#we’ll catch up on things tomorrow or slightly later

[gurlgallade]

Sincere apologies about the anxiety posts earlier! If we ever start acting visibly stressed or addled, 80% of the time, it’s because we ate something with cane sugar in it. It hates our head specifically, and it sneaks its way into an infuriating amount of foods.

[capquinn]

I really want fries as a finishing the week treat but it’s so cold out and I’m too lazy to get them. But I was thinking about Quinn and pregnant reader in that situation. Quinn would give her that 🫤 look and sigh after she’s been going on and on about her pregnancy craving and no matter the weather or time of night he always goes out to get it or find the closest thing to it. He’s such a softie and drops everything to do anything for her

It starts off innocently enough — just a passing comment as you're cooking dinner.

You’re standing at the stove, stirring a pot of soup, when you spot the empty pickle jar on the counter. The sight of it stops you mid-stir, an ache blooming in your chest that you hadn’t even realised was there. The sharp tang of vinegar was just a memory now, thanks to Quinn, who had polished off the last one earlier. You stared at the jar for a long moment, then inhaled deeply as if to steel yourself, catching the faint scent of peanut butter still lingering in the air from his afternoon snack.

“We’re out of pickles,” you announce, the words coming out sharper than you’d intended.

Quinn doesn’t even look up from where he’s leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone.

“We’re going grocery shopping tomorrow,” he replies casually, like it’s no big deal. “We’ll grab some more then.”

You nod, swallowing down the disappointment. Of course, it’s fine. Quinn already does so much for you — too much, honestly. He doesn’t complain when you wake him up in the middle of the night to rub your back, doesn’t bat an eye when you cry over commercials. The least you can do is manage a craving for one night.

But by the time the soup bowls are empty and the dishes are drying in the rack, the craving is no longer something you can brush aside. It’s no longer just pickles. It’s pickles and peanut butter. Crunchy peanut butter, specifically, the kind you already have in the pantry. And the thought of it — salty and tangy and just a little sweet — is like a loop stuck in your brain. You can feel it growing, blooming into an obsession you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

So you finally bring it up as you’re both clearing the table.

“You know, pickles and peanut butter would taste so good right now,” you say, hoping maybe speaking it out loud will get it out of your system.

Quinn pauses, plate in hand, and gives you a skeptical glance. “Pickles and peanut butter? Together?”

You nod, setting down the glasses you’ve just picked up from the table. “Yeah. Like, on the same spoon. Or maybe a pickle dipped in peanut butter,” you add, tilting your head thoughtfully.

He squints at you like you’ve just suggested something completely alien. “You don’t even like pickles.”

“I know,” you say, exasperated, “but it’s a pregnancy craving. I can’t explain it.”

Quinn smirks, a playful glint in his eye. “So, the baby’s got you craving… that?”

“Apparently,” you say with a shrug, trying to sound casual, though you can feel the craving getting worse now that you’ve spoken it into existence.

It comes up again later as you sit cross-legged on the couch, scrolling mindlessly on your phone while Quinn flips through TV channels.

“Pickles and peanut butter,” you murmur under your breath, almost to yourself and from the corner of your eye, you catch Quinn’s side-eye, his brow quirking as he lowers the remote slightly.

“You’re still thinking about that?” he asks, his voice laced with amusement, though there’s a hint of skepticism, like maybe he’s hoping this craving had run its course.

You glance up, shrugging as you bite your lip.

“Yeah,” you admit, and then, add quickly, “but it’s fine. I can wait until tomorrow.”

Quinn’s gaze lingers on you for a beat, and you can feel the weight of it. He’s studying you, half waiting for you to crack and half trying to decide if he needs to intervene now or risk hearing about pickles and peanut butter in his sleep.

“You sure?” he says finally, his tone light, but there’s something else beneath it — like he knows you’re holding back.

“Positive,” you say, nodding firmly.

And for a while, you convince yourself that it's true. That you're completely, utterly and positively sure that you can wait until tomorrow.

So you curl up under the blanket with Quinn, his arm draped loosely over your shoulders, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your arm — a quiet, familiar rhythm that usually soothes you without fail. The TV hums softly in the background, and his chest rises and falls against your side, steady and warm. It should be enough.

But it’s not.

The thought of that perfect salty-sweet combination gnaws at you, persistent and unrelenting. You try to distract yourself, to focus on the show Quinn seems semi-invested in, but every passing second feels like the craving is growing claws, digging deeper into your resolve.

You take a deep breath, glancing up at him. His profile is soft in the glow of the TV, his expression relaxed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he absently strokes your shoulder. He’s content, comfortable. You almost feel bad for what you’re about to do.

Almost.

“Before I say something,” you start, your voice tentative, measured, the prelude to what you know is a plea, “just remember that I’m carrying your baby.”

Quinn doesn’t even blink. His lips quirk into a small smile, his thumb pausing mid-circle on your arm.

“Our baby,” he corrects gently, his tone warm, teasing, like he knows exactly where this is going. Of course he knows. He always knows.

You hesitate for a beat, building up your courage before blurting, “I’m really, really craving pickles and peanut butter.”

His head falls back against the couch, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he drags a hand down his face.

“Baby,” he says, his voice full of mock exasperation, “it’s pouring outside. You said it could wait until tomorrow.”

“I thought it could,” you insist, sitting up straighter, as if that’ll help your case. “But I’ve been thinking about it since dinner, Quinn. I don’t think I can sleep until I have it.”

He looks at you, his brows furrowing just enough to show he’s debating his options, though you both know there’s only one.

“I wouldn’t ask unless I was desperate,” you tack on, your tone earnest as if that might tip the scales further in your favor.

Quinn exhales a long, dramatic sigh, one that would almost sound convincing if not for the way his lips twitch at the edges, betraying the affection underneath. There’s no real frustration in him — just the soft resignation of someone entirely smitten, hopelessly incapable of saying no.

“You haven’t even asked me anything yet,” he points out, tilting his head as he meets your gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners with a flicker of amusement he’s trying not to show.

It’s infuriatingly endearing.

“Will you please go get pickles?” you ask, your tone so sweet, so endearingly earnest, that he doesn’t stand a chance.

That gets him.

His lips twitch, fighting off a grin, as he pushes himself to his feet, stretching with a dramatic groan.

“The things I do for you,” he mutters under his breath, the corners of his mouth betraying the tease.

He disappears down the hall, and you hear the faint shuffle of a jacket being pulled off a hook, the jangle of keys being found. When he returns, he’s already slipping his arms into the sleeves, his shoulders settling with the kind of resigned acceptance that says he knows this is his life now — and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He moves toward the door, stooping to pull on his sneakers, the drizzle outside faintly tapping against the windows. Just as he’s tying the laces, he glances back over his shoulder, one brow quirking in that playful, knowing way that makes your heart squeeze.

“Anything else while I’m out?” he asks, his tone warm and teasing, like he’s already resorted to a grocery list. “Ice cream? Chocolate syrup? A gallon of peanut butter to get us through the next week?”

You laugh, shaking your head as you peek over the back of the couch.

“Just the pickles. And maybe… the good kind?” You ask innocently, like maybe you’re asking for too much at this late hour.

Quinn groans, a sound full of exaggerated exasperation, but the grin tugging at his lips gives him away.

“The good kind,” he repeats, his tone dripping with mock seriousness, like the words themselves are some great inconvenience. “I’ll see what I can do.”

But there’s no hiding the fondness in his eyes as he steps closer, moving behind the sofa. He plants his hands on the cushions, leaning over until his face is just above yours. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin with a quiet kind of devotion. Then, he presses a kiss to your temple, lingering just long enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the steady comfort of his presence.

“You owe me for this,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that warm, teasing tone that makes your heart flip.

You tilt your head toward him, grinning as you meet his gaze, your affection spilling over. “I’m giving you a baby, Quinn.”

He exhales a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes like he’s indulging some monumental injustice. But the way his lips twitch, the faint curve of a smile tugging at the corners, gives him away.

