clawing hands and kicking feet getting more and more numb and slow with each passing seconds. She could faintly hear Bill say something about ‘throwing’, ‘roof’, and ‘classic!’ before she could feel herself almost completely clock out, vision fluttering in and out as her hand weakly claws at his arm one last time.

Just as she was about to give up completely, the polydactyl hand around her neck suddenly let go, sending Mabel unceremoniously crashing to the floor. She let in a large gasp of air, coughing her lungs out as air desperately tried to fill them once more. The brunette doesn’t even care about the small shards of broken ceramic cutting into her hands or shins, she was trying to make sure she didn’t accidentally start hyperventilating as drool and tears drip from her face to the floor with every sharp breath.

Mabel, disoriented and dazed, manages to glance up through strands of her long and curly brunette hair to see Ford still standing there with those disgusting yellow eyes, which were now staring off to space with annoyance clearly visible in his gaze.

"Geez Sixer, you chose the worst time to want your body back to 'test a new theory' huh?" He quietly mumbles under his breath, looking upset that his fun was being rudely ripped away from him.

Suddenly he stares down at Mabel, who was clutching her throat and panting heavily, brown eyes unable to stop crying. Despite this, despite all the pain and numbness that ran through her, she still found it in her to glare at the dream demon with as much animosity as she could muster while surrounded by ceramic shards and small prickles of blood.

"Well… we’ll just have to pick this up another time, won't we Shooting Star?"

The possessed body of Stanford Pines strolls towards the archway leading out of the kitchen, however before he leaves completely, he stops and whirls around with that same twisted smile Mabel vividly remembers seeing on her possessed brother’s face just a few months ago. "Oh, Shooting Star? Would you be a doll and clean up this mess? Wouldn’t want anyone getting hurt now, would we?"

And with one final cackle he left, making his way back downstairs to Stanford’s study, presumably to make it appear like he never left in the eyes of the oblivious scientist, leaving the little brunet alone on the floor to lightly grip her neck, wincing at the bruise that's bound to appear the next day.

She stayed there silently for what felt like hours but was only just a couple minutes, the adrenaline coursing through her veins slowly but surely fading away as the feeling finally came back to her numb fingers and toes, relieved that she isn’t hyperventilating anymore and she can actually breathe.

She eased herself off the cold wooden floor, her little body trembling the entire time.

Despite the feeling of spite coursing through her veins for that awful dream demon, he was right…, she really didn’t want anyone to get hurt… So instead of immediately going to fix herself up she spent the next 10 minutes sweeping up the broken mug and getting all the broken shards of ceramic into the trash.

Curse her and her big heart…!

When she was done it was about 2 AM, and it was now officially time to check the damage.

Before she left the kitchen she made sure to put the plates of cookies into the fridge.

She didn’t really feel hungry anymore.

With a couple of winces and hisses of pain she managed to tip toe herself up the stairs and to the bathroom, making sure she didn’t accidentally wake up Fiddleford by stepping on a loose plank or opening the door too loud. Once inside she gingerly pulls out the old timey medkit from under the sink and sits on the floor.

Well, technically the medkit was modern since it was the 80s…

Wah, Mabel! Not the time!

With a deep breath she gingerly treats the tiny cuts gracing her hands and shins, trying not to cry as she disinfects each cut just like Grunkle Ford taught her to at the end of the summer, plucking out mini pieces of ceramic embedded in her skin with a pair of tweezer like how her Grunkle Stan had taught her at the beginning of the summer (note from her past self, splinters are never fun).

Cleaning and applying band-aids to the cuts was the easy part, most of the bandages would be hidden under her sweater and the winter pants Fiddleford had gifted her during her first couple days staying at the shack.

It was her neck that was going to be hard to hide.

Mabel stood up and got on a step stool to look into the minor, immediately wincing at the sight of her bare neck, dark purple was already creeping in and bruising every bit of her neck. The brunette leaned closer to get a better look and almost whispered out one of the many swears she had accidentally learned from Stanford while living here.

There was a hand bruised into her neck, and it encompassed her entire neck.

She gingerly touched her neck and winced at the dull pain. Guess she wasn’t going to take off her sweater for about 2 weeks now… just 1 week if she was lucky enough…

She tentatively took a step outside of the bathroom and tiptoed down the hallway again, trying to not make a single sound. Just when she got to the steps she heard a door open behind her, causing her to instantly crouch down and hope that she was far enough down the stairs that her body was hidden from sight.

She dared herself to peek just above the top step to see Fiddleford standing outside of his room, stretching and yawning before closing his door and walking towards the bathroom Mabel just left, making the 13-year-old let out a sigh of relief that he wasn’t going to see her like this.

She knew she should probably tell Fiddleford what happened, but she just couldn’t. Maybe it was that childish fear of getting in trouble over nothing getting to her, or maybe it was the fear that her young Grunkle would be blamed for what Bill did.

Regardless, despite her better judgment, she kept her mouth shut and decided to hide her bruises from everyone else in the house, silently thinking of a way she could somehow protect herself from Bill.

She could practically hear Dipper yelling at her about how bad of an idea this was, but she was too shaken up to think of anything else…

So, she kept with the plan even as she shakily slipped a sweater over her large t-shirt she wore as a night gown and fell asleep on the couch, huddled in the corner in a ball as vivid nightmares haunted her fitful sleep, showing flashes of a possessed Stanford Pines throwing her off either the house or a water tower.

She woke up the next day to the warm smell of breakfast and the soft tones of Fidd's humming a tune in the kitchen, her body absolutely aching and a tad sweaty from the combo of the sweater and the fireplace keeping the room warm.

Mabel winced as she got off the couch. Yep… her back is definitely bruised.

She tentatively walked towards the open archway leading into the kitchen, silently calming her nerves and trying to put a smile onto her face. It helped that Fiddleford is making breakfast, she loves his food.

The kicthen was so empty when she first arrived but the southern man immediately starting keeping the place stocked when it was clear that she was going to stay there for a while. He also insistent on making her a meal 3 times a day since she was a ‘growin’ lil’ girl’. Because of her memories of Fiddleford being ‘Old Man McGucket’ were much more prominent in her brain it was easy to forget that he was once a father, but in those domestic moments when he doted and fussed over her it was clear that he was a good one.

Well, when he was sane that is…

She quickly shook off the bleak memory.

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts…

She let out a low breath as a wide smile covered her face, her round cheeks rosy as she happily skipped inside.

Fiddleford perked up at the sound of Mabel walking inside, smiling as immediately spoke with a fond voice, "Ey there sweetpea, sleep well?" He idly glanced behind to see Mabel in her baggy t-shirt/sleep gown as well as a sweater on top of that, making him raise an eyebrow as he playfully asks, "Did someone get' cold last night?"

"Just a little bit." Mabel playfully replied back, unable to stop the wince that crossed her face at the sound of her hoarse voice.

Fiddleford, who was already done making breakfast, immediately whipped his head around at the sound. "Honeybee, are ya' alright?"

She lightly coughs into her fist a couple times and passingly remarks, “I’m fine, it's just morning gunk! Just need some water, haha!” Trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Fiddleford still had a suspicious look in his eye as he looked over the little lady before deciding to let her off easy with this one, grabbing a rag and wiping his hands while replying with a quiet, “Alright, if ya say so, sunshine…”

He quickly pours Mabel a glass of water and then grabs a plate of bacon and pancakes. “Fer you, made just how you like it,” Mabel sits down in her chair as Fiddleford places the glass of water in front of her and a plate of pancakes and some bacon that is extremely burnt. “Burnt in a volcano.”

The brunette drinks some water first, happy to note that it actually does ease the pain in her throat! After that she eagerly grabs a burnt piece of bacon and shoves it into her mouth, loving the way flakey black residue smears onto her fingers and the overwhelming taste of what can only be described as ‘BURNT’ fills her mouth. She muffles out, “It’s perfect!” In between bites as Fiddleford chuckles at her antics and makes himself a plate. “Yer such an odd lil’ duck, honeydew! Only kid I’ve ever met who wanna me ta’ burn their meal!”

Mabel immediately shoots back, pointing at Fiddleford with a mouth full of bacon, “Tahts cause ohther peowple are COWERDS!!!”

The lanky man lets out a full on belly laugh as he grabs his plate and sits at the table, the two beginning to talk about anything that crosses their mind.

Stanford wasn’t going to join them for breakfast. He’s usually asleep at this time or buried in whatever notes he was currently writing.

…Mabel feels a little bad that she's kinda happy he wouldn’t join them… Her throat feels like it’s constricting all over again at the thought of those sickly yellow eyes and horrid laughter…

At some point while eating, Fiddleford makes a joke that makes Mabel loudly laugh, the sudden shout of laughter causing her to wince and try to grab at her throat. She stops herself a couple inches short of the grab and quickly puts her hand back down, but the damage was already done.

Fiddleford, concern coming back at full force, puts down his fork and immediately asks with a concerned tone, "Honey, is ‘ere somethin' wrong with ‘ur neck?"

Sweat began to bead on Mabel’s forehead and she tried to immediately brush off the concern with a not so convincing, "Whaaaaat, psh, nah!"

He raises an eyebrow at the clearly nervous little girl. "Mabel, if yer' hurt I'd like to know."

She starts to fidget in her seat, fingers wrapping together and her brown eyes darting away. "Look, it's not thaaaat bad you don't gotta worry about it-"

At the confirmation that she is indeed hurt makes him sit up and shoot back, "Well tha' just makes me MORE worried bout it!"

Unable to come up with anymore excuses Mabel plays with a fork in front of her, eyes locked with her plate. Fiddleford let out a soft sigh and leans closer to the brunette across the table and rests his hand on hers, a kind smile on his face as he gently adds on with that fatherly tone that immediately made Mabel feel better, "Darling, it ain't gonna get better if ya’ don't lemme help. I promise I ain’t gon’ get mad, ya hear?"

Mabel tentatively glanced up at the southern man’s soft green eyes and could tell he meant every kind word.

So, despite her promising to keep her injuries a secret, she takes a deep breath and nods her head, gingerly taking off the thick hand-made sweater to leave her neck and bandaged up arms exposed to the world. The lanky southern man’s eyes seem to grow more horrified every passing second.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

Fiddleford jumps up from the table, almost making his plate fall off while doing so, quickly rounding the table and crouching in front of the brunette with green eyes filled with so much worry and horror.

He found himself fussing over the girl who had easily wormed herself into his and Ford's hearts and found himself growing even more sickened at every bruise and cut he found, though nothing could compare to that sinking feeling of dread he felt looking at Mabel's bruised neck.

He cupped the brunette’s face and could feel tears well up in his eyes as he stuttered out a confused, "W-wha'..., Mabel wha' on earth happened-" His heart breaking trying to even comprehend what could have happened to her.

On the opposite end, Mabel could feel her heart swell at Fidd's fatherly fussing, but tried to brush it off the best she could, not wanting him to worry about her.

"I'm fine really! I just, uh… tripped down the stairs…? …Yeah! Didn't want to worry you, haha!"

Fiddleford, who suddenly stopped paying attention to what Mabel was saying, let his eyes looking closer at the girl's neck before they widened in a horrifying realization.

"I… Is tha' a hand…?"

A rush of panic suddenly runs through Mabel as she tries to come up with some excuse to throw him off, something, anything!

"Fidd’s it's FINE! I just… uh… wore a sweater that was too tight…?” Goodness she’s screwed, even she was aware of how unsure she sounded.

Fiddleford still wasn’t paying attention. Instead one of his hands lowered from her rosy cheeks and ever so slightly touched her neck with the lightest of touches. His green gaze was analytical as finger traced down the bruised skin, talking to himself so quietly that even Mabel almost didn’t hear him as he quietly began to count.

“One, two, three, four, five, s-”

The blond cut himself off with a sharp inhale through his nose as the look of worry that had previously graced the southern man's face suddenly disappeared and was replaced with a look Mabel had never seen on his face before.

It was a quiet anger. The kind of anger that's terrifying to witness as it bubbles from deep inside but you refuse to let it show on your face, even as your hands begin to tremble and your vision goes red.

Without saying a word Fiddleford stood up and stayed completely silent, unable to say a word for about 10 seconds while his face was blank and unreadable. Finally, Fiddleford looked down at Mabel and gave a kind smile that didn't fully reach his eyes.

"Sweetie, could ya' stay here a sec? I have something importan' I need tha’… discuss… with Stanferd."

After finishing that statement he gently patted the top of her brunette head and walked out of the kitchen archway, turning the corner and heading up the stairs that lead to Stanford's room, walking with such silent intensity that it kinda frightened her.

After a couple moments of staying frozen in her chair she finally managed to shake off the feeling, realizing she had to stop Fiddleford! As scary as it would be seeing Stanford again after last night's… incident… she couldn't just let Fiddleford go confront Ford without the full story!

She sprang up from her chair and winced at the pain radiating from her back. Yep! Still definitely bruised!

Mabel rushed out of the kitchen and up the stairs. She stumbles to a stop at the end of the steps as she sees Fiddleford standing outside Ford's door, just as quiet as he was downstairs. He raises his hand and gives a firm echoing knock and she could faintly hear her young Grunkle respond with a strong, "Come in!"

She hates that she shivers a bit at his voice.

She hates that she's a little bit afraid of him.

Fiddleford doesn't respond and instead just opens the door and then quietly closes it behind him. The door doesn’t close all the way which makes a sliver of light from Ford's bedroom/study shine against the floor in the hallway.

Well... Fiddleford hadn't broken any windows or started yelling, so maybe, just maybe, he's going in there to calmly talk out the problem with Ford? Well, that was more wishful thinking on Mabel's part. She HOPES they will just, talk it out, and no one will get hurt...

A loud crash and shout echoed through the hallway.

A girl could dream can't she?

Mabel sprints to Stanford’s door, tripping over herself the whole way, and yanks open the heavy wooden door as quickly as she could.

When she finally pries it open she’s greeted with the sight of Fiddleford in the middle of trying to choke out Stanford, while Stanford is leaning against one of his smaller wooden cabinets, pushing Fidds away (to the best of his ability) with his foot, clutching his very bloody nose in confusion.

Mabel rushes in and pushes the southern man away from her bleeding Great Uncle to the best of her ability but Fiddleford upon seeing Mabel finally backs off from trying to murder Ford, but the look of pure anger firmly remains on his face.

Ford looks at Fiddleford with pure confusion as he pushes himself off the small wooden cabinet, clutching his bleeding nose all the while.

"F, what on earth has gotten into you!"

Fiddleford stared back with his mouth agape, absolutely gobsmacked, before finally yelling back, "Wha'- what's gotten into ME?! What's gotten into YOU Stanferd Pines!"

Fidds pushed past Mabel and jabbed his finger into the brunet’s chest.

"She's a lil girl?! How DARE you even lay a FINGER on her!"

"F what on earth are you talking about?!"

Fiddleford roughly grabs Ford's shoulders and pushes him to look towards Mabel with a surprising amount of force.

"SHE'S what I'm talkin' bout! Stanferd Filbrick Pines who gave you tha' idea ya' had tha' GODDAMN right to even lay a FINGER on her-"

Stanford couldn't focus on the rant Fiddleford poured into his ears instead his eyes state frozen on the disgusting purple mark staining Mabel's neck.

"Mabel… who-"

Stanford knelt next to the sweet girl who reminded him so much of Stanley in his youth and felt a familiar pang in his chest. That feeling he'd feel whenever Lee came home covered in bruises. That feeling to protect… and to hurt anyone who dares to hurt them.

"Sweetheart… who did this? What happened?"

Fiddleford scoffed. "Ya should know."

Ford shivered at how cold F had sounded. Out of all of his years of knowing him, Fidds had never sounded like this.

Then the meaning of those words finally hit him.

Stanford rushed to stand up and looked back to Fiddleford's furious eyes with his own look of disbelief.

"Y-... You think I did this?"

Fiddleford's eyes didn't change in the slightest.

"Ya'. Ya' I do."

"We've known each other for years, we went to college together, I went to your wedding, you are easily my best friend. Do you honestly think I'm capable of doing something like this?!"

"I used ta'," Fidds crossed his arms. "Now I ain't so sure."

Ford didn't know HOW to feel. This felt like a betrayal but not in the way Stanley's felt. He also felt offended. And hurt. And so many other emotions that were swirling in his chest.

"How? How did you even get it in your head that I had something to do with this!? How could you look at me and even IMAGINE me hurting her?! I can't even imagine myself hurting her! She's-"

"Hand."

Ford froze from his rant.

"What."

"Yer' tha' only one who coulda' done it. How do I know? Hand."

"Ya' always go on an' on about the statistics of someone' being polydactyly. About how different ya' are."

"I want ya' to look at how many fingers are on that handprint on 'er neck, look me in tha' eye, and tell me who's most likely tha' guilty party."

Stanford froze, his face turning white at the realization. He didn't need to turn around and investigate the bruise on Mabel's neck. He now knows it had 6 fingers. When you put all the facts together, one thing is clear.

He IS the most likely person to have done it.

But there's a problem with that.

He DEFINITELY didn't do it.

He glanced back at Mabel, who seemed to be nervously pulling at her nightgown the entire time. After a moment she finally glances up, but after looking into his brown eyes for less than a second she quickly looked back down.

He didn't do it. He knows he didn't.

But if he didn't, why did she look so scared of him?

He didn't do it…

…Didn’t he…?

❔—————————————❓

Now this is a bonus doodle based on an idea I had for the aftermath of this! Stanford is stuck mulling over this in his room and when he finally leaves he notes that Mabel isn't asleep on the couch like usual. So of course he freaks out and assumes she ran away, running all over the house in hopes of finding her. He runs upstairs to Fiddleford’s room and knocks frantically on his door to get him to help him find the missing girl.

Fiddleford opens the door looking annoyed and tired. When Stanford says he can’t find Mabel and that he’s looked everywhere the southern man cuts him off by instantly replying “I know where she is.” That instantly calms down Ford but he looks confused as he asks “You do?” To which Fidd’s opens the door a little bit more to show Mabel asleep on his bed.

Stanford lets out a soft ‘Oh.’ And just stands there, looking awkwardly at Fiddleford for a moment before trying to break the tension with a weak chuckle and asking “Did she want to have a sleepover?” The blond doesn’t even hesitate to reply back, “Yeah. Because she’s scared of you, Stanford.” And closing the door on the brunet’s face.

Stanford doesn’t move for what feels like forever before he heads back to his room, feeling a little sick.

Anywho, I’m done now!!!

I’m happy and sorry you read through all of that, you can leave now! 💥💥💥

[old-lemon-tree]

Hiii :3 Micah headcanons? I'm interested to hear what you think about his attitude towards interpersonal relationships (I think a lot about how he reached out to Amos) and how he shows care.

<3 🐴🐴🐁

OOOOh this is such an interesting one! (reason why it got rambly lol thank you for asking)

There’s a lot going on with Micah in terms of how he sees people and how he reacts to them. I think to get an understanding of his reasoning is important to remember a couple things:

Micah never had a family. To him family and gang are the same thing, interchangeable, and with the same weight. He doesn’t have a standard concept of it. He was born and grew up outlaw, that’s all he ever knew.

He doesn’t believe in anything. He’s more than an atheist, and more than a cynic. No God, no morality, not even money. ONLY survival, and survival of the fittest, at that.

Has some deep-rooted insecurities. Probably brought up by his father. He masks those insecurities by belittling weakness whenever he finds it.

(about his father and grandfather) “Pair of wild horses they was. Father and son…and then me.” 

Headcanons and opinions:

He longs for companionship in the standard sense, but doesn’t have the ability to let himself want it, or even acknowledge it. He sees feelings, and the expression of it, as inherently weak and unmanly (which is likely because of his dad berating him for it)

We see the previous point plenty of times with Mary Beth Abigail. And yes, in all of those moments he’s creepy as hell, because I have the feeling he never had much interaction with women who weren’t paid to talk to him. Which is not a legitimization for his actions, but explains how and why he acts towards women like this. No surprise here, but it was worth mentioning.

Two other instances of him searching for companionship is: 

With Javier, when they end up drinking together and Micah confesses drunkenly they are family. Which seems odd to say, while drunk, to a random person you don’t even particularly like. I don’t think this was meant as manipulation. Micah has a habit of running his mouth too much when he’s drunk In Beaver’s Hollow (when everyone’s morale is down)—coincidentally, drunk here too—when he demands people cheer up, and asks someone to sing a song or something. I love this one in particular, because during the story he’s seen never interacting with the gang when they party. Meaning the idiot has been sulking outside, looking in.

He admires strength, and envies with a passion. He absolutely looks up to Arthur and hates him for it. Arthur is strong, he’s reliable, he doesn’t ‘whine’ in the sense he always accuses others of doing. Arthur is the reason the camp is still going, and Micah has noticed that instantly. It’s the reason why, when it’s time, Arthur is the first he tries to get rid off. Micah’s a snake and knows how to cut off a snake’s head.

About admiring strength. His admiration for it is the same reason he gets so overwhelmed and bitter when confronted with the strength of people he hates. Charles when he throws him on the ground, Javier when he punches him. Even with Hosea in that camp’s interaction about Blackwater, where Hosea doesn’t leave him respite, doesn’t back down when Micah bites, he bites back. (because Hosea may be old but he can still whoop your ass!)

He reached out to Amos because he was trying to get him back into outlawing. No nasty ulterior motives imo. Yes, he talks down on his brother with the gang, but that’s the yarn he spins, you know. At the end of that conversation he also admits no woman ever told him nothing but “make yourself scarce”, adding that “it suits me just fine” in the most unconvincing tone I’ve ever heard. So yeah, he wanted his brother back into the fray.

Is honest when he says the gang is like family. As said before, he doesn’t have an example for what a family actually is, gangs is all he ever knew. When he rants in camp about wanting the gang to cut off the weak ones, that’s what he thinks families ought to do, because that's probably what his family did with Amos.

And despite it all—despite him being the rat—Micah is loyal to the concept of gang. If Dutch hadn’t gone completely off the rails in Guarma, mining his own survival (which is and will always be king) I think he wouldn’t have sold them out. (This is like my most controversial point I can feel the people booing lmao)

[cosmictyto]

💛⚔️ Villain Ambrosius AU - Tarnished Gold ⚔️🖤

I’ve listened to Will Wood’s “Vampire Culture” one too many times while stuck in the Nimona hyperfixation pit + after seeing some villain Amb fanart floating around, so enjoy these sloppy, partially finished mad ramblings edited/stylized a bit to (try and) make them a little more interesting to read. Also, you're all more than welcome to add on/ask any questions! I'll get to them when I can.

Just a heads up, this is looooong. Simply because ya girl’s a wordy bitch.

Basically, the point of this AU can be boiled down to “What if Ambrosius knew Ballister was innocent AND Nimona got to him first?” Kinda a role swap, but kinda its own thing at the same time? Idfk.

On the night of the knighting ceremony, as they’re both suiting up, Ballister verbally mentions his sword feeling off to Ambrosius. But neither of them have time to investigate that further.

The knighting ceremony goes just as horribly as it did in the movie. The queen is dead, Ballister’s lost his arm, and though they couldn’t exactly find Ballister’s body, he’s presumed dead. Lambasted as a traitor to the kingdom, but also treated as a sort of boogeyman since no one REALLY knows if he’s dead in that "I heard he's dead!" "Well, I heard he's still alive!" kind of way.

Ambrosius, meanwhile, is left completely crushed. Simultaneously being praised by some for “disarming the traitor” and mocked by others for being so close to that same traitor. For not recognizing the signs earlier. For not stopping him before their queen was killed. And though the Director reassures him that he’s done well as Gloreth’s descendant and that this will all fade as nothing more than a bad memory… he knows. Ballister didn’t do it. He KNEW something was wrong with his sword. And deep down he knew that his boyfriend was innocent. So he confronts the squire, sees the footage, and leaves with his whole world rocked.

Needless to say, the proof of ACTUAL INTENTIONAL regicide, treason, and corruption within the system, the same one he’s a literal living symbol of, isn’t on his mind at the moment. Just what he did to Bal. So full of regret and guilt. (At best, he mutilated the love of his life out of instinct which is still horrible!!) Normally when he wanted time alone to think he’d go to the top of the Glorodome. But, that spot hurt too much right now. That's where he and Bal first became friends. So, that same night, he went to the next-best place, Gloreth’s statue.

It’s late at night (he hasn’t been able to sleep much lately anyway,) and he’s sitting at the edge of that massive golden sword. Legs dangling as he stares at the ground. He’s normally not much of a drinker, usually too risky. But tonight he makes an exception. Before, everything felt manageable. The inherent weight he bore being Gloreth’s descendant, the press and citizenry looking up to him to be this bastion of goodness and pure heroism, internal familial pressures over how he should act, look, and think… with Bal at his back, he could handle it. But that stability’s gone now. And the only other person he could possibly lean on, the Director, was responsible for his lover’s death. Now, more than ever, he feels like he’s on the verge of collapsing under the weight this kingdom’s placed on his shoulders…

And then someone happens to come along.

Even despite everything, despite all the hurt this one person’s been responsible for… Nimona still carries fondness for Gloreth. And some nights, when she can’t sleep and she feels like howling at the moon, she’ll go to her old friend’s statue… tonight was one of those nights. And who does she happen to find? Her great-great-great-great… however many more, great grandkid. And he’s not looking too hot. A part of her knows she’s got no real obligation to help him, she's never talked to any of the Golden-groin brats before. But... she's had plenty of moments where she wished she had someone talk her down from doing something stupid, and she's feeling kinda sentimental n' sappy... so she strikes up a conversation.

He’s (reasonably) startled by this teen who just showed up out of nowhere. On a statue that requires a hoverbike to get to, no less. But he’s also drunk enough that he’s not as concerned as he maybe should be. One thing leads to another, and he just lets loose. Like, completely vents everything stored in him. (And, yes, “Arm chopping is not a love language!!!” Is thrown in there.)

Nims is just kinda in shock. In all those stupid commercials and interviews he seems so calm and put-together. Perfect, even. But, he's actually kind of a wreck. And now he’s unraveling real fast and is a bit too wobbly to be up this high- So she talks him down a bit. Calms him. Eventually asks, “If you never had any of this stupid “Gloreth” stuff pushed on you, who would you be? What’d you want to do?”

That legitimately stumps and breaks him. He’s thought about how nice it’d be to have this pressure off of his back. Where he could be his own person and not “the descendant of Gloreth.” But he never ONCE considered what a world like that would really look like. All he’s ever known was THIS. Being a knight, being a symbol and not a real person… there’s really only one thing he could actually say.

“Um… My hair wouldn’t be blond..? Y’know, it’s funny, this isn’t even my natural color. They make me bleach it so that I… that I can look more like her…”

And it’s at that point that Nimona decides right then and there, if she couldn’t get the kingdom to change its mind, she’ll at least get through to Gloreth's heir. Break at least one cycle. (And totally not because she feels the teensiest bit regretful he's been put in this position, naaah, nothing like that.~) She coaxes him down from that statue, and the two of them proceed to do nothing but get into mischief…

“~Blood… didn’t they want your blood? So why apologize for being blue and cold?~”

Specifically, the kind that you don’t remember until well after you wake up. All Ambrosius knows is that he’s in some strange dim dreary place and someone’s cooking something. Oh, it’s just Bal. He usually handles any meals since he doesn’t burn them like he does… but, as he’s snuggling back into the couch, he realizes there’s the sound of a girl humming? What? He sits up. Aaaand she’s there? The girl from the statue? He tries to blow some of his unkempt hair out of his face, and-... he freezes. Grabs his phone, ignores the many, many missed calls and news notifications, opens his camera app, and… black. His hair is black. Why is it black?! It’s not supposed to be-! He NEEDS to be blond! And-!

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty!~ Not gonna lie, never knew a fancy-pants knight like yourself could cut loose like that... Hm? Oh! Right, the hair! You were telling me all about how much you hated bleaching it last night. Sooo, we dyed it! Eventually, you can cut all the dyed stuff off and just leave it your real color if you want. But, for now? Bye-bye, blondie! Like it?~”

No. No he does not. He’s basically having an anxiety attack over the unsanctioned change. Then he gets a notification on his phone and starts reading the news articles. All about HIM, a “mystery girl,” and several animals going wild throughout the kingdom.

“Dude, chill. What’s done is done. We got a little crazy, you saw some pink elephants, and we dyed your hair. So what?”

“So what?! What do you MEAN “So what?!?” I’m a DESCENDANT of GLORETH! I-I can’t be doing things like that! Or be seen like this, or-!”

“Woah WOAH! Hey, look at me. Breathe. You wanna really know why you asked me to dye your hair? YOU said it was so you could be free."

“Free..?”

“Yeah! From now on? You don’t have to live by their stupid rules and expectations. You don't have to be like her, you can be YOU! You can do whatever the hell you want, whenever you want! Wanna change your name? Do it! Wanna go break stuff? Hell yeah! Want a piercing or tattoo? I can give you some. I know how! You wanna make those bastards pay for what they did to you and your boyfriend? I'm more than happy bring the matches and help you burn that bitch to the ground!~"

From that point, things just click. His whole life, the Director… no, the whole INSTITUTE forged him into nothing more than a gilded sword. One that they turned on the person he loved most. The ONE thing in his life that he chose and stuck by… and the system he was supposed to symbolize MADE him kill the love of his life… and he didn’t have to play by their rules anymore. Thus starting his fall into "Villainy."

“~Blood, didn’t they want your blood? So don’t apologize for being blue and cold…~”

Slight time skip!~

Truth was? Ballister was still alive. Heavily wounded, dazed and confused at how everything went so wrong, but alive...

Ballister's story continues as it did in the movie. Months later after the knighting, he's being hunted by the law with Sir Thoddeus Sureblade as the captain of the guard. In the meantime, he's built himself an arm and is still aiming to prove his innocence... Except his attempts to find Ambrosius, or convince the Director that he was set up, are a complete failure. Like in the movie, he's arrested and thrown in the dungeon... Except with no one to break him out. According to whispered gossip from the guards who bring him food, Ambrosius has been missing for a while, now. A fact that would not be revealed to the public anytime soon...

"It's only culture! It's only CULTURE!! It's only- Culture's not your friend..!"

At least, not until an individual in scuffed black-and-rose-gold colored armor (?) shows up with... a bear, or a tiger, and a wolf, and horse, and... even a rhinoceros?! The two of them running through the halls. Breaking things, lighting stuff on fire, and spraying paint on the walls (along with the floor, ceiling, and any statues,) and scrapping with any knights they come across. They'd already uploaded that clip of the Director swapping those swords. This? This was a diversion to keep the Institute from possibly removing or censoring that clip before the public got to see it. And Ambrosius LOVED it! He got to be loud! To make a mess! He finally got to punch Todd in his stupid dude-bro face! When you've kept someone shackled their whole lives, and then take those harnesses and leashes off? The freedom's enough to make ‘em go a just a teensy bit crazy. More than anything, since everything that happened the night of their knighting? He felt alive.

"Hey, fuck your culture! I ain't got no culture! It's only culture and it's more afraid of you than you're of it!"

During the assault, just as things are starting to get dicey for Nims and Brose, they do something so that the power ends up cutting out. Freeing Ballister and giving him his chance to escape, and... for a moment Ballister sees him. His Rose, ebony-haired with cuffs and studs on his ears. Riding on the unsaddled back of a raspberry-pink horse. A can of neon spray-paint in one hand, a sword in the other, a whole squad of knights behind him… and for a moment they lock eyes. Ambrosius’ world just comes crashing down, trying to stop and turn Nims around (Who refuses. ‘Cause, y’know, the bunch of knights behind them?!) she shifts into an ostrich to get a boost of speed, and the two just ride off with Ambrosius staring wide-eyed… looking like he saw a ghost… meanwhile, Ballister’s wondering just what the hell’d happened since the ceremony, and just -what- his boyfriend’s been hanging out with.