“Yeah, you are,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself, his thumb brushing along your cheek in a gesture so instinctive, so achingly gentle, it makes your chest tighten.

There’s a flicker in his eyes of pure adoration that doesn’t even try to hide. It’s the kind of look that says a thousand things he never could — about how much he loves you, how much this life you’re building together means to him, how he’d cross any distance, brave any storm, just to see you smile.

And then he huffs, a soft sound somewhere between affection and surrender, before leaning down further, his breath warm against your skin. His lips brush against yours, soft and deliberate, the kind of kiss that’s all tenderness and quiet longing. It lingers, unhurried, his hand cupping your cheek as if to keep you right there, as though this moment is his anchor before he steps out into the cold.

“Be right back.”

[marvelstoriesepic]

Angstober (day 18)

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Prompt: Falling Stars

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Two idiots not being able to confess their feelings; sad!Bucky, sad!Reader; Bucky is a playboy; hurt myself with this

Angstober Masterlist

You wince at the sharp clinking of your keys as you turn the right one in the deadbolt of your front door. It echoes around you, sounding in the hallway, way too loud for this hour.

You hadn’t intended for it to get this late. But Wanda had been bubbling over with stories about this new guy she was crushing on, Vision, and Nat just couldn’t resist tossing in sly jokes about his name every few minutes.

Also, there’s that something you have to talk about with Bucky. That something you’ve been trying to work up courage for to finally tell him. But you rather spend your time with distracting yourself.

So, you’re not that surprised that the planned girls' night out stretched far after midnight.

Fortunately, you’d kept yourself in check with the drinks, just enough to stay warm but not enough to make the way home fuzzy. You’re grateful you’ve got nothing to do tomorrow, besides perhaps a bit laundry, as you feel the tiredness creep in. Slipping off your shoes with a quiet sigh, you let the relief flood through your slightly sore feet.

The apartment is shrouded in soft shadows, and you decide against switching on any lights. The last thing you want is for that sliver of brightness to seep under Bucky’s door, disturbing his sleep. Instead, you use the wall and furniture for guidance, fingers skimming the cool wood.

Something halts you in your movements.

There is a hunched figure sitting outside on the fire escape, motionless, his silhouette outlined by the dulled glow of stars, the moon, and the city lights. You would have been scared, would have felt a shudder running down your spine, if you weren’t so familiar with the figure sitting there.

Concern replaces the tiredness in your veins and a frown pulls at your brows and twitches at the corners of your lips. What would pull Bucky out here, so late in the night, with all lights off, his gaze so intently fixed on the heavens as though he hopes for answers to questions too heavy to voice, too ingrained in his mind for you to know.

Though you have to admit to yourself, maybe you do know.

Things between Bucky and you have been distant lately, for the past few weeks. And that’s nobody’s fault but yours.

He’s been nothing but patient and kind as you’d started retreating from your usual nights spent watching movies, your late-night talks, mornings in the kitchen where you surrounded yourselves with freshly made pancakes and coffee, playing silly games as to who would find the loudest creaking floorboard of your apartment.

He noticed, and it was clear in his eyes how much it troubled him, throwing you a dim smile and a no problem doll! We’ll catch up on that later, yeah? after you gave him another excuse.

It’s not like you haven’t endured this before. Hell, you have. But it never gets easier to have sleepless and plagued nights filled with muffled sighs and moans creeping into the quiet of your room, haunting your rest, fending off nice dreams, and what hurts the most - penetrating the feelings you never planned on letting out. The misplaced feelings for your best friend that are nothing but the cause of your rising misery.

And, well, everybody has a breaking point.

It came one morning, just a few weeks ago when you left your room in hopes of covering up the bags under your eyes to find a trail of clothes scattered from the hallway to his door. His shirt and jacket tangled with something feminine and delicate - clothes they seemingly couldn’t wait to get rid of, hurriedly shedding them to leave them where they’d fallen.

It stung. God, it stung.

You were frozen, standing there and staring at the vivid remnants of the night he shared with someone else. Someone who either left with Bucky’s clothes on or was still lying there in his bed, perhaps wrapped up in his arms, relishing in the intimacy he gave so easily to others.

It hit you all at once, like a punch to your gut, your back, your face, even your legs because they felt so weak, so damn wobbly, and you thought about curling up on the floor, sinking into your sorrow, letting it wrap its arms around you if Bucky’s wouldn’t do it.

The pain was so sharp you could scarcely breathe through it, feeling it slice and tear, unraveling in your chest as each shatter of your heart was pulled in a different direction. A foreign ache pressed horribly against your ribs and you were almost too numb to feel the hot and unbidden burn of tears gathering under your lashes. You turned away, but the hurt followed.

And that’s when you decided you couldn’t keep doing this. Couldn’t keep hearing the muffled grunts and groans slipping through the walls more nights than not, the aching signs of yet another conquest tucked under his sheets. While you lie awake, barely breathing, as if being still enough would somehow make it hurt less, though it never did.

Then, after staring at the ceiling blankly even after it had gone silent, morning would inevitably come and you’d listen to Bucky usher the next girl out. He’d always keep his words polite but you hear that undertone of frustration easily crawling into his voice. It’s masked, but you hear it. You hear everything. Because he’s Bucky and you know him better than yourself.

Or that’s what you think.

You’d grown adept at reading the pauses, the tired restraint in his tone when she wants to make breakfast with him, refusing to leave. Even that barely audible sigh of relief as the door clicked shut, and the way he always stays rooted a few seconds too long before moving over to the kitchen and making you breakfast and coffee.

You only ever manage to leave your bed, trying to unhook this secret ache from your heart, when the smell of pancakes reaches you behind your door.

There was one time when Bucky couldn’t hold himself back like he usually did. You heard a girl tinker around in the kitchen through the door but weren’t in the state of mind to do something about it. But when your best friend left the bathroom to rush to the kitchen there was a loud crash, resounding around your shared space. It led to you sitting up in bed. Or perhaps you sat up because of the frustrated curses that left Bucky’s mouth.

They weren’t directed at the girl but then she started laughing, only exclaiming an oops that held a seductive tone, not sounding sorry at all for dropping something that wasn’t her own. It had been your favorite mug, you later found out.

“Alright, you need to go. Now. Come on, don’t make this difficult, I want you out.”

Bucky’s tone was clipped and tense, not necessarily raised but there was an edge to his voice you were surprised to hear. Never had he spoken to you like that before, never would you imagine he even could. And although this wasn’t at all directed at you, it surprised you nevertheless.

The girl left without a fuss.

But unfortunately, she didn’t leave with your bleeding heart. None of those girls did.

So, no you couldn’t keep doing this. And that’s when you started looking. Quietly, behind your closed door, without a word to your best friend, scrolling through endless apartment listings, combing through flatmate ads and real estate sites in search of an escape. You need distance, a new place to gather yourself and your feelings, even if that means giving up the ease and warmth of sharing a home with Bucky.

A few days ago you found a bright, little one-bedroom in Brooklyn, neat and sunlit, with a price tag that didn’t make your stomach drop. It was clean, affordable, everything you could want.

It just didn’t have Bucky.

He wouldn’t be just across the hall anymore.

No more of him, sprawled out on the couch with that boyish grin, claiming he didn’t wait for you to come home but whining when you were about to retreat to your room.

No more cozy breakfasts together with you making scrambled eggs or him making pancakes, the start of the day only just lighting up your kitchen.

No more laughing until your rips ached or sharing a blanket while trying to decipher the faded star constellations on the light-polluted night sky out on the fire escape.

No more rearranging your bookshelf in the hallway because Bucky’s nimble fingers deliberately destroyed your system once again, just so he had a reason to keep you out of your room. You never even thought about placing the shelf in your room in the first place.

And even though you haven’t yet found the courage to tell him, you know you have to. Because the appointment is set, a visit to your potential new apartment already on your calendar, and a part of you is resolved, even if it stings.