From this point my plot-related notes are thinner/less thought out. But here they are anyway:

- Ballister’s still firmly stuck in the Institute’s brainwashing since he’s had absolutely no time hanging out with Nimona to influence that. He’s seen the footage, but still believes that the fault solely lies with the Director specifically. That the Institute as a concept can still be preserved. A part of him hopes that by capturing this pink monster he might be able to redeem himself in the eyes of the kingdom. Prove his loyalty as a knight. (And conveniently finally meet with his boyfriend who’s apparently lost his damn mind?! Or... or has been corrupted by this thing?) So, while on the run from Todd and the other knights, he’s also trying to track down Ambrosius + Nimona and stop them from inciting a rebellion. Because all he knows is that this isn’t the man he fell in love with. (I won't lie, the Ballister side of things feels pretty shaky. I need more time to sit and stew on it.)

- If we’re using D&D alignment charts as a reference, Ambrosius is basically going from lawful-good to chaotic-good. Identity crisis and shift to anarchy aside, he genuinely doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Especially not the general populous. Yes, he happened to be raised to be a “hero of the realm” but, at his core, he’s still a good guy. Any acts of arson, destruction, or anything of the like are done with the knowledge that the spaces have been cleared out as best they can, first. And he doesn't even want to kill his fellow knights because he knows that, ultimately? They've all been forced through the same system. Children thrown into a mold to be forged into weapons. He’ll fight them. But, he doesn’t fight to kill… that being said, he doesn’t necessarily stray from violence, either.

- At some point I do see Ballister and Ambrosius getting into a fight. But, of course, Ballister’s the top of their class. No matter how hard they both sparred or competed against each other, Bal’d always managed to come out on top. In everything. So Rose is, of course, disarmed and thrown to the ground. A sword pointed at him as he looks up at the man he loves-.

“What, do you think this is some kind of a game?! You and that… that thing are tearing this kingdom apart! I… I don’t even recognize you anymore… what happened, Ambrosius?!”

“What happened? She set me free, Bal. And if you can’t see that this is who I really am, deep down..? Then you never really knew me at all…”

More miscellaneous/fun notes:

- It’s less boss/henchman in this AU. Instead, Rose and Nims 100% have a brother/sister dynamic. They bicker and tease when they’re together. But, the moment the other’s in trouble, it’s strict “No one messes with ‘em except me!” vibes. Who’s the older and who’s the younger sibling changes depending on the moment.

- Ambrosius always liked rock music. His parents and the Director always disapproved because it was “noise unbefitting of a Goldenloin” (ie. It wasn’t classical or opera therefore it was “wrong.”) but he always listened to it in private or with Ballister. So when Nims played some stuff and she caught Rose singing along to all the words? That earned instant respect points for him.

- These two also share one braincell between them at any given time. How they haven’t gotten caught is a damn miracle. Like, seriously, these two are goofballs. The moment he saw Nimona change into a shark? Oh, he totally stuck his head in her mouth. He never thought once about how “the wings” would be too noticeable. And when Nims brought up the plan to wreck the Institute? Eloquently putting it as: “We break-in, we break some stuff, smash some helmets, something-something-something, we win!~” He could only reply with a nod and, “Alright, sounds good!” And when they're playing a board game and she's going on some tangent? He's laughing his ass off. The only other person he's been this dorky around was Ballister.

- Once it clicked that he could swear?! And no one would get mad at him or clutch some pearls?! Nimona had to give him a crash-course because he was using it a bit too much. And it just kinda sounded ridiculous. Like giving a tween free rein to swear.

- He also went more crazy with his appearance. He was already used to the idea of makeup (Gloreth forbid her ancestors ever had *gasp* acne!!!) Eyes? Lined and smokey. Often with dark or fun colors. Nails? Painted. 24/7. Fingers adorned with a buncha rings. Lots of layered necklaces and bracelets. Plus silky black shirts with low necklines. And he did get his ears pierced. Both lobes, a couple in the helix of one ear, and one on an eyebrow. All of which was done courtesy of Nimona. (Needless to say, Ballister was shook the first time he got a good look at him.)

- He is still a Ballister Simp. Always gonna be his number one fan. At first, he tried to convince Ballister to join him and Nimona, but Bal wouldn’t listen. Their relationship doesn’t start to fracture until Ballister starts actively hunting them both down for the sake of capturing her. Because, while Ambrosius adores Ballister, and wants nothing more than to be with him… Nimona’s been the only one to help him see the truth. To help free him of all his expectations, she’s been there when he was at his lowest. She’s his friend. And he’s not willing to sacrifice her just so that he can go back to being the “Descendant of Gloreth” with Ballister. So, though it hurts, he still loves Bal. But he’s always waiting for the moment his lover admits he’s wrong about this.

- Speaking of Nimona’s and Ambrosius’ friendship… she’s in an awkward spot. Because, especially now with all those prissy-noble-layers stripped away… she sees so much of Gloreth in Ambrosius. In his smile, how confident every step is, that glimmer in his eye when he’s about to do something rebellious, even the way his eyes crinkle and his lips get tight when he’s mad. In so many ways he’s absolutely his own person… but it’s like she got her best friend back. And maybe that’s why she stayed and talked with him. Because she saw a chance to try again…

(Psst, you seriously read this far down? Thanks a ton! Have a cookie.~ 🍪 )

[fractualized]

Could you give me any Batman comic(/series) recommendations? Or Joker ones?

(You can pretend I’ve never read any Batman comics)

Man, this got me thinking about (1) the number of extended storylines I still haven't fully read myself and (2) of the ones I have, would I recommend that people read them?? Tough question! Thinking about it in terms of a Batman newbie changes things too... 🤔

Ultimately, my list is mostly one-offs apart from the mainline series, but there's a few multi-issue mainline stories in there. From oldest to newest:

Batman (1940) #1, "The Joker" and "The Joker Returns" — Early comics can feel inaccessible because of their age, but I would still recommend checking out the start of Batman and Joker's relationship for a sense of the longevity and evolution of these characters (You could also read Batman's first appearance in Detective Comics [1937] #27.)

Batman (1940) #251, "The Joker's Five-Way Revenge" — Jumping ahead thirty years! After a 4-year absence from comics, Joker returns, and I just love how his dynamic with Batman picks up where they left off like it was yesterday.

Detective Comics (1937) #475, "The Laughing Fish" — The infamous story in which Joker's mad scheme is to… copyright fish.

The Dark Knight Returns #1-4 — TBH, I'm not a fan of TDKR for various reasons. However, it had a huge influence on Batman and you should read it at least once.

Batman (1940) #404-407, "Batman: Year One" — More required reading (but I do enjoy it more than TDKR). Frank Miller's problematique is more acknowledged today, but as I said, modern Batman stems from his work.

The Killing Joke — Controversial-ish recommendation nowadays, considering the much-maligned choice to fridge Barbara Gordon, but I still enjoy the nuance it gives Joker and the meta element of the ending, with Bruce and Joker trapped in their cycle by choices that are informed by the needs of the franchise. Alan Moore may no longer care for it, but I do! (Also, I'd say read it with the original coloring.)

Batman (1940) #426-429, "A Death in the Family" — Another big event in Batman lore: the death of Jason Todd. It's one of those moments that gets flattened in various ways today, so I think it's important to see how everything actually played out. In particular, it's striking to see that Joker is initially nervous about Batman finding out what he did, and just how Bruce struggles with his no-kill principle.

Batman #450-451, "Wildcard!" and "Judgements!" — Joker's big return after Jason's murder, in which we see he's still not all that giddy about it.

Batman: Legends of the Dark Knight #65-68, "Going Sane" — This story takes place earlier in Batman's career, before Robin. When Joker seemingly kills Batman, he tries to start a new life without his instability breaking through. Meanwhile, Bruce recovers from his near-death in a little town in the middle of nowhere and thinks he might actually stay there… but he's plagued by restlessness too.

Joker: Devil's Advocate — Joker winds up on death row, but for a crime he didn't commit! Bruce is set on proving Joker's innocence despite the clown's other sins, and Joker is too captivated by all the media attention to help save his own hide.

Deathstroke (1991) #58, "Bad Blood" — A story in which Joker causes plenty of chaos, but in service of doing something… nice?

Batman: Ego — As Bruce contemplates giving up his crusade, he falls into an argument with… Batman.

Batman (1940) #648-650, "All They Do Is Watch Us Kill" — Part of Under the Red Hood. Jason Todd's reappearance in Gotham City comes to a head when he kidnaps Joker and draws Batman in for a dire confrontation.

Detective Comics (1937) #826, "Slayride" — Paul Dini is one of the writers who consistently remembers Joker has a personality and makes him funny, and this Christmas-time story featuring Tim Drake is a great example.

Batman Confidential #7-12, "Lovers and Madmen" — An alternative origin for Joker. Bruce has been fighting crime for about a year when he encounters a bloody crime scene that he can't make sense of. Meanwhile, the culprit, Jack, is growing bored with his criminal life, until he comes face to face with a vigilante bat.

Batman 80-Page Giant 2010 (Volume 2), "Reality Check" — Is Joker really crazy? Does Joker himself even know?

Batman (2011) #13-17, "Death of the Family" — Not to be confused with "A Death in the Family." Joker tries to convince Batman that all his sidekicks make him weak.

Batman (2011) #23.1, "Time to Monkey Shine" — Joker infamously adopts a gorilla. (It ends badly.)

Batman (2011) #35-40, "Endgame" — After Joker's failure in DOTF, he decides to bring his conflict with Batman to a close.

The Joker Presents: A Puzzlebox #1-7 — The Riddler is dead, but what really happened? A heist story in which the point of view is passed around multiple rogues, but Joker is the ringleader.

Catwoman: Lonely City #1-4 — Alright, this one does revolve around Selina, but the story is deeply tied to her relationship with Bruce and what she comes to understand about him in the end. (And Joker plays a brief but key part!)

Batman & The Joker: The Deadly Duo #1-7 — A recent team-up that calls back to everything I've personally enjoyed about Batman and Joker's dynamic.

Batman: City of Madness #1-3 — Beneath Gotham lies Gotham Below, from which a monstrous mirror of Batman escapes in search of a Robin. In his pursuit, Bruce confronts not only alternative versions of his rogues but his personal demons.

[saveahorserideaneddie]

Two hopefully lighthearted Buddie questions:

What are some Buddie scenes you really like that maybe are not talked about so much by the fandom?

Buck & Eddie go on a date. Not really their first one, just a date. What will they do?

Ooooh love these:

One of my favorite buddie scenes hands down in the entire show is when they’ve responded to the scene of Shannon’s accident, and Buck sees her first, and his immediate instinct is to protect Eddie from having to see her like that. I know it’s technically not really a BUDDIE scene but it’s one of my favorites earlier instances of them really showcasing how protective Buck is of Eddie.

I also really REALLY do love the scene in 7x9 in Eddie’s kitchen where Buck tells him he’s worried about him. Obviously, I’ve stated before that the whole Kim storyline pisses me off and there were plenty of ways they could have had Eddie go through some kind of dramatic shift in 7b without some wack-ass doppelgänger storyline, but the way that Buck’s devotion to Eddie was shown so clearly, as well as Eddie’s reliance on Buck is something so special to me because they really are exactly what each other need. Buck needs to feel like he is helping someone he cares about, and Eddie needs to know he’s not in this alone and they both fulfill that need for each other far beyond anyone else in their lives (with the exception of Maddie and Chris).

And lastly for buddie scenes, I am a huge fan of the just random blurbs we get of them. Goofing off on calls, enabling each other’s stupidity, blurry background shots of them being dumb, etc. I ofc think they are soulmates in a romantic way, but their friendship is still so dear to me, and those scenes where we just get to see them be goofs with each other just fill my heart w joy… ive not really touched on this but i’ve always been one of those people who really struggles to connect with people romantically unless we are already friends, and have always dreamed of one day marrying someone i consider to be one of my best friends which is one of the reasons why buddie is such a special ship to me.

Now, as far as buddie’s first date: I think there are so many options. My personal dream (as stated in my buddie paralleling bathena when they go canon post) would be that they go out for a nice dinner— nothing too fancy, but where eddie gets buck flowers, and they dress up, and enjoy a nice romantic evening together.

I could also see them doing something more fun like possible going to an axe-throwing place, or go-karting (like buck wanted to do w eddie in 7x1 👀) or going to the pier together.

But all of that said, i think it might be interesting for thier first date (whatever they do) to go absolutely terrible and one of them gets in their head about it and thinks that maybe they aren’t cut out for being a couple if they can’t even go on one date, and the other points out that they’ve kinda been dating for years, but that now they get to hold hands and kiss and tell each other “i love you” and let it be one of their first small hurdles bc it would in a sense be accepting the fact that neither of them are necessarily “good” at dating, but that they don’t have time be because they already care too much about each other… bonus points if we see a few failed sates before this confrontation, and after we get another date that they are both obviously not as nervous for, and it actually goes perfectly.

thank you for the ask, bestie! i really enjoyed thinking about this one 💕💕

[whumpspicelatte]

Skin, wound, and fear for the not-so-nice ask game :>

Okay, the only OCs unleashed upon the internet on this blog in any true capacity are my whumper Cole Glass, my whumpee Abelard Montagnard, and Cole’s somewhat morally skewed caretaker Daniel Henrikson. I dunno which one you wanted me to answer this about, so all three it is! 

Note: By the way, this got very long and holds what probably counts as spoilers, so I’m putting it under a ‘keep reading’ to keep things contained. 

fear: What is your OC's greatest fear? What do they do when confronted with it? Are they open with their fear, or do they hide it away?

For Cole, his greatest fear has to be full-out honest-to-god helplessness. Cole’s got pretty major trauma, which I’ve acknowledged at even the first time I’ve written about him, and I’ll talk about it more in later installments, but to put it plainly, he got abducted by a vampire as a preteen to act as said vampire’s personal thrall and servant. Vampiric persuasion doesn’t work on Cole for a very mundane but easily overlooked reason (I’m already littering the text with tiny clues here and there), but a terrified, traumatized kid is very easy to keep in line. Being fed on so often during a crucial part of his development had its…effects on him, physical, mental and emotional. Daniel’s the only reason why he managed to get out before his captor…well, Cole is decently attractive. He made a cute kid, and had a pretty face as a teenager. That should be enough context. He still refuses to let anyone other than Daniel touch his bare skin. 

No, he doesn’t talk about it. Yes, Daniel is fully aware of all this, but Daniel knows more about Cole than literally any other person on the planet. But Cole doesn’t like to think of it- he just makes sure that he will never be so helpless again. 

Abelard’s greatest fear is actually drowning. Yep, he’s the one with the panic-spiking irrational phobia, nothing overly deep, just a deeply visceral terror which he has never been able to relinquish. Almost like a forgotten childhood trauma come back to bite him in the ass… He’s a vampire, so it’s not going to kill him, but damn would something that simulates the experience of drowning mess with his head. You know, like being waterboarded. He doesn’t like to acknowledge it at all, finds it mortifying. So far, Cole doesn’t know about this, but there’s plenty of time to find out…

Daniel can’t deal with failure- and by failure, I don’t mean just failing something once, I mean he will throw himself against a metaphorical brick wall again and again in order to make something work. If, despite his best efforts, he cannot succeed, his self-esteem will take a major, major blow. Blame it on his adoptive father; he tried his best, but being a vampire hunter means that you either start off screwed up before taking up the mantle or end up screwed up just to survive, so he was…tough. So far in his life, hard work has carried Daniel through pretty much everything he’s faced thus far- there’s a reason why he’s one of the top hunters in the country, and has managed to reach his forties despite being in the business since he was literally a child- but hard work doesn’t always work out. Not everything can be succeeded at. And oh, does it punch him right in the gut when success is no longer possible. It’ll probably be what gets him killed one day. 

skin: How comfortable is your OC in their skin? Do they grapple with anything that lives inside them—a beast, a curse, a failure, a monster? How do they face the smallest, weakest, most horrible version of themself? Are they able to acknowledge it at all?

I’d say that, at the start of the story, all three of my ocs are pretty comfortable in their own skins! 

Daniel is the most self-aware, actually, but this doesn’t make him an actually good person- I might write a series about what he gets up to at some point- and he’s also the most at peace with himself, horrors and all. He sees himself as a person- not bad, not good, mostly outside of moral contexts. He’s aware of just how much of a monster he can be, and just how much of a saint he can be at the very same time. Very comfortable with his inner nature. 

Close after him is Cole, after having received a lot of therapy, catharsis and a caretaker who refuses to quit at pretty much anything. He’s also quite self-aware, and has gotten mostly at peace with himself. But he still feels like that terrified, helpless, useless child he used to be still lurks within his marrow, and he will do anything to keep from becoming so weak again. 

Then there’s Abelard. Outwardly, he’s very confident and sure of himself, proud of being an apex predator whose very voice none can resist (except for one person before Cole shows up). He’s powerful, very much so, and he damn well knows it. Very comfortable with his body too (though all three of them are). The problem, of course, is that Abelard was not always a vampire, and wasn’t always a vampire with nobody to fear either. He still does not deal well when forced to confront the fact that no, relying on his vampiric persuasion (which is strong enough to even work on other vampires) was not the smartest of moves to make, and he damn well knew it. Ultimately, it’s that vulnerability which he hides behind his entitled arrogance. As well as the person he used to be, over a century ago, before he got so used to the bloodshed, gore and indifferent decadence littering vampiric high society. He’s not that person anymore, that person is very much dead, but he refuses to think back to when he was that person. It hurts too much. 

The feeling of being a rabid beast who needs to be contained comes later into the story, thanks to Cole’s, ahem, influence. 

wound: How does your OC handle being wounded? Are their wounds mostly physical? Mental? Emotional? What's the worst wound your OC has ever experienced?

Physically, all three of these guys deal well with being physically wounded- mostly, anyway. Daniel and Cole are both vampire hunters and have gotten hurt quite a bit in their line of work, and they’re good with remaining clinical and unbothered by all their wounds while ‘on-the-hunt’, just patch up and go. It’s a survival skill, nothing more, nothing less. Abelard, on the other hand, actually deals with injuries fairly well- when it’s not silver. Silver will typically just make him very, very mad- so long as no survival instincts rear their head. 

Now, worst wounds. Hmmm…

Daniel once literally got (lightly) vivisected by a vampire he was hunting! That was fun! Especially for Cole, who was the one who had to drag his mentor’s sorry ass to safety and to emergency medical services for what Cole couldn’t patch up himself. He’s still got the scars. Annoyingly chipper about the whole incident, which is a one-way track to inflaming Cole’s temper. 

Cole…well, see vampire-abduction-enslavement above. I’d say that counts as the worst scarring he has ever received on a mental and emotional level. Yes, he's also got physical scarring from the experience too. Moving on.

Abelard…well, I’d say this experience, the story focused on Abelard’s torture and conditioning, will be the worst thing to ever happen to him, when taking into account the fact that he is going to get whumped quite a bit and get mindscrewed over for the sake of Cole’s ‘domestication theory’, but before now? Uh…his sire was a very messed-up person! Let’s just leave it at that for now! 

Thanks for sending this my way! It was pretty fun to round my characters out like this a bit more!

[olderjodijournals]

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1999

I cannot believe how quiet the weekend was. Not one car door, person, ball bounce - nothing. The lights did go off when I checked at just after 9:00, so the bitch was there, and Bill’s here today as usual.

A silver car pulled up briefly just after I returned from Mel’s. As with the cranberry car driven by two guys, the driver, whom I couldn’t see, stayed in the car. I never saw who the passenger was either, cuz I didn’t actually see the car come or go.

Last night, at around 8:00, I was sitting at the computer when I heard a bark. I could tell it was close by and I’m thinking, Shit! She did it. The bitch actually went and got herself another dog for me to listen to, but I’ll just call and have the city kindly remove it. Then it hit me - why didn’t I sense it coming? I didn’t sense it, and changes among neighbors are one of my hot spots. So, I went out back and heard it again. I couldn’t tell for sure where it was coming from but was beginning to think it wasn’t quite loud enough to be just three feet away. So I got it going by slamming the recycle bin cover over and over again to get a sense of direction. It was then that I realized the old man replaced his dog, and I knew he would, too. So, that’s why it was sort of close, but nowhere near close enough to be next door. This dog shouldn’t be a problem cuz it doesn’t have a shrilly bark and we’ve got a garage and a street between us. Also, that’s the only time I’ve heard it bark, so for me to only hear that much over a 24-hour period tells me it’s not a big barker. It’s nothing like the dog the freeloaders had, and certainly nothing like the collies.

Went to see Melanie today and it was much easier than the last time. Maybe that’s cuz I took four ibuprofen pills an hour before seeing her.

She said my hair looked cute. I had thrown it up in a banana clip. She also noticed my nails, but as I told her, I plan to rip them off and be done with them since they’re such a pain. I asked her how she dealt with hers and she said she’s had them for so long.

I told her I was amazed at how fast my teeth were moving. The bottom teeth were so crooked that they overlapped. Well, now they don’t and they’re all straight except for one tooth.

The doctor came in and checked my bite and agreed that these teeth are flying. I asked how much longer on both the top and bottom braces, and he started teasing me by saying, “Well, the millennium…” Mel and I laughed. The bad news is that the top braces can’t come off till around July. I thought they were coming off in March. The good news is that the bottom braces will come off in July too. I thought they wouldn’t be off till December. He said something about using the braces as a retainer, but we’ll see. It’s cool that I get to get both the top and bottom off at the same time.

Just called Tammy to say hi, but she wasn’t home. Lisa answered, but was busy on the other line so I happily let her go, cuz I’ve had enough of the phone for one day cuz I talked with Andy for what seemed like ten hours. At least Lisa’s doing well. She sounded well enough anyway and said all was OK.

I’m still contemplating mailing Dureen, Art, and Larry certain journal excerpts just for the hell of it, but we’ll see. I still have plenty of time to decide this. If I’m gonna do it, though, I’m not gonna bother to involve Tom by telling him about it, and I won’t do it, if I do it, till we’re no longer at this number and address.

We didn’t get to screw around yesterday, but this time it was cuz of me. My allergies were going off like a son of a bitch, so Tom and I will get together after he gets up, which should be anytime now.

As I jokingly, yet sarcastically told him the other day - it’s pretty funny how the guy who claimed to get off most of the time now gets off very rarely since he’s been confronted.

Tom’s right. These renters across the street are weird. Really weird. They had some furniture and some paintings and stuff like that scattered about their front yard today as we were leaving for Melanie’s. Shortly after returning, the stuff was gone. We thought they were maybe setting up for a yard sale, as odd of a time as it’d be for that, but who knows what the fuck they were doing? Re-carpeting maybe?

There’s this afternoon barker that’s been rather annoying, so during the peak afternoon hours, I keep the fan on. I think it’s coming from one of the houses across the street, but I can’t tell which one. It’s not quite loud enough to be directly across the street, but I don’t think it’s in the old man’s yard.

That silver car showed up next door again and I could see what appeared to be the same two guys that were in the cranberry car. This time, though, one of them wasn’t just dropped off to run into the house and back out again, it was dropped off to stay. It had a red cap on backward. Was it the cock? That kid I spoke to on Tizzy Fit Day?

I called Andy since it’s been a while since we chatted.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 2, 1999

I’m going to finish the book Visions of Terror, but first, I’m gonna update some stuff.

I didn’t get into my chat with Andy yet. Well, when I first called, he was doing one of his favorite things - eating. So he called me back when he was done, and we chatted about the usual.

I was right, Andy’s not going back east. The reasons he told me about his decision to stay here, were the exact reasons I figured he’d stay here for and that I recently wrote about. He said he feels too much at home here, doesn’t want to give up his house or this weather, and wants a relationship with a kid who smokes pot and cigarettes. What kind of maturity and stability can he get from an 18-year-old pothead, though? Doesn’t he feel he deserves better than some doped-up, immature kid?

He also said he lectured Barbara Nicks for standing him up. He was to meet her at her house to give her a Stevie demo, but Barb kept making excuses. Andy keeps insisting they’re friends, but it’s obvious to me that she’s not a true friend and she doesn’t want him at the house, even though he’s been there once before (but they talked outside). Anyway, he lectured her about her not leveling with him. I agree that she should just come out and admit it if she doesn’t want him at the house, but he can’t make her be or do something she doesn’t want to be or do.

He’s living alone now, still not interested in working full-time, and yet he’s all paid up on his bills and rent till March. When I asked him how he managed to do this on just a few hours of work a week, his answer was, “Something you wouldn’t approve of.” I knew right then and there that he was dealing. Yeah, he’s selling weed. Only to people he knows, but still, I hope he doesn’t get caught. I don’t think he will, though, cuz Andy’s always been super lucky at getting away with things. Remember? He’d make just as many, maybe more, prank calls, yet who was the one to get trapped over and over and over again? Anyway, he’s doing this to supplement his income and he says that throughout 1999 he’s basically gonna be a bum and keep living as he has been. Does this mean that at the turn of the century, he’ll seek out a full-time position that he won’t set himself up to be fired at? Even get a man and not a boy? Someone clean? If he wants someone clean, though, he’s gonna have to clean up himself. You know how it is, druggies want druggies, non-druggies want non-druggies.

My nose is all scabbed up cuz of the allergy attack I had the other day. My lungs are back to being tight again regularly. Especially at the end of my day. Tom says it’ll improve once we move. God, I hope so! I feel like I’m gonna be like this every day for the rest of my life.

I got sick of doing subject indexes, so I decided to take a break from that for a while. It was more work than fun. I saved what I began this year, the last few months of last year, and 1987-1990.

Fortunately, I’m not sore today. My teeth are usually sore 3-4 days after seeing Melanie. She put a wedge in where that one really crooked tooth is on the bottom to rotate it. So, till I see her again, I should just have random soreness. Usually, you go for a while without feeling much soreness anywhere, then you get a sore tooth. This means it’s getting ready to move. Then another tooth gets sore and it moves, etc.

It’s really weird when Melanie takes the bands off when she goes to change them (the bands are what do the pulling). When she takes them off, my teeth feel like they’re being pushed in the opposite direction, when in truth, they’re not being pushed at all without those bands.

Today I dusted and vacuumed the bedrooms and the living room. I cleaned the bathroom and wiped down the stove. Tomorrow, I’ll do the microwave and the countertops, but I don’t think I’ll bother with cleaning the refrigerator and the oven till we move. Same with the tub.

I didn’t change Velvet’s cage yet, but I changed part of the rats’. I washed down their shelves which were loaded with piss and shit and which stunk like hell. I didn’t change the sawdust in the bass of the cage yet, but I will soon.

It seems Porky, the little shit, has taken to squeezing through the bars of the cage and walking around on top of it. When I yelled at him he went back inside, so hopefully he won’t be an escape problem. I don’t feel like he will be, but we’ll see.

Once again, Ziggy doesn’t look too good. She is getting old.

I changed the mice’s setup by omitting the aquariums. Seven mice don’t need all the space they had, and this really gives me a break till we get a dishwasher. It’s cute and cozy and kind of neat for a change. Right now, they just have the biggest and the smallest of the three Play City cages, and the maze.

I loaded up the mice’s aquariums with their cute, colorful toys. Their accessories and all that stuff. I put all the T-tubes and straight tubes in the middle-sized Play City cage, and the curves in a box. So they’ll be organized and packed for when we move.

I’ll leave this strictly up to Tom, but as much as I love Velvet’s cage he built, I think we should just use it while we’re here. I think Velvet should be in Ratsy’s old aquarium when we move. That’s all he needs, cuz he doesn’t do anything. As big as he is, he just sits there, so he doesn’t need extra room. I’d have to change it more often, but it’d be worth it.

I called and asked Mom what she’d recommend as far as dusting my dolls are concerned. She agreed with me that because feather dusters are best on hard surfaces only, and since I can’t take a wet rag to their hair and clothes, I’d be best off taking them outside and shaking the dust out of their hair and clothes, so that’s what I did.

I put some of the dolls back in different places/poses.

I really wish I not only had more dolls Bailey’s size but as poseable as she is, too. That’s the difference, once again, between a $300 doll and a $50 doll. I had Bailey sitting on one of the living room stereo speakers, but now I’ve got her sitting on the floor with her legs crossed, leaning against it. She has one hand sort of on her knee, and the other on a stuffed wolf dog I’ve had for a while. She looks so natural. She’s so well-proportioned, unlike some of my other dolls. Maria’s knees are kind of low and her feet are too small if you ask me, but I still love Maria and am glad I got her. There are so many different poses I could set Bailey up in, though. I had her lying down on the footstool with her hair hanging off the side, reaching upward as if to be picked up. This looked so cute, but I can’t leave her there and there’s really no other place in this house to pose her like that. She’s still sitting next to Maria and they’re such a great contrast to each other. Bailey’s dressed so casually in her little sleeper, while Maria’s all decked out in her fancy, shiny satin outfit with her sparkling fan and veil. It’s too bad Bailey’s wrists and elbows don’t bend too. Then she’d really be poseable.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 3, 1999

To start off with some sad news - Ziggy died. She was gone when I got up at 11:00 this morning. I knew yesterday afternoon that she was on her way out. I’m glad she went as fast as she did cuz with guinea pigs, it takes several days. She was my favorite mouse and sometimes I wish rodents lived as long as cats and dogs, but as Tom pointed out, that may make it all the harder. Tom buried her out back by the palm tree in the corner of the yard by the pool. There sure are a lot of animals out there. Two guinea pigs, two mice, a rabbit, a hamster, and a cat.

In better news, last night I got a great idea to pose Bailey holding a Barbie doll, so it looks like I’m gonna have a few Barbies after all. Up until last night, I didn’t think I’d ever get Barbies since they’re only 11½ inches long, but I like the idea of letting Bailey hold her at some point, and their outfits are just too nice to resist. But I’ve got a different idea of what’s collector’s Barbies and what’s not. Most adults collecting Barbies are getting ones that cost $40 and up and usually have their hair up in a bun of some kind or a French twist and gowns a lot like what the porcelain dolls wear. My brand of collector’s Barbies has really long hair that isn’t piled up in some form or another and that wears shorter, more colorful dresses, and costs only $10-$20. Also, I don’t leave her displayed in a box like most Barbie collectors do.

Barbies used to be basically white with blond hair, but then they got politically correct and made a variety of colors. I want to get a black Barbie too, and one of these days, probably after we move, I want to go to a regular toy store just to see what’s there, cuz I’m gonna have my own set of rules and decide what I think is a collectible doll for my collection. If I see a really nice doll, I’ll still get it even if it’s dirt cheap and made of vinyl.

Anyway, they had about ten different Barbies at the store. If I remember right, they were all blondes. One had colorful hair, but as much as I like colors and it would’ve been different, I just didn’t really dig it or its outfit. Barbies may have better outfits, but not every single one of them. There were a couple with pink dresses, but one had these tacky jewels on it, and they both had shorter hair that was about to the waist. This Barbie that I got has blond, straight hair almost to the knees. Her dress isn’t pink or mainly pink, but it’s beautiful nonetheless and shorter than any other doll’s dress that I have. It comes to the middle of the thighs and it’s got several different colors. Mainly purple. It’s short-sleeved and snakeskin-like. You can see the shiny scales. It’s got horizontal stripes of white, purple, red, pink, orange, and yellow. She had purple boots which I didn’t like, so I took them off. She has purple earrings and a purple ring. Since Barbie’s fingers aren’t separated, it’s kind of stapled on. More like an earring is put on.

She came with stud-like decorations in a cute little clear plastic case with flower, heart, and butterfly designs on it. That’s why the hair’s so long. To decorate it with beads of letters and jewels in four different colors - pink, blue, yellow and orange. I think this would look tacky, though, so maybe I’ll wait till I have a doll with a suitable dress to use them on. It comes with a thing that looks like a paper puncher that squeezes them together since little kids’ hands aren’t that strong, but I can use my hands with them. They go on like earrings.

I’ve got Barbie standing in the living room on the rack that holds the Nintendo games for now. I want to let Bailey sit with the little wolf for a while first.

When I realized that that’d make three dolls with long straight hair with bangs between Bailey, Barbie and Anne, I decided to give Anne a change for more variety. I didn’t have anyone with just one braid, but now I do. At first, I did the braid straight down the back which I wanted to pull in front so you could see it better, but it wouldn’t quite go. It was too stiff. So I braided it sort of off to the side so it’d go around the front better. I think I got it looking like a braid that’s pulled in front, rather than a side braid. I put a blue hair bubble in it since she’s wearing blue and no one else has a hair bubble. I’m building up my variety.

Bailey, Summer Dream, and Patrice look the most realistic. Out of my porcelains, Anne has the most colorful face. She has the brightest lips and eyes. Patrice and Barbie are about the same - 12” long, but Patrice is shaped and proportioned more realistically.

Been getting a lot of mail from Ashton Drake. They’re sending ads for dolls they have pictured in their catalog. A bigger picture of these dolls with more details about them.

Later...

Just cooked some ground beef and added sloppy Joe sauce to it for Tom for when he gets up at 11:00.

Today’s the first day in weeks where I’m stuck. This is typical PMS, though. I knew my period, which is starting now, would be late cuz of how easy my PMS was going. A few days ago, it got bad, though. My back’s killing me, I’m super bloated, and my tits are really sore. I’m not gonna get any real relief for a few days, though, cuz of course, I’ve got to spot for 3-4 days first. Can’t I just go back to getting my period normally? God, what a pain playing this spot game! I can’t wait for menopause.

My weight’s not doing too well. Part of it is cuz of water retention, but I also ate too much these last few days. I’m trying to back off the calories and get back to around 108-109 pounds. I’ve been 110-111.

Tom insists I’ve got a better body now than when we met. I’m glad one of us thinks so.

I was wrong in saying the smallest vibrator couldn’t get me off, cuz it did. I also further checked out the thing I’ve got that’s supposed to simulate sucking and it didn’t feel too bad at all.

We were gonna screw around Monday, but I just couldn’t get into it. We finally talked about my lack of appetite and all that. He took it well. I was afraid he’d take it personally and think that I love him any less cuz of it. I love him more and more every day. I’m just bored with the sex. I told him I wondered if it was due to my not wanting a kid anymore, or cuz of its predictability, and he said he’d think about some ideas to help. He seemed confident and not worried at all about it, which helped to relax me, although I myself wasn’t overly worried cuz Tom’s sexually tolerant. If we couldn’t screw for a year, he’d handle it just fine.

The next day he told me he had a possible solution, which is going back to basics. Meaning that we don’t need to change the sex (not that we could or he would be willing to, which is fine cuz our sex is fine as it is) but we need to be more physical with each other. Go back-to-back rubs and stuff like that. That sounds like it may be a great idea. I guess all couples need to do this every now and then. I used to think that only couples who were falling out of love needed to do this, but I see I was wrong. I’m not sick of him. I’m just sick of the sex. Better that, though than of him.

Evie got a full-time job at a daycare center. Great. I’m happy for her. I know she wanted to get the hell out of the house and make extra cash.

Porky decided to stay home last night, I guess, unless he went climbing around on the top and outside sides of the cage and I didn’t know it. He’s such a cutie. He’s not quite all brown. I describe him as having a chocolate body with vanilla feet and a tail tipped with vanilla. Yes, he has white feet and a touch of lightness on the tip of his tail.

I really hope we can look for land during his vacation and get out of here before June’s out! Of course, we’re gonna have to lie a little to anyone that we show the house to if they ask about noise. It’s quiet most of the time as far as music and people go, but not dogs. At night it’s usually OK dog-wise, but if they hear the collies, and they probably will, and ask if they bark much, no will be our answer. If they ask about the neighbors, we don’t know them. I’m certainly not gonna tell them, “Well the city bum next door’s a real sick bitch and God help you if the boyfriend moves back in, cuz if he doesn’t pummel these walls with his bass, he’ll do it with his car doors. He’ll slam them over and over again several times a day that you’ll think something was thrown up against the house. In fact, they’re both so rude and selfish what with the way they harassed me, that I had to complain to the city to shut them up.”

Another thing I noticed about the houses in Arizona is that their driveways can also fit two cars parked in them, but bumper to bumper. Not side by side like the driveways in New England. Guess that’s just part of how obsessed they were with getting these houses so close. Anything to save room width-wise to jam the houses together almost like teeth.

Later...

The renters were a little bit of a problem Monday night, but not too much for too long. It’s still nice to know they’re across the street and not next door. I’ve seen two women, a guy, a teenage girl, and a little girl, associated with that house. However, I don’t know how many people live there. There’s usually a red car and a white car there.

Remember how I said the guy played music for a while when he was working on the white car? It was nothing compared to what I used to get regularly from the freeloaders, but it was annoying enough. I got the same thing from the guy with the white car Monday evening, a little louder, for about five minutes. This time, though, I looked out at the guy, and with it being dark, he saw me. Hopefully, his seeing me sent the proper message to him, but time will tell. That’s what they want, though. They want you to notice them. That’s the purpose of owning one of these stereos. So others hear it.

That I know of, there’s been no music since, but I don’t have a bad vibe from these people. I mean, maybe once in a while I’ll hear their music, but I don’t see it ever becoming like the freeloaders. If I hear them as much as a few times a week, though, I’m not gonna bother complaining to them. First of all, it won’t do me any good. Secondly, we’re out of here soon enough. They’d have to play it loud enough to be heard over the fan and wake me up before I’d make them shut up for sure, do it real loud many times a day like the cock did, or for long periods of time. Meanwhile, a few minutes a week won’t kill me.

They’re so fucking weird, though. Both cars, but especially the white one, are in and out several times a day. Who knows when they work? I saw some weird shit yesterday, too. A woman I’ve never seen before loaded the back of the white car up with God knows what. I saw her make two trips. She seemed to have a long bag of some kind on the first trip, and a big empty red pail or basket on the second trip. Then she got into the car, started the engine, but sat there for about five minutes before pulling out. I thought I saw her swaying as if music was playing, but I couldn’t hear anything. Then a few hours later, she returned in a whole different car that I’d only seen that one time.

In the late afternoon, the white car was parked on the street with something pretty indescribable hitched to it. It was like a long, rectangular cart. It was about ten feet long and three feet deep.

In freeloader news, that’s another weird topic, cuz I’m totally lost on what the latest routine is. Usually, it’s pretty obvious, but now, I don’t know what the fuck they’re doing. It used to be obvious enough who’d pick up the bitch and bring her back, but now I don’t know.

The cock, who would sometimes visit with some other dude, are the same guys that went from the cranberry car to the silver car. At least I think they are. Guess the cock felt it was time for some car changes and that maybe explains why I haven’t seen the dark gray car he’s had for a while.

Anyway, Bill left at the usual time of 4:30, but did he leave the mistake at home alone till the two guys pulled in in the silver car a few minutes later? And did these guys pull in with the bitch? Anyway, the silver car played music today, but it was very soft. Totally acceptable. I saw a guy holding the mistake by the driver’s door when I glanced out and thought the guy had just gotten out of the driver’s seat and taken the mistake out of the back and into the house, but obviously, it was someone else and the driver never left his seat. I don’t remember who the guy with the mistake was, but the bald passenger, which I think is the cock, came to the passenger side of the car, took out something that looked like a black cloth briefcase, then went into the house. Then it came back, hopped in the passenger seat, and off they went. The bitch must’ve slipped out of the car before I noticed them, but why are they leaving the kid alone like that? Well, these people are sick, after all. It’s something they’d do.

Later...

The sales calls had backed off cuz I took a day out to tell them all to fuck off, but this evening, they started picking up again. I don’t want sales calls distracting the hell out of us during his vacation. His vacation is at risk as it is, with God making sure things come up to fill his time up with things we’d rather not fill up his vacation time with. The fucking calls are so distracting as it is in the evenings when I’m trying to write or read.

Anyway, I thought I’d put some effort into backing them off for the vacation, not that they won’t happily harass us again soon afterward if I can manage to back them off throughout the vacation. A guy called from someplace offering bullshit vacation deals and I told him to fuck off. I knew, though, that he’d call right back. I could tell by the tone of his voice and just my good judgment of character, that he’d try calling back for the last word. I threatened him too, and a male’s ego feels threatened when challenged physically by a female, so he called back twice, but as soon as it rang and I saw it was him, I quickly picked up the receiver and placed it right back down again. I’m sure he’s only given up just for tonight, though.

I know God is doing this to me for all the people I harassed via phone, but what about the music? Were the freeloaders to pay me back for people I’d bother in apartments with my stereo? I guess I must’ve bothered more people than I realized with my music.

I started a book called Nightmare’s Child, so I think I’ll do some reading now.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 1999

Didn’t like Nightmare’s Child, so I’m now reading Billy and it seems better so far. It’s about a child who’s stalked and abducted.

Two days ago I told Tom that I had a moderate-strong vibe that his sore throat would finally, after nearly three weeks, go away. He told me today that it’s almost gone.

Once again, Bill left at 4:30, but then I didn’t see any cars since. Guess the bitch slipped in while I was listening to music or something.

Anyway, I thought I’d write till the slew of sales calls that’s to hit any sec now distracts me. Hopefully, the renters won’t distract me anymore tonight, either. Yeah, the white car just banged in, but not with all bass. All drums. Still, it wasn’t loud enough or often enough to do something about it. I thought it was the silver car next door at first.

Once again, these renters are so damn weird! I think there are something like three adults living over there. I think one was inside or going inside, while a guy and a girl stood outside in this damp rainy weather hugging. Why the fuck would people want to hug outside on such a miserable night?

Tom told me to get him up if it went beyond just a drizzle out there so he could go up in the attic and see if he could see where it was leaking, so I did.

Amazingly, the back room’s not leaking at all. Not yet anyway, but as I told Tom, we’ll never be allowed to fix this roof. It will always leak somehow, somewhere. I don’t know if this roof is forever hexed to anyone who may ever live here, but I do know that as long as we’re here, we won’t be able to fix it. I told him this a long time ago and so far, my vibes haven’t failed.

He insists he was stupid and put a section of the roof on backward while he was tired. Whatever. It’s God I’m pissed off at, though. He’s so mean to Tom. He’s so mean to us. He just won’t help us help ourselves. To me, it’s just like Tom would’ve worked as long and as hard as he did to put the new roof on, only to have some sick fuck come and tear parts of it up. That’s how mean God is. Or something is. I never was one to swear it was God for sure, but if there is a good God of any kind up there, why is he allowing some evil source to do this if it isn’t him that’s doing this? Could the evil source perhaps be stronger than he is? We just want to be left alone. We don’t need these constant setbacks. I warned Tom, too, of the consequences of going against God. If he tries fixing this roof, it’s only gonna get worse. Or something else will go wrong. Then he said that there were two leaks, and when he got one to stop, the other got worse. See? This is exactly the kind of compensation I’m talking about.

I asked him why he wastes his time and sleep trying to fix something that can’t be fixed, and he said that it’s in his nature to not stop trying. Could’ve fooled me. Then if he’s the one wanting more sex and a kid, why’d he stop trying for full-time sex and a kid? (not that God would allow him/us to do this or that that’s what I want) His lame excuse was that you can’t get pregnant during your period, which I have now. True. But neither can you if you don’t screw a woman when she’s mid-cycle, get off in her, and aren’t fertile (or are fertile, but not allowed the right to choose to conceive if you want to). He said that’s why he wants us to go back to basics. He says it’ll up the sex and all that. I don’t want to up the sex, I want to just enjoy it. Also, we can’t up the sex, cuz we can’t change our busyness and schedules.

This period has been the most normal period I’ve had in months and I haven’t needed any ibuprofen. I did have spotting yesterday, so I thought I’d do that till around Saturday or Sunday, but nope. Although it’s still short and light compared to most women (God could never let me be like most women!) it’s normal enough for me. I wish all my periods could be like this. Although the PMS did catch up to me in the end, it was physical. Not mental.

I’ve slacked off on my exercising again, so I want to get back with that even if they don’t do much for me. For most women, as Tom pointed out, they’d help. That’s because most women are trying to get close to my size, but since I’m already where most women are trying to go, they don’t do much for me. If I were 140-180 pounds like most women, then I’d notice more of a difference from these exercises. I’m still heavier than I have been. Woke up at 111 again.

If there’s any good to this rain, it should help clean the air and give my lungs a break from being tight, even if it’s only for a couple of days.

Andy called and left a message saying, “Sure, sure, sure, lonely, lonely, lonely.” 

Gee Andy, I really needed that. God, people and the things they do just for attention and just to be acknowledged. Of course, as I knew would be the case, not a damn thing about my losing Ziggy (I told him about her on his machine yesterday). Not even a simple “I’m sorry” from the selfish thing. He’s another one I contemplate walking away from when we move. I just don’t need him. I don’t see why he needs me, either. I mean, he’s still in Springfield and I’m not. I may not have made as many changes as I’d like, but look where he is and look where I am. It’s not that I look down upon him and consider myself better than him, I just don’t consider us to be as compatible as we used to be. We don’t share the same interests, routines…nothing. But I don’t want to try to control or change him. He doesn’t have to be just like me. I want him to be himself and do the things that make him happy. I just want to move on, so to speak, as I have. I just feel I’ve outgrown him.

Tom says there’s something serious going on with Mary medically. He wonders if she may have some kind of cancer or growth within her liver. Oh, God! Just what she needs. Just what this family needs. If she’s got cancer of the liver, she’s dead. Why God? Why the good people? Why do the good people get cancer while the sick fucks like Bill G get curable cancer? Mary may be a user, but she’s still much better than your average person. Just like Tom’s mom and several members of Tom’s family. Mary, Dave, Tom, and I have a full enough plate between having to deal with dad, and now mom. We don’t need problems with Mary, too. I don’t have any death vibes, and God help us all if I’m wrong, as strong as the life vibe is! Where would Ma live? I can’t picture her staying with just Dave and his son who comes on weekends.

As Tom said, though, this is Mary’s own fault. You can’t live on grease, and that’s exactly what she’s been doing for so many years, but she just doesn’t care. She refuses to eat anything other than McDonald’s. In a way, I envy her and her carefree ways. I wish I didn’t give a shit about what I ate and how I looked and how cluttered and dirty my house was. No one that eats at McDonald’s every single day with such dedication, gives a shit about how they look. She’s got a man’s attitude, and if there was one thing and one thing only that I wish I had that most men have, that’s that I wouldn’t give a damn about how I looked or what I ate. I’d let the house be trashed and not care, either. Mary’s house is one of the filthiest, sloppiest, cluttered, disgusting, ugliest houses I ever did see. Not the house itself, but what’s inside the house. She gets this from her parents, though. Tom’s the same way. It’s just that I won’t let him be, except for the back room, cuz I can’t stand to live in such a filthy cluttered mess. It’s depressing. I like things neat, pretty, uncluttered, and organized.

Maybe Mary will bypass McDonald’s on her way home from work one of these days, clean her house, and cook a nice meal that they all eat as a family at the dinner table. Not at the TV. But Mary’s gotta be Mary. We can’t lecture her like a little two-year-old and tell her how to eat right. Maybe she’s one of those who intend to live it up and who believes in having fewer better years, rather than more tougher ones where you deprive yourself of stuff you love. Some people are like that to the extreme, some are like me where they’re half into being health-conscious, half not. Some are health freaks.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1999

Well, Tom is officially on vacation. It rained today too (at least my lungs are better), but at least for his sake, you can almost always count on a beautiful weekend in Arizona, cuz he wants to go to the racetrack Sunday. Tomorrow, he’s gonna shop for fun stuff for himself. He was supposed to do this a while back, but for various reasons, he never got around to it. He needs a new wallet, and maybe he’ll pick up a new computer game or something.

You know how I said something always comes up on his vacations? Well, two days are shot already, cuz he has jury duty on Monday, and he has to take our daughter to the doctor next week, too. At least his mother was kind and generous enough to offer to pay for us to go to Laughlin, but we decided against it. We don’t want to spend six hours on the road each way and not sleep well. Well, I wouldn’t sleep well. We’d rather go to the casinos on the Indian reservation and while we’re at it, we’ll check out some land in that area. If there’s any available to check out. We’ll have to look online.

A really loud stereo just thumped by, so I lost my train of thought. Where was I? Well, let’s just say we don’t have any big plans for this vacation. I just hope it’s a pleasant one.

I don’t know if we’ll break our routine of weekend sex and have it during the week since he’s on vacation, but to tell you the truth, I really hope we don’t. I mean, I don’t see how going back to basics and doing the backrub scene and all that is gonna make a difference. What it is is plain and simple - it’s old. There really is no big problem here to figure out, after all. It’s just that sex is no longer new and exciting to me. At this point, if I need to get off, I can just get off with the vibrators. There’s nothing new to explore and experiment with him. Also, although sex is predictable, it’s familiar and comfortable.

I also want to do right by God and be a responsible person (along with helping to prevent something from happening that I don’t want to happen). Meaning I don’t want to have mid-cycle sex even though God’s seen fit to it that I cannot conceive. It’s sort of like having cops. OK, so you have them around to protect you, but should you still dump the responsibility all on the cops and assume that just because they exist, you can be stupid and irresponsible and go walking around alone in a bad area of town in the middle of the night? That’d be ridiculous. People still have to do the right thing and be responsible for their own selves no matter how well-protected they already are.

There’s a doll show going on at 8:00. I’ll be checking it out.

I’m having a serious setback with the weight. Woke up at 113 pounds! Yeah, I have been eating too much. Isn’t it scary, though, to see how fast I could undo nearly a month’s worth of work? I could eat my way back up to the mid-120s in time for my next appointment with Melanie on the 22nd and be the same size I was when I first saw her. No prob. Anyway, I’ll be pushing myself really hard to make sure I don’t have more than 1000 calories. I even took a water pill to give me a head start, even though it’s after my period. Yeah, my period’s just about over. I’m gonna be sooooooooo hungry. Food is all I think about! Those Chromium Picolinate pills became more and more worthless, so I’m on my own as far as dealing with hunger pangs go. It’s either go hungry or eat and get fat. Real fat. I’m gonna go hungry till I’m about 40, but after that - I’m gonna live it up. No, I’m not gonna eat like a pig and eat nothing but junk, but I’m not gonna deprive myself either, and spend so many hours being hungry.

Later...

Well, I peed off nearly three pounds and am down to 110½.

Tom says Mary’s got some sort of problem with her stomach or intestines, but that’s all I know. I know she’s gonna live, but I don’t know if she’s gonna need surgery.

Tom and I were debating over whether Bill really ever had lymphoma. He insists Bill wouldn’t shave his head and that that was real chemo baldness. But guys aren’t into appearance like women, so if he wanted to pull some bullshit lie for attention that required him shaving his head, he’d do it. Maybe the sick fuck really did have it, but I like to say he lied about it. I mentioned his lying about it in a letter to Tammy and she never insisted I got the wrong idea, so who knows for sure? The point is, whether or not he did have it, I guess you could say there’s a little Dureen in me who likes to add lies to the truth out of anger and hatred. Although, this is human nature in a way. So, besides admitting certain things about Bill that are true, I kind of like the idea of calling this little shit a liar and making up shit that never happened, to add to shit that did happen. I love to hate people like him.

Andy left a message telling me he was mugged by five people. Thank God he wasn’t hurt. He said he knows where they live and that he’s gonna have some guy in the neighborhood take care of them for him. He’s gonna have one guy take on five guys? Right!

Then he told me some good news, but then again, it’s not good news, cuz he won’t let it be good news. Through the temp agency, he’s gonna be working at Bank One (as a clerk for 7:50 an hour, Monday through Friday, 8 AM-5 PM) for what they say is to be three months, but he says will end up being only three weeks, cuz of jobs they’ve said before that would be for three months that turned out to be only for three weeks. As Tom said, this is a good job to have and if he does a good job, they’ll hire him permanently. But he doesn’t want a permanent job and he doesn’t want full-time work. I don’t care what he says, he only wants part-time work in different places. He may keep a job for a while if it’s part-time, but if he were given a full-time position, he’s gonna set himself up for firing. He’ll open his mouth and practically beg to be fired.

Even he’s admitted to liking little vacations and having free time to bum around. Is he always gonna be such a sad sad case? Such a loser?

Porky’s become quite the prankster. He’s taken to walking around the outside of his cage and for the last three nights in a row, I caught him on the outside of the cage and had to yell at him to get back inside. That little shit! It’s kind of cute, though. It’s like the little devil knows just what he’s doing too, cuz he seems to usually do this only when I’m around to see it. Sort of like a cat getting negative attention by climbing on a table it’s not supposed to be climbing on, knowing its gonna get yelled at.

This is the second day in a row that I haven’t heard or seen anyone other than Bill from next door. She’s not out partying or doing something tonight, though, cuz there are lights on inside and no porch light on.

Tom brought up a good point about them if they were to move first, which I highly doubt and don’t sense. He says they won’t do anything to the house. He said they may play loud music while loading up, but they wouldn’t do anything to the house. He said burning it down is out of the question, cuz it’s awfully hard to burn down a brick house. True. But they still may smash windows or do other vandalism.

Later...

The good thing about the doll shows is that at the beginning of each hour, they show a quick preview of the dolls they’re gonna sell. So at 9:00, I’ll get a preview of the last hours’ worth of dolls. So far, none of the dolls are impressive. Just their prices. There was a 24” vinyl baby doll, not that I’d want it, for just $17!

Last night, at the same time as the night before, that guy from the Embassy Suites hotel called back with his vacation deal shit. I told you he would. I’m good with people. I didn’t let him get any further than where he was calling from before I went off on him. I knew it was him, though, by what time it was, and I also recognized the voice instantly. Tonight, I took the phone off the hook and will leave it off till 9:00, cuz I don’t want to be distracted by the phone constantly ringing. I’m surprised the little fuck didn’t leave a message last night. Maybe hearing a man’s voice discouraged him, but somehow, I doubt this.

Later...

I saw the rest of the dolls, and they were all either shitty or so-so, till I saw Glenora! Oh my God! She was 24” at $70 with ordinary hair just to the waist and an ordinary face, but her outfit! It was like - wow! It was a mint green colored crepe skirt with a matching top, but what made this doll so unique was that her stomach was exposed. The top is sort of like a midriff. It was beautiful, and there are just not enough outfits like these. She had on nice lace shoes and was holding a basket of flowers. She was really nice.

They had a 33” doll for just a little over $100. You could never get a deal like that in the stores! The store’s dolls that are around 30” are usually $400-$500.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 6, 1999

The neighborhood was quiet today. Didn't hear the renters. Didn't hear the freeloaders. Bill was next door, but that's all I saw from over there. Is Bill really that lonely with no life at all? Or does he know and resent in any way shape or form just how much he's being used by that bitch?

Just when I thought my period was over, I've had spotting today. What? Am I gonna go the other direction and have my period, then spot, rather than spot first, then get my period?

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 7, 1999

Just broke the second dog cup I ever broke. Of course it had to be my three Dalmatians, one of my favorites.

The weekend was quiet. I'm surprised the freeloaders let us have two weekends in a row of peace with no ball games or anything. Guess they feel we've been paid back enough for the roofing noise, cuz remember, she wasn't home throughout most of it.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 1999

Tom went to the racetrack today. I told him that I strongly vibe that neither of us is destined to ever win anything big. I told him he wouldn’t win anything big today, but to have fun anyway. Then he swore he’d change destiny and win $200 and find that doll I want and get her. I was asleep when he got home, but when I got up, I told him, “I told you so.” Sure enough, he not only didn’t win anything, but they also canceled the races after four races.

Between a water pill and watching what I ate, two days ago I woke up at 108 pounds, and today, 109.

Did up a letter to Tammy.

For Andy’s birthday, I’ll be mailing him a wacky letter with a $20 bill stuffed inside.

I set up Bailey in yet another pose. For a long time, she sat on one of the stereo speakers. Then I put her on the floor with one hand on a stuffed wolf, then later holding Barbie by the back of the neck as she stood on the floor next to her, and now she’s kneeling by Maria. I didn’t think this doll could kneel, cuz I thought her knees weren’t bent enough, but obviously I was wrong. Since Bailey and Maria are about the same size/weight, I weighed Maria just to see how heavy this doll was. She’s only three pounds. I was surprised. I thought she’d be closer to five.

The little night prowler should be out and about any time now. Porky still walks around the outside of his cage at night.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 9, 1999

Woke up at 109 pounds.

Tom didn’t get picked for jury duty, fortunately.

Got my CDs yesterday. All but one came, cuz Pure Dance 1998 was out of stock. Linda’s new album, just like the last one, has not even one good song on it. I will never buy another album of hers again! I’m finished with her. She just cannot come up with hits like she used to. I’ll keep the album anyway. There were four CDs I didn’t like and if Tom doesn’t want them, I’ll have him bring them to Mary’s house so that anyone who wants them can help themselves. Or maybe Andy will want a couple of them. One’s a Marvin Gaye album, one’s the Grease soundtrack (which I thought had other songs on it that I’d like that I don’t have on other CDs), and the others are oldies. The shittiest of the oldies. The ones I like are these two Fleetwood Mac albums. One is of them performing live, the other’s other artists doing some of their hits. Got one of Heart, Hall & Oats, Janet Jackson, Styx, The Mamas and the Papas, and a couple of disco albums.

We didn’t have sex during the weekend. I guess what Tom’s doing is understanding that the sex got a little old, and therefore, he’s giving me a break from it, although we haven’t literally gone “back to the basics,” so to speak. He’s taken this really well, though, as no other man would, and for this I’m really grateful. He’s one of a kind! I don’t know when we’ll return to sex. I guess I’ll leave that up to him. I know that sex, when we do return to it, will be predictable, but hopefully, the urge to get off with him and not just with the vibrators will have returned, but I’m afraid deep down that this is where I’ll stay. Only time will tell, though.

My little night prowler stayed home last night, and it looks like he will tonight, too.

Later...

I’m a little tired this evening. That’s because I only slept for six hours. Seeing that I’m just a hobbyist and a homemaker, I can certainly live with it. Especially since it doesn’t have to be for four months that I’m deprived of my sleep.

At this point, I believe there’s either a 50/50 chance one of us has something wrong in the plumbing department or a 50/50 chance nothing’s wrong at all. It’s either one or the other. I’m not totally sure something’s wrong, I’m not totally sure nothing’s wrong. Whichever it is, it’s God’s will and they both mean the same thing, whether I ever want a child again or not - a child will never be. It’s not destined.

Tom guesses that by the year 2000, I’ll have a total of 12 dolls (not counting Barbies). That sounds reasonable. He guesses that by the year 2001, I’ll have 75 dolls between those I buy and those I make. That many?! I’d say more like 15-20 by then, but we’ll see.

His ma gave us $100 each to gamble with, which we’re gonna do probably tomorrow morning. This was very nice of her. I’m gonna try to get a doll either way. Meaning, I’m gonna try to only gamble $30-$40 so I can watch the next doll show and see if I can get one I like, but as far as Glenora goes, I think I can pretty much write her off as a lost cause. I don’t think we could find her if there are any more of her left.

Tom took Ma for her appointment today. Now they’re worried about her heart, I guess, so they did a test on her and are gonna do more tests to find out if a valve is leaking or what. She said she won’t have a triple bypass done if she needs one. I don’t blame her, although those aren’t such a big deal anymore. But still, why put yourself through it if you don’t even have two more years to live?

Last Friday I left Andy a message after he told me he was gonna start that job with the bank Monday, to leave me a message Monday after work to let me know how it went. As figured, though, there was no message. Like I was surprised? Right! He probably never even showed up for work. Anyway, not only did I not get a message from him over the weekend, I didn’t get a message in response to my asking him if he wanted the CDs I don’t like. Is something wrong? I don’t sense it, so to speak, and I hope not. Maybe he did go to work and is just too busy to discuss it.

Later...

I’m reading my last book now and will need to go to the bookstore this week. I’m reading The Guardian which was based on the movie that Norah was in where she looked her best in 1990. At first I wasn’t gonna get too many books based on movies I’d seen, because then I’d really know what the book was all about. Books are pretty predictable as it is. However, the book versions are slightly different than the movie version. There are some twists and turns. So, since I’m getting tired of getting ten books only to end up liking half of them, I may as well get books that I know I’ll like.

Tom told me all about his day in court. He said he was sitting in for jury selection on two different trials. The first one was a guy charged with aggravated DUI. The judge would begin by asking a series of questions. The first was “Do any of you know me or my family?” I joked to Tom that he should’ve answered, “Yeah, I know you! You were my daddy in a former life!” There were questions asked like “Does anyone here not drink?” (because the case was about drinking). So Tom said he didn’t drink, then he was asked why he didn’t drink. He said it was because he didn’t like the taste of alcohol or its effect on the body. That disqualified him immediately.

They were asked if any of them were related to anyone in law enforcement, and Tom jokingly thought about saying that his wife works for the FBI, since I’m always spying on the freeloaders and investigating this and that, in a sense.

He said he was surprised at how many professionals were there. There were several doctors and lawyers and other so-called hotshots. He thought there’d be more lower-class people. There was a cop too, as a potential juror who was asked if he’d automatically side with the officers testifying in a case. He said yes and the judge said: “Leave.” Typical, typical pig too, to side with a fellow officer no matter what.

He said the second trial was one black that beat up another black. Tom said he feared he’d get picked for this trial cuz he couldn’t answer yes to any of the questions asked. One of the questions asked, naturally, was “Is anyone prejudiced?” I was kind of surprised no one answered yes. I mean, this may not be 50 years ago, but still, there still are and always will be, people who hate blacks. Or “African Americans.” Or “people of color.” They keep rewording their so-called description. They were “colored” in the 70s.

Speaking of blacks that I consider assholes, after President’s Day, which will be on Andy’s birthday on the 15th, there’ll be a whole six weeks before the next holiday - Easter! Can you believe it? A whole six weeks. Wow! Will they act up and make complete assholes of themselves like they did last Easter? If they know what’s good for them, they won’t, cuz last Easter, they were despicable! They blasted in and out, they had ten kids playing ball for what was it? Three hours? It couldn’t have been more obvious that it was aimed at me.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 10, 1999

Speaking of me playing detective, well, both Tom and I have a little case going. The assignment is about following that bitch and finding out where she goes during the week. That ought to really creep her out; her reading about that.

What I'm gonna do, is find out who the hell's driving her to wherever she goes lately. She's had three different drivers - Bill, the cock, and the lady in the light blue car. I'm also gonna verify which direction they take off in. That way, we'll be parked a little way down the road ready to follow them when I see her current driver go by. Bill comes between 6:15 and 7:30, so I'll be on the lookout during those times.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 11, 1999

I got a kick out of how I said (after I got Anne) that I wasn't gonna get Rapunzel cuz Anne blows Rapunzel away. No, she doesn't. Not even close. I don't know why I thought that. Maybe I did cuz I hadn't yet seen Rapunzel in person.

In the card file thing, where I have index cards of pet info, phone numbers, etc., I created a doll card too, and put the dates in that I got each doll.

There are two doll shows that I know of on the Home Shopping channel. There's The Doll Outlet and Gallery Of Dolls. I check out the dolls on the Gallery of Dolls earlier. They had a lot of dolls I'd seen on other shows of both these doll shows, but no Glenora. The new ones I hadn't seen before either sucked or were just so-so.

At 3:00, I'll be getting Tom up. We should hit the casinos by 4:00. Then when we're done gambling, unless we lose real fast, the sun should be just coming up so we can check out the nearby land.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 12, 1999

We didn’t thoroughly check out land since it’s kind of soon, but we got a general idea of the area and it’s beautiful.

We went to one of the casinos we’d been to before and had pretty much the luck I predicted, which wasn’t much. Tom did win $175 at one point, but he put most of it back. I both lost and broke even. I’ve got a really good accuracy rate when it comes to sensing out machines that I can hold my own on for a while, but not win big on. I’m sure that’s because neither of us is ever destined to win anything big. At one point, I had to decide whether or not to keep on gambling, or to stop at the $40 I’d just lost, but then Tom gave me $40 of his, so I still have $60 left. Guess this means I’ll be getting a doll again soon, but not too soon. I doubt I’ll be able to find Glenora again, and it may take a few shows to find a doll I want. Most of their dolls really do suck or are boring.