So yes, perhaps you do have an inkling of what’s weighing on Bucky’s mind tonight, might know some of the questions he’s casting into the unresponsive night sky. The thought twists inside you, pulling tight until it leaves a bitter taste at the back of your throat. The distance you built between you was never meant to hurt him. You never wanted him to feel confused, to wonder what had gone wrong, or to turn his gaze inward, picking himself apart in search of answers to questions you hadn’t dared voice.

But here he is, shoulders hunched under the weight of his own thoughts. Thoughts you had put there.

You can’t let him bear this.

Your feet carry you forward, steps carefully as you make your way to the fire escape. Slowly, watching for reactions from him, you slip out the window and settle down beside him on the cold metal. He gives you such a quick look, it’s hard to make out his features and angles his face downward a little, shadows lining his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, the sound trembling slightly, deep and unsteady, he readjusts his place on the ground, sitting up a little straighter and making enough room for you.

A dark blanket is draped around his shoulders and you watch him shift his arm, opening the space underneath it for you to sink into the warmth of the fabric. Without a word, you inch closer, settling into his side and he makes sure the blanket covers your form. You feel the warmth seep into your bones, though it’s not the blanket that gifts it to you.

Bucky doesn’t look your way, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond the rooftops, but his arm settles securely around you. There’s a hesitance in his movements that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably but you try and let him ground you.

“Are you okay?”

Your question is soft as a breath, barely a whisper between the two of you. You search his profile, hoping he’ll at least give you anything, but his eyes remain fixed forward, jaw set tight, stubbornly resisting your gaze.

“I’m fine,” he then rasps, though the words sound brittle, cracked, like he hasn’t made use of his voice the whole day, roughened by hours of silence. His voice is thick, thicker than the blanket around your shoulders that’s supposed to keep out the cold, but a shudder runs down your spine nonetheless.

You keep watching him, unblinking, because he knows you see the lie. But he doesn’t take it back, doesn’t soften or explain, or even try to make it seem like he’s okay. Instead, he just sits there with those sad, distant eyes and slumped shoulders, lips pressed into a frown as his brows draw together in tired lines.

“No, you’re not.”

It’s gentle as you say it, careful. You can’t take your eyes off of him, watching his lips twitch in a humorless huff, a hollow, empty sound that’s swept away with the nightly breeze as soon as it leaves him. He takes a slow, steadying breath, as though the air itself might offer him something solid, and he clears his throat softly, eyes never leaving the stars.

You sit in the stillness, not even hearing the sounds of the city below, only hoping to hear him again, waiting for him to ask you what he meant to ask the night. But the silence stretches on, unbroken and filled with a tension you’re not used to feeling around Bucky.

Eventually, you avert your gaze and look out at the lights yourself, that’s wrapped in a darkness that usually feels comfortable. You’ve been in this position so many times before, sitting on the metal, cozying up against his side, with his arm slung over your shoulder, but there is so much space between you even though you feel the entirety of his left side pressed against your right.

You take a breath that fills you with a realization you’d like to swallow down again. This isn’t the moment to lay everything bare, to tell him what you know you have to, but in order to break through the barriers that built between you and Bucky, you’ll have to be honest. Yet, if you can’t bring yourself to speak of the feelings you’ve held so closely for him, then you’ll have to tell him the other truth. The one you’ve kept hidden for now. You’ll have to tell him you’re leaving, that soon there will be no more shared walls, no more lingering mornings, and touches on the couch during movie nights.

It’s the only way to unburden both of you, to allow him - and yourself - to stop searching the night for answers that have been locked in your heart all along.

This step away is the only way forward.

And he deserves to know. He deserves to experience it for himself.

“I have to tell you something.”

Your voice is once again just barely a murmur and this time it’s his turn to watch your profile, his eyes tracing your features as yours remain trained on the blurred constellation of city lights and their surrounding darkness, unseeing and unfocused.

Maybe he catches the undertone in your voice, that tremor of guilt, of reluctance - the suffocating fear that, once spoken aloud, your decision will become real. It won’t just be a simple hope to a relief anymore, it will be your reality and more than that - it will be Bucky’s too.

You pause, pulling in a shaky breath, feeling his steady gaze on you, waiting and patient like he always is. “I’ve been thinking. Lately. And I guess, maybe… I mean I believe it’s for the best-”

You let out a frustrated sigh, pressing your lips together, summoning every ounce of courage, forcing the words past the tightness in your throat.

“I’m planning on moving out.”

The words tumble from you in one rushed breath and you feel empty of air for a moment.

There’s no way you can keep breathing normally ever again at the sharp, strangled sound of Bucky’s own breath hitching, a choked inhale that makes your lungs gasp for a reprieve you’re not able to give, despite it being so easy.

Bucky goes impossibly still beside you, his shoulders no longer slumped but rigid, his body stiff as a board and his arm around you retreats slowly, almost mechanically. The warmth of his shoulder, which once felt so comforting, is now a firm weight against you. His gaze leaves needles prickling into your skin, so intense and confused, it fills you with a dread so unbearable, you wonder if you’ve made a mistake by telling him.

But there is no going back now.

“It wasn’t an easy decision, okay?” you start, trying to keep your voice as steady as it would go, but you know you fail. “And it’s not because of anything you did, or anything that’s happened between us, alright? I just… I just need this. For myself.”

Bucky still doesn’t say anything and you force yourself to meet his eyes. However, you couldn’t prepare yourself for what you see. The usually glowing blue of his eyes is pale and fractured with confusion and an exposed hurt so intense and laid open, it feels like a physical blow. You feel your heart screaming to take it back. To make what you said unheard.

You never meant for this - never intended to put that look in his eyes, to shove this desolation in his beautiful gaze, that sears its way into your chest, ripping it open to leave a gaping and bleeding wound.

“What did I do?” He doesn’t seem to manage anything other than a whisper, so soft, so fragile and broken it barely reaches you. Yet, it cuts deeper than anything he could have shouted, each word strained, painted with vulnerability. He sounds so small, so lost, a part of him crumbling in front of you, and the sight is enough to leave you torn.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Buck! Please, please believe me,” you beg, reaching out, but stopping short, fingers curling into your palms as you fight to keep yourself from holding him, from touching him like you always have. “I just… I have to deal with something, and I- I think it might be better this way.”

But his gaze doesn’t change, doesn’t yield to your explanation. The ache in his eyes is unforgiving, swirling in the wet sheen that has appeared with shock and a torment that seems to merge into something deeper, something that’s cutting him from the inside out.

You feel the sting behind your own eyes, hating how the tension pulls you further apart. Bucky’s eyes are rimmed red, faintly puffy and the sight grips you with fingers so bony, they leave marks on your skin. It’s a sign that whatever he’s holding inside, it’s something he’s struggled through alone already, something he’s been carrying before you came out here, something that’s been eating at him since the day you pulled back.

“You really want to do this?” It sounds as broken as the first time. Though this time he doesn’t seem to care what he sounds like anymore.

“I have to.”

He doesn’t respond. You don’t say more. You realize that no words, no explanations, could ease the ache you’ve cast into his eyes. No further explanation you could give him would uncoil the tightness in his shoulders, or soften the tension that has locked his body into a posture of heartache.

Even if you wanted to speak, you can’t. The knot in your throat has cemented itself, strangling any thought or apology before it can reach your lips. You hate it for letting anything pass in the first place.

You turn your gaze back to the city lights and hate the way they press on you. The glow of the streets and buildings you had looked upon so many times now feels lifeless, like an uninspired haze. There seems to be no color anymore, as though all the meaning has simply faded away, leaving only the dull aftermath of what you’ve set in motion.

A strained breath only leaves you, offering you no relief, and minutes stretch onward in excruciating stillness - one, two, five, maybe more, each one heavier than the last.

You still feel Bucky beside you, but never had you felt so detached. So apart from him in ways too painful to feel. But you have to feel it. Because it’s there. In every inch of space between your bodies.

It’s as though he’s fading from you, retreating into himself, covering himself with the hurt you laid out on him.

He’s sitting in the corner of your eye, breaths ragged and unsteady, yet he makes no move to contain it, no attempt to mask the sorrow that already drew him out here in the first place but feels so pronounced now. He’s letting it settle, letting it sink into him, surrendering to it.

You hate yourself for it. For the way, the words took shape, for the way they slipped past your lips, for the pain now etched into his features, and for the distance that feels too expansive to ever close with simple words.

He’ll understand eventually, you tell yourself, as if willing it into truth. Once you’ve moved out, once there’s finally a boundary between his life and yours, you’ll be able to breathe again, to find refuge from the endless loop of moments where he’s wrapped up in someone who isn’t you.

Maybe then you’ll be able to clear your head. Maybe the feelings twisting up your insides will loosen and fade if you’re lucky. Maybe you’ll be able to unravel them, to make sense of the longing that’s burrowed so deep it feels as if it’s become a part of you.

You could find a way to purge yourself of this deeply ingrained ache that thrums through your every thought of him. And then, with a little hope, you’ll be able to talk to him, as you used to, with honesty, ease, and that playful banter you miss so much, and this knot in your chest will dissolve, returning you to the friendship you both know best. So, maybe, freed from this unspoken tension, you’ll be able to look at him without feeling like you’re losing a little more of yourself with every passing glance.

You just need distance first.

And patience. A brutal patience, to endure the space that stretches between what is and what might be, to trust that the emotions which hold you close now might one day fade into the background, into something manageable, something you can breathe through.

And yet, sitting here beside him like you did so many times before, the silence heavy with words left unsaid, a part of you already knows that this patience you’re counting on, this idea that distance alone will fix what’s broken, may be the hardest illusion to cling to. But you have to try, for both your sakes, to believe there’s relief on the other side of goodbye.

Another minute goes by, stretching like the distance between you, pulling the silence tighter until the space between you feels like a chasm. You lift your glistening eyes to the night sky and something catches your attention. There is a streak of light brighter than the rest, sliding toward the earth in a slow, fading descent.

A falling star.

Its light shudders, then vanishes into the void, leaving you staring at a dark spot. Then, another appears, arcing through the dark sky, flaring for a heartbeat, and blinking away. Another follows, and another, an endless parade of wishes burning up in the night to disappear again.

You watch them fall, though with no joy. There’s no wonder, no awe, only an aching hollowness. You watch another of them light up and disappear because, at this moment, there is nothing else left to hold onto. These brief, dying sparks feel almost mocking, reminders of wishes made too late, of moments slipping out of reach before you even had the chance to claim them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you make out Bucky’s gaze lift, following the same fleeting lights. Make a wish. The thought echoes bitterly in your mind. The irony feels cruel, an old superstition dredged up in a moment where wishes hold little comfort.

But, despite yourself, you wonder what Bucky’s wish might be - what he might ask of the stars if he believed they were listening.

And as you think this, a truth rises, too sharp to ignore. You know your wish, the one you’ve been carrying all the time, the one sitting inches from you, close enough to touch but impossibly far. And there’s a twinge in realizing that he may never know, that your wish lives and breathes beside you, and he has no idea.

But you have no idea that the only thing Bucky Barnes could ever wish for is sitting right beside him too, equally unknown, equally close and painfully out of reach.

So, all you do is hold your breath, feeling the night press in, the stars disappearing one by one as their light flickers out, swallowed by the dark once again.

🍁 October Writing Challenges Masterlist 🍁

[narumi-gens]

The L Word

Miya Osamu x f!Reader

summary: Love makes people stupid. Osamu knows it firsthand.

warnings: minors/ageless/blank blogs dni, established relationship, love confessions, fluff with a teeny hint of angst, happy ending, small miscommunication bc Osamu is an idiot but it gets cleared up, Atsumu to the rescue, Osamu being the dumber Miya twin for a change, Osamu really goes through it in this fic but it's all okay bc you love him

notes: literally wrote this entire thing today bc Osamu just does something to me. this takes place earlier on in the Meet the Miyas couple's relationship and you don't have to read the other fics to get this one, but I sure would like you to.

words: 3.6k

part of the Meet the Miyas series

Osamu’s date with you was meant to be a quick dinner. If he was thinking more clearly, he wouldn’t have suggested seeing each other that night at all. It’s been a hectic week for the both of you and he knows that you have to catch an early morning train for a meeting out of town the next day. 

But he can’t think clearly when it comes to you. Because he loves you. He doesn’t know when exactly it happened, but he knows it was probably after only a couple of dates, which he also knows is crazy. 

Again, he can never think clearly when it comes to you.

It means that he’s spent the last few months in a love-induced haze of happiness as your budding relationship has progressed. It’s even been enough to dull the irritation he would normally feel at how smug Atsumu has been about being the one to set the two of you up in the first place.

Of course, none of that is on his mind now. The only thing he can currently think about is how much he doesn't want your evening together to end. 

It’s a desire of his that you’re more than willing to indulge in as your time at the restaurant stretches on long past dessert. When he offers to walk you home even though you live in opposite directions, you don’t even bother to give a perfunctory protest. You merely nod with a wide grin, happily accepting the arm he wraps around your shoulders as you curl into his side. 

And what began as a sweet kiss goodnight outside of your building is now bordering on something inappropriate for a public setting, even on an empty street. 

Your soft lips move against his and his tongue slips into your mouth to taste you. One of your hands rests against his neck, while the other runs through his hair, making him shiver at the sensation of your fingernails gently running against his scalp. Both of his are tightly holding onto your waist, holding you as close as he possibly can so that the only thing separating you two is the clothing you both are wearing. 

“Come upstairs,” you breathe as he begins to trail his lips from yours to the spot just below your ear that always has your knees feeling weak whenever he lavishes it with attention. 

Unfortunately, Osamu has just enough of his sanity left to know what the responsible choice is.

“Ya need to sleep,” he murmurs against your skin before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck that makes you sharply inhale. “Yer meeting tomorrow is important. Gotta be well rested.”

“So thoughtful,” you tease as you guide his lips back to yours to give him another heated kiss, only to pause for air a moment later. “I promise. No funny business. We can just sleep.”

He can’t hold back his snort at your suggestion or his laugh when you pout at his reaction. He rests his forehead against yours, looking at you with a fond smile on his shining and slightly swollen lips. 

“We never ‘just sleep’ when I come up,” he reminds you and your pout deepens.

“But I don’t want to say goodbye yet,” you tell him, and damn if his heart doesn’t ache with how full of love it is for you.

“Okay. We don’t have to say goodbye,” he agrees and your expression lights up. However, it falls as he continues to speak. “We’ll just say goodnight instead.”

“Osamu,” you whine and he presses a soft kiss to your lips before you can say anything else.

“Goodnight,” he says.

When you open your mouth again, he gives you another smiling kiss.

“Goodnight.”

You open your mouth again, a smile of your own tugging at your lips, which he kisses again.

He loves you. 

“Goodnight.”

You playfully open your mouth as you pretend to say something. He kisses you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Another attempt on your part to protest. Another kiss to silence you.

He loves you.

“Goodnight.”

Your mouth opens. He gives you a kiss. 

He loves you.

“I love you.”

He freezes, but not because he’s accidentally spoken the words that have been on his mind these past months. 

It’s because the words don’t come out in his voice. They come out in yours.  

His eyes snap open to find you gazing up at him with a small hint of nervousness, but otherwise nothing but pure affection and fondness and love. It’s everything he’s been dreaming of — literally. He has literally been dreaming about this exact scenario.

But in his dreams, he gently murmurs that he loves you in return and softly runs his thumb along the apple of your cheek. The two of you then kiss beneath the first soft snowflakes of winter or the floating spring cherry blossoms or a drizzle of summer rain.

Reality is much worse. Because in his shock and disbelief, all he can do is open and close his mouth, struggling to put all of his joy and excitement and love in return into words. And the longer the silence stretches on, the touch of hesitation that was initially present on your face slowly begins to morph into sheer horror.

Your embarrassment is visible at his lack of a response and when you force out a small, self-conscious laugh, he knows that you’re regretting ever speaking those three beautiful words aloud.

“Sorry,” you wince and a cold shard of ice pierces his heart.