Anyway, we both had fun and I gave my diet a break to have two candy bars, a bag of Fritos, and a large order of fries at Jack-n-the-Box. Gained a pound for it too, so now I have to really cut back.

I came up with a wonderful piece of bullshit. You know, for the freeloader file? In this story, we are the blue car that comes to pick her up in the mornings. We got the same car, same color, and we were waiting for her early in the morning. It was still dark at the time, so she hopped right on in the car without even looking, assuming it was the usual car and driver that takes her to wherever she goes. Then I wrote about how she took a lisping tizzy fit similar to the one she took on me in real life, and then we dropped her off way out of her way in Tucson.

We’re gonna wait till it gets lighter earlier before we follow the bitch. Tom wants to wait down on 19th Ave. And follow from there. Less chance of getting detected, I guess, not that I really care. I don’t think he wants to or really ever intends to follow her to see where she goes, but you know Tom - just can’t say "no" too easily to things he doesn’t want to do. He just goes along with you and is like - yeah, yeah, whatever.

Seeing that they gave me two quiet weekends in a row, I have a feeling that this upcoming holiday weekend will change that pattern.

The renters had their white car towed away the other day, according to Tom. They’ve been great, too. I’ve only heard their music three times and it was nothing compared to what the freeloaders would give me. I also don’t hear their dog barking 24/7.

Andy did just what I knew he’d do. Damn! He really wants to be a loser. He really wants to stay in the same old rut he’s been in since 1988. He blew off that job. What a shame. It would’ve been good pay and good benefits, but hey, if he doesn’t give a shit and if he doesn’t want to work, no one can make him. But why doesn’t he just become a full-time dealer? If he has no problem with druggies and with dealing to those he knows, and if he doesn’t mind giving up pensions and benefits, which is obviously the case, why doesn’t he just deal his life away, so to speak? That’s all his life is anyway - pot, food, and phones. Mixed in with a little TV and music.

I decided that there is one song on Linda’s new album that I do like, after all. It’s called Heartbreak Kind.

After we came home at 7:30, we took off again at 9:00 and went to the pet store. I needed a heavy-weight bowl like Velvet’s got for the rats, and rat/mice food. So I got a bowl with silhouettes of rabbits and ferrets on it.

Then we went to check out what kind of Fancy mice they had in stock, wondering if they had none or just males, but guess what? They had two females that are probably pregnant, and I got them! Yes, Katie and Ashley are cuties. Katie has the most white I’ve ever seen on a Fancy mouse. Ashley looks a lot like Spot did. So now I have 8 mice and hopefully, I’ll have about 16 by March 4th, since they carry litters for 3 weeks at a time. Well, if they’re pregnant, they could be a week or more into their pregnancies, so 3 weeks would be the max. They were in with males, though, and they are old enough to conceive. They look to be about a month old. They’re no babies, but they aren’t quite full-grown, either. They could even be a little more than a month. They’re about Star’s size, my one and only mouse that didn’t quite make it to full-grown size. They’re sisters.

I didn’t take pictures of Katie yet, but I got a couple of cute ones of Ashley, which I’ll be sending Tammy and them guys.

Lastly, we went to the bookstore, and did I ever tell you about this pest that works there? Good, God! I can’t shop there anymore. Besides, it’s time to explore a new store anyway.

For all I know, she’s some lonely lesbian who thinks I’m just beautiful. If not, she’s obviously very lonely and very bored. That’s not much of a job she’s got, organizing books.

She’s shorter than me, with a plain/ugly face, boy-short hair, and totally typical of what I’d get pestering me. I mean, leave it to a pitiful thing like this to be all friendly and wanting to talk to me.

Anyway, the last several times I’d go into the store, she’d be bugging me by asking if she could find this or find that for me. Totally annoying! I couldn’t concentrate very well on finding good books with this thing hanging around me acting like she was all infatuated with me and dying for my attention.

I was a little firmer with her yesterday and let her know that if I needed something, I’d ask. Meanwhile, she was trying to get my sympathy by bitching about her flu and her stomach, but after a minute or two of giving her the silent treatment, she fucked off. Still, if I gave her my whole day, she’d sit and gab to me all fucking day long. If I must run into people who are like this periodically, can’t they look like Melanie and be a little more worth it? No! Of course not! Being both psychic and good with people, I have a feeling this poor lost, lonely soul has a touch of the old me in her, though. I picture her living alone and maybe even being on SSI. She’s forever single, not too many friends and if so, not ones you can count on and that even have half a brain, and she’s constantly hard up for bucks.

Later...

Jesus fucking Christ! I cannot believe how hexed I am when it comes to toilets! Not only do you have to hold the button in that flushes the damn thing for something like ten seconds, but now it’s leaking in back from the bass of the tank! Well, fuck this shit. I’m not even gonna give in to this hex. I’m just gonna turn the other cheek on it and hope the fucking thing will stay functional enough till we’re out of here and that it doesn’t affect the sale of the house. Tom has enough maintenance jobs in store for this house. He doesn’t need any more. It’s like, he fixes three things, then two more things break. He never really gets ahead. I just know too, that things that shouldn’t need to be fixed for 10-20 years will be breaking in the new house right away. What is it with me and toilets? Why am I hexed with toilets? Sex. Toilets. Free will. Where’s the connection? Is there any? Does any of this shit mean anything beyond just the basic fact that I’m hexed within these departments?

Later...

I forgot to mention that I got carded upon entering the casino. I was surprised, too.

Katie sure is a wheeler. She’s been wheeling for hours, it seems. She also has such a small amount of brown. Only her rump and one side of her face have brown fur.

The girl at the pet store, whom I’ve seen before, offered to take the male babies provided that her usual breeder doesn’t load her up first. It’d be just my luck that this breeder would give her a ton of mice the day before I went to bring them in, too. She said Siamese mice are really pretty. Never seen them. They’re supposed to be light brown with darker brown around the ears.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 13, 1999

I have a feeling that this 3-day weekend won’t be completely peaceful. They gave me two quiet weekends in a row, so I think that in their minds, it’ll be time to make up for that peace. Remember I know just how these fuckaroos operate. You don’t even have to be good with people to know how they operate, cuz they go about it in such an obvious way. Right now, I sense that Sunday or Monday could call for some shit, and God knows I’ll be up to receive it, too.

And who knows what the renters and our local bangers may do, although lately, it’s been great as far as stereos go in general. I’m also stunned to have not heard/seen more of the collie kids lately either out back, on the street, or next door, but like I said, I think they got into a fight and that explains why the girl that’s about ten years old, that used to use their hoop, hasn’t used it.

Later...

I did something I haven’t done since gaining and losing weight. My metabolism must be soaring. Well usually, if I take a day to pig out, I’m a pound heavier the next day and I don’t lose that pound till after I’ve stopped eating. Well, I pigged out two days ago and woke up a pound heavier. Then yesterday, I ended up pigging out too, but woke up at midnight a pound less at 109! Maybe it’s cuz I slept for such a long time. You do lose weight in your sleep. Well, you should. I wasn’t at first. When my weight peaked at around 125 pounds, I’d wake up at exactly what I went to bed at. Anyway, here I am being compensated for waking up a pound lighter by being stuck. First day in weeks, even close to a month, that I’ve been stuck. Not even the last two times I took a water pill caused me to be stuck. I was gonna cheat, had I woken up at 110-111, by taking a water pill. Gets me back down to 108-109 a lot faster than doing it the old-fashioned way. Maybe I ought to go online. I noticed that being on the phone or being online seems to get those number twos rolling. I’d always have to take a dump right when I’d be in the middle of looking up something on the web.

Andy left a message saying that he got the letter and money I sent for his birthday.

Later...

Just like we’re taking a break from sex to try to have it be more special, new and exciting when we return to it (although I know better), I’m taking a break from picture screensavers to use some of the regular ones.

Tom got this really neat sponge that’s attached to a slim stick that you put soap into. It seeps into the sponge as you do dishes. It’s really cool, but I can’t hang it where the sponge is dangling down, cuz then the soap just seeps through and runs out. I have to lay it on its side.

I asked Tom if it would be OK for him to decide when it’s best to go back to sex (since it’s usually him who makes most of the decisions concerning sex) and he agreed, but I hope it’s gonna be a while yet. Just like mixing business with pleasure complicates things, so does mixing sex with relationships. My love for Tom just isn’t sexual, anyway. It’s emotional. And I don’t want the sex thrown into the picture to complicate things. On the other hand, there aren’t reasons why it could complicate things as much as there used to be. It used to be that it bothered me that he didn’t cum, especially cuz it used to be that I wanted a baby. It used to be that he’d play games and refuse to even go in there at times. But now that I’d prefer him not to cum, don’t want a child, prefer sex part-time on weekends, goes in there we go to screw, there shouldn’t be arguments over sex, since the sex itself has gotten to be mutual. In the past, though, it was pretty much on his terms only and I didn’t like his terms much back then. I just have no desire to have sex with him, plain and simple. I love him and want to be with him forever, but I love to talk with him, do things with him, etc. Not fuck with him. It isn’t the predictability of the sex that bores me, it’s the sex itself that bores me, and I’d really rather just take care of myself.

As I was telling Tom yesterday, I have some worries that eat at me at times, but don’t we all? It’s really weird and a bit frustrating, cuz when I’m miserable I spend my time wishing for better times, and when I’m happy I spend my time fearing I’ll be miserable again at any moment. I just hope and pray to God that I never find myself wanting a kid again. It’s not like I could do something about it if I did. Most couples can do something about it and can be helped if they’re having a problem. However, I’m a freak case cuz of Tom. This doesn’t mean, though, that if Tom were suddenly normal in bed this would change anything, cuz I’d still be a freak case, but then it’d be cuz of God.

I didn’t express this to Tom and I never would, but as much as I’m anxious to get Ma off to join Dad, and on with our lives (hopefully), I don’t look forward to being treated like shit. Maybe things will be different this time around and I sure do hope so, cuz he really treated me like shit when his dad died, and he really took his sorrow out on me. I understood. It’s not like he meant to do what he did deliberately, but he’d snap at me, lie, make ridiculous excuses for his behavior, and say I said/did things I didn’t say/do, etc.

Porky and Ratsy are playing now. The rats play like kittens and it’s so cute!

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 14, 1999

I’m taping a 3-hour doll show now to see if they show Glenora again so I can at least get her code number which I was stupid enough to tape over. I won’t be able to pick out a doll for a few weeks, though, cuz Tom went over the limit on the credit card.

Two things went as I predicted. One was that Tom won a small amount of money at the racetrack yesterday ($16) like I saw, and two, the freeloaders were quiet. It’s today or Monday that they may make a ruckus.

Woke up at 112 pounds. Tom says it cuz I was stuck (I’m now unstuck). Even so, I took a water pill so I don’t have to starve for two weeks to get back under 110.

Yesterday, Tom not only surprised me by suddenly leading me to the bed for fun but also with how wonderful a job he did when he went down on me. I even got off. For your average woman, it’s a million times easier to get off when you go down on her than when you screw her. Screwing can’t hit the clit just right and in the right kind of way. At first he told me I didn’t have to get off since that’s not what this was all about, but I did. He did such a good job. Better than he’d usually do.

Once again, though, I don’t like the lying. That’s the only thing I have a problem with. He claimed, upon us getting into bed, that he didn’t know what would happen. You mean to tell me he just “happened” to go down on me after not doing so for ages? I don’t think so. I know he planned to go down on me, which was great. I needed the change. All we’ve been doing is screwing. But must he lie about it?

God really does find all kinds of ways to ensure our destinies. Even if it means using others to help. What I mean by this is that since we’re starting all over, he’s gonna use this as an excuse to not cum for years. Well, I hope he’s happy and doesn’t mind sacrificing cumming with his wife.

So, since we’ve gone back to the beginning, I can enjoy being selfish by having the sex be just for me, and not having to wash cum-stained sheets. If he’s as serious as he has been about going back in time and reenacting the sex we had in the beginning, then we’ll be having 1-sided sex for sure and he won’t cum till around the middle of 2001. Oh, how good it feels to have sex like this now! In the beginning, when we had our 1-sided sex where he didn’t cum, it was miserable for me. I hated it and I hated the infrequency of it, too. But now, if we switched to having sex more than once a week and during weekdays too (he claims he doesn’t know when or how often we’ll have sex), I’d be bored silly with it like never before.

I typed him up a little Valentine’s note and now I’ll go get my Evie messages.

Later...

Wow. No Evie messages. I wonder if I sent Dureen and Art a blank message, though. I thought it’d be funny if they found that I found them yet again, and took a moment to think of their most loved things, besides themselves. I came up with their bird and dog and so I typed in maxchicken. This produced no results, so then I tried chickenmax and the thing went through. I’ll know if it’s them in a day or two if the name changes again. If I send a message to chickenmax in a couple of days and get a message saying there’s no such user - it was them. If it’s them since their names didn’t work, their animals didn’t work, that should mean the flags would be next. Chickenmax, though, does seem like a name people may use. I mean, it doesn’t sound too original, so if I had to guess, I’d say it wasn’t them. Even though they do have a bird named Chicken and a dog named Max, Doe66 was more obvious than chickenmax.

Along with going to the track, Tom stopped and got me ink cartridges and some really cool treats for the mice that Mary gets for her hamsters. It’s colorful, crinkly strips of paper in a thin, cardboard box that they chew their way into. It’s got pink, blue, and yellow paper. He got one box that’s a couple of inches wide that I put in the small aquarium (I set up the aquariums again) and a box that’s about six inches wide that I put in the big aquarium.

I found a neat way to set up tubes in the rat’s cage. It’s hard to connect the tubes to the shelves once the shelves are inside the cage, but you can’t really do it before putting the shelves inside cuz they won’t fit through the doors. So I used the chains that hook the hammock on that they never used and it’s really cool. I think they like it. The chains hold the tubes in place, so I created a little ramp-like thing. The plastic rings that go on these tubes have holes in them for the chains.

I still have a strong vibe saying we’ll move in June, or very close to June, but what if the house takes close to a year to sell? God, I hope not! Tom says that houses out here are commonly selling in just 30 days lately. Well, I hope it stays that way and that it sells fast enough for us. I’ve seen houses take way more than 1-2 months to sell out here.

Thank God the freeloaders don’t know we’re moving soon enough, cuz if they did, they’d probably figure it was close enough that I wouldn’t complain to the city if they went back to their old shit. They would’ve thought wrong.

Later...

I feel like it’s Monday morning. A regular Monday morning, that is. God, I wish that were true.

Anyway, I watched the doll show and no Glenora. They had a couple of OK dolls, though. I wrote the code number down for one of them just in case. She’s a 24” doll named Giselle and she’s $50. The only thing I didn’t like about her was the frilly thing she had on her head. It was some kind of hat that might have had feathers. I wonder if I’ll be able to get the damn thing off her head if I get her, what with the way they glue/weave hats on. I don’t know why, but it seems that doll makers are obsessed with putting things on the doll’s heads. You almost never see a doll with nothing on her head. She was a ballerina-type doll and although her outfit was gorgeous, once again, it was blue. Blue seems to be the number one color for doll clothing. They had a lot of William Tung dolls (the guy who made Glenora), but most of his dolls were hideous. They had a 36” doll for just $119! She was pitiful, though. Short hair, shitty outfit.

For variety’s sake, I put Bailey in the floral dress with the purple trim that one of my teddy bears wears. It doesn’t exactly go with her blue hair bows, but I don’t want to take them out in case I can’t get them back in too easily. I cannot believe how realistically and well she’s sculpted! Even her knees look real. I have the front part of her dress sort of bunched on her lap so you can see one of her knees. I brushed out her hair and was amazed to find how easy it was. Just like with Anne. Wish mine were that easy to brush out! When I got Bailey undressed, what I saw was a little scary. The breastplate that the head sits on wasn’t attached to the cloth body very well. It didn’t seem to be, anyway. It was only attached with a few thin strips of cloth. Well, it hasn’t fallen off yet and if it does, it looks like it could be reattached easily enough provided that the head and breastplate don’t smash to pieces first.

I wonder just how close to the sex we had in the first couple of years Tom’s planning on following. If he’s gonna do exactly what we did the first couple of years, we’re gonna have sex for me and get me off. He’ll go down on me, but he won’t cum or go on top. We’ll do only the side position and instead of going on top after banging away on the side for a while, he’ll stop either when I cum or when he feels like he’s been hard long enough. Meanwhile, he’ll never go on top. As I told him, he’s the boss in bed. Always has been, always will be. So it’s up to him what we do, but if I have to wait two years, depending on how close to the past he wants to follow through with this thing, I’ll kind of miss his being on top.

The mice are acting really weird and I think there’s a damn good chance that they’ll never use the aquariums again. They’re ignoring everything I stored away for a week or so. They’ll only stay in the two Play City cages that they’ve always used. They did this when I took away and then put back another Play City cage that I haven’t used in ages. After I took it away for a while, then put it back, they wouldn’t have anything to do with it. But why? This is weird, huh? Well hopefully, the babies will use it once they can get around on their own.

Later...

As much as I rank on this house, there are a few good things about it. Take the little living room window, for example. I’ve always loved the square window that’s between the big window and the door with its thick translucent glass. It’s exactly one square foot and Barbie fits in it just nicely. I put her in there for now, since Bailey’s not holding her now.

I really pity the next people to live here. Not just cuz of the dogs and cuz they’ll have to deal with some ball games that are so close, they’ll think someone’s throwing a ball up against the house, but cuz the freeloaders will go back to their old shit for damn sure. I don’t know if the cock will move back in, but I’m sure they’ll return to blasting their music. And I’ll bet you the sick fucks will hope that the new people will complain, however reasonable the complaint and politely made it may be, just so they can start the whole spiel all over again and knowingly and intentionally harass and blast that music till it pisses the people off. That’d be a dumb thing to do, though. Unless the people just don’t mind having their walls thumped with bass, or do it themselves too, what if the new people are even less tolerant than me? What if they do beat the snot out of her and her cronies like I wanted to and almost did numerous times? What if they complain to the city and end up getting evicted since that’d make the third complaint that I know of?

Oh, great! Bandit’s down in one of the aquariums. Maybe they will use it again, after all.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 15, 1999

At 12:30, a half-hour after I got up, I left Andy a message wishing him a happy birthday and told him to call me at 1:30 after I’d had time to wake up, eat, and wash up if he wanted to talk. I figured it’d be close to his bedtime and that he’d only be up till 2:00-3:00, but I was wrong. He left me a message at 1:05 while I was brushing my teeth, saying he was gonna do some audiotaping and would call me back at 3:30-4:00. Also, he’s been staying up till 6:00-7:30 in the morning lately. Oh, God! This means that if he calls, and I know damn well he will, I’ll be stuck on the phone with him for hours! Well, it’s his birthday, so it won’t kill me to be his slave for a day.

The freeloaders were quiet. I kind of went to bed around their prime time, so that could be part of why they seemed quiet.

We went to Walgreens yesterday morning. I was amazed that it wasn’t packed. The original plan was to get me some cranberry juice and some puzzles, and then go to Staples to see if he could find himself a computer-related treat (he wrote a program that allows him to scan his picks for horse races on his little laptop, and has been back at the computer more and at the TV less).

Anyway, I needed the cranberry juice for that pain I sometimes get on my lower, right side right around mid-cycle time. I guess it’s just a coincidence that I get it at that time cuz the pain’s too high to be my ovaries or anything like that. Nonetheless, I got the juice and it helped kill the pain. Thank God for that power-playing snob at Natchaug who told me about this little trick. That’s probably the one and only good thing I got out of Natchaug, even if Natchaug itself was part of the “plan” to get me out here.

They didn’t have any good puzzles, but they did have some cute Barbie outfits. Got three outfits for $6. A pink dress, a purple skirt with a colorful top, and a blue top with floral shorts. This came with two pairs of shoes, too. A pink pair and a purple pair.

I got myself a few pairs of booties (pink, blue, and purple) which are good for roaming around the house.

It turned out that Staples wasn’t open yet, so Tom will have to go there some other time.

Later...

My luck was with me and Andy got tired on me so he didn’t keep me on the phone forever.

He says he’s gonna stick with part-time at Red Lobster and then supplement his income with dealing, but that he doesn’t want to deal full-time. He claims that at the end of the year, he’ll get his act together and get a full-time job with benefits and keep it. He says he’s never been this lazy before and that all he can do is think about sex. He can’t get it off his mind. He’s so horny all the time.

Laura’s moved back in and he said that even though they fight constantly, he appreciates the extra money. I’d rather struggle like hell than fight like they do.

He and Michelle went bar-hopping. They went to tit bars, which Michelle’s into, and gay bars. Andy said some of the customers at the tit joint were gorgeous and he wanted them sooo bad. He and Michelle are still having the same old shit luck. Michelle can’t get anyone she really wants and Andy hit on five guys only to be rejected by each and every one of them. Maybe God’s trying to tell Michelle something. Maybe she’s not meant to be with a woman. Maybe she’s meant to be with a guy later on in life. I doubt God’s trying to tell Andy he’s meant to be with a woman, though. I think he’s just not meant to be with anyone.

He’s pissed at Barbara Nicks for lying to him and for being rude. It started with her agreeing to meet with him when he brought over a cassette that she asked for. Then she blew him off and made excuses not to meet with him inside or outside the house. So he finally agreed he’d just drop the damn tape off and leave it in her truck. Meanwhile, she said she’d leave him an autographed tour book and a T-shirt. For whatever reason, only the tour book was there. So he put the tape in the truck and noticed the lights to the red jag were on, so he knocked on the back door. He said he was sort of hoping she wouldn’t answer since he reeked of pot. She didn’t answer, although he could hear that she was up and about. She was obviously ignoring the door, though.

When he got home, he called to let her know the lights to that car were on, which she said she knew nothing about. Then she rudely said she was too busy to take the time to listen to tapes. What a snob! After he took the time to make it for her? I mean, I know he has all the free time in the world, but still, that was a rude, ungrateful thing to say and she asked for this tape, she’s not a true friend, and if he had any self-respect, he wouldn’t bother with her. However, Andy has very little respect. He even said he’ll keep calling her, but less often. His definition of less often is still often enough by most people’s standards.

Yesterday, Tom showed me the pictures he took at the racetrack. Most of them came out great. He’s using a great picture of two horses for his wallpaper.

Tom went to bed shortly after I got up, and he asked me if I wanted him to tell me what he left me a message about, or should I just get the message? So I told him he could tell me, and he said he had good news and bad news. I knew the good news could be anything, but when he mentioned bad news, I was like - what’s your mom in the hospital for now? That wasn’t it, though. He said the good news was that he saw Patch downstairs. Yeah, and I saw Big Cocoa and Bandit down there, too, so I guess the aquariums will be used again, after all. The bad news is that Big Cocoa has the same tumor on her side that Spot did, so she won’t have much longer to live. Rodents are notorious for tumors. That makes two pigs and two mice I’ve had with tumors. From what I looked back on, I noticed Spot’s tumor on 11/17 and she was dead by 12/1, so big Cocoa can’t have even a month to go, poor thing.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1999

So much for Natchaug's great advice. This time around, the pain goes away, then comes back. I hope I don't have a UT infection. Well, for now, I'll just keep drinking cranberry juice. 

Got through the holiday weekend without a hitch. All I saw was an ugly dark red car that came in for just a few minutes at 9 AM. There was a male driver and a fat passenger. The guy (if it was a guy) was huge and I don't think I've ever seen this person before. Then at 1:00, Bill took the bitch out, and that's all I saw/heard. 

Tom cleaned my stereo yesterday. It was dusty. 

Later... 

I can't believe it didn't rain earlier. The sky was nothing but a mass of clouds, but then suddenly, it was bright and sunny. 

We've got a different routine going on next door today. I don't know who it was I heard at 6:20 this morning. I assumed it was Bill. But Bill wasn't there at 8:00 when I looked out and saw two guys in that dark red car come get the kid. I think this "dark red" car is the same one that I call "cranberry" colored. There was a male driver and the cock in the passenger seat. When I looked out, the cock was just unloading the bundle of waste into the backseat, then he got in the front passenger seat, and off they went. What? Did the cock trade in driving that gray car to be hauled around in this thing?

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1999

I ended up having to see Dr. Brown yesterday, believe it or not. I knew this infection just wasn’t gonna go away on its own and that this time around, no amount of cranberry juice would cut it. So I called the office at 9:30 and was told there was a 10:45 available, which Tom took me to. I first prayed to God 2-3 times to take the pain and infection away, but as usual, I was ignored. I was shocked to be able to get in the same day I called.

When I first got there, I was led straight to the bathroom to pee in a cup, but I couldn’t. I was so frustrated! Then I was led to an exam room where the nurse gave me three cups of water. Shortly after, the doc came in and she asked me about my symptoms and if I’ve had a UT infection before. She gave me a prescription for Bactrim, an antibiotic I’ve had before. This time, though, I only need to take it twice daily for five days. Not seven to ten days. I already feel much better.

So we went to lunch at Denny’s which was nice. I had a T-bone with eggs, and he had a ham and cheese omelet. After this, I was finally ready to pee. I took my purse into the bathroom, pulled out the cup, and did my thing. After making sure the cap was screwed on very tightly, it was back to the Dr. to drop it off. Next Monday, on our way to Melanie’s, which is very close by, I have to drop off another urine sample so they can make sure the infection really did go away. I’m sure it already has for the most part. But they have to be sure, cuz every now and then you get an infection that’s stubborn and that just won’t die.

I wonder, though, what with how my schedule is now if I’m even gonna make it to my appointment next Monday.

After dropping the pee off, we went to Walgreens to have the prescription filled, which took barely ten minutes. While we were waiting, we browsed the store and I picked out a couple of puzzles. One of flowers, one of balloons. They had some Barbies dressed in gorgeous outfits!

Got a message from Andy telling me of all the cards and money he got from different people for his birthday. I also had to tape a message for him. He said he used the money on some clothes he needed. I was surprised. I thought he’d spend it on phone cards, food, or cigarettes (he gets his pot for free since he’s dealing it).

Yesterday and today I sent blank messages to chickenmax and both went through. Today, though, I remembered to unsend the message. My first guess is that it’s not them. My second guess is that it was them, but they didn’t feel like changing screen names a third time. Especially since all they got was a blank message and no “fuck you” messages.

We were originally gonna screw around yesterday, but thanks to this infection, we couldn’t. Like I said, something doesn’t want us getting together very often on weekdays. That’s OK, cuz I wasn’t horny. Also, just like a person who knows a gun is unloaded but still shouldn’t risk holding it to their head, a person who doesn’t want kids and is mid-cycle shouldn’t risk screwing, even if she knows her man won’t cum and a kid is not meant to be. That’s one way of looking at it. The other is that fate is fate no matter what we do. We can be cautious, but we can’t change our destinies.

Later...

Bill’s here now, but will the bitch be hauled away in the blue car? We’ll see.

In two weeks, I’ll be free to pick out a doll, but I don’t know where I’ll pick it from. Originally, I was gonna wait till we moved to check out the dolls in a toy store, but I think I’m gonna settle my curiosity, see what’s there, then decide whether or not to spend that $60 I have in the toy store or on the Home Shopping channel.

I’m going to try to burn a CD, which I doubt will work.

Later...

The CD didn’t work. I should’ve known better and not even bothered with the thing.

Same weird freeloader scenario with a slightly different twist to it. The dark red car with the Islamic-capped cock and his crony came and got the mistake. Behind the cock’s seat, was a huge cardboard box. Hmm… wonder what hot goods they got in there? Anyway, the different twist is that Bill’s still here.

The nurse weighed me at 116 pounds. Without clothes and shoes on, I’m sure I’d have been 114, but once again, my weight’s going up and I’m having days where I’m stuck. As long as I have days where I’m stuck, it’s gonna be awfully hard to keep myself under 110 without starving or taking water pills.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1999

The mice love the box of colorful paper strips they got. I can hear one of them rustling around inside the box. They chewed an opening just big enough to let them inside.

Porky’s soooo funny! Just like with cats, rodents sometimes like to misbehave so they’ll get attention. They tend to do things they know they’re not supposed to do right in front of you so you’ll see it, and then they get attention. I was sitting at the table when I saw Porky on his way up to where he can get out and walk around on his roof, and I sternly called out his name. Instant change of directions! He went sideways onto a shelf.

The doll show has weird hours. Sometimes they’re on for two hours, sometimes for three. Tonight they’ll be on for one hour and on Friday they’ll be on for four.

I’ve developed a bit of a thing for Christine McVie, one of the Fleetwood Mac members. Why, I don’t know, since she’s a blond, but there’s just something about her. She looks hot on one of the CD covers I just got, so I scanned her picture to add to my wallpaper and screen saver collection.

Later...

The phone just rang and it was Tisha apologizing for calling so early. She needed to cancel my cleaning appointment on Monday, but she had a 1:45 today where I could take care of both the cleaning and the ortho. I told her I couldn’t make it today, so could I do both the following Monday, March 1st? No problem. Great! That really takes the pressure off me cuz holding my schedule back for four more days would’ve been hard.

Will our boys in the dark red car be coming in about 45 minutes to get the mistake? We’ll see.

I’m now reading Prescription: Murder about a well-known Texas surgeon who killed his first wife and tried to kill his second wife. Then I guess he disappears.

Later...

Our boys have shown up again, but they’ve changed cars. They’re in a hideously ugly dark green car. I think the bald cock was the driver this time around. He was with a guy about his size who was wearing a blue and red cap. This car amazingly didn’t have its front seat and windshield windows tinted. Just the backseat, like they have something to hide back there. I could see into the front of the car. There was a red pine tree with white on it dangling from the front mirror. One of those air freshener things. The seats were of tan vinyl. Or beige, light brown, crème, whatever you want to call it. Why is Bill staying here all day if the kid’s not gonna be here? Bill must really hate where he lives. Or maybe they’ve been bringing the kid back shortly after they’ve taken it and I just haven’t noticed.

Later...

Tom’s home now and he just went to bed.

Right after he got home, he whacked down the weeds that were growing out by the pool with the weed-whacker. It’s a good thing he had that thing, cuz to pull them by hand would take forever.

Tomorrow he’s taking his ma to two appointments to see if they can find out what the scoop is on her heart. He’s saying that she’ll be gone when we move. God, I hope so! But I just don’t sense this. Only time will tell, though.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 19, 1999

Miss Bitch left her mistake alone again for a few minutes this morning. Bill was apparently late. I noticed I didn’t hear him pull in while I was in the bedroom having my coffee. I heard a honk at 6:40 and saw the light blue car on the street and the bitch walking away from it. Then she came back and stood at the driver’s door talking, but I had to put my spying on hold to go live my life and start my shower. Shortly after, I heard a door that sounded like it was in the driveway, so I ran and peeked one more time and saw that the bitch had gone and that Bill was here. The bitch obviously just couldn’t wait till Bill got here, I guess, cuz she left about ten minutes before he got here.

Woke up at 109 and am stuck today. Since I’m gonna be going back to being stuck every other day, I must really watch my calorie intake, but I wonder if it’s cuz I’ve slacked off my exercising again? Better start that up again, even if most of the exercises don’t do me any good. The only way to have a flat belly is to do crunches for hours every day. Just 50 or so of those a day won’t cut it, cuz it’s so hard to isolate stomach muscles compared to arms and legs.

Paula called at 7:30 with her new number and address. So I have her phone number, her apartment address, and her PO Box address. She said I could just send mail to her apt. She claims she’s gonna stay where she is for a while and that she’s sick of moving around. She’s in a 3-family house. She’s got a 4-room apartment on the middle floor.

She said she beat up her little sister when she was in Florida, has the hots for several different guys, and that it’s freezing there and they’re expecting snow.

Later...

I didn’t hear the freeloader come to get the animal at the usual time of just after 8:00. I could’ve been listening to music or in the shower, so I can’t say for sure whether or not they came.

For the last week or so, my hair has been much softer than usual. Why this suddenly happened, beats me. Perhaps it’s cuz I’ve been laying off straightening it. It still looks sort of fried and very uneven, but it feels so much better.

Later...

It’s coming up on 2:00 yet he’s not home yet. Damn that mother of his! I know he doesn’t have to work tonight, but still, he’s had to have been up for about 16 hours. He doesn’t need this. Now I wonder if we’ll be able to do what we had planned today, thanks to his fucking mother.

I told him that I had mixed emotions about her. It’s like I love her and I hate her. She was a wonderful mother to Tom and she’s given to us, but she’s also a user who runs my husband ragged and who sucks up a lot of our time. Tom said it’s OK to have mixed emotions.

We were gonna pour some shit down the tub drain to unclog it, then Tom was gonna put a regular handle back on the toilet. I’ve had it with this toilet shit. I told him about the leak, after all, and how I was sick of having to hold the fucking button in for 20 seconds so it’d flush all the way. He said I should’ve spoken up sooner, cuz he’s been sick of the push-button for quite a while. I just didn’t want to give God, or whoever, the reaction it wanted. I hate to give in to my hexes by either getting emotional or letting them cause me to take action over it. I’d tell him to just get a whole new toilet, but that’d just get hexed, too.

Tom told me he’d support me with whatever I chose to do, so I told him I was gonna take his word for it, and here’s the scoop: I remain sure that I want to try doll making and not have a child. However, should I ever find myself wanting a kid again, I’m gonna just get it done by a doctor. No going through another handful of years trying to do it ourselves. If we could do it ourselves, we’d have done it already, and I’m big enough to say so and not deny that. If the doctor wants to do any more testing fine, but my point is that if I ever want one, unless it’s medically impossible, I’m just gonna tell her about our sex lives and why we can’t conceive on our own, therefore just take a damn egg, fertilize it with his sperm, and shove it up in me. Although painful, it’d be a done deal that way without having to go through more years of trying to make time and trying to hit it right and trying to get off and trying this and trying that and driving ourselves crazy with frustration and taking the fun out of it, provided it’s medically possible and that God doesn’t kill it along the way. I told Tom I hope he’ll keep his word but I highly doubt I’ll return to having a child. However, if he’s got a problem with the possibility of my doing this in the future, however slim, I need to know. After being together as long as we have, I think it’s the only way. Same thing happened to Linda. All the screwing in the world, for way more years than we’ve screwed, didn’t impregnate her. Only in vitro did. Initially, they told her she had one clogged tube that they unblocked, but that other than that, everything was normal with her. I guess some people just aren’t meant to do things the typical way. Just like with how I learn differently (as Tom and I were discussing, I learn better on my own, not in groups). So then it’d only make sense and it wouldn’t surprise me if I’d have to conceive differently, cuz of how many things I do differently as it is. Like I said, I can’t “see” this happening, but if I should one day tell him I want in vitro, he won’t be taken by surprise.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1999

I have so much to write about! I hope I remember to say all I want to say, but let’s start with the freeloaders. To my surprise, they were quiet all weekend. And I was wide awake all day. There’s bound to be compensation for this sooner or later, but the only vehicle I saw over there was Bill’s. He wasn’t here for long when I heard his car start up with its typical scratchy, wheezy screech, and drive away.

At 10 PM on Friday, I saw a male blackie of about 6’ and the mistake being dropped off in the street. It was too dark for me to see the car, but who was this dude? The teenager? The cock? Someone else? Do they live there? I wouldn’t be surprised if it still isn’t just the bitch and mistake living there. I also wouldn’t be surprised if the lease only allowed just the bitch and mistake to live there, either.

Sunday, a carpet cleaning truck was parked on the street in front of their place. I was surprised to see them there on a Sunday, but Tom says that’s common. Wish the city would cater to our carpets for free! Today, there was a large white pickup that said: City of Phoenix - Housing. Tom said that that fits with the carpet cleaning truck. He says whenever they have that the city shows up shortly after. I haven’t noticed the connection, but it makes sense.

If the kid was picked up this morning, but of course Bill’s here, I didn’t hear it. I still would like to know why Bill’s here all day if the kid isn’t. He must really hate where he lives, and he must be one desperate, lonely sucker! I feel sorry for the man, though, and hold no animosity towards the guy. He never wronged me in any way like his sick daughter. Or his granddaughter. Tom wonders, since Bill’s so old, if that isn’t her grandfather, rather than her father, but I don’t know. I think it’s her father. But it’s also hard to judge this cuz it’s hard to judge that bitch’s age. I just can’t tell how old she is. Tom thinks the early 20s, but to me, she looks mid-30s.

I haven’t heard a thing in the way of music from the renters. That white car hasn’t returned and that was the only car that seemed to have that kind of a stereo. Now there’s some maroon-colored car to go with the red one.

There were a couple of kids playing ball in the renter’s driveway on Saturday. It wasn’t nearly as obnoxious as the freeloaders, cuz it was across the street and not just a few feet from our walls, and it was a plastic ball. Not a heavy basketball.

The only other annoyance was this car somewhere around here. It was even more annoying than the ball bouncing across the street, cuz the fan didn’t drown it out too well. Some asshole around here with a loud engine that might’ve been a motorcycle engine, would sit there and rev up his engine, then let it die down, then he’d gun his engine again, and he’d do this on and off for 15 minutes. Was he that hard up for attention and acknowledgment? Or was he just simply fucked?

Katie and Ashley still show no apparent signs of being pregnant, so if they don’t have babies by March 4th, which would be the maximum time since I got them that they carry babies, then they’re either females who never got pregnant, or they’re males. I doubt they’re males, but for a minute yesterday, it did look like Katie was trying to screw Star. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. If these were males, it’d still be OK, cuz I’d just bring them back to the store along with the male babies that Star, Bandit, Shy, Patch, and the two Cocoas may have. Like I said, I doubt it, though cuz I’d think that if they were males, we’d have both seen more obvious signs of that by now! They’d be jumping those ladies left and right!

Later...

I just went out back and took a closer look at the pool water around the edges of the pool cover, and yuck! It was very green. That’s Tom for you. He’s great with the bare necessities but lousy at keeping up with the pool and yard work. So I wound the cover on its reel hoping that cooling things down a bit would help. Also, it looks better, even if it’s green. Green water looks better than a pool cover.

I put a bowl of water out for Shiny since the pool was so gross. The reason I stopped putting water bowls out for him was cuz he’d ignore them and get drinks out of the pool. Also, the water bowl would get algae and all kinds of gross shit in it that was nearly impossible to clean out. So I’ll save our margarine containers, and that way, he can regularly have something new to drink out of.

I called Tammy’s to tell her to look for some wild mail from us, which I’ll get into later, but Becky was there alone with a bad stomach. You can leave an 11-year-old alone? I don’t know enough about kids to know this. I mean, I know you can’t leave a 4-year-old alone, but I don’t know about an 11-year-old.

We haven’t had any need to deal with the leak from the toilet tank yet, but Tom got rid of that fucked up push-button and put a regular handle back on the toilet. Words cannot describe how wonderful it is to just quickly flush a toilet again! I’m gonna savor every moment of this, cuz I know it’s just a matter of time before there’s another major toilet nuisance. I mean, first it flushed so sluggishly that most of the time toilet paper and shit wouldn’t get flushed. Then it would leak from within the inside due to a leak in the flap. Then the handle would get hung up and the water would keep running and running. Then we had to deal with the push button that you had to push and hold in so hard for 20 seconds that you felt like your fingers were gonna break. Am I forgetting anything else? Anyway, I’m sure the leak at the bottom of the tank will be our next major problem. If not, God will find something else. For now, though, it’s great if I wake up in the middle of my sleep, cuz all I have to do is just tap the handle. No more having to stand there and wait for the fucking thing to flush while I’m dog-tired midway through my sleep.

I just began a book called Ghost Fire and it looks like I’m gonna like it.

Looks like Caddie Kid’s been replaced. There’s this light gray car, an old piece of shit, that’s been banging by the last few days. Although it really isn’t as bad as caddie kid. No one can be that bad, I don’t think. Yeah, I knew the peace from the stereos wouldn’t last. It goes in cycles around here.

Tom was my piss courier this morning and drove a sample of my piss to the doctor’s office just like they asked me to do when I finished my antibiotics. I finished them yesterday and I hope I sleep better now that I’m off of them. Last night and two nights ago, I only got 4-5 hours of sleep. Yet I felt amazingly good for such a lack of sleep. Not smoking helps. And not having to do it every day for four months helps, too.

The current plan is to go to a toy store to check out their dolls on Friday. Did I tell you about last Thursday and Friday night’s doll shows? Shit! They’re getting worse. They’re getting more expensive and more repetitious. Usually, they show a quick shot of the dolls they’re gonna show, then they spend 5-10 minutes going over the doll in detail, then they recap them at the end and show you a quick clip of the dolls. So, that’s three times the dolls get shown. The last time, though, they kept showing the same fucking dolls over and over again. All through that long 4-hour doll show, they didn’t show more than 25 dolls. The same old, same old. They’d go over the same doll five different times for ten minutes. It was a complete waste of time and with all the dolls they showed that I’ve seen several times before, no Glenora. They had a 42” doll for $450 and another 36” one for $200. The 42” sucked and the 36” one was so-so.

Anyway, I don’t know if I’ll be able to get to the doll store on Friday or my appointment with Mel and Char on Monday, cuz I’m in the same boat I was in before today’s appointments got canceled. My schedule’s too far ahead to push it back further enabling me to be up at 10:00 a week from now (I got up at 7:30 AM today), and it’s too far behind to push it forward so I’m getting up around midnight. I may not make it to either place, but I’m certainly gonna focus on getting my teeth taken care of. Not getting a doll. If the doll has to wait in order to make my appointment, it has to wait. Or maybe I can get the doll after I see Mel and Char. We’ll see.

Paula left me a message early Sunday morning. I try to avoid her on weekends. Not just cuz I don’t usually do phone chats on the weekend, but cuz I usually try to avoid her when the kid’s there. I wait till he’s in school, cuz it’s so annoying to have her be constantly yelling at the kid while we talk. I’ll call her and we’ll be talking, then she’ll put me on hold for a couple of minutes to go scream at it. That’s what you get for having kids, Paula! No peace. No freedom. No life. Meanwhile, we don’t need to pay for her to scream at the kid. Long-distance calls cost money. Even when it’s her calling and paying, it still really irritates me. When you’re talking on the phone, you should be talking to that person. Not who’s in the room with you.

Another reason to add to my list of reasons not to get in vitro, or whatever it’s called, is cuz of the weight I’ve lost. I worked too long and hard on that to throw it away. I’m confused now, though, as to exactly what in vitro is. I thought Linda said it was basically artificial insemination where they inject sperm into her, but Tom says it’s where they insert a fertilized egg in there. What Tom said would make sense, cuz if all Linda needed was sperm injected into her, couldn’t her husband do that at home? She never mentioned him having a problem. Well, even though Tom thinks I’ll return to a fertility doctor someday, I can’t see it. I love life too much to throw it away. I mean, my life’s not perfect. I still have problems just like anyone else, but you know what I mean. I need all the stability, peace, and freedom I can get. I couldn’t handle anything drastically different than what I’ve got now. I also value my time with my husband. I need to be with him. I don’t care to share him with his mother, his sister, a kid, or anyone else.

True to my vision, I woke up yesterday at 107 pounds! What was the catch for that? I was stuck yesterday. Therefore, I woke up at 109 today. Since I’m obviously gonna be stuck 2-3 times a week, losing more weight is gonna be a toughie! If only I could be 95-100 pounds, cuz it’s a hell of a lot easier to maintain your weight than it is to lose it. Also, I could afford to slack off my diet a couple of days a week, too. Will I ever get down to 100? I don’t know. I mean, it sure as hell didn’t seem likely at 125 pounds compared to now, but only time will tell. I don’t see it right now, so that means that it’s at least not in the near future if it’s gonna happen at all. Maybe in June or July, I’ll be 100 pounds.

It still seems, though, that no matter how much weight I lose, it still looks like I have a double chin when I have my head tilted downward. And I’m still fat in the lower cheeks where my jaws are. Jowls, I think they call it. I know a part of it is that it’s sagging with age, although my tits and ass miraculously haven’t started sagging yet, but still, I hate it! First I had to contend with a fat gut and fat thighs with craters on the backs of them, and now I’ve got a fat face and neck to add to the picture with craters everywhere! My hips aren’t exactly as narrow as they used to be either, and I’m still thick-waisted.

We didn’t screw this weekend. Now I don’t know if Tom didn’t screw me cuz he truly chickened out for fear of me being all irritated down there, or if he did it to punish me for needing a break from sex. But it’s not a punishment to me. I don’t want sex with him. I still don’t think sex and relationships are a good mix, and I just don’t desire him sexually. I love him to death, I want to spend all the time in the world with him, I want to cuddle with him, chat with him, and do things with him, but I just don’t feel right about screwing with him. It’s almost like we’re too close for that. I know it sounds funny since it’s usually those who aren’t getting along that don’t want to screw, but you know me. If it’s different sexually, it’s me. Or the one I’m having sex with. Well, I guess I should just be thankful that the relationship part of it is as good as it is and that I don’t want to have sex with others other than in my mind, and that he loves, understands, and accepts me as I am. He’s so patient and supportive. I swear no other man in the world would be like this in bed and take this attitude towards the lack of sex and the lack of desire on my part. I never heard of a guy like him! So, what used to frustrate, depress, and even anger me, is now something I consider myself to be very blessed by.

He made the comment that he was trying to think of ways to “ease us back into sex” after not having it so long when we were cuddled in bed, and then I told him if he was gonna chicken out and not be able to get into it, that was OK too. Then he pointed out his dick, which was rock hard the whole time, and said, “This doesn’t get hard unless it’s excited?” 

Then I couldn’t resist responding with, “And it doesn’t squirt when it’s scared.” I couldn't resist that crack, true or not!

Anyway, Tom suggested we ease back into it (for the millionth time) by him just going in on the side during the week when he’s tired. That’s fine, and my saying he can cum or not cum still stands, but I can’t take this on-and-off sex shit with him! We have to screw once a week, regardless of my lack of desire. Period. I can’t keep dealing with the irritation I get when we “ease back into it.” From here on out - we either do it consistently or we don’t do it at all. That’s the only way it can be for me cuz of the irritation, or else I’d love to take breaks from sex due to my lack of desire. I’m even losing the desire for the vibrators. It used to be that I’d cum a few times a day in no time at all, but not anymore. Lately, it’s half as often, and seems to take me forever to cum. Sometimes I just can’t cum. I think that’s the main problem; is that it’s gotten to be so hard for me to cum. It just doesn’t happen as easily as it used to. It takes so long. I think that may also be why I don’t want to try to do myself with him on the side. Because by the time I came, if I came, he’d be dog tired. That’d be just fine with him, and even though I know he’d be fine never having sex with me again and that he could take care of himself forever, even though he’d say differently, I still would feel guilty and like I was depriving him. My attitude towards the next time we screw is to do it out of a sense of duty, so to speak. Not cuz I’ve just got to get laid.

Fucking kids! Why did I ever want one of those loud, obnoxious, destructive little monsters in my house? I’m sick of these kids parading around in our yard after they get off the school bus. We’re on the corner, so that makes it easier to do, but what is it with kids playing on other people’s property? There were about five of them and they were picking up some old roofing bits and one boy was chasing another up the driveway with it and I don’t need them throwing shit at the house. So as soon as I opened the door and said, “Please don’t come in our yard,” they all scurried off, but one. One was looking for something in between our driveway and W. Weldon within a patch of weeds, acting as if he couldn’t hear or see me. And this isn’t the only busload I have to deal with. They drop off kids at 2:05, 3:05, and 3:35. What I don’t get, though, is why the kids on all these buses look the same age. I thought the younger ones got out of school earlier. Most of the time they scurry right away, but sometimes I just never know what they’re gonna do. Of course, asking them not to come into our yard may’ve been a dumb mistake.

Later...

I figured out something about the freeloaders. I don’t know what took me so long to put two and two together, but the cock lives next door. I was wondering why he’d give up his gray car and why I wouldn’t see the cranberry car on weekends. I think he ditched his gray car to hide the fact that he’s living here and that the dude in the cranberry car comes to take him to and from work (I saw him get dropped off at about 4:00). Meanwhile, the cranberry car doesn’t come around on weekends cuz he’s here, and cuz that car only needs to come around to take him to work. If the cock was roommates with the dude driving the cranberry car as I had thought, then he’d be bringing the cock here on weekends, which I haven’t seen him doing. That must explain his getting dropped off last Friday and another time I saw him get dropped off in the afternoon. I knew some male blackie that was around 6’ lived there. It may not be the cock, though. These things all look the same and isn’t the cock bald? Well, this thing I saw today had a little wool fuzz on its head. Maybe it is the cock and it’s growing its hair out. It wore glasses. It looked too old to be a teenager. Well, if he lives here - fine. I won’t contact the city. But that’s only as long as he has no car. He’s not to live here with a car and therefore a stereo to torment me with. It’s not the fraud I care about. That bitch can have ten people over there who aren’t supposed to be there. It’s the constant music and door slamming I refuse to ever put up with again. If he had played his music at a reasonable volume in the first place, not come out several times a day to deliberately slam doors on me, and not put a barking dog just outside our walls as another way to piss me off, then he and that dog could’ve been here all along and there’d never have been any problems.

Speaking of barking, I heard not one bark all day in the living room from anywhere across the street. Except for the squealing kiddies, it was a peaceful day.

I tried Tammy’s again, but Lisa answered saying Tammy was at some business meeting with Mark. Lisa and I had a good talk and it was nice to touch base with her.

She said she did a solo in January.

I got a kick out of how she said the kids were all laughing at her when she got on the bus with frozen hair. She had just come out of the shower and her wet hair froze in the bitter cold. I remember that shit! Yuck!

She has to smoke outside and says she’s got to quit smoking cuz of the cold, but I know she won’t quit till she’s around my age. Maybe even older.

She claims she hasn’t talked to Larry since November and that he’s probably pissed at her for not calling, but I think she’s been calling regularly, even though she always makes it sound like she’s done with him. It’s her life. If she wants to associate with people like that, that’s her choice.

She’s a typical teenager, but more so, it’s amazing how much she’s just like I was when I was her age. The cigarettes, the pot, the cutting, the eating disorder. I was anorexic, but in her case, she’s bulimic. She says she’s not puking up her food, but nowadays, I’ve learned that sadly enough, I can’t always trust what she tells me. I myself tried what she’s done, but puking’s just so gross that I could never get myself to do it. She said she felt that way at first, but with her sick fuck of a father on her case, she’s been really desperate to lose weight. Yeah, I know how it is. Dureen picked on me about my weight too, and I ended up how I did cuz of it.

See, this is why I have to make a clean break when we move from everyone I was ever related to in the state of Florida, Massachusetts and Connecticut. When I hear her tell me how Bill taunts her about her weight and all the other stuff I hear from her and Tammy, it burns me up inside! It’s frustrating when you want to kill someone that’s on the other side of the country! It not only sends me boiling with anger, but it brings back a whole flood of shitty memories from my past and I can only fully move on by letting go of these people and associating with only positive, happy forces out here if I can help it. If that’s being as emotionally weak and as non-accepting as Dureen, then so be it, but that’s my problem. A person’s gotta do what a person’s gotta do.

Now I’ll get into Tammy’s mail. I’m also sending Paula and Andy my latest computer work, too! They’re gonna love it. It’s totally different than anything I’ve ever sent them. Tom showed me how to superimpose pictures to make them look really out of this world. It’s easy, but it’s hard. The steps are simple enough, but it is a bit time-consuming.

I made it look like Shiny was standing on top of me while I was floating in the pool in one picture. How I did it was I traced Shiny from a picture of him getting a drink indoors, then copied and pasted him into the picture of me floating. Then I sized and positioned him to where I felt it looked best. I also took a picture of Tammy’s kids sitting on their couch and put an enlarged picture of Ratsy sitting on Sarah’s lap. As Tom said, she had the perfect expression for that too, cuz it was like, “Great! He gets to sit on my lap!”

I took one of Andy singing on stage where he had his arm sort of out by his face. It was about a foot away from his face. I made it look like he was holding a very large mouse by the tail. In another one, I made it look like a mouse was crawling up his arm.

I cut out my legs in a picture of me doing the perfect handstand in the pool and put them behind Tammy on her kitchen counter. I put Tom lying in her snow-filled yard.

It’s so much fun and I did so many wild things. I put my hair on Lisa and made it even longer. I blew up a different shot of Ratsy and put it on the table with Becky and Sarah. I put Tom’s face where Sarah’s face was in a picture of the three of them. I put my face in their dog’s and in Lisa’s hands.

Later...

I may be adamantly against a child, but I’m still a curious person. So I looked up meningitis on the web and couldn’t find anything linking that and infertility. Tom says this wouldn’t surprise him cuz this happened before his testicles were even fully formed. My gut feeling also says he’s fine. It’s either a 50/50 case that there’s nothing wrong with either of us or that there’s something wrong with me that no one discovered. Well, we’ll never know which was the case. Having the HSG done, however excruciating it was, helped dull 90% of my curiosity, so that’s good.

I discovered another song on Linda’s latest album called When We Ran that I like, but only the chorus. Its verses are boring and too long. The song’s called When We Ran, even though the album’s called We Ran.

Is AOL going back to their old shit? After five attempts to get online, I said fuck it.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 1999

I certainly don’t have as much to say today as I did yesterday.

My period’s starting. I’m a week early, but I knew I would be. As soon as I realized just how sore my tits were so soon after my last period, I knew I’d get it early.

Andy’s being a pest. This is the third time in two days that he’s called. I’m gonna just ignore him for a while. Besides, I want to do other things. I want to read. I don’t want to play phone. Then again, that may not have been him who called me just now unless he hasn’t left his message yet. I thought it had been more than three minutes from when the phone rang to when I checked, but I don’t know. Lately, I get messageless calls from a private source about once a day. Maybe it’s him calling just so he can annoy me with having to hear the phone ring and go check it out, but maybe it’s not.

In a message Andy did leave earlier, he said he loved the superimposed pictures. Also, someone he knows is letting him use a piano. It’s not an upright, so how’s he gonna fit it in his house? His house is smaller than Tom’s parents’ house was.

I called Tammy and she said she got the superimposed pictures today. All she said was “Yeah” when I said, “Aren’t they cool?” She never says much about things like that. She did say something else that was typical of her. She was sick. She had pneumonia. Yeah, I should’ve known she’d have something.

Later...

Here come the evening sales calls. Lately, they’ve been mostly confined to the evenings. It used to be that there’d be just as many in the mornings and afternoons, but lately the morning and afternoon calls have lessened.

I wish it were tomorrow at around 2 PM! That’s when we’re gonna go to the toy store and man is it gonna be a screaming mass of kids! Well, at least if I find anything I like, I won’t have to wait for it to be delivered and worry that it’ll be misdelivered. I still can’t imagine this store having any dolls I’d want other than a black Barbie doll, Barbie clothes, and puzzles. However, if I don’t find any dolls I want, I’ve got to be careful not to spend more than $10 of my $60 so I can then go ahead and order Giselle if she’s still available. If she’s not, then I’ll just have to start all over again. There’s gonna be a doll show tomorrow that I’ll tape, but I’m sure it’ll have the same old stuff and no Glenora. Maybe I’ll take some change I’ve got saved up, just in case I want to get $20 worth of puzzles and whatever else. Tom says I’ll like their stickers and markers. But I don’t need markers right now and I don’t do stickers anymore. The stickers were for decorating my journals before I started journaling on the computer only.

Starting Thursday, Tom says he’s gonna get the bulk stuff out through to Saturday or Sunday. He said he doesn’t want to start putting anything out on a weekend, cuz others will run and throw stuff out too and he won’t have any more room left. He said he’s noticed that if he puts a branch out there, they all come and load up the allotted space in the alley for bulk stuff when it’s time for that. It’s as if they remind him to do this too. No one can put stuff out till he does. Anyway, this time around, he’ll be hauling out shit from the garage.

Later...

He says that next month when he goes to put the vent in the bathroom, he’ll go ahead and put in a doggie door in the back door since they’re easy to put in. That ought to be an asset to selling this house since 8 out of 10 houses have dogs, but then again, maybe not cuz 8 out of 10 people have dogs in their yards, not in their houses. They don’t allow them in their houses. I take it they come in different sizes and that we’ll be getting one that a large dog couldn’t fit through, so if the next people did plan to use it, they’d be out of luck if they have a German shepherd. There is a doggie door in the back room alcove that David put in, but it’s been sealed up.

I heard from the renters an hour ago, but only for a few minutes, and it was nothing. All I heard was a faint beat of a drum. No bass or anything obnoxiously loud. It was coming from a car with its hood open. This is the third car I’ve seen with its hood open. Guess they work inside hoods a lot.

I cannot figure out these freeloaders for the life of me. I saw the dark red car again and from what I saw, the cock left in the passenger seat, but they didn’t pick up or drop off the mistake. It appeared that they drove up, he ran into the house, ran back out, then they left. Tom doesn’t think the cock lives there. I don’t know. I don’t know who the fuck lives there anymore. I’m only sure of the bitch and the mistake that’s now about three years old. It looks like there’s an even younger kid over there now, but if it lives there, I don’t know. It’s not hers, cuz if she’d had any kids since she’s lived here, we’d have noticed. Maybe it’s a sister who’s doing jail time. Maybe that’s why the two white cars haven’t been showing up lately. Cuz the ladies who drive them are in trouble doing time? And maybe she’s watching this kid till its mother’s free. Bill brought the bitch back today and I saw the bitch get out of the car with a kid about one year old. Then Bill left shortly after. Unless Bill took it with him or someone came and got it, it’s still in that house. Who is it? What’s it doing there? Just how many people live there? Well, as long as they don’t force any bass or barks on me and invade my house with their shit, they can do as they please.

WEDNESDAY, FEBRUARY 24, 1999

Bitch and Bill left at 4:30. Guess he’s taking her grocery shopping today.

I’m keeping a log of my weight in my “whatever” file, so if I don’t mention my weight as much here, that’s why.

Later...

Bill just brought back the bitch and the dude that I think lives here, whether it’s the cock or not. It wore a red cap and it got metal-rimmed glasses just like the bitch. Bill parked with the trunk facing the house, so I guess I was right about them getting groceries. They probably went grocery shopping, then picked him up, or picked him up first, then shopped.

I would write about the three Barbie dolls I got today and how I ordered Giselle, but I’m too tired to do it now. I slept for barely five hours.

THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 25, 1999

The dark red car showed up at around 4:00. The cock and kid got out of the car, then the cock got back in and they left.

Finally - a light, low-calorie popcorn that actually tastes good. It’s not the greatest, but it’s good enough. At 100 calories per bag, I can have 2-3 of these a day. Tom got it in a new grocery store that just went up nearby.

I had a shiny, floral tank dress that I couldn’t wear cuz it was so itchy, so I softened it up by washing it and putting in tons of fabric softener. Now it’s wearable.

I got a total kick out of listening to Paula tell me how it’s 20º there and how she had to shovel her walkway, while it’s in the 80s here and I was sweating my ass off. The living room gets quite warm in the afternoons lately, but as Tom reminded me, I can just flip the switch and cool it down if I need to. Oh yeah, that’s right. I keep forgetting it’s that easy now.

For the first time in my life, I’m shocked to say that I’m actually proud of Paula. She signed up for training to be a nurse’s aide. Now that’s a big step for her! I don’t feel that it’ll work out, and I can’t picture her holding a decent job steadily, but at least she’s trying.

I’m very glad that she looks up to me and considers me such a good friend whom she likes to confide in, I know she’s very bored and lonely, but I wish she’d call a little less often. She’s almost as bad as Andy and she’s worse with the eating. Every single time we talk she’s munching on something. And she complains about her weight? She also yells at the kid every time we talk too, and it gets old. Nonetheless, I do miss her.

She mainly called to tell me the usual - man troubles. I get a kick out of how she told me when she moved into her new place last week that she was gonna stay there for a while, yet she’s already talking about moving again. But why? She said it’s very quiet where she is. There’s a woman (who dances topless), her boyfriend, her 16-year-old daughter above her, and an old couple downstairs who are hardly ever home.

I saw a girl at the renter’s watering the yard. God, they are home a lot! And there are so many people over there. In fact, I just peeked out and could see at least four people. Most of them went inside, but there was someone out on the front patio. They’re typical Arizonans - hanging out in front, but not the back. I can’t believe I don’t hear their dog, though. Neither of us has seen it, so I wonder if it’s even been there. Are they gonna work on their cars tonight?

I changed the pig and mice cages today. Tomorrow, I’ll tackle the rats. Katie has a slight belly bulge, but it could very well be because someone’s been feeding her real well. I’m starting to wonder if there’ll be any babies. If not, I’ll just try again to get pregnant females. If I can’t, I can always get a male just to do the job.

OK, now I’ll get into the toy store. I was amazed at how dead it was. True to what I felt, there weren’t any dolls I wanted, other than the Barbies I got. I got another blond Barbie who’s a little different than the other blond Barbie. This one has an open smile so you can see white representing the teeth. She also has no bangs and her hair is only to her waist and is curly. I got this one cuz of its dress. It’s a beautiful bold pink satin gown with an outer layer of pink chiffon with gold accents. I think she was meant to be one of those collector’s ones that you don’t take out of the box. This is because of how she was packed in and how beautifully decorated the box was. Her legs also don’t bend like most Barbies and her pretty pink slippers are pretty much molded to her feet like Patrice’s ballet slippers and Summer Dream’s heels. She came with a gold crown with pink gemstones and a gold necklace. She has gold shiny earrings and a matching ring. She’s called Princess Barbie. The Barbies that aren’t blond have different names, but Barbie is the original blond Barbie’s name. I couldn’t believe the prices of some of them. I expected to find Barbies no cheaper than $12, but Princess Barbie was $11, Christie was $5, and I’m not sure about the other one. Christie’s a black Barbie with black curly hair to the waist with no bangs. She came in a 1-piece aqua bathing suit with pink splotches outlined in purple. It’s got glitter on it, too. There were ruffles at the hips that I thought looked tacky so I trimmed them off. She has aqua sunglasses on her head and three aqua bracelets. I took one off and put it on her ankle. The other one, Teresa, is white and she has brown crimped hair to the butt. She has no bangs either, but her hair’s parted on the side. Exactly what I wanted. I had originally planned to get one more black one and I was gonna crimp her hair. Teresa came in a knit aqua bikini with a short, denim wrap-around skirt. The top of the bikini has orange stripes going across it and the bottoms are all aqua. She has an open white smile like Princess Barbie, whereas the first Barbie I got, along with Christie, has closed-lipped smiles. Teresa came with a tattoo on one of her outer thighs and two small sheets of tattoos that I’d had before. I have a little patch of butterflies and flowers on my hand right now, but I’ll save the others for some other time. She had one of those necklaces that I used to make out of embroidery floss. She also had two on her wrist, but I put one of them on her ankle. Teresa’s and Princess Barbie’s arms move outward, as well as front to back.

I’m definitely done collecting Barbies. They’re too little and I have enough of a variety now, although I wouldn’t mind taking the zillions of different awesome outfits they have. Barbie’s really come a long way. They even had a handicapped Barbie in a wheelchair! They had a Hispanic Barbie and a redhead one too, but I didn’t care for their outfits. I’ll have a Hispanic porcelain doll and someday I’ll have a redheaded one too. I have the four Barbies displayed nicely in the little living room window that’s a square foot wide. Even though its glass is translucent, the sun at this time of year can be blinding at certain times of the day, so I put the up duct cover in it, then stood Princess Barbie in the middle, Barbie standing on one side, Teresa on another, and Christie’s sitting down with her legs dangling off the sill.

I was amazed to find some porcelain dolls there and some of the more expensive collector’s Barbies there. Why would they sell breakable dolls in a toy store and Barbies that cost $150 that you don’t give kids to play with?