No, no, no. Don’t apologize. Never apologize. Not for loving him. Not when he loves you, too. 

You clumsily try to extricate yourself from his hold and he’s too wrapped up in his own mortification over how stupid he is that he easily lets you. 

“I don’t…s-sorry!”

Your voice breaks as you stumble over your unnecessary apology and even while you refuse to meet his gaze, he can see how quickly your eyelashes are fluttering as you try to blink back the tears that he’s caused.

“Night, Osamu,” you manage to say through a soft sniffle before hurrying towards the steps of your building.

The only thing worse than the panic and anger that he’s feeling towards himself is whatever it is that you’re feeling. You opened yourself up to him, allowing yourself to be vulnerable and trusting that he would keep your heart safe.

And he was too much of an idiot to be able to offer his own heart in return. 

He just needs to get the words out. Just get the words out.

Just get the fuckin’ words out, ya big fuckin’ pussy.

Relief floods through his veins when he’s finally able to blurt your name as he calls after you. He can fix this. He can tell you that he loves you and that he was just so elated that he was physically incapable of putting any words together. 

You stop, your foot on the bottom step as you turn towards him. While your eyes are shining with tears, he can also the hope in them as you silently plead with him to continue. 

A deep breath releases from his lungs. He hasn’t ruined it yet. You’re willing to listen to him. You’ll give him a chance to make things right and prove to you that he deserves you. He’s so fucking grateful to you. 

“Thank you!”

He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole. Maybe a car will pass by and run him over. Could he be lucky enough for a freak thunderstorm and to be struck by lightning? When nothing happens, he contemplates dropping to his knees and banging his head repeatedly against the concrete sidewalk. 

All of it would feel better than watching how quickly he’s shattered the last remaining pieces of hope that you were desperately clinging onto. You stay still just long enough for him to see your lower lip tremble before you dart up the stairs of your building.

And because of how the stupid apartment buildings in this country are designed, he gets a perfect view of you racing up the exterior staircase and then towards your apartment, pausing only to unlock the door, which then slams loudly shut behind you. The sound echoes through the quiet street, reverberating against the pavement and buildings, but also in his mind. 

Osamu takes a slow, deep breath and holds it before exhaling. He then buries his face his hands, his fingers tugging at his hair, and lets out an unintelligible scream that’s filled with a nauseating mixture of frustration and embarrassment. The noise is louder than the slamming of your door and a dog starts to bark in the distance. 

In a daze, he somehow manages to make it to his bus stop. Likewise, his phone is now somehow held up against his ear. And somehow, Atsumu’s screeching voice answers on the other end.

“Thank you?” he greets angrily and Osamu loudly groans as he slumps forward so far that his head is practically between his knees. “My best friend, the woman yer totally in love with, says she loves ya and all ya can do is thank her?”

“I was just so excited, I couldn’t think straight. I’m a fuckin’ idiot. I know, okay?” he mumbles. He hears a bus pull up to the curb but he’s too distraught to even look up and see if it’s his as he lets it pass. “She already told ya?”

“She’s on the other fuckin’ line right now, crying because of you, ya scrub,” Atsumu bites back and somehow, after everything that’s happened in the past ten minutes, Osamu manages to feel even worse. 

There’s a long pause and his guilt and mortification must be so bad that his brother can hear it through the phone because Atsumu gives a sigh of pity.

“Look, just make it right. We share the same DNA. Ya must have gotten a little bit of my ability to be romantic.” 

In any other situation, Osamu would scoff and roll his eyes. But right now, he doesn’t have the right to make fun of anyone, not even his twin. Instead, he simply nods even though Atsumu can’t see it over the call. 

“Can ya find out what time her train gets in tomorrow?” he asks pitifully. 

“Okay, sure,” the setter offers before sighing again. “I gotta go.”

“Yeah, don’t keep her waitin’.” 

He wonders if you know that it’s him Atsumu is talking to. You must. But Atsumu is a pretty good liar, much better than Osamu anyway. He’s had plenty of practice lying over every little thing under the sun since they were young. Surely, he can convince you that it was a teammate or his agent or anyone else but the man responsible for your distress.

“Same goes for you, Samu,” Atsumu warns him, but there’s at least a gentle undertone of sympathy in his voice that he probably only extends because they shared a womb.

“Thanks,” he says, feeling truly grateful to his brother in a way he hasn’t felt since he set the two of you up.

“I think ya said that enough tonight, ya scrub.” Atsumu then ends the call and Osamu’s gratitude dwindles. 

But Atsumu does come through for him, texting him the information on your train, which Osamu reacts to with a mere thumbs up, knowing that any form of thanks will have him being called a scrub for the third time that night. 

The next day, Osamu closes the shop early. It’s for the better as he keeps getting orders wrong and has to offer so many discounts in apology that if he stayed open any later, he would probably end the day at a loss. 

His mind has been so preoccupied that there’s no room left in it for onigiri. All he’s been able to think about is his plan to make it up to you. He’ll go home and change into his nicest suit. He’ll go to the florist and buy the nicest bouquet they have. He’ll stop by the bakery near your apartment on the way and order a slice of your favorite cake. 

And then you’ll come home to find him waiting for you outside of your building, where he’ll give you the speech he spent all day on. He’ll tell you how sorry he is and explain how much of an idiot he was and tell you that of course, he loves you. He’s even written down exactly what he wants to say on an order sheet from the restaurant so he doesn’t forget a word.

But apparently, the universe has decided that it wants to laugh even more at his expense. 

Everything starts smoothly. Despite not having worn it in over a year, his suit fits as perfectly as it did when he bought it. And after a quick iron, it looks like he just picked it up from the dry cleaner. When he arrives at the flower shop, the kindly older woman working there helps him make a custom bouquet filled with flowers that all represent some form of love and apology. 

It’s at the bakery where things start to go wrong. 

First, it’s so late in the afternoon that the display window is picked clean over. Your favorite cake has sold out entirely and all that’s left are a variety of croissants, donuts, and croquettes. He stupidly decides to buy a donut anyway, because although the image of him giving you a donut is much less romantic, he’s always believed that food is the best way to show you care about someone. 

Then, just as he’s finished paying and in his rush to make sure he gets to your apartment before you do, he runs right into a teenager holding a bright green melon soda, which spills all over the front of his clean, white dress shirt. The girl gasps in horror and immediately begins to apologize, repeatedly bowing as she offers him the napkins in her hand.

However, he knows it was his fault and that he can’t make another girl cry in less than 24 hours. He assures her that she wasn’t to blame and after patting his shirt dry to the best of his ability, he buys her a new drink and then helps the employee clean up the spill. He leaves the bakery with a squished donut and an obscenely green, large stain on his shirt. 

And of course, he gets one block away from the bakery when it starts to rain. It’s not the soft, romantic drizzle that he’s imagined might color such an important moment in your relationship. It’s a true downpour that has people ducking into stores and under doorways. For just a moment, he considers stopping at a konbini and buying an umbrella but he’s already drenched and when he sees how long the line is, he decides that it wouldn’t be worth it if he has to miss you. 

It’s another block away from the konbini that the bag holding the donut breaks, dropping the baked good into the gutter where it’s quickly washed away by the rainwater. As he looks at the soggy remains of the bag in his hand, he decides not to worry about it and shoves the mess into his pocket. The flowers are enough on his own.

The flowers, which he’s just now realizing aren’t in his hand and weren’t with him at the bakery. The flowers that he remembers setting down on the bench at the bus stop but doesn’t remember picking back up when he got onto the bus. 

The voice in his head is frantic as it tries to assure him that everything is fine. If you really love him then you don’t need flowers or baked goods or him in a dry, unstained suit. You’ll love him just as he is when you find him waiting to greet you after a long day.

He’s thankful that the sound of rain falling is loud enough to mask the panicked, high-pitched whine he lets out when he turns the corner onto your block to find that you’ve beaten him to your place and are already standing on the bottom step of your building’s staircase, protected from the rain as you shake the worst of the water from your dripping umbrella. 

There’s the smallest part of him that wants to just go back home and hide beneath the blankets like he used to do after losing a volleyball match. 

But then, without his consent, your name leaves his lips and his feet begin moving on their own to meet you. You freeze mid-umbrella shake and look up at him in shock, clearly not having expected him, and definitely not in this state if the way your eyes widen is anything to go by. 

Your senses come back to you quicker than his did to him last night and you open your umbrella back up and rush out to meet him, hurrying to finally protect him from the rain.

“Osamu, what are you doing? It’s pouring,” you say with a mixture of disbelief and confusion. You look him over from head to toe and frown. “Why are you so green? You look like you spilled a melon soda all over your shirt.”

It’s okay. He still has his speech. He’ll win you over with his words. Whether it was volleyball or opening his own restaurant, when has he ever given up?

Instead of answering you, he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out the order slip. He’s relieved that it’s held up better than the bakery bag and vows to keep buying order pads from the same supplier for the rest of his life. 

At least until he unfolds the paper and finds that the ink he wrote in has run because of the rain that soaked through his jacket. His shoulders sag as he sighs in defeat. 

“Osamu?” you ask with a timidness he hasn’t heard from you before and it’s enough to snap him from his own wallowing. His idiocy left you in tears last night.

The flowers, the suit, the pastry, the speech, this entire big, grand gesture he was trying to make all boil down to one thing.

“I love ya,” he says and it feels so good to finally be able to say the words aloud to you for the first time. It feels like a weight has been lifted from his chest, leaving room for how big his heart has grown with all the love it holds for you. “I’m so sorry about last night. I’ve been in love with ya since, like, our third date but I knew I’d seem crazy if I said it that early. And when ya said it first, I just couldn’t believe it and I was so stupidly happy that I just couldn’t say anything.” 

Now that he’s started talking, the words won’t seem to stop. But from the way you’re looking up at him with so much warmth and affection and love, he doesn’t think you want him to.

“And then I started to panic because I couldn’t say anything, which made it harder to say anything else. So, I came up with this big plan to win ya back with flowers and cake and a big speech but literally everything went wrong.”

“Osamu,” you try to gently interrupt him, but by this point, he couldn’t hold anything in even if he wanted to.

“I forget yer flowers at the bus stop and the bakery was out of cake. Then I almost made this teenager cry so I had to make that right. And of course, this fuckin’ monsoon had to sweep in outta nowhere. And my speech got all ruined, too,” he complains, holding out the order sheet for you to see the proof. 

“Osamu,” you try again. Only he’s too wrapped up now in this bizarre, stream-of-consciousness monologue to even take in the adoring way that you’re looking at him.

“If it was gonna rain, couldn’t it at least have been a soft, romantic type of rain? But I guess nothing says romance like a flash flood warning. It’s a good thing ya live on a higher floor with how much it’s comin’ down,” he continues. “All this little love confession is missing are some warning sirens—”

“You love me?”

The question finally shuts him up. But it’s a different kind of silence than the one from last night. Because you look so utterly happy as the three words occupy the space between you. His own expression softens and he crumples up the paper in his hand before shoving it into his pocket. 

His hand now free, he tenderly cups your face and presses the softest, sweetest kiss to your lips as the rain continues to come down in sheets around you, only your small travel-size umbrella keeping you both safe. 

As his lips part from yours, he rests his forehead on yours, an almost mirror image how you two were wrapped up in each other last night. 

“Yeah, I love ya,” he whispers as he affectionately brushes his nose against yours. You smile back at him and his heart pounds with excitement at hearing you repeat the sentiment back to him. 

But then, your eyes begin to sparkle mischievously as they always do when you tease him.

“Thank you,” you say and he thinks he’s somehow managed to fall even further in love with you.  

[chavezwhore]

The Singer (Chapter 1)

A/N: here is my first attempt at a fanfic with Nicholas Chavez, this is going to be a slowburn type of deal. Y/N will be an up and coming singer, who is best friends with Cooper. I’m kind of modeling her singing style after Sabrina Carpenter. Nicholas will be Nicholas obviously. Let me know what you think please! I’ll try to make a second part tomorrow!

The female was nervous, actually, nervous was an understatement, she was absolutely terrified. She took a deep breath as she exited her car, her long hair swaying as she walked into the soundstage where her best friend since forever Cooper was filming his brand new show. It wasn’t seeing Cooper that made her nervous.

It was seeing him. The man that had been invading her thoughts since Cooper sent her the promo picture. Nicholas Alexander Chavez. Lord, she could go on and on about that man, but she wasn’t going to do that. Hell, she hadn’t even told Cooper.

The female took another deep breath as she approached the door to the soundstage for Cooper’s show and walked in. Looking around, trying to find her best friend. He wasn’t hard to miss, with his sunny disposition and telltale laugh. She made her way over to him quickly, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind, “Hey Coop,” she said with a wide grin. The male, confused about who was touching him, broke into a bright smile when he heard her voice, “Y/N! You made it!” The female nodded, smiling widely at his excitement, “Of course I made it you big movie star, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she rested her head on his chest as he pulled her into a hug, “this place is insane, you’re lucky I even found you!”

Cooper laughed, “Come, I’ll give you the grand tour!” Y/N smiled, her nerves easing, Cooper’s excitement rubbing off on her. She followed him through the set, looking as he pointed people and places out. The female thought she was in the clear, and then there he was, in all his glory. She bit back sigh at the sight of him.

Unfortunately, Cooper noticed him too, “Nic! Get over here, I want you to meet my best friend!” Y/N internally groaned, why was this happening, she wasn’t even sure she could talk to him like a normal person. Plus, didn’t he have a girlfriend? Or was she thinking of someone else. Cooper was still smiling so wide, she was amazed his face didn’t fall off as Nicholas walked over to join them. Cooper looked between the two of them, “Nic, this is Y/N, Y/N this is Nic.” Y/N smiled politely, “Nice to meet you,” she said.

Nicholas greeted her in return, noticing that she seemed a bit anxious and eager to keep moving through the set. Y/N then looked at Cooper again, “Was that the end of the tour or was there more to see?” Cooper glanced at the female, sensing something was off with his best friend but he didn’t let his smile falter, “there’s one more thing I wanted to show you, we’ll catch up with you later Nic!”

Once they were out of earshot, Cooper looked to the female, “alright, what was that?” Y/N’s face flushed slightly, “I just think he’s really attractive, and I wasn’t sure what to say. He has a girlfriend doesn’t he? I didn’t want to be weird…” Cooper chuckled softly, “Of course you do, but no, he doesn’t have a girlfriend, he HAD a girlfriend but they recently broke up.” Y/N’s mouth dropped open, “I am SUCH an idiot.” Cooper smirked, “always time to redeem yourself, let’s go.”

He grabbed the female’s hand, walking with her over to the group of actors in the middle. Cooper cleared his throat, “Hey everyone, this is my best friend Y/N, she’s going to be hanging around a lot, she’s actually in town recording her new album.”

The female found her eyes falling to Nicholas again and again, the butterflies in her stomach told her one thing for certain. She absolutely had the biggest crush on him already. And that could only mean one thing. She was screwed.

Nicholas happened to be in the group of actors standing around, looked up and met the female’s gaze. He wasn’t going to lie, she was pretty. She may or may not have been the reason he broke up with his girlfriend, but he would never say that out loud. He was broken out of his trance when Y/N laughed at something that Cooper said. Yeah, the male thought, he was screwed.

[sturnsmia]

𝑭𝑶𝑹𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑬 | 𝑴𝑨𝑻𝑻 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶

𝒊𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉… when matt sees his best friend constantly suffering under her boyfriend’s mistreatment, he takes matters into his own hands.

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: toxic and slightly abusive boyfriend, murder (in detail), knives, blood, if u don’t feel comfortable do not read!!

𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆: hi hi! i wanted to post something a little more spooky for halloween but i didn’t finish in time lol, sorry. i hope you guys like it! also send me requests for things to write or just to chat. i lovee responding to anons (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

it was late at night when you were at the triplets house with your friend madison. you guys had spent the night watching movies and catching up with each other after enduring a long week of work. unfortunately you had a whole lot to talk about considering your boyfriend, noah was starting to piss you off.