Tom said the porcelain dolls, which were about 17”, were the same ugly ones they had in the grocery store that started selling for $20 and dropped down to $12. Most of them were pretty boring except for one of them. One had nice long hair and a nice pink dress. A 17” porcelain doll for as low as $12-$20? Wow!!

Their puzzles were boring.

When we got home, Tom called and ordered Giselle for me. They say she’ll arrive on 3/6, but I know that really means she’s to be here on 3/11.

I watched the doll show last night, figuring I’d see a doll that’d take my breath away now that I ordered Giselle, but I didn’t. They had a couple of OK dolls, but the others were either boring or ugly.

I have a couple of goals and that’s to get a 30”-36” doll someday, and another realistic-looking one like Bailey. Well, I’d like a few of each, but I highly doubt that’s possible, even with the material nature of it. Hopefully, I can someday make something like this myself.

Unfortunately, I didn’t get my period like I thought I was going to and get relief for these sore tits. It was just one of those spots I often have a few days to a week before my period. Only this was a little more than just a little spot. That’s why I thought it was starting.

This is the second week in a row that Tom said we’d get together during the week, but that never happened. There was time a couple of nights before work, but he didn’t bring it up, so I sure as hell wasn’t about to.

I sent some superimposed pictures to Kim and Bob.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 26, 1999

Tom, who got up a little while ago, thinks Ashley and Katie are pregnant. I hope so. It does look like they’re getting tummies and they’re wheeling an awful lot.

Later...

I’m taping a doll show right now. Even though I won’t be getting another doll for a while, it won’t hurt to keep up with what’s out there and write down code numbers. That way, when it’s time to get another doll again, I’ll at least have some numbers.

It’s going to be in the low 80s these next few days. Already, we’re going from winter right into summer. And yet Paula’s under a few inches of snow and is freezing at 20º or less!

Speaking of Paula, I never thought that she of all people would become such a pest! She’s been calling so much, even from 3000 miles away. She left the message early today and when Tom told me about it when I got up just after 1:00 this afternoon, I was like - again? I’m not calling her back for a few days since we just talked for quite a while. Especially while I know that kid’s gonna be there. I’ll call next week when he’s at school (with my luck he’d be homesick or snowed in). Then I unexpectedly fell back asleep till 8:00 (I’m gonna make it to Mel’s after all) and called her at 11:00 her time. I figured she might still be up and that the kid would be asleep, but she wasn’t. I woke her up. She asked if she could call me in the morning. I told her she may have a hard time reaching me during weekends and that I had an appointment on Monday, but that I’d try her on Tuesday if I didn’t talk to her before then.

Later...

They had a 40” doll for just $300, but she was ugly. All the dolls were boring or ugly and I’ve seen some of them before.

A part of me wishes this cat wouldn’t be around come moving day. He fucking drives me nuts with his whining! I went out to throw a few heavy pieces on the line till tomorrow afternoon and the fucking thing whined at the door till I was done. He can’t just wait at the door quietly? So, knowing Tom was asleep under the fan, I screamed at him in frustration which set the dogs off. I’m sure the freeloaders, whose lights were on, heard me too. It’s like a magic button - scream and the dogs automatically go off. It’s like scream-a-bark versus dial-a-ride. Anytime I want to hear them, although I’d have to be a little nutso to want to, all I have to do is scream. Or at least yell.

Sounds like some stupid black guy was given the wrong number at a bar by some female who just couldn’t say no. About 20 minutes ago I noticed a payphone calling and figured it was Mary who broke down somewhere. Of course, I wasn’t about to wake my husband who had to get up for work at 6:00 AM to go rescue her. She was on her own as far as I was concerned. However, no one spoke during the few seconds of their message, so I knew that ruled out Mary. Then I wondered if Andy was visiting some phoneless friend and went to a nearby payphone figuring he was close enough to my house to call about a visit, but nope. Some idiot whose name showed up as Elizabeth J called from their house a few minutes later, or someone else’s house, and muttered something inaudible when I answered. I hung up after letting him know he had the wrong number and then he called a third time. This time I let the machine deal with it. There are other things I want to do than the phone. I’m doing laundry now and I want to finish the book I got. So far, I’m having excellent book luck this time around. It seems like there may be only one book I don’t like within this batch.

Yesterday, I remembered I had Giselle on tape from an earlier doll show so I showed her to Tom. They describe her as having auburn hair. That’d be different, but it looks brunette on the TV. Tom said her dress didn’t look like something a ballerina would wear. I don’t know about that, but it’s a gorgeous dress, nonetheless.

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 27, 1999

God, I am so sick of babies, babies, babies! There’s a woman having a kid in my book and in the movie I taped, not that the book and movie weren’t good, nonetheless. I also still have no desire whatsoever to throw my life away on a kid, but still, I’m sick of it. Also, the less I hear about this subject, the better. I don’t want to take even the tiniest chance of rekindling that old desire and going through another 5-10 years of misery. I’ve fully accepted and resigned myself to the fact that there’ll be no kid and I need things to stay as they have been.

As for sex, I think it’s about time now to tell him that I’ve got to hang that up. I told him enough times that I can’t do part-time sex, although I wish to hell I could, and telling him this never changed a thing. I don’t just not want to have sex with him cuz of how I don’t desire him sexually, but the longer we go without it, the more nervous I am about the idea of starting it up again. I don’t want to have to feel like I’m a virgin all over again.

Andy called at midnight and hung up. The call came up as “private” but it could be related to that blackie that called earlier. Andy’s not big on hanging on my machine for ten seconds or so and then hanging up, though, so it was probably connected to the blackie.

When I mentioned having dropped hints the last time about my catching onto the dentist’s automatic filling scam, Tom said he thought about it, and since I can’t brush well with the braces, he said I may really need a filling. Alright, alright. This time when I’m told I have a cavity I’ll play along with it, but next time, I’m not gonna buy it. I don’t want to have to switch dentists, though. The waiting room is almost always empty when we go there and if it isn’t, it’s just one or two other adults. Not a bunch of screaming kids. Also, Mel’s always on time.

I had a white fungus-like thing on the back of my tongue. Tom got some antiseptic mouthwash and it’s helped it so far. Tom said I shouldn’t need a doctor over it. I hope not!

Later...

The dark green car was here today at 9:00 this morning. For a second, I thought I heard the faint thump of bass, but if I did, it was gone as soon as I thought I heard it. They made their usual door-slamming production out of going out this morning, and the bitch appeared pissed off as usual. All I saw was her and some huge fat woman. The woman was wearing dark green, her hair was kind of straight and it was almost to her shoulders. She and the bitch were passing around some black boy that was about oh, I’d say a year or two old.

Later...

The green car returned an hour and a half later at 10:30 and stayed till 1:00. I counted nine door slams. The porker and the anorexic cunt went to McDonald’s, and I saw the porker place a McDonald’s bag on the roof of the car while she got shit out of the front and backseat. I could see this from the side window.

Right now, our beautiful city moochers are getting their lawn done.

Tom says subsidized housing isn’t welfare. It’s for the working poor, although she still does get food stamps, no doubt. It’s the same thing. As I told him, she should’ve always been in a job that pays enough to support her and that mistake, rather than depending on the city. He says the city’s helping her so she can get a sufficient paying job. But why couldn’t she do that on her own in the first place? She’s stupid, selfish and rude, but she’s able-bodied enough and can keep a schedule, so why couldn’t she have a sufficient enough paying job to begin with? She’s no doubt always had her father around to use to babysit the mistake, so what’s the problem here? There are enough people out there who get jobs that’d support two or more people without having to mooch off of the city first in order to do it. Look at Tom and his job. He didn’t need to use the city to work his way up to where he is so why should she have to? I guess she’s just that stupid. And that mean too, and potential employers of decent, upscale jobs can sense this. I mean, looking at the letters she left in our mailbox slut tells me how stupid she is right there. Bitch can’t spell worth shit. Also, it only took two ignored requests that the music is lowered in order for me to get the hint at how mean and self-absorbed this pitiful creature is.

They haven’t finished prettying up her lawn yet. I can still hear the equipment buzzing over there.

Later...

Damn! They took forfuckingever to do their lawn. How could it take over an hour? Especially with more than one person working. What’s she getting her fucking yard done for, anyway? She has Bermuda grass. All she should get at this time of year is weeds. She’s too lazy to even do that herself?

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 28, 1999

It’s prime time now, but as of yet, all’s quiet in Freeloaderville. No sounds or cars yet.

Later...

Two white girls are over playing ball, but amazingly, I can’t hear a thing even with the fan on low. That’s because they’re not using a basketball, which is heavier. Guess who the girls are? From the renters across the street. I told Tom just last week too, that they’d make it over here to use the hoop. It doesn’t look like the collie kids, and like I said, judging by the length of time this hoop went unused by the collie kids, I really think they had a fight with the bitch. Tom said he doesn’t think the kids live across the street. He thinks they only come on weekends, maybe even just Sundays. That’d explain why I don’t hear kids there during the week. I’m glad these renters aren’t next door. They are in and out and in and out. The door slamming would be about as bad as it was when the cock lived here.

Later...

The white car came and went at 3:00. The two girls have been playing ball on and off. I could be wrong about them being associated with the renters, cuz I saw them in the collie driveway. Maybe one of them is renter-associated, cuz Tom said he saw the collie kids playing with a renter kid when they first moved in.

I can’t believe Paula didn’t leave any messages today, and I can’t believe how good Andy’s been with not calling on the weekends. Maybe my good-natured lecture on being selfish and complying with simple, reasonable requests, really did sink into him.

Paula, though, can be a real pest these days. She left two messages yesterday. Maybe she’ll get the hint that I can’t call her long-distance every day and that even if she were local, me and phones don’t go together anymore like they used to.

Tom downloaded another word processor for me to check out, but once again, I wasn’t too thrilled with it. He didn’t waste his time, though, cuz there are other things within the program besides a word processor, so he’s gonna keep it for himself.

I wonder if Veronica will be in tonight. Tom says she’s this 19-year-old who’s a lesbian but doesn’t know it yet. She’s just like most butches and males - always fighting. She got arrested for fighting recently.

They got gift certificates for working on a Saturday and they’re for Red Lobster. I’ll be looking forward to going there, but will some rude fuck of a kid throw food at us like on our anniversary?

Later...

I made the stupid mistake of screwing today. It went as planned - to break me open again he only stood on the side and I had to stop him just a few minutes into it. Yeah, well it hurt like hell and I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t go through the irritation, the conditions, the control, the predictability, and the same old shit with him year after year. Then again, doing the same thing every time we screw and doing it part-time is nothing compared to what I go through physically. I can love him forever, I can be with him forever, but he needs to take care of himself for sex. As you know, I’ve never really enjoyed sex with anyone other than in my fantasies, and have never had a happy, healthy, normal sex life. I’m just not meant to have that with anyone. Sex has been more problems, conflict, and work, than fun. Today I had decided to finger myself during the week to help be able to stand the sex every 1-4 weeks, but after thinking about it, I decided I didn’t want to live like that. That’d take all the enjoyment out of it, which time alone has already helped to do enough of, and turn it into a total chore. If it’s gonna be nothing but a painful job - forget it. So I told Tom that I’ve reached my fill and that if he’s right about us having more time after his ma dies, and if God doesn’t replace that time with some other shit, then maybe I’ll reconsider.

God, why won’t you take our daughter off our hands?! Enough is enough! Take her to your kingdom! Take her to be with Dad! We need to live our lives and we need to move on!

March being just a few hours away, has brought good feelings. I mean, I still vibe us moving in June, but logically speaking, I just don’t see how we can sell the house and be out of here within 30 days of putting up a for-sale sign. Tom said that in mid-March, he’d be able to say more surely whether or not we could move in June. If his mother would hurry up and die we could, but no, God’s just so determined to have her hold our lives back! What? Is she compensation for us getting out of having to have a kid hold us back?

Tom said that when he goes to do her taxes, he’ll get a better idea of what’s in her accounts, and try to coax her into giving us each $10,000 like Mary was trying to coax the selfish little user to do.

Speaking of compensation, it’d be nice if Giselle came early to make up for Maria’s arriving late, but I won’t hold my breath.

I had a vibe that some shit would go down 2-5 years after we moved. Good or bad, I’m not sure. It’s a sudden, major change, that could cause us to feel anxious and pressured, but all I can think of is a home business of some kind. However, the vibe’s faded a bit, so I guess that’s good. As long as it’s not an accident or an illness. It’s just that sudden changes are usually the ones that aren’t good. Good changes usually take time.

The white car returned at 6:30. This is the car with the trunk rack and with the twin boys. I figured there’d be a ball game, but nope. I saw one of the boys playing with a tiny football, but after unloading the trunk and slamming doors, this car pulled out and the bitch was in for the night. Did the bitch cut her hair to her shoulders? Or was that the owner of this car? Whoever this plain blob of brown was, was about the same size as the bitch, so maybe it was her sister. It wore glasses too.

Tom said he noticed something. That I was less tight due to not needing much heat lately which is letting the humidity level rise a bit. He said he thinks that both extremes bother me; if it’s too humid or too dry. Could very well be the case.

I’ve been sleeping really weirdly these past few days. I slept so long a couple of nights ago that I ended up being up 20 hours which was till 4 PM yesterday. Then I woke up 4 hours later at 9 PM. I took a Benadryl and ended up sleeping till 9 AM! That means I could very well be up till 6:00 this morning. If that happens, getting up at 10:30 won’t kill me, since I’m very caught up in my sleep. It should only take me about 40 minutes for her to clean me and pull the routine cavity scam on me along with the doctor, then about 10 with Melanie, then about 2 to make the appointments for my next visit with Melanie and for my filling. Nonetheless, I’m gonna take a Benadryl at midnight. Maybe it’ll relax me enough to get 6 hours of sleep instead of 4. I think I’d feel better with that.

I started a book called There He Keeps Them Very Well. It’s good so far, but there were a couple of other books I tried out that I didn’t like. I’m still doing well this time. Only 3 books I couldn’t get into, rather than 6.

A few nights ago I checked out a one-hour documentary on a state funny farm, and what a crock! Even if I hadn’t been in a state nuthouse myself, I could see that this was total BS with nothing more than actors acting out a script. First of all, they don’t have restaurants in state nut wards. They also don’t go outside at night and dance to music on the radio. Also, every person there referred to what they did as “the crime” and they all sounded too articulate to be crazy. Also, they were all just too damn remorseful for what they did.

A real funny farm consists of people 8 months pregnant who deny they’re even pregnant. Of people openly masturbating. Of people who can’t talk well, can’t think well, and don’t even know what year it is. I should know. I’ve been in a state funny farm, and this is exactly what I saw there.

[erectedingold]

Blog Post #2

hi again… it’s been a minute but it’s now 2025, i’m on a T-Break & i’m bored. i’m laying in bed with a faint smell of cigarettes & listening to mac demarco.

i’m no longer the person i was 6 months ago. i still feel the way ive felt but im a new person. ive changed. i’ve grown. i’ve lived. i’ve been thinking about how these 4 walls i’ve lived with since elementary school will now become a stranger to me. they’ll catches glimpse & pieces of the person i become. my septum is pierced now, i have new clothes, & my music is different :)

i find out in a couple days if i get accepted into my second pick college & just saw today that my top pick viewed my application 😭 my top is NYU, that school is like crazy & with a 12% acceptance rate i don’t think ill be accepted but i saw that viewed my video applications on youtube & that’s scary! they probably hit a big red rejection on it but i was open & honest on my work & that’s how ill be from now on. what is the point of creation if not personal. i want to confront the thoughts nobody wants to speak about publicly out of fear.

i’m a little scared of college but also not at the same time. i’m ready to leave. i’m ready to forget. i see people that are closer to someone i used to sleep skin to skin with & when i drive down the roads we once used to drive my mind sputters. but that’s the past. college will be my reset in the city. or i just go to a different town for school. i’m ready to leave this town behind & the people who live here. i hate everyone here & everyone that reminds me of someone. fuck you.

my mini series is almost done, i’ve been slacking a lot on two episodes but i’ll get it down before may… hopefully… LMAO. it’s very personal & that’s scary. but i wish to be unapologetically me. i’ve started doing that as i realized i’m gone in 7 months. i started speaking my mind & doing what i want. i’ll soon be independent, let me act like it. i’ve always felt temporary in everyone’s life but now this is the ultimate isolation, i will lose everyone i’ve known since elementary school & the group of friends i have built over the past 4 years of school. i could cry. but the tears i shed won’t stay either, they’ll dry up & disappear like everything else.

after i finish this mini series i have an epic i want to write. maybe it’ll be a poem like the green knight then converted to the screen. or maybe i write a fictional book & then adapt my own book for the screen but who knows. maybe ill just write a screenplay :P

i think my work will be taking a more abstract & experimental approach along with spiritual. i don’t believe in anything specific like a god but the alchemist changed my views so much & is now my favorite book. thank you ms. labella :) im also reading the life of pie right now! long ass book. but after reading the alchemist i wish to live by the philosophy the author follows as well.

i’ve been chilling, watching movies, reading books, & just expanding my knowledge on whatever. ive been on this “break” of making content & no longer chasing views. i’m focused on the creation of my garden right now. when the butterflies come there will be plenty of flowers for them to adore & find comfort in.

life has been expanding. soon i’ll be on my odyssey of life & will follow my personal legend until i die. santiago is literally me.

i watched this movie called “the cloud in her room” yesterday & i think if i made a movie it would be like that tbh. made me want to write so bad & just go out to make a movie like it. we’ll see :)

also big update: i’m an amc stubs member now! godbless. LMAO

but yeah, i’ve been okay, i’ve been better, but 2025 will be my year. who i am doesn’t change instantly the way the number does, but i’ll make progress. this year is just the beginning of the rest of my life.

thank you, diego muñoz.

[adamwatchesmovies]

Nokturno (2024)

I’ve been thinking a lot about John Carpenter these last few weeks – mostly because of Halloween but also because I’ve run out of space on my movie shelves and need to do some trimming. I have a very nice edition of 1980’s The Fog that will have to go because every time I sit down to watch it, I think “Maybe THIS time, I’ll fall in love with the movie” and I never do. It’s such a straightforward telling of its ghost story that at feature length, it feels excessive. I’ve seen everything it does within a half-hour somewhere else. I wonder if I would feel the same about Nokturno had I been familiar with the Filipino folklore that inspired it before hitting "Play". Because I had never heard of the Kumakatok before, I didn’t know what to expect. The ending is particularly good in a “you rarely see movies do this” kind of way.

Kumakatok are ghost-like, hooded figures that knock on doors in the middle of the night. Opening to them invites a fatal curse into your home. Jamie (Nadine Lustre) never took her mother’s stories of the Kumakatok seriously. When her sister dies and the police declare it a suicide, Jamie believes the family superstitions finally pushed her over the edge, while her mother (Eula Valdez) insists the evil spirits are to blame.

When Nokturno begins, you think you can see where it’s going. Joanna (Bea Binene) confesses to Manu (Wilbert Ross) that she heard knocking on her front door three nights ago, that she opened it and that since, she’s been haunted by frightening visions that tell her tonight she’s going to die. Once Jamie begins entertaining the idea that something supernatural caused her sister’s death, she begins investigating. It feels A LOT like the opening of The Ring. It is at first, but the film takes an unexpected direction during the final act. You won't see that frightening ending coming despite it feeling like what a “real” ghost story would be like. It does away with aspects of the genre that in hindsight, feel more like story conventions or building blocks to ensure audiences receive a standard, three-act structure.

Helping Nokturno is that it exploits already-scary ideas. If you hear knocking at your door after sunset, even if you're expecting visitors, you pause it. There’s a part of you that’s scared to look through that peephole. You wonder what kind of crazy person or sinister creature might be out there, in the dark, asking to be let into your home. Even in the daytime, if you hear knocking on your door and you open it, only to find no one standing there… you’ll be a little shaken. “Was I just tricked? Did I do exactly what something malevolent wanted me to do?” That’s on top of the moody lighting, the Kumakatok’s design, the idea of going mad, of seeing something so scary you’d rather die than confront it, or of being murdered by something that makes it LOOK like you killed yourself.

In hindsight, Nokturno is a "no bells or whistles" ghost story but it does what it wants to do well. You sympathize and relate with the protagonist. You understand the relationship she has with her family - it's a big theme in the film. It's got plenty of scary scenes and for many viewers, its monsters and rules will be a breath of spooky-fresh air. (Original Tagalog with English subtitles, Nov 1, 2024)

[positivlyfocused]

How “Wishful Thinking” Creates “Fuck Yeah!” Results

Holy smokes. I might as well turn this series into a permanent thing. So many clients are getting happy results from their “wishful thinking”.

“Wishful thinking”, of course, is not what I call it. I call it the Positively Focused Way. “Wishful thinking” is what people who don’t know anything about what they’re talking about call this “you create your reality business.”

They’ve never tried it. Or if they have, they’ve done so under shoddy conditions, conditions which were bound to have them fail. Or they’ve tried it without someone helping them figure out how the “business” works, so they missed it actually working.

Meanwhile, lots of people, under the right circumstances and under a someone who knows this “business” are finding happy lives and happy life results putting this “wishful thinking” to work.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve written about two examples. You can read those stories here and here. I still have two more to share. This one is short but really sweet.

Let’s get to it.

In disbelief dreams are uncomfortable

This client I’ll call “Gus”. He’s been practicing this “you create your reality business” for 14 weeks. Through weekly sessions and the homework, he’s learning that the Positively Focused Way produces astonishing outcomes, just like I promise. Just like Abraham, Seth, Neville Goddard and many others promise also.

Gus is a musician. He performs covers at his local famers’ market. Like many musicians, he dreams about becoming successful and playing before thousands. However, Gus’ beliefs, like many, many artists of all kinds, block that success. Even though he’s already created that success for himself —  that success awaits Gus in a probable future reality —  which can be his future as soon as he lines up with it.

But 15 weeks ago, Gus didn’t realize any of this. That’s why he avoided his dreams. Thinking about them was too uncomfortable. Whenever he fantasized about being famous, his old beliefs would say “get real!” “be realistic!” and “grow up!” Then he’d imagine the thousands of artists, maybe hundreds of thousands, that aren’t successful at their art.

That lack of success he saw as his future. No wonder his dreams made him uncomfortable. He didn’t believe they’re possible.

Our itches will lead to joy

It’s true, of course, that many, many artists aren’t successful, if you measure success by how much income they get from their art. Yet, even by that measure, there are plenty who are successful. The only thing differentiating the latter from the former are the two groups’ beliefs.

That’s right. It’s not talent, contacts, “lucky breaks” or any other factor keeping a person from whatever success they want. The only thing doing that is what the person thinks and believes about being successful.

For example, Gus can not fathom how he could replace his current six-figure salary he gets working at a utility company. The reason why he can’t fathom it is because it’s not Gus’ job to figure out how that happens. That’s the Universe’s job. Gus’ job is to line up with his desire, feel good in doing that, which tells him something really important, then watch as the Universe delivers the probable future in which he swaps his utility salary for a performing one.

In the meantime, Gus hits farmers’ markets and the occasional spot gig to scratch the itch. Yes, it’s an itch. We know we have desires because those things catch our attention from time to time. They’re our Broader Perspective encouraging us in the direction of our joy. 

But most of us will ignore those itches. Or worse; we’ll talk ourselves out of them in favor of living in “the real world” as one reader of my stories calls it.

Life just gets better and better

The thing is, there IS NO REAL WORLD out there. The only world we exist in is the world reflecting back to us our thoughts and beliefs. And if we believe that that world is full of disappointment and things we must confront and struggle against…well that is the world we see and experience.

Meanwhile, there are a ton of people living in other worlds. Worlds where life is easy. Where life is good. Worlds where people are happy and joyful. And in their happiness and joy, they’re getting everything they want effortlessly.

Gus is figuring out how to turn his current world into the world you just read about. It all starts with “wishful thinking”. When a person starts thinking wishful, their world instantly starts changing. Actually, what’s really happening is, the person begins phasing out of their current probable now, and phasing into an adjacent probable now. One aligned with all their desires. One where probable futures connected to that probable now contain all they desire. So the person’s life gradually gets better and better.

It doesn’t happen over night because this “you create your reality” business isn’t magic. But consistency and application of easy processes makes the phasing happen effortlessly.

The wife creates a better Gus

Gus started using those processes 14 weeks ago. In doing so, the Universe showed him all the beliefs he holds which keeps him in the reality he currently is reflecting back to himself. I won’t go into those details, but suffice it to say it was a life he didn’t want. It was so unsatisfying, he left his wife and considered killing himself.

Meanwhile, his wife, a 65-week client, used this “you create your reality business” to create a better version of Gus. As a result of her focus and intention, Gus changed his mind about killing himself, moved back into his marriage and is seeing that marriage blossom.

In fact, it was evidence his wife was producing in her way of being that had Gus try the Positively Focused Way in the first place. And she became a client because she saw her mother radically transform. Her mother is a 174-week client. The mom’s son also is a client. In fact, her mother’s intention and focus was that her children would begin practicing too. That’s happened.

So this “wishful thinking” stuff is powerful. It delivers everything one wants. Including ideal versions of people we interact with.

Ok, back to Gus.

^^As Gus’ wife’s experience shows, there’s something behind this “you create your reality” business. (Photo by Frank Leuderalbert on Unsplash)

Vibration attracts

He sent me an audio recording last week. It was two days after our session. He was super-stoked about what happened and wanted to share “the cool experience” he just had.

Gus said he had a gig scheduled at a local bar. But the owner called him to tell him they needed to cancel.

“They didn’t have enough patronage to cover what me playing there would incur for them,” he said in his message. Gus described how he used the Positively Focused Way to manage his emotions about this message. That’s crucial if one wants to have what one wants.

That’s because emotions act like a compass. They tell us in what direction we’re headed relative to our goals. Negative emotions tell us we’re heading in the opposite direction, generally speaking. Positive ones do the opposite. Emotions happen as a result of thoughts we think. Most people don’t understand this. They think emotions happen as a result of something that happens outside us.

That’s not what’s happening.

Emotions are physical manifestations of vibrational focus.

We are all energy that is aware. Like all energy, we vibrate and our vibration attracts. We set our vibration through focus and that focus creates thought, which is a forward evolution of vibration. Hold that thought long enough and it will manifest as an emotion. Keep holding that thought and the thought will manifest as physical reality becoming the reflection of the vibration we’re holding “in” us.

When it does that, most people will see the physical manifestation and think it happened randomly or coincidentally. That’s because they don’t know what you just read.

Events are not random nor coincidental.

The “fuck yeah” manifestation happens

All physical manifestation happens from our focus. And when we focus on what we don’t want, that’s what shows up in physical reality – which again is just a reflection of our inner vibrational state.

Ok, back to Gus’ message:

“I didn’t react [negatively],” he continues. “I was just like ‘hey, that makes sense, I’ll see you on the next one. It’s all good! I wasn’t feeling disappointed at all. It would have been cool to play and have engagement with those folks, but it will happen again.”

Not being upset, again, was critical. Gus did well here. It’s no surprise then what happened next.

The next day, Gus gets a text from someone who also plays at the farmers market. Gus describes what they said:

“[The message said], I have this person that wants me to play music for a private party but I can’t do it the day they’re looking for. Are you available and interested?” Gus explained.

Gus continued: “Long story short, I am going to play this gig for these people, and it’s going to be for more than [what I would make at the cancelled gig], for less time, and it’s amazing and I just wanted to share that all of this shit is so good; my feeling about [negative energy] and just like, vibrational alignment and stuff, I’m just watching all these things that are coming back to me…and it’s just like you said about thinking about [reality] like a game. It’s all free flowing, there are always other opportunities…Fuck yeah!”

It’s all a happy game

Gus’ experience is typical of all my clients. The world of “wishful thinking” is the world everyone wants to live. It creates “fuck yeah!” experiences all the time. But if we think “wishful thinking” is stupid, or that it’s “not a life strategy” like many, many people do, including that person who commented on my previous post, then such people live in lives that, in her words, suck.

I’m happy I don’t live in that world. My clients are finding new, happier worlds than that one exist too. One by one, they’re finding this “you create your reality business” not only results in happy worlds and happy lives, they allow one to live in any world one wants to live in.

That’s because we all are divine, eternal beings enjoying a human existence. One we tailor ongoingly to our desires through vibrational focus. For many, their existence comes filled with some of what they want and a lot of what they don’t want.

But that’s because they aren’t using the “you create your reality business” deliberately. Instead, they’re doing it unconsciously. So they don’t get what they want; they get what they focus on. And a lot of people focus more on what they don’t want than what they want.

When they start doing the latter though….wow. For those people, the world becomes, in Gus’ words a happy “fuck yeah!” game.

[mindbat]

Books Read in January and February

Attempting to get back on a more regular blogging schedule here. Maybe not every week, but more often than once a year, at least? 😅

With that in mind, here’s a rundown of the books I read in January and February. As always, they’re listed in reverse-chronological order (so the most recently-read one is listed first, the one I read just before that is second, and so on).

Have you read any of these? If so, what did you think of them?

If you haven’t read them, but end up checking one or more out later, come back and let me know your take 😊

Orwell’s Roses by Rebecca Solint

An excellent and extended reminder of the value of beauty and art, even, or especially, in troubled times.

I’ve been reading Solint’s essays in The Guardian for years, but this is the first proper book of hers I’ve read. Not sure what the others are like, but this one’s variations on a theme (roses, and the cultivation thereof) give the book both plenty of scope but also allows her to go deep on several periods of Orwell’s life and work that normally get overlooked. Part biography, part literary criticism, part manifesto (in the gentlest possible sense), I recommend this to anyone who feels like tackling the major issues of our time — climate change, fascism, corporate power — means we have to forego the many things that bring us pleasure.

Doppelganger by Naomi Klein

Grabbed this one not just because Klein is a great writer (I loved both No Logo and Shock Doctrine), but because I’ve been guilty, multiple times, of the exact doubling she talks about at the start of the book: getting her confused with Naomi Wolf. Which might have been an innocent mistake back in the 90s or early 2000s, but these days, with Wolf firmly embracing conspiracy theories and right-wing fanatics, is a serious category error.

With such a start, this is very different from Klein’s previous books. It’s more personal, for one, with Klein sharing more details about her personal life (her autistic son, for example) that would never have made it into her other work. But it’s stronger for it. Because in making it personal, when Klein talks about the shift in perspectives needed to confront the mirror world that seems to be opening up on the right, she’s talking about work that she’s doing herself, not just finger-wagging (not that she did that in previous books, but with this subject it’s easy to descend to simple shaming).

The result is a book that I’d recommend to anyone on the Left that has spent the last few years watching friends and loved ones disappear down a rabbit hole of conspiracy and lies, and wondering just what the f*ck is going on.

Roman Law and the Legal World of the Romans by Andrew M. Riggsby

I’m currently working on an urban fantasy where the main character is a lawyer, but working in a legal system quite different from both the US and Canadian traditions. I’ve decided to model it after the legal system of ancient Rome, hence this book (which itself was recommendedby one of my favourite blogs on ancient history).

And it was exactly what I needed: a general and readable introduction to both the concepts of Roman law and the sources we have, with an extensive bibliography to serve as a jumping off point for further research.

The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix

Another nail-biter by Hendrix. Somehow he’s become my go-to when I’m in the mood for horror. His books hit that 80s-nostalgia-but-updated sweet spot for me, and this one was no exception.

Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings by Neil Price

Less a history and more of a reconstruction of Viking society. Price is interesting in that he’s an archeologist writing history, so he approaches things from a literal ground-up perspective. But he doesn’t ignore the written sources, either (they’re just not his first choice).

He does, however, eschew narrative in favour of trying to capture the general pressures and changes that drove the Viking Age. The result is fascinating in a cultural sense, but the final picture is more like just a blurry-lined sketch, because without a narrative spine to hang things on, he can’t pull all his threads together to weave a unified image.

Contrast Femina, which zooms in on very individual stories told via archeological and written sources to tell a story of women’s roles throughout the Middle Ages. Each story builds on the ones that came before, finding the universal in the particular, and creating a narrative through-line for the book to cohere around.