“i don’t even know what his problem is! one second he’s saying im the love of his life and then two minutes later he’s screaming at me for spending i didn’t do!” you explained to your friends while flailing your hands around in awkward gestures to express your frustration. “and that’s not even the worst part! he had the fucking nerve to grab my wrist when i tried to walk away from him! and it wasn’t a gentle touch it was like this.” you reached to your right and grabbed matt’s wrist before gripping it harshly, causing him to pull away. you whispered a little sorry and shot him a quick smile.

“what the hell! that’s not okay, why the fuck would he do that?” chris questioned with a mouth full of popcorn.

“ugh i have no idea its so stupid the way he’s acting.” you groaned, leaning your head back on the couch.

matt clenched his jaw at the thought of your boyfriend laying his hands on you. he never liked noah from the start, not that noah enjoyed his presence either. noah constantly complained that matt had feelings for you and that it was obvious to everyone. whenever he brought it up you defended your best friend, explaining that you and matt have known each other since the two of you were kids, and you’ve always hung around the triplets. regardless of your constant reassurances, noah never attempted to make amends with matt.

“honestly y/n, that’s so fucked for him to do, and you need to stand up for yourself and set boundaries! don’t let him push you around.” madison spoke from the other side of the couch beside nick, who nodded in agreement to her statement.

you sighed, thinking about the possibilities that could happen if you talked back to noah. he definitely would not take it lightly.

“maybe you should just break up with him.” matt spoke with nonchalance. your head snapped to look at the boy who just spoke utter nonsense. “you’re funny matthew.”

“i mean this isn’t the first time he’s done something shitty to you. it’s clearly hurting you physically and mentally, so why not just let him go?” matt shrugged turning towards you.

“because i love him, matt. just because he does a couple things i don’t like doesn’t mean we have to break up.” you spoke with slight annoyance in your tone. nick, chris, and madison exchanged awkward glances, avoiding getting involved.

matt sighed, connecting your hands together and rubbing it softly with his thumb. “i know, i didn’t mean it like that, i’m sorry. we all just want you to be happy.” chris nodded his head before shoving another piece of popcorn in his mouth.

nick stretches his arms dramatically before yawning. “okay it’s pretty late, we should get to bed. y/n i know you’re staying the night, madison do you wanna stay too?”

“i would but i have to get up early for a meeting tomorrow so i have to head home now.” madison said while collecting her purse from the ground. “i’ll miss you.” you frowned, pulling her in for a hug.

“y/n we’ll see each other again in like two days.” madison laughed as she hugged you, rubbing your back softly. “bye boys, i’ll see you guys later! love you!” she smiled, walking down the stairs and out the front door.

as you heard the front door slam shut, you and nick stood up from the couch and started walking towards the stairs before matt gently pulled your wrist back. nick continued walking up the stairs as you stopped.

you turn around, staring at his icy blue eyes. “yeah?” you asked softly. matt brushed a piece of hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. “make sure that little idiot boyfriend of yours doesn’t touch you like that again or i’ll have to go pay him a visit, alright?”

you giggle softly at his statement considering he always jokes about putting noah in his place. “alright mr tough guy don’t go around hurting people now.” you murmured, pushing your finger to his chest. “goodnight matt” you said gently, a warm smile spreading across your face as he shooed you away to nick’s room.

“good night angel” matt replied back as you made your way up the stairs.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

the next day you woke up around 11am and ate breakfast with the triplets before returning to your own apartment. you twisted the doorknob to your front door open and quickly dumped your purse lazily on the floor before flopping down face first onto the couch. you laid there until you heard a notification chime and looked up to see your phone.

it was a text from noah telling you he was coming over because you had abandoned him last night for matt. you roll your eyes at his snide remark before tapping your fingers on your phone to reply a quick “okay”.

you got up from the couch and walked over to the bathroom to clean yourself up a bit. you brushed out the small tangles in your hair and open the drawer to take out a tube of mascara and an eyelash curler. leaning over the counter towards the mirror, you brushed the mascara wand over your lashes. you swapped out the mascara for your space camp cherry flavored lip balm and swiped it across your lips. after putting everything back in the bathroom drawers you left the bathroom and went to your room searching for a comfortable outfit. you settled on navy blue sweatpants and a lacy white tank top.

as you finished changing you heard a loud knocks coming from the front door, alerting you that your boyfriend had arrived. you quickly walked to the front door and opened it to reveal noah looking slightly irritated when he saw you.

“hi baby!” you smile warmly at him and pull him in for a hug. noah wraps one arm around your shoulder and pats your back softly. you pull away after noticing he’s not acting normal. “is everything alright?”

“yeah i’m fine.” he responds dryly. your eyebrows furrow showing your confusion, noah notices and realizes your not satisfied with his answer. “you couldn’t have maybe put yourself together and looked a little nicer for me before i got here?”

the smile from your face drops immediately, turning into an fustrated and slightly embarrassed look. noah shut the door behind him and sat down at the table in your kitchen, waiting for you to move from the front door.

“are you being serious?” you murmured, keeping your eyes on the door and avoiding eye contact. “what?” noah’s face twisted in slight annoyance at your sudden attitude. “you’re telling me that you’re in this “mood” all of a sudden that causes you not to give your girlfriend a hug or kiss when you see her? all because i don’t look pretty enough?” you say sternly, attempting to hide the hurt in your heart.

noah quickly stood up from his seated position, the wooden chair he once sat on tumbling to the floor with a loud bang. your eyes finally turned to him and see his jaw clenched and his eyes burning with fury. “now i don’t know what those sturniolo boys got into your head, but i’m sure not liking this bitchy attitude you got goin’ on.” noah sneered, shaking his head in disapproval.

you scoff at him, he always found a way to blame this on them. “this has nothing to do with them. you can’t say some bullshit to me and expect me not to say something back!” your tone starting to raise. “woah there! don’t mess with the tough girl here, all high and mighty!” noah said sarcastically, raising his arms up for dramatics.

“you’re so fucking immature!” you yell at him with tears starting to well in your eyes. the look in his eyes immediately made you regret your sudden outburst, your heart sunk to your stomach. noah slowly walked towards you. “what the hell did you just say to me?”. you swallowed hard and fidgeted with your fingers, out of instinct you turned to the front door and grabbed the handle. before you could open it, noah put his hand on your shoulder and harshly turned you around, pushing your back to the door.

“i asked you a goddamn question!” he spat, his grip remained tight on your shoulder as he kept you pinned against the door. tears started to fall from your eyes as you clenched your jaw and kept a stern look. “get off me.” you muttered. noah kept his eyes on you, his rough hands gripped even tighter on your bare shoulder. you pushed him back, causing him to release his grip. before he could say anything you turned away from him and raced out the front door.

you ran to your car and slammed the door shut. at this point the emotions you had hiden came crashing down as you drove through the neighborhoods. wiping your tears and sniffling at every red light, you drove as fast as you possibly could to the only faces you wanted to see.

after parking your car, you walked quickly to the front door slightly shivering from the breeze considering you didn’t get to grab a sweater before you left. you knocked loudly on the door impatiently waiting for someone to answer.

chris opened the door with a bright smile on his face before seeing your teary and red eyes. “hey, what’s going on?” he asked softly. you couldn’t even respond before you latched onto him for a hug as broken sobs escaped your throat. “oh no. hey shhh it’s okay don’t cry, don’t cry.” chris held you tight and stroked your hair gently before matt and nick walked down the stairs to see what had taken their brother so long to answer the door.

“y/n, sweetheart let’s go upstairs to the living room okay?” nick whispered softly. you looked up from chris’s chest to see nick and matt with worried expressions plastered on their face. nick took your hand and interlocked them before leading you up the stairs and onto the couch. he sat down next to you as you rested your head in his lap. matt and chris followed behind the two of you and took a seat beside nick.