All Systems Red by Martha Wells

The first in the Murderbot series. I confess I put off picking these up because of all the rave reviews (can it really be that good?) and a bit of snobbery about their length (full price for a novella?).

But it is as good as everyone says. Novella length means all the fat has been trimmed away, leaving nothing but lean prose and tension. Wells is an experienced and skilled writer, and it shows on every page. Doesn’t end the way I expected (or wanted), but can see why it had to.

I’ve already grabbed the next three.

[lemonjoonah]

The Garden Thief (M)

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Word Count: 9.3K Genre: Hybrid AU, romance/drama/comedy, enemies to lovers Warnings: Unprotected sex, oral sex (fem. rec.), they get down and dirty outside but no one else is there to see them, cum play? (just a little), there’s also a bit of mud (sorry, but also not sorry, they’re outside what do you want from me?!?!), referenced hybrid neglect and oppression (hybrids are wrongfully deemed as pets by law and the majority of society).  

Summary: Your beloved vegetable patch has once again been victimized by a hungry thief in the night. The prime suspect? Jeon Jungkook, your neighbour's rabbit hybrid. But when you finally confront him, he pleads innocent, and proposes a plan to clear his name.

A/N: I wrote this fic’s premise and opening scene for the ‘A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words Game’ that I played oh so long ago and now I’ve finally finished the tale!

...

“Oh for fuck’s sake, not again!” You swear upon seeing the leafy green remains of several carrots lying in your garden, inches from where they used to be buried. This maddening mystery of the vanishing vegetables has been playing out all summer. You’ve set out deterrents for every possible garden pest, rolling out chicken wire and spraying natural remedies to repel anything from bugs to small rodents. Yet you still wake to find that your garden has been robbed in the night. The only possible suspect you haven’t been able to protect against resides just next door, in fact—

You squint up at the boarded fence, spotting a pair of long dark ears peeking out over the posts. “Jungkook, is that you?”

The ears immediately disappear, ducking down behind the barrier. The sound of his hurried footsteps trailing away are followed only by the slamming of a door.

You rush into and through your own house carrying the wilted carrot greens. Exiting out the front, and over to the house next to yours, where you repeatedly press the bell.

The entry whips open on the fourth ring to reveal Jungkook. His face is flushed, beads of sweat racing down his brow, and a shirt that one would normally use to cover their chest, is instead thrown over his shoulder. “Something wrong neighbour?” He asks with a carrot stick in hand. Bringing it to his mouth, he taunts you with a bite and crooked grin.

“Is-is your caretaker home?” You stutter trying your best to swallow your nerves. Concentrating hard on his face, you plead with your eyes not to wander down. That’s exactly what he wants, a reason to put you off your mission, to make you so flustered that you have to walk away. He’s always trying to use his allure against you, and you hate how often he succeeds doing just that...  

“No, he’s at work.”

“When will he be back?”

“Not sure, maybe a week, or two? He’s on a business trip.”

Your gaze falters in it’s determination for a brief second as a drop of sweat descends from his neck to his chest. Holding your breath you watch it’s path, tracing the valleys between his muscles. When Jungkook finally wipes it away your brain catches up and scolds you for your weakness. “And he left you here, alone?”  You ask, while trying to recollect your dignity, reminding yourself of how much grief he has put you through.

“Of course.” Jungkook’s smile grows. “I’m not just some common pet. I know how to behave myself.”

The statement makes your brow twitch, enraging you enough to overcome his tactics. “I know you haven’t been here long, but you should know, people typically don’t like it when someone steals from their yard.” You lecture him, waving the carrot tops in front of his face. “So stop treating my garden like your own personal snack bar!”

“Now why would I take from you? I have plenty of food here, even got another delivery this morning.”  The hybrid kicks at a box next him filled with a vibrant collection of fresh produce and grains.

“I don’t know why. I just know it was you.”

“Prove it.” He prods, while taking the last bite of the vegetable from his hand.

The loud crunching gnaws on your composure, stripping you of any patience you may have had for the hybrid. “This all started when you moved in, and I’ve ruled everything else out!” You shout, but as good as it might feel to finally vent your anger, you feel as though you’re somehow playing into his hand.

“That doesn’t seem like very good evidence. It’s circumstantial at best. If you want to find out who the real culprit is you should have a stake out.”

“A stake out?”

“Yeah, you know, watch over the garden for the night, catch the criminal in the act. I could even help if you’d like.”

You scoff at the ridiculous notion. “You really think I should invite you over to guard my crops?”

“I do, so I’ll come over tonight? Say around seven?” You open your mouth to object, but the rabbit hybrid jumps from one statement to the next casually inviting himself into your own home. “Perfect. See you then.”

“I didn’t-no wait, that was sar-” The door closes between you before you can finish. Leaving you baffled and alone on the doorstep. You ready to knock but stop just before your knuckles hit the wood. Trying again right now is a lost cause, it’ll just play into his game. So why waste your breath when you know it’ll just end the same way? Tonight then, as he suggested, that’s when you’ll be ready to hit him with some hard evidence that he won’t be able to refute.

Admitting defeat for now, you retreat back to your garden to pick the surviving vegetables and contemplate the encounter. You wish your could have just spoken to Jungkook’s caretaker—fuck what was his name again? You’ve only seen the man a couple times since they took the house, but at least he doesn't give you a nervous knot in your stomach, or leave you confused and speechless like his hybrid does.

It’s been three months since they moved in. You were excited at first, to have new neighbours in your almost vacant cul-de-sac. Buyers don’t seem to be interested in the old houses with large lots in your area. Too much work to maintain, and not enough good job prospects to go around. So when you saw the sold sign go up you were beyond thrilled. Greeting the new residents with a fruit basket and a smile.

The rabbit hybrid you now know as Jungkook appeared rather shy at first, you did your best to welcome him. Always greeting him when he was outside, trying to engage him in small chat, but the first time you caught him during his workout everything changed. Until that point you had not considered him as anything but a prospective friend. You were stunned to see him in such a confident state, throwing around his weights like they were nothing. In that moment, with you too nervous to admit that you found him attractive, you became the anxious and blubbering fool in his presence, and he, unfortunately, took note. The once quiet and cute rabbit, became a flirtatious and bratty bunny.

And since then, whenever you would work in your garden he’d be on the other side of the fence grunting and panting. Staying close to the gap in the divider, a missing panel you had yet to replace. On days like today you would often look up from your radishes and accidentally lock eyes with the hybrid, drenched in sweat and showing off his skills.

Out of respect and self preservation you tried your best to not to pay attention, to keep your nose buried in your garden, but as the weeks went by the vegetables under your care started to disappear. The ample crops you tended to in the evening, lessened by morning, with only the refuse remaining to indicate it’s former presence. You didn’t want to point fingers immediately, but today was the final straw, and tonight no matter how hard he tries to distract you, you will find him guilty.

After harvesting the choice crops for the day and watering the rest. You dust yourself off, settling inside and in front of your computer; opening the visitors page for your place of work, the city's greenhouse conservatory. To help promote the centre in the community the staff all take turns writing articles revolving around their own projects or home gardens, and you’re up next in the rotation. You stare at the blank document for several minutes trying your best to concentrate on the task, but you are unable to think of anything other than the mischievous hybrid next door.

Embracing the topic of your aggravation, you start the post off with a title sure to catch the eye of any reader, ‘Garden Thieves.’

‘We’ve all been there, finding a tomato just about to reach its peak ripeness. We give it another day to grow into perfection, only to find it missing later on. In your absence something else has taken it into its own clutches. I myself have been dealing with a vegetable thief for several weeks, so if you are struggling like I am, here are a few things that might help. ’

You proceed to outline several garden pests uploading photos of their damage, along with quick remedies to deter their presence. Netting to block the sparrows, raised beds and fences to keep out most rodents or mammals, and a caffeine solution to stave off slugs.

‘I hope this may help you all in your efforts to keep your plants safe, but I must add a disclaimer. Unfortunately nothing here is completely foolproof. Even if you do follow all of these steps you still might lose some of your crops to a crafty critter. But I wish you the best of luck on all of your backyard battles. I myself plan to face off with my own long-eared menace tonight.’

You finish your post with a smile. Sending it off to your coworker Namjoon to get his approval before you make it public.

He calls a few minutes later, his laughter carrying through the speaker. “That was easily the best article you’ve written all year. You should definitely post it.”

“Thanks.” You chuckle, hitting the submit button. At the very least feeling a bit relieved to have one less task weighing on your mind. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I take it you’re still having trouble with that hybrid neighbour of yours?”

“Yeah,” you groan. You’ve complained to Namjoon about the issue several times in the past month. It must have been all too easy for him to read between the lines and see what set you off to create this specific entry.  “But he refuses to admit it was him. It’s like he’s trying to make me question my skills as a gardener and I hate it! I went over to talk to his caretaker but he’s away on business for a couple weeks.”

“He left him alone for that long? What about food?”

“He’s been getting deliveries. By the looks of it, he has a healthier diet than I do.”

Namjoon pauses on the line giving you only a simple, “Huh...” in a long break.

“What?”

“Well it’s just-” A loud buzzing sound erupts through the phone line cutting off his answer. A noise you know to indicate someone is at the back door. “That’s weird. I didn’t think we were supposed to get anything delivered today. No one else is here.... did you have anything scheduled to come in?”

“No.” You double check the calendar sitting on your desk. “I shouldn’t have anything until next Monday.”  

Namjoon puts you on hold while he checks on the reason for the interruption, returning only a minute later. “It’s a delivery all right, but are you sure these aren’t yours? I’m seeing a lot of tropical species on the invoice. Combretum rotundifolium, Heliconia angusta, Myrciaria dubia-”

You mouth a swear as Namjoon carries on with his list. It’s obvious they are indeed the specimens of your expected batch. You're in the process of redesigning one of the tropical habitats. The lead director was adamant that the conservatory host a butterfly exhibition in the next coming year, and in order to support the grandiose endeavour you are required to introduce a vast amount of new flowering species over the next few months. “How many in total?”

“About two dozen. Looking pretty rough from the journey too.”

You’re not surprised by their current state. This summer is already one of the hottest and driest on record, and all the stock you had received this season was excessively wilted and near death because of it. “Do we have any holding houses with humidifiers available?”

“Not at the moment,” There’s a clatter in the background as Namjoon sorts through what must be the slack of clipboards. “But I’ve got the inspection chart here and your last delivery did just finish it’s quarantine. No signs of pests or illness, so they’re clear to plant. That should free up some space for you.”

“That’ll have to do. Thanks for checking.” Standing up from your desk with a sorrowful sigh. You mourn the loss or your afternoon off as you start to dress for a day of hard labour. Throwing on your work-issued overalls over your t-shirt and shorts. Unfortunately you can’t just leave the new stock to sit out under the beating sun. With little humidity outside and no protection they’ll be burnt to a crisp if you delay too long. But the worst part is that your planting staff isn’t scheduled until later in the week, and that volume of work will put you well into the middle of the night before you complete it. “I’ll be in soon to deal with it.”

“That’s a lot of planting to do on your own. I can help if you-”

“I can’t take you away from your trees, isn’t there a bonsai exhibition next week you have to prepare them for?” He’s been agonizing over this showcase for so long you couldn’t possibly inconvenience him now with your own troubles. “It’s fine, really. I’ll call to see if anyone else is willing to come in today.” You hang up letting Namjoon return to his tasks, and work your way down the contacts for the gardening staff as you prepare yourself to leave. Though as expected, all of those who answer have prior commitments and won’t be able to assist.

Grabbing your badge and plans for the updates to the garden you slip back out into the noon-day sun, so strong it’s turned your car into an oven on wheels. You’re just about to pull it into reverse when you spot the blinds shift in your neighbour’s window. Prompting you to recall the plans he had made for tonight.

With all the work you have, it’s doubtful you’ll be back home for seven. You return to Jungkook’s door to give him the news. He has it open before you can even knock, his usual smirk crawling across his face as he greets you.  

“About tonight... something has come up at work and I really don’t know how late I’ll be.”

His ears perk up. “You’re going into the conservatory?”

“Yeah,” you respond, somewhat shocked that he remembered where you work. It’s been a couple months since you mentioned it while introducing yourself to him and his caretaker. “An order came in earlier than expected. I’ll likely be planting all day and night.”

“I can help,” he offers, already stepping out to join you, and locking the door behind him.

“You want to help?”

“Of course, isn’t that the neighbourly thing to do?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t want it or expect it from someone who terrorizes my own garden.”

“Allegedly,” Jungkook corrects. “And wouldn’t you rather have me with you, under your supervision, than here, all alone with only a measly fence between me and your impressive bell pepper harvest?”

“Stay away from my peppers!” You scold, pointing your finger at him. “Even if I wanted to take you, what about your caretaker? Don’t you need his permission to leave and work?”

“He’s never paid attention to my whereabouts before, and it’s not work if you don’t pay me. I’ll just be a volunteer. You have people volunteer all the time right?”

“Yes but-”  

“I’ll be on my best behaviour.”

“Alright, fine.” You finally agree though with a heavy dose of reluctance. Namjoon often brings his own hybrid in so it shouldn’t be a problem. “But if I see you nibble on even a single leaf, you’re coming straight back here.”

“Deal.” He rushes past you straight to your passenger seat and buckles himself in. Practically bouncing with excitement beside you as you pull out and head towards the conservatory.

The minutes pass and you try your best to focus on the road but you’ve never been so close to Jungkook in such a small space. And with his built frame taking up most of the car, he’s hard for you to ignore. His ears folded against the roof and his shoulders so wide they brush repeatedly against yours.

“Ever been to the conservatory before?” You ask, trying to divert your mind from the battle which builds inside you. A wavering war between frustration and attraction, with the former trying it’s best to pin down the latter, a move which only arouses the latter more...

“No, I’ve wanted to go ever since you mentioned it but my caretaker hasn’t had the time.”

“Oh.” A sense of pity joins the ranks of your emotions, nudging at you as you pull into the lot. “Sorry, I didn’t-”

“Why are you sorry?” Jungkook asks in a low whisper, snapping back to his flirtatious behaviours. His mouth turns up at the corner as he leans into you, so close that his drooping ears graze the top of your head.  “Would you have taken me earlier if I had mentioned it?”

“N-no,” you choke out. Placing your hand on his solid chest, you push him back and away. As tempting as his advance might be to accept, you know his forwardness to be nothing more than an act to make a fool of you. Why else would he try to both seduce you, and steal from right under your nose?  “You’re only here today because I am in desperate need of help, and I can’t trust you to be alone.”

...

You lead him through the unoccupied greenhouses. The conservation is closed to the public today (as it is every Monday and Tuesday); which usually allows for some time off, but at least now it’ll give you a chance to work unimpeded by visitors. Your own curated section is located in the most humid of all the houses, set in such a way to mimic the tropical environment you are attempting to represent.

The first stop is the holding house where the carts of new stock wait just outside.  Grabbing an empty trolly you enter and start to load up those that are ready to plant. Jungkook following your actions does the same, easily lifting the heavy planters that you yourself struggle with. “Thanks,” you whisper as he relieves you of a particularly burdensome tree. To which he smiles in return.

After making the switch, by placing the recent delivery in the house for it’s quarantine, you lead him to the supply closet. Where you collect a couple shovels, trowels, and two pairs of gloves. As you continue to scan for anything else you might require, Jungkook pops in behind looking at the shelves with a sense of curiosity. He reaches up and over you to a spray bottle labeled ‘slug repellent.’

“We won’t need that, it’s for the outdoor gardens,” You explain. “It’s just a mixture of ca-”

“Caffeine and water?”

You snap your gaze to him. “How do you know that?”

He bites his lip as a snicker starts to escape. “Just a bit of morning reading. I found an interesting article with that particular tidbit. One which also happened to reference the exploits of a long-eared menace.”

“Y-you read the conservatory blog? You read my post? No one reads that, there can’t have been more than ten views!”

“Which is such a shame.” He goads you. “I’ve found your work to be both informative and comical. You really have me rooting for you in your quest to catch your thief.”

You groan in utter fury. “Why must you be so-so-”

“Handsome? Funny? Caring?”

“Antagonizing!”

“Because you seem to take more notice when I am.” Jungkook answers, with a turn of his heel, his tail poking out from under his shirt as he starts to walk away with the cart. “And I like seeing that perplexed look of yours. Your nose is cute when you scrunch it up like that.”

You remain in the shed, your traitorous heart beating erratically over the fact that he called a part of you cute. While your more sensible side grabs your nose and smooths out the wrinkles he referenced.

“Should we get to work?” He calls out after you. “The sooner we finish, the sooner we can go home and expose that bandit of yours.”

You roll your eyes and follow him out, before taking the lead to your tropical glasshouse. The air sticks to your skin the moment you enter. Jungkook lets out a long exhale behind you tugging on the collar of his shirt. “Is it always like this in here?”

“It’s a bit warmer today, but not by much. Are you already regretting your decision to help?” You tease him.

“Nope,” he answers, slinging a shovel over his shoulder. “Show me where to dig, and I’ll get to it.”

Pulling out your plans for the new exhibit arrangement, you select a couple species placing them on the empty plots of garden as directed, careful to allow for future growth. Jungkook follows behind digging out their new homes faster than at least three of your staff members combined.

You stare at him for a second, unable to believe the pace at which he’s going. “Something wrong?” He asks, pausing to lock eyes with you.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d be so quick at digging.”

“I’m part rabbit, what did you expect?” Jungkook boasts with a chuckle and a raised brow. “I share their strengths. Especially when it comes to burrowing and fu-”      

His words are cut short when a fresh breeze from the outside washes over the both of you, a  sure sign that someone must have entered the greenhouse. Your neighbour goes rigid, his nose lifts into the air and his ears fall back flat against his head. “Jungkook what’s-” Leaping up he closes the gap and grabs you. Tucking you into him with his chin resting on your head, where a  warm and earthy scent envelopes you.  His breaths are quick and deep, causing his chest to rapidly rise and fall against your back.

Namjoon’s voice calls out to you. “... are you in here?”

“Over here!” You yell out in reply, before turning back to the hybrid who still has you locked in his clutches. “What the hell Jungkook? Let me go! Now’s not the time for your games.” Sure it might feel nice to be wrapped in his arms, to get lost amidst his aroma. At any other time you might even consider taking a moment before chastising his boldness. But here? Now? And with Namjoon coming to greet you? No, this is too much.

You try to push him away like you have before, but this time it’s as if he’s set in stone, and not registering you at all. He focuses only on the direction your coworker's voice hailed from. “That scent, he smells like-”

“There you are.” Namjoon interrupts stepping around a flowering bush and into view, looking surprised by your guest. “Oh, hello there.”

The point of Jungkook's chin rubs against your head as he grips you even tighter. Embarrassed and confused by the hybrids embrace. “Jungkook, this is Namjoon.” You introduce your coworker while delivering an elbow to Jungkook’s gut. He finally snaps out of his trace and lets you go though he continues to hover behind. “He works with the bonsai of the conservatory.”

“You must be the neighbour I’ve heard so much about, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Namjoon extends his hand to the hybrid, but Jungkook ignores the gesture, choosing to glare instead, with his nostrils flared and his ears pinned back.

“Jungkook?” You whisper trying to chase him from his mood.

Namjoon gives him a nervous smile. “You probably smell my hybrid, on me don’t you?”

“A hybrid?” Jungkook confirms, his eyes narrowed at Namjoon.

“Yeah, sorry, I didn’t intend to scare you. I’m sure the scent of a predator, especially a tiger, is a bit of a shock. He’s harmless, I promise.”

“Is Taehyung here?” You ask, hoping to see his affectionate part-feline companion.  

“Nah, he’s with a friend today. I needed to get some work done and he’d be more of a distraction than a help... but it would seem that didn’t stop him from scenting my shirt before I left.” Namjoon explains, and then turns to your neighbour again. “Jungkook would you mind if I borrow her for a second? I need help with one of my tropical species.”

Jungkook gives a solemn nod. For the first time since you’ve known him, he looks frightened, and somewhat hesitant to release you over to your coworker.

Worried by his current disposition, you reassure him with a squeeze on his arm. “Just keep digging where I’ve placed those pots and I’ll be right back.”

Namjoon leads you into the adjacent greenhouse where you can continue to keep watch of Jungkook through the pains of glass. But the instant the doors close between you, Namjoon starts bombarding you with questions. “Why didn’t you tell me? How long has it been going on? ”

You take a step back having been caught off guard. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jungkook! Is the feuding neighbours just a cover story?” Namjoon’s eyes are wide and hopeful as he carries on, not letting you fit a single word in. “Don’t worry, I won’t inform anyone you're together. I know it’s not easy having a human-hybrid relationship out in the open. But I think you should be careful about going out into public because he’s far too obvious about it.”

“We’re not- we’re not a couple. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Because the way held you, he looked like he was marking you with his own scent. That’s what rabbits do isn’t it? They rub their chins on what they want to claim as their own.”

“They do what?” You ask, stunned by the possibility, before the realism settles back in. It must just be Jungkook’s idea of a joke. “No, that’s not what he’s doing, our connection is nothing remotely like that. Don’t get me wrong he’s very attractive, and he knows it.” You mutter the last part under your breath. “But-”

“But you really are having trouble with him. It's not a cover?”

“You think I would keep something like that from you?” Namjoon over the years has come to be your closest confidant. A good friend and coworker, you would never dream of hiding something like that from him.

“I suppose not.”

“Is that why you brought me back here, to question my relationship status?”

“Not entirely.” Namjoon shakes his head with a small dimpled smile and changes the subject. “I do actually want to get your help with one of my new acquisitions.” He points out an unusual tree on his work bench, much too big for the pot it’s currently situated in. It’s extensive roots spill out over the top and threaten to swallow the pot whole. “A Ficus microcarpa, far from the most sought after species when it comes to reputable bonsai, but I couldn’t pass this one up. It has such good character.”

“What made it grow in such a way?” You examine the plant and it’s container with care, prying between the roots and taking note of cracks starting to form in the terracotta.

“The last owner neglected it for far too long. It sat hidden in the back of a commercial greenhouse, still under the watering and fertilizing system, but since it was confined to such a small space it tried to root it’s way out. If I were to guess, it probably hasn’t seen a new pot for at least five years.”

“It’s a miracle it survived.” You nod impressed by the tree’s determination. “What’s your plan for it?”

“Give it what it wants, let it leach out. I doubt I would be able to pry it out entirely without causing significant damage to the roots that are gripping the sides, so instead I want to put another bellow to catch it and give it the fresh soil and room it needs.” Namjoon lays the tree and pot down on the table, and asks you to hold and support the trunk, while he taps and pokes at the bottom of the vessel with a metal trowel.  Enlarging the cracks, but not breaking the pot fully. It’s a tedious process. The small chunks of clay are removed piece by piece, giving him access to see and free some of the tightly bound roots inside.

While your coworker continues his task, your eyes are free to wonder. You check on Jungkook through the glass, as he kneels in front of the garden bed digging even faster than before.

Namjoon appears to notice your distracted state. “How's he doing?”

“Fine I guess.” You whisper. “He’s acting stranger than usual today though. He stole from my garden again. Invited himself over to my house, then here, and you saw what he did back there.”

“Huh...” Namjoon mutters, trailing off the same way he did on the phone.

“What is this ‘huh’ you keep giving me? You know I don’t like games Namjoon. If you have something you want to say, say it.”

“It’s about what you said earlier, how his caretaker leaves for extended periods of time. Usually if an animal is alone for too long they look for ways to stimulate themselves and resort to their natural instincts, scavenging and such. But he’s a hybrid and therefore part human, so if you were isolated and restricted to your house what would you do?”

“Probably look for the closest person I could find. So he’s acting out in my garden and teasing me, because he’s lonely?”

“I think so.” Namjoon responds as he extracts another root, freeing it from its confines.

“But why?” You ask, worried for the answer to come. “Why wouldn’t he just say something?”

“There could be a number of reasons. He might not understand what he’s doing on a conscious level, or he might be afraid to show any sign of weakness to you or anyone else. Jungkook is part prey animal, and humans are all too often predators.”

“If that’s the case...” You curse yourself for not realizing it sooner. The fury you held for him slowly fades away as you replay every encounter in your mind. He was literally jumping at the chance to spend time with you, to help you with your work, and you were to blind to see it. Your anger over your missing vegetables is so trivial in comparison to what he must have been going through. The loneliness he must have felt, and the inability to admit it, you can’t imagine how he suffered through it alone. “What can I do to help him? I have no legal claim to him Namjoon. What can I do within such limitations?”

He looks down at his work in progress. “The way I see it  you and he, like this small tree, have three options. You could maintain the status quo, leave him be, but how long will he be able to survive like he is? Creeping over the edge but grasping on to nothingness?”

You shake your head vehemently rejecting the idea while Namjoon continues.

“You could report his caretaker for neglect, breaking the container entirely, but that too could be very damaging to him, tearing him away entirely could put him in a state of shock, and in a home that is no better for him, while the legal battle is decided. Or...” Namjoon grabs another container, slightly wider than the one in which the plant is seated. Filling it with substrate he takes the tree clinging to it’s partial pot and places it on top. Pressing the newly freed roots down into the soil.

“You could support him, give him a better home just outside of his own where he can be himself and access what he needs. I personally think it’s your safest option for now.” Namjoon leads over inspecting the bonsai and lowers his voice to an almost inaudible whisper. “Until the day, when it is possible to fully cast the pot aside.”

You nod, though now left to grapple with what you could possibly have to offer the hybrid.  “I’m not sure I would be the best person to care for him.”

“I think Jungkook would disagree. He was already trying to scent you. That to me, implies his desire for something more in the realm of an intimate relationship.” You choke on your breath as Namjoon comes to an additional conclusion. Upon seeing your distress he makes a suggestion. “Of course you could keep it strictly to friendship between the two of you and I’m sure that will improve his situation, but his other needs will need to be met for him to feel completely at home...”

“His other needs? You think he wants to be with me? Intimately?! No! Surely he would have acted differently if that was his intent! He’s done nothing but tease me when he catches me even remotely looking in his direction.”

“So you have been looking at him!” Namjoon taunts you with a massive grin. Apologizing a second later when you proceed to glare at him. “But to answer your question, no, not necessarily. You have to remember most of society deems him a lesser being. He could be feeling a lot of guilt and pressure not to engage with you in that way. Though he might not outright say it, I bet his instincts will continue to shine through. I’ll even prove it to you.” Namjoon takes off a glove and rubs your head. “I bet this rabbit of yours will take less than a minute before he tries to replace the smell of my hand with his own again... trust me.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I should probably get back to him.” You are just about to step away when your thoughts return to the long neglected plant. “Where do you plan to house that when you’re finished? Ficuses naturally belong in a more tropical location don’t they?”

“They do, especially if I want to give it a better chance. It’s going to need a place far more humid than this space.”

“Was this all your calculated way of guilting me to store it in my greenhouse too?”

“The thought might have crossed my mind.” Namjoon gives you a sly grin.  “But my logic is still sound in regards to Jungkook. He needs someone, he needs a better home... and it would seem he’s chosen you.”

...

You wander back to your greenhouse, still full of doubt. Finding Jungkook to have finished most of the required digging.

“Sorry for leaving you.”

“You-you okay?” He asks, upon seeing the dazed look on your face and then scowling in the direction that Namjoon led you.

“Fine, he just needed help with one of his plants. Sorry about earlier, I didn’t think you’d be affected by the scent of his hybrid, Taehyung is rather sweet though, you’d like him.”

“You trust him then?” Jungkook grumbles as he pierces his shovel into the ground. “You trust Namjoon and his hybrid?”

“Of course, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because it wasn’t just a tiger that I smelled. He’s been around a lot of hybrids. Every scent on him told me to run, all of them put there by dangerous predators.”

“Oh,” you shoot back in surprise. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Taehyung is rather popular, he has a lot of friends and Namjoon often caters them at his place. You don’t need to worry, you're safe here.”

“It’s not myself I’m worried about.”

Jungkook inches closer as you crouch to place the plants in the holes he dug. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath, his eyes watching while you bury the root ball in the warm soil, firmly securing the trunk of the young tree.

While you are leaning down, Jungkook reaches across to the other side of you. Grabbing the trowel to your right despite the fact that the same tool can be found on his left. The bottom of his chin grazes the top of your head and lingers for a spell. Your heart stops in that moment while questioning his motives. Though Namjoon said he’d do just this, you still can’t be entirely sure that it proves him correct; Jungkook might just not have seen the other option available to him, and he’s never bothered about invading your space. This could be nothing, though there’s a small growing part of you that wants it more and more to be something.

“He’s a good guy,” you promise, returning to the conversation so as to not dwell on his actions. “He even suggested that I should bring you along more often, if you’re interested in spending some of your days here.”

“He did?”

You nod.  A small white lie, but not entirely incorrect, and if it gets him to accept Namjoon easier you’ll all be better for it. “I wouldn’t expect you to work, but you're more than welcome to just hang around. The staff here could always use some company and I’m sure it would beat staying at home alone all day.”

“I would like that. I would like that a lot, but would you want me to keep you company too?”

“If that’s what you want to do.”

“No, I need to know if that’s what you want.” He looks over to you pinning you down in his line of sight.  

“I suppose I would....” You answer and turn your head, unable to bear the nerves that his gaze brings. The both of you fall quiet. Knowing what you know now, being free of your anger for him leaves you vulnerable, open to his persuasion, and now you are no longer certain of how to act. So you start to rely on what has made him comfortable in the past, and interject with a new condition to bring an end to the awkward silence. “As long as you treat this garden better than mine back home.”

Jungkook lets out a long laugh. “I have nothing but the highest respect for your garden.”

...

When planting is finished your clothes are entirely saturated in sweat and your muscles aching from use. It’s hard to believe how much you’ve both done in such a short amount of time. While carting up the supplies, Jungkook’s eyes catch on something behind you. You look around spotting the newly potted bonsai on a back table. Namjoon must have dropped it off while you both were busy.

Looking at it now you can’t help but notice how even the shape of its leaves remind you of the hybrid’s ears, long, pointed, and reaching up to the sky. You consider your friend's words one more time and while Jungkook leans over to inspect the tree. Reaching out to his back, your hand shakes with hesitation before setting down on a spot just below his shoulder. He softens under your touch, a low hum leaving his lips. His attention turns from the plant to you. With your hand still in place, your arm is now wrapped around him, leaving only an inch between the two of you. You stand there fixed and unmoving, but content in the knowledge, that you seem to have left him speechless this time. His eyes darting away from yours, to your lips, your neck, and finally the hand you place upon his chest.  

Only to have the moment broken when you can hear and feel the rumble from his stomach. His nervous laugh follows as he reaches up to scratch behind his ear.

“Hungry?”

He nods in response, his eyes wide as he remains unusually silent.

“Come on, I’ll buy you dinner.” You offer as you turn him around to head to the car.

...

You both settle on a take out spot, and return home to wash up and eat.

After finishing your meal and tearing off your overalls, you both settle down on the hammock in your yard. With Jungkook’s legs long enough to touch the ground, he slowly rocks the seat back and forth.  He’s been near silent since that close moment together. He’s never had a problem with banter and flirtation, but now you’ve come to notice that any attention which can’t be passed off as a joke causes him to flounder.

Laying back in the hammock, both full and content, your eyes threaten to close after the long day as Jungkook continues to sit beside you. The sound of crickets lulling you to sleep. “Keep an eye out for that thief of mine will you?” You may not like games but if it makes him comfortable, and keeps him talking, you’ll continue to play this ruse with him.

“You trust me to keep watch without your supervision?”

“Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”

“No, it’s just a lot more credit than you usually give me.”

“I think you’ve earned it.” You whisper as you finally drift off.

It feels like only a few minutes of rest before the sun sets and the air turns cool. Jungkook’s chin comes to rest on the top of your head like it did back in the greenhouse. He shifts his weight, burrowing his arms around and behind to cover you as he takes deep breaths. You lean into him seeking the warmth of his chest. No longer restricted by your childish anger to enjoy his company is a welcome relief, you only wish you could relinquish him of any of his own troubles and doubts.  And then, you feel it, a drop of cold rain hitting your neck. The hammock moves again as he adjusts, the back of his fingers running across the damp spot. Another finds your cheek and he wipes that away too, your skin shivering in response.

But when a speck lands your mouth he stops. You wait, a second, then two. Your anticipation grows with face heating up and your chest tightening as you continue to crave his touch. You want him to wipe it away, to touch you, to act on whatever desires he might be keeping. You part your lips with the desperate hope that he will take the hint. Rejoicing when the warm pad of his thumb spreads the drop across the delicate skin.

He comes down on to you, his mouth catching any and all remains of the droplet as he encases your lips. Jungkook places a hand on your neck while the other grabs the ropes of the hammock, his legs straddle your hips. The scattered rain turns to a downpour as he remains fixed to your mouth, even his form isn’t enough to shield you from the current washing down from the sky.

As your hands reach up to his own damp and curling locks entwining your fingers in the strands he moans and nips. But as quickly as it started, so too does it end. When Jungkook snaps up as though jolted from a dream. His ears point back as an apology flows from him. “I-I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Jungkook,” you call out to him but he ignores you as he tries to detangle himself. When one foot hits the ground. You grab his waist and try again. “Jungkook, you don’t have to be sorry.” But instead of stopping he merely pulls you off and along with him, sending you both to the muddy ground, but this time with you on top of him.

“Are you okay?” He asks the loud pouring of the rain forcing him to raise the volume of his voice.

You chuckle at his concern considering he’s the one flat on his back. “I think I should be asking you that question instead.” You pause as he mirrors your grin. “Why did you stop? Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He looks up at you, his brow furrowing. “You did nothing wrong. It was me. I was the one acting on my instincts. I shouldn’t have done that when I know how much you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you...” You explain, trying your best not to be drowned out by the water cascading down. “The things you did might have annoyed me, but I get it now. I’m just sorry it took me so long to notice.”

“Notice what?”

“How fucked up your situation is. For not realizing how alone you must have been. How caged you must have felt. I’ve been so focused on my own little world that I didn’t realize what was happening or why you were acting the way you were. I like you, a lot, but I was too wrapped up in my frustration to say how I felt...”

“It’s not your fault.”

You shake your head. “I am not innocent in this. I should have been paying more attention.”

“Then pay attention to me now.” He begs with his round eyes shining up at you.  

“But in what way? As a neighbour, as a friend, or maybe something more?" Your voice cracks in desperation, trying to find his needs while also hoping they are the same as yours. “Is that why you were always teasing me the way you did? You wanted something more?”

“You really want to know?” Jungkook’s tone is low as it grips on to his every word. “I did it because it was the only thing that could distract me from my incessant need for you. Seeing your reactions and having your attention kept me in check. I’m very different from you and I’m aware it could cause a problem. I wasn’t sure if you could ever fully want me because of that.” He reaches to rub around the base of his ears. “But every day that I looked over I wanted to hold you, to claim you, to take you right here on this very spot. So often I dreamed of jumping the fence and coming for you instead of...”

You smile down at him, noting his near admission. “Instead of?”

“Instead of watching from a distance.” He smirks, catching and narrowly fixing his statement. Pleading guilty only to his longing for you.

“Then do it.” You demand of him.

He groans from his position beneath you. “Don’t tease me like that.”

“I’m not. You weren’t the only one peeking through the fence Jungkook.” Reaching up to your collar you tug off your shirt. He follows your lead with his own to reveal his sculpted chest he’s taunted you with so many times. “I don’t care if we’re different from each other. I don’t care if it causes a problem.” You shift back on his body traveling from your seat near his stomach down to his hips, his clothed dick firm and pressing against you. A moan escapes his lips, confirming that you’ve made your point. “There’s no one else nearby, so if you want me so much that you’re willing to fuck me out here, in the rain and mud-”  

His hands come to grip your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifts you off, maneuvering out from underneath, to fall into place behind you. From there he pushes you down to your hands and knees, his body bent over yours. “You have no idea how much I want to.” He whispers with a kiss to your bare shoulder damp from the rain that continues to pour.

He takes off your bra before his face moves down your back, nose trailing against your skin and pausing at your shorts. Unfastening the button he pulls them down, freeing you of your underwear too before they are both cast aside. “I want to smell you, and taste you.” Jungkook takes in a deep breath, wrapping an arm around your legs, and barring your thighs. He buries his face between your legs, his tongue reaching out to deliver a long lick to your folds pausing after every lap.

Your palms dig into the ground, the cool mud coming to the surface to meet them. You buck against his tongue but the forearm holding you remains firm, sending your squirming downward to bury your elbows in the soggy grass too.

Jungkook chuckles as you inadvertently give him a better angle. From behind you can hear the zipper of his own shorts. Rubbing the head of his cock against your damp folds, he covers it with the slick of your slit, and with a long groan he eases it inside. He’s slow at first, letting you savor the girth and warmth of him. So you start to edge back and forward on his cock. Taking the time to enjoy every inch, along with the sounds that leave him. But when he returns to take control, the first thrust is so powerful, his thighs hit your ass with a loud clap, and every jolt of his hips after, drives you further down each time.

A stuttering groan escapes him as he fills you. Thinking he’s finished you lean forwards and until his cock pulls out, but in response he grabs your waist. Turning you over, back to the ground on top of the discarded clothes and facing him.

He lowers himself pressing his chest against yours. His fingers reach to grab your chin and take a kiss. His cock, despite having come only moments before, is hard once more and poised to enter once again.

“How are you-” You manage to squeeze a few words in the gaps between his kisses as he draws breath. “Ready for more-” Another pass of his tongue. “Already?”

“You have my hybrid traits to thank for that.” He moves to nibble on the side of your throat. “I have more to give you, if you want it.”

You nod unable to emit any noise other than a gasp as his mouth finds a sensitive spot on your neck. His dick forges in again, your slick and his cum dripping out of you as he fills you with himself instead.

You’ve avoided touching him with your own hands as they are patched with mud, but as his thrusts grow more powerful than even before, you’re forced to grab on his arms and chest. Leaving behind streaks of dirt which display the path of your grip. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind though, in fact looks rather encouraged by your touch, and the marks you leave him.

“What a dirty woman you are, and getting me all messy too.” He scoffs while admiring your handiwork. “Can I return the favour?”

“Help me come first and you can do whatever the fuck you want.” You gasp on the brink of your climax.  

His ears perk up and a grin streaks across his face. “Close are you?” He grabs your calf and wraps your leg around his back, the other follows suit and his hand comes to rest on your lower back pushing you up and into him effectively grinding your mount against him.

You gasp and flinch with the sudden pressure, but he holds you firm as your back arches to meet him.

His hips beat on at a rapid pace, a small whimper escapes him as you reach the peak, tipping you over the edge. The chilling rain can in no way can douse the searing heat that spreads through you. You're still gasping when his jaw clamps down hard, his teeth poised upon your skin. The first pulse of his cock comes inside, but on the second he pulls out to splatter your chest and stomach with the rest. His hand comes to clutch his shaft, spilling more out and on to you with each stroke.

After every remaining drop has been cast on you he smiles, dragging his fingers across the rain drenched mess of mud and cum on your skin. “Never thought I’d ever see you so thoroughly soiled.”

You giggle at his remarks through your deep breaths. “And now that you do, what do you think?”

“I think it suits you, the dirt, the rain, and me...” He lowers himself down onto you, with his head now resting upon your shoulder. “It’s too bad though. Now I just want more, but we’re both far too filthy to carry on like this.”  

You turn to whisper at the base of his ear. “Who says we can’t continue in the shower...”

...

You wake early the next morning with the sun spilling into the room, lighting up your bed, and the hybrid sleeping next to you. His ears and nose twitching as he continues to rest. Slipping out from the covers, and into a set of clean gardening clothes, you exit the room with as little sound as possible.

On the tile floor of your hall, muddy footprints trail from your backdoor to your bathroom.  A smile pulls at your lips as you recall the events which brought them there. Jungkook had been so excited to keep going he picked you up and rushed you inside.

The feeling from the warm water and hands in contrast to the cool rain was enough to bring back the waves of pleasure. He was so thorough in washing you down, you might have to ask him to join you for another this morning and repay the favour.  

Outside in the garden you find all your harvest from the day before present and untouched. You’re pleased by this new development, but it’s not the fact that your crops are intact which makes you happy, it’s the comfort in knowing that Jungkook didn’t feel the need to take them.

A few minutes later the hybrid in question comes up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist pulling with him a blanket he took from the bed to cover the both of you. “Morning.” He mumbles, as his nose finds the crook of your neck where he exhales with a deep and relaxed sigh.

“Morning.” You respond, enjoying the tickle of his breath before you turn around to better see him. “It seems the thief didn’t strike last night. ”

“I guess they found a new garden to plunder and devour?” Jungkook suggests, giving you a sly grin, before he opens his mouth again. It’s easy to see that he’s getting ready to confess, his face shifts to a stern expression as he looks down at the ground, the guilt weighing heavily upon his brow. Placing your index to his lips you stop him. No longer needing to hear those words of admission, you offer a new proposal instead.

“Maybe, but that was just one night. The thief might still come back. So if it’s alright with you I would like you to stay here. Until we can be sure they won’t return.”

Jungkook lets out a satisfied chuckle, pushing aside your finger and pulling you tighter into his warm embrace. “You’re right, I suppose it would be safer if I stayed.” His lips plant a kiss on the top of your head where he then rests his chin. “A temptation as enticing as this, shouldn’t be left alone and unattended.”

...

[rviden]

hello!! may I request for hcs for when you get into an argument with the genshin boys (you can choose who!!) and the guys end up saying something hurtful, and your reaction is like "well, if that's what you think, then maybe we shouldn't be together." and walks away (tryna hide a tear,,)?? I'm sorry if this is too specific aah I'm just in the mood for angst ( •́ ‿ ,•̀ ) I really like your characterization!! <333

— 🧧 THEIR S/O BREAKS UP WITH THEM AFTER A RUDE COMMENT THEY MADE

includes — kazuha, tohma, diluc

warnings — angst, pre tohma release

pronouns — they/them

note — in honour of the 2.0 announcement trailer, i included the newest boy to my writing list (tohma by beloved) - i’ve also added baal (or raiden), ayaka, and yoimiya!

KAZUHA

kazuha wasn’t usually confrontational off of the battle field — opting for more serene and peaceful things while resting and spending his time with you

but sometimes when emotions boil over, we say things that we don’t mean, nor wish to say at all — it’s in the heat of the moment type of thing, which is exactly what was happening to kazuha in the present time

“you don’t get it- you never will,” kazuha paced away from you, wanting to put an end to the conversation station as soon as he could.

“and what’s that supposed to mean?” you took strides to catch up with the upset male, desperate to understand his reasoning. “why don’t you face me, and tell me why the hell you won’t let me help-“ the moment your hand made contact with his arm, he turned in fury — something you had never seen him in ever.

“you’re too clumsy, too reckless, and simply not able to withstand that type of battles that would occur!” kazuha’s face was mere inches from your own. “you’re just not enough.”

you weren’t enough.

he was talking about physical ability, but... why did it feel as if he was talking about everything — the way you dressed, the way you acted, the person you are.

he didn’t think you were enough.

“... if- if you think so lowly of me, then i don’t think this is going to work,” your feet slowly brought your body away from the now shocked and calming male, trying to put as much distance as you could between the two of you.

“y/n-“ he reached out for your arm, only to pull back as if he had been shocked as you flinched away from it. “i didn’t mean it like that.”

“well that’s what it sounded like kazuha.”

you never called him kazuha — it was always kaz, or some other nickname — but never kazuha.

“i’ll leave you to your business, and i’ll board with beidou in the morning,” the distance grew greater, and hearts cracked piece by piece. “i hope you find someone who’s enough on your travels.”

kazuha’s heart left with you — the emptiness in his chest product of his own doings, his own words.

it seemed that he was the one not enough for you.

TOHMA

tohma didn’t like to fight, argue, or even cause any sort of pain to you — and in the past if he ever did, it was not by his choice, or it was a complete accident

yet here he found himself, spouting words he didn’t mean, watching the look of anger on your face crumble into hurt and betrayal

tohma was tired — beyond even — with the job that he possessed, and the dedication to match, nights were often spent resting and resetting for the next.

“y/n i really don’t have time for this right now, you know this,” his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to rid himself of both the anger and headache that clawed at his mind.

“i think you have plenty of time right now — all i’m asking is for you to consider my idea,” you stepped closer to the blonde, brings your hands up to run through his hair in order to help calm him down. “i just want to see you a little more often, even if it’s only a day a week — just more then i see you now-“

his head was yanked away from your hands, and his eyes burned into you like the vision that hung on his hip. “for the last time! i have my duties with the kamisato clan, and they need my dedication and focus — i don’t have time to waste.”

his words didn’t fully click in his head, until he saw your eyes widen in both shock and hurt — and all he could do was watch as your body slowly backed away and shrank into itself, becoming smaller and smaller by the second.

you tried to appear bigger in mere moments after the metaphorical slap to the face — your chin being held high, eyes narrowed, and drawn in tight.

“don’t bother coming home tomorrow, or the nextday, or even the next,” he could see the hurt as you tried to keep your composer. “wouldn’t want you wasting time, now would we?”

“y/n-“

“leave tohma — you have your duties, remember?”

it happened too fast for tohma to handle — one minute you were happily chatting, next the argument broke out, and the next, he had broken the one promise he had made to himself and you.

he had hurt you, one too many times.

DILUC

he was a calm and collected man, trying many other options before it truly came down to a fight — he poked and prodded most times during arguments, but never before had he pointed out things he knew would hurt

maybe that’s why he wasn’t only in shock as he watch the anger turn into sadness and thought, but also at the words that seemed to flow out of his mouth like a river

“dee, please take a break,” your hands worked on his shoulders — thumbs pushing on the knots and sore spots in the muscles, trying anything you could to get the red haired man to relax.

“y/n please — i’ll come to bed in a few more minutes, i just have to finish this-“ the quill was plucked out of his hands before you could finish — now dangling between your own fingertips.

“you said that the yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that — i know you dee — like that back of my hand,” you waved the back of your hand in an example, the smile on your face doing nothing to ease the furrow in his brow.

he was committed to finishing paperwork and documents — and if that meant forgoing a few nights of actual rest and calmness, then so be it.

but you were making that difficult.

“give me that,” diluc harshly grabbed the quill from your hand, not caring or registering if he had hurt you in the process.

he turned back to his work as soon as it was in his hand, but the moment didn’t last long.

“diluc-“ your hand reached down for the quill again, but were quickly shoved back as he stood from the chair.

“would you just give me some space!” his eyes and cheeks gleamed red, similar to the colour of his hair. “i can’t get any actual work done when your clinging to me like an animal in heat!” in the moment, diluc didn’t care if he had hurt you, and that was one of his many mistakes in that moment.

the quietness was tense and uncomfortable — dilucs heavy breathing, and the sound of soft fidgeting being the only things that could be heard.

“i’ll leave you be then,” you turned in that moment, the tears running freshly down your face the second your back was to the man.

diluc didn’t panic at first.

he had hurt you, yes — but you would let him cool down, calm, and finish was he was doing. that was all.

but the empty room that was once occupied by two and the quick feet that turned and walked in the other direction every time he was near — was enough to tell him the truth.

you left him to be on his own.

for good.

[swindle-comic]

How is Della handling this whole "My babies are growing up" thing? We all know that Della does not handle well that her family is not always together and the boys are entering their teens, a time when space is wanted. She already missed most of her children's lives, and now their growing up, I don't think she can handle her kids growing up so fast.

I’ve thought about this a few times before and it never stops being very sad because YEAH. There’s no solution here for Della, no way to spin this so it’s any less sad, no way to slow things down, no way to make this a perfect happily ever after. The fact of the matter is that Della missed 90% of her sons’ childhood and even when she returns, time doesn’t just freeze and let her cherish what she has just because she’s earned it. It feels like they’ve been growing bigger and bigger every day since she laid eyes on them and it’s always been a hard thing for her to shoulder. And what else can she do but move forward alongside them?

But a fun thing about Della is she is very bad at confronting her own deeper feelings. So, in the swindle timeline, she is either squishing all those emotions down and pretending she’s totally cool with time passing by so fast and her babies becoming adults before her very eyes, OR she has started therapy and is unloading all of it in a healthy way. I sincerely hope it’s the latter. I am not equipped to tackle all of Della’s unresolved moon trauma and family angst in this comic so I at least like to believe that in universe, somebody qualified is helping her work through it.

And it’s not only the Growing Up thing, it’s also the Highschool thing. I imagine that the triplets current school arrangement was hugely Donald’s decision, who was not only worried about their education and future colleges but their socialization skills with their own age group and all that. It’s debatable whether it was the right decision but it’s what Donald wanted for his boys and he stood firm in that. It’s not like its a permanent thing either but for the moment the kids can only participate in adventures on the weekends, thus further limiting the time Della gets to spend with them.

I can not see Della being on board with the school thing at all. And she and Donald probably had a huge argument over it. (In private of course. The triplets never heard a word of it.) but ultimately Della relented. While Della has since made massive improvements in the mom department, she can admit that sometimes she needs a second opinion from Donald, who is their other parent in his own right. She doesn’t like this arrangement but if it is really what Donald thinks is best for the triplets then she can tolerate it. And again, it’s a choice. After a few months, if any of the kids decide this is not the life they want, they don’t have to attend anymore. This settles Della’s nerves. She’s hoping they’ll get bored and drop out eventually but she doesn’t say it.

But another fun thing about Della is that she is an extremely determined person who makes the most of her situation. When she was on the moon, she missed her babies’ hatching, their first steps, their first words, their first birthday. Her kids are teenagers now. She has to accept that. And she’s not going to miss any more milestones in their lives because she’s too busy angsting about all the time she’s lost. She refuses. There’s still plenty of firsts left to come! When Louie’s whiskers first started growing in, Della took so much pictures, Louie was THIS close to shaving them off just so she’d stop.

She recently renewed her driving license (she hasn’t driven since her early twenties) just so she can drive the kids to school every morning and spend some extra time with them. She’s an extraordinarily embarrassing mom but the triplets have a lot more patience with her than most kids would. They’re huge mommy’s boys like that. They even let her kiss them goodbye every morning in front of the other kids, as they’re all too aware themselves that a mom is not something to take for granted. Not if you’ve spent most of your life without one.

[princeescaluswords]

Scott's Dark Arc in Season 4

I’ve seen fans of Teen Wolf wonder when Scott was going to go through his ‘dark arc.’  After all, Derek and Allison had theirs in Season 2.  Stiles had his in Season 3B.   My belief is that Season 4 was Scott’s dark arc; it simply didn’t look like the others and so it didn’t look like what the audience was expecting.  You see, Scott was never going to turn into an obvious monster.  Instead, he was going to turn into his father.

To elaborate, Scott was never going to become a serial killer.  He was never going to install his pack as a tyrannical regime with himself as the Holy Lord at its apex.  He was never going to abandon his friends or innocent people.   His arc was never going to be that cliché.  Instead, it was going to be something every person has to grapple with sooner or later.

Scott’s dark arc was about making excuses.

After all, Rafael McCall made plenty of excuses.  He drank to deal with his job.  He abandoned his family because he made a mistake.  He stalled an impeachment process, playing with Noah’s life, simply to find a way to talk to his son.  He was going to bail on that very same chance because Scott wasn’t immediately receptive to him.  Rafael always had an excuse not to do what he should have done.  He wasn’t a fiend either.  He was neglectful but not cruel.  Callous but not sadistic.  Absent but not a dead beat.   In a way, he’s a much more practical, realistic antagonist.  Which is why Rafael’s redemption, his attempt to make up for his mistakes wasn’t fighting the good fight but “I’m keeping my promises this time.”

As fans of Scott McCall (as well as Derek and Deaton and Kira) have pointed out, Scott’s heroism doesn’t come from having the right answer or being the mightiest warrior, it comes from him never giving up.  I don’t really need to repeat the speech from The Divine Move (3x24) do I?   What Season 4 gives is opportunities, temptations for Scott to give himself an out. 

It starts in Muted (4x03).  After the terror, pain, and loss of the first three seasons, Scott is ready for this semester to settle down.  He’s going to play lacrosse, he’s going to date Kira, and he’s going to start working toward his future.  As he tells Derek in I.E.D. (4x05), “this was the semester I was supposed to be able to focus on school again,” but what he really means is that this is the season when he gets to be who he always wanted to be. 

So, it’s very fitting that his dark arc starts with him injuring Liam out of frustration at tryouts.  In Season 1, him wanting to get a good night’s sleep before tryouts serves as the dividing line between who he was and who he was forced to become.   As the action starts, he’s eager to have something for himself, which Stiles tells him is okay, but throughout the episode, we sees Scott’s frustration grow as he sees that chance taken by a cocky freshman.   Scott is confronted with the opportunity to make his first excuse.  While using the alpha power would be cheating, it’s his power, earned through pain and suffering.  Stiles, as Stiles often does, points out that it’s not fair that Liam might “steal all your glory after you worked your tushie off.”

Scott’s aggression causes an injury on the field, though as Stiles also points out it is an accident and not a deliberate misuse of Scott’s power but it could have been.  And there begins the temptation for Scott in Season 4: not to bathe his claws in the blood of his enemies but to put what he wants above everything else.  And there are things he wants beyond captain of the lacrosse team.  He wants to concentrate on his schoolwork.  He wants an actual relationship with Kira.  He wants a roof over his and his mother’s head as well as his best friend’s family not being crushed by medical bills.  He wants a chance to get into a good college.  He wants to drink and party at the bonfire rather than making sure everyone else is safe.   “That sounds fun too,” Malia tells him sarcastically.  

He could have all these things, and to get them all he has to do is relax his principles a little.  Doesn’t he deserve to?  So what if he takes shortcuts like recycling Derek’s words that didn’t work on him so he doesn’t have to come up with his own?  Scott being confronted with opportunities to make excuses is embodied in four particular instances: the money, the nightmares about Liam in Time of Death (4x08), the battle in Monstrous (4x10), and the final battle with Peter in Smoke and Mirrors (4x12).

Garret’s money is the most obvious case.  Without context, stealing money from someone else is wrong.  In context, it’s not so clear.  Garrett and Violet received that money for killing innocent werewolves, and they were paid for it from a dead pool that is offering 25 million dollars for Scott’s head.  The McCall family is in danger of losing their house, in dire financial straits and the Stilinski family isn’t much better.  The money is ultimately Peter’s, the person who caused all his terror the first place.  Scott contemplates keeping it, contemplates making the excuse, until he is confronted by his mother in A Promise to the Dead (4x11).

Then there’s Liam.  Liam is a problem.   Scott didn’t want a beta (and contrary to fan theories, there was no indication he needed a werewolf beta in his pack or there would be dire consequences).   Liam is stubborn, has a disorder that makes him dangerous, is a target for assassins, and is not sure even if he wants to be in the pack, though he would still be Scott’s responsibility during the terrible dangers of Kate being back and the Dead Pool.  But a solution had presented itself to Scott through Derek and Deucalion in the past.  “Tell him, Kali, tell him what it’s like, killing one of your own.” “Liberating.”   Also contrary to fan theories, Scott isn’t immune to the urge to kill.  It’d be easy; after all, Deucalion got away with it, Peter got away with it, Derek got away with it.   Scott has always done the right thing when they haven’t, and in return he only gets more responsibility, but that’s why he’s the alpha.  It could all go away if he compromised this once.  It is an enticing excuse.  “Let me help you,” intones the Mute, “Let me show you what to do.”

And with that ringing in his ears, Scott goes into the battle at Argent Arms.  He’s taken on this responsibility because someone had to.  He’s going to fight, and the enemies going to be gunning for him.  “You’re still number one on the dead pool.”  These renegade hunters were trained to kill him, but they can’t even try to kill him out of hatred.  They’re going to kill him, his friends, and innocent people who can’t fight, simply for cash.  It’s self-defense, but it’s only self-defense if he has no other choice.  Up on that table, slashing at that hunter, he has every reason in the world to tear that stranger in half.  He gets close.

The dark arc completes itself in La Iglesias.  Scott has no reason whatsoever to spare Peter’s life except his own principle that every life has value.   Peter managed to crawl back from the dead only to demonstrate that he’s learned nothing.  He’s stolen power, corrupted others, and done the same things he did in Season 1 again in Season 4.  From Peter’s own speech, there is no reason to believe that he wouldn’t do it again when he got the chance.  This decision is right after Scott has been transformed into a mindless killing machine (again!) and forced to hurt the girl he loves.  He is angry.  He should be angry.

All Scott has to do is make the excuse that is right in front of his face.  They always are.   “I moved out the next day,” says Rafael.  “I was out of my mind,” says Peter.  “I can if they’re willing!” says Derek.  “That the only way to save one person is to kill another,” says Deucalion.  “I know a werewolf’s nature,” says Gerard.  “To stop them from ever hurting anyone again,” says Jennifer.  “To win the game.”    Everyone else has good reasons for what they did.  So does Scott.  No one (especially me) would have been upset if just this once he tore Peter’s head from his body to end his threat once and for all.  

But it would be an excuse.   It would be leaving and sending an e-mail later.  Scott knows that the right thing to do is to “think that there’s something about him that can be saved.”    Even though this is Peter.  This is the man who took his dreams from him and replaced them with nightmares.   But when Scott knocks Peter out and turns to look at the altar where he lost his humanity for a bit, he knows he’s done the right thing.   And the Dark Arc concludes.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Okayyyy now that I've slept on that episode I am ready to do some good old traumamongering so let's look at how Loki's responses to his environment and those around him are informed by his trauma--and how Mobius/the TVA are using his trauma to manipulate him.

One of the ways Loki deals with unpleasant or stressful situations is to verbally maneuver or posture, to try to assert control (if he feels he can reasonably do so). We see him do this with Tony in Avengers, who during their confrontation--at least for the moment--poses no active threat; instead of attacking him, Loki talks. In Thor, Loki tries several times to defuse situations with his words, which generally goes poorly for him. But when it comes to handling stress, it's essentially all he knows how to do--Mobius is absolutely right to point out that Loki "loves to talk," but usually his silver tongue is borne out of necessity.

In this case, starting from the moment of his escape, we see a lot of talking from Loki that is not strictly necessary. When he lands in Mongolia, the very first thing he does is make a speech to the bystanders--literally and figuratively trying to get his bearings. He's not aggressive at all (which would confuse the Avengers were they to see him, but wow, it's almost like Thanos/the Mind Stone was influencing him!) and seems quite at a loss as to what to do when the people he's addressing don't understand him. When the TVA agents try to arrest him, he tries to ask them what's going on, and gives plenty of warning (and posturing!) before attempting to physically assert himself. In the TVA itself, this continues. Loki complains, tries to intimidate, questions, and even talks to machines with no other real witnesses (twice). He's pulling out all the stops, so to speak, to try to verbally establish control of his situation. He's trying to get his bearings, to assert his autonomy and individuality--but no one is listening to him.

When that doesn't work, and only when a lot of that doesn't work, does Loki attempt physical control of his environment. He first tries his magic (something familiar to him) and is shocked when that also doesn't work. The TVA is already a foreign environment, but because none of Loki's usual and comfortable methods of surviving are working, it becomes more foreign, and more stressful. That's why he escalates to actively resisting the guards (but note he doesn't try too hard once someone (Mobius) starts talking). Physical resistance has never been Loki's forte, so he plays to his strengths while he can, but when that fails and he gets more desperate, he has to get creative.

But when Loki is stressed enough that he starts to physically fight back, the illusion of confidence starts to break down. We see this continue really clearly in the interrogation room scene. The subject matter actively makes Loki uncomfortable. His attempts to deflect or lie aren't effective, and his words once again fail to control his situation or even shield him from what he'd like to avoid. Unable to escape the direct questions, Loki again becomes physically restless and uncomfortable, standing and pacing while growing more obviously agitated. The questions Mobius is asking are ones Loki does not want to think about, and that's because they ultimately hit on his most vulnerable points.

The question of "What would you do if you could go back?" while seeming rather innocuous, is really a well-disguised gateway to all of Loki's trauma and insecurity. Why does he feel he should rule Midgard? Well, Loki attempts to respond, that's what he deserves, it's what he was born for--but it wasn't, really, and he knows it. Firstly, when it comes to his royal birthright, Loki has always fallen back on that as a grounding mechanism. It's what he asserts to claim his identity and feel powerful and in control. He does this with being a god, too, and we see him do this several times just within the TVA. But ultimately, it's just words--the real power is with those who can make what they want to happen actually happen, and in Loki's life, that has never been him. (Even talking about his birthright, and the concept of ruling, brings up the traumatic events of Thor 1; and the fact that he was looking to rule Midgard, not Asgard, means that he would still be playing second-fiddle to Thor. Midgard wasn't his birthright--Asgardians never ruled directly on Earth. It was just the best he could get.) And secondly, Loki's attack of Earth was directly caused and influenced by Thanos. That is the main source of trauma that Loki is desperately trying to avoid, and the questions he's being asked don't allow him to do so. He can't weasel out of it; Mobius is too persistent, and he knows all the worst buttons to push. In fact, he's systematically targeting Loki's weaknesses.

Look at the questions and statements he uses: "For someone born to rule, you sure lose an awful lot." Your birthright is false and you know it. "You weren't born to be a king. You were born to help others become the best versions of themselves." He juxtaposes this with footage of the Avengers, Thor among them: your identity only matters so far as you can enable others, especially your brother. Loki starts avoiding looking at the footage, becoming less brazen with his attitude and responses, so Mobius asks, "What is it that you're running from?" It's at about this point that Loki stands up, trying to physically distance himself from both Mobius and the question. This interaction reveals much about what Mobius is intending by this conversation. He's not trying to learn about Loki, necessarily. He already knows Loki is running from something, and seems to know what it is, which wouldn't be immediately clear to someone uninformed. What he's really trying to do is make Loki vulnerable, and make him admit it.

Mobius uses Loki's role in his mother's death to push him over the edge. Immediately, Loki turns on Mobius, furiously insisting that the whole thing is an illusion--more desperate verbal posturing, and Mobius treats it as such--and then Loki snaps, first throwing a chair at the painful image of his mother, which promptly reforms (it's inescapable), and then trying to attack Mobius. The fact that Loki is lashing out physically means he is desperate, but even his last resort isn't effective. He simply can't protect himself. He's powerless. That's triggering in and of itself.

But it's the footage that's the final blow. After escaping his restraints, he returns to the very room he left, and looks at his life. And he cries. He's so vulnerable and hurting and scared that in his first moment alone, he cries. And just as he thought he'd have a little bit of comfort, even laughing to see his improving relationship with Thor, he watches himself die a humiliating, pitiful, ignoble death, and hears himself say, "You will never be a god"--and that old boast means nothing because Thanos snaps his neck anyway. That moment, seeing the thing he was running from catch up to him and kill him, is his final emotional breaking point. When Loki laughs and bitterly says, "Glorious purpose," that's the end of the posturing. He's admitting Mobius was right: he didn't have a glorious purpose, or a glorious anything. Which is why when Mobius comes back, Loki tells the truth, unprompted. He actually calls himself weak. He admits he's been putting up an illusion in a feeble attempt to get control of his situation.

This level of vulnerability from Loki is unheard of, and speaks to how utterly he's been worn down by the very intentional psychological manipulation of Mobius and the TVA. When Loki entered, he was actively opposing them. Now, after having been massively triggered and emotionally exhausted, he's suggestible, and by playing a friendly angle, Mobius can manipulate Loki into working with them--and, literally, against himself.

Whether he has good intentions or no, that makes Mobius a truly formidable player, and one Loki--and we--shouldn't be too hastily comfortable with. He is clearly a master manipulator, and has no qualms using Loki's trauma to break him.

But what should be most concerning of all is that he succeeds. Because the only other person to have ever done that?

Is Thanos.