“tell me what happened y/n, did you get hurt? do i need to kill someone?” nick asked, rubbing your shoulder. “it-it was noah” you choked out with a sniffle. “he came to see me and, he got upset with me because he said i didn’t look nice enough for him when he came over.” matt’s anger started to bubble up just hearing noah’s name. “i yelled back at him and told him he was being immature. and when i tried to leave but he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me against the door. i had to push him back before he finally let go.” you rambled, tears falling from your eyes.

matt’s jaw hardened after hearing what noah had done to you. he gave chris a hard stare before they both stood up and walked down the stairs without saying a word. “wha-where are they going?” you asked, sitting up and turning to nick. “don’t worry about it, let’s get you cozy and do something to get your mind off that brainless boyfriend of yours.” nick suggested with a smile, wrapping a fuzzy blanket around your shivering bare shoulders.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

matt’s gripped the steering wheel of his car so hard his knuckles were almost white. he couldn’t believe that your idiotic boyfriend would ever think it’s okay to lay his hands on a women, especially you. you always found a way to forgive noah for his mistakes because of your kind heart. the thoughts coursing through his mind made the drive to noah’s house a fast ride. he already knew the directions from previous occasions when you had asked matt to drop you off there.

“you don’t need me to come in do you?” chris asked as matt jumped out of the driver seat. he grabbed a small object out of the side door and looked up at his brother. “no, i’ll be fast.” matt responded slamming the door shut and walking up to your front door. he twisted the door knob and pushed it open using his shoulder. noah looked up from his phone and stood up from his spot on the couch, looking at matt.

“dude what the fuck?” noah sneered, looking confused at the loud noise coming from the front door. until he recognized the face that was staring back at him. “matthew sturniolo, what brings you here today?” his face twisted into a cocky smile.

“do you find pride in hurting your girlfriend?” matt said through gritted teeth. noah laughed from across the room “what’d she tell you now, that i’m abusing her? god she’s so full of lies.” matt slammed the front door shut before taking slow steps towards noah.

“i won’t ever understand how she fell in love with such a lowlife like you.” matt scolded, keeping intense eye contact with the boy in front of him.

“what? you jealous i get to fuck her instead of you? get over yourself, she’s mine.” noah teased, a grin present on his face. matt scoffed and reached into his pocket, he was sick and tired of the way your boyfriend treated you like an object and constantly put you through so much pain.

“i never liked you from the start. i always knew you would be a shitty boyfriend. but y/n always finds a way to see the good in people, even the most insufferable people like you. and i won’t let you take advantage of that.” matt fumed, pulling his hand out from his denim pocket. noah’s eyes widened at the pocket knife in matt’s hand. he stepped back but was met with a wall behind him, he had nowhere to run.

“woah man let’s just talk this out i can-“ matt didn’t let him finish talking before piercing his stomach with his knife. noah let out weak groans before matt retracted his hand, releasing the blade from his lower abdomen. in a swift motion matt struck him again and again, watching the knife go through his chest. over and over and over again.

noah’s body quickly fell limp underneath him. matt crouched down, using the carpet to wipe the blood off his pocket knife before clicking it shut and placing it back into his pocket. matt stood back up looking down at the lifeless body beneath him, a smirk creeping on his face.

“she’s always been mine.”

xoxo, mia ♡

[m4iya]

One and only

Hinata Shoyo

A key shuffled into the keyhole, the doorknob to his hotel room twisting as the door cracked open. Clothes and towels were strewn all over the small room, Shoyo’s suitcase wide open, having been rummaged through in a rush before you both left for his game earlier today. He dropped his duffel bag onto the ground before slumping over the bed that was still crinkled from earlier that day.

“I never got time to clean up before we left.”

‘I’ll fix it later!’ you’d said to yourself before the both of you darted outside the room to catch a taxi. You sighed, having not realised how tired you’d become.

“We’ll do it tomorrow..” He groaned, the back of his hand pressed against his forehead. He, in particular seemed much less energised than usual. “It’s been so long since i’ve been able to play like that.” He muttered. Picking up stray items from across the room, you recalled moments in the day where Shoyo had been barely able to sit still, excited to dart across the court as he always had since you’d first met him.

“Well, you’ve really made yourself known, haven’t you?” Tossing a pair of shorts into his suitcase, you decided that you’d actually fold the clothes tomorrow.

Rummaging through your own luggage, you grabbed some pyjamas and your skincare bag before heading to the bathroom.

“You won’t be able to sleep properly in those” You ushered towards his crinkled outfit. He was still wearing his uniform, complete with the jacket on top.

“I’ll change out of them soon..” He drowsily mumbled. His speech was slurred, already dipping in and out of consciousness.

Changing out of your outfit, you washed your face and set your day clothes aside to be packed away tomorrow. The day flashed through your head - the exhilarating feeling of being in the stands, hearing the crowd chanting the name of the man you’d watched grow over so many years. The smile on his face filled your gaze as he waved at the audience, his eyes lingering slightly longer on you. Watching the way he dashed across the court, standing tall at the peak where he never imagined he’d be.

That starry eyed, young boy who strived day after day to be seen, had become a man whose name rolled off the tongues of all the people watching him play.

He’d made it a thing to rush to you first after a game, picking you up and spinning you around as his sweet laughter filled your ears. He’d always thank you, cupping your cheeks into his hands, his arms wrapping tightly around your back.

Throughout your years together at school, even after you graduated, you were always together. You still remember the day you first heard the news about his long leave to Brazil. Having been beside him for so long - and having him ripped from you so fast wasn’t something you could get used to.

You washed your face in front of the mirror, the sound of the gushing water lingering in your ears as your thoughts continued to wander.

Reminiscing on the day he arrived back in Japan, you recalled how he’d been walking in the airport, his head turning from side to side to catch a recognisable face.

As soon as he walked out into the crowd, you poked his back from behind. He turned, eyes widening at the sight of you as he immediately wrapped you in his freshly tanned arms, laughter bursting through sniffles.

It was the first time you’d heard him cry.

Switching off the light in the bathroom, you found Shoyo crawled up on his side, holding a pillow close to his chest. Of course, he hadn’t changed out of his clothes.

Giggling to yourself, you switched off the light, crawling onto the bed. You shifted to your side, eyes watching his face as his body rose and fell with each gentle breath. You felt the weight in the bed shift as he slid the pillow away, wrapping an arm around you, pulling you closer. The lingering smell of deodorant filled the air as your breathing steadied.

“Goodnight.” Your free arm snaked around his back.

“Night..” He whispered after a yawn.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Unspoken Melody p.7

Hi guys, here's a new part of the story, if you've missed part 6 here it is :) If you want to read more of my stories, here's my masterlist.

Two drivers, one unforgettable concert, and a chance encounter with a pop sensation that leaves Oscar questioning everything he thought about music—and maybe even himself.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the unfamiliar softness of the bed and the faint smell of something comforting—laundry detergent and a hint of vanilla. You blinked against the morning light, trying to piece together where you were.

Before panic could set in, a soft knock at the door drew your attention. It opened slightly, and Oscar peeked in, his expression a mix of concern and hesitation.

“Hey,” he said gently. “You’re awake.”

You sat up, the blanket sliding down to your lap. “Wait… where am I?”

“This is my room,” he said, stepping inside. “You fell asleep in the motorhome after, well, everything. I didn’t want to wake you, and it was getting late, so I brought you back here. I hope that’s okay.”

Your heart swelled at the thoughtfulness of his gesture. “Oscar, you didn’t have to do that. But… thank you. Really.”

He waved it off, sitting in the chair by the window. “You don’t have to thank me. I just didn’t want you to wake up alone after… everything.”

The memories of the previous day rushed back, sharp and painful. Mark’s betrayal, the headlines, the whispers in the paddock—it all came flooding in, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to fall again.

Oscar seemed to sense it immediately. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning forward. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. None of it is fair.”

A bitter laugh escaped you. “You’re apologizing? You didn’t do anything wrong. Mark… he’s the one who should be apologizing.”

Oscar’s jaw tightened. “You’re right, but I can’t help feeling bad for you. You deserve so much better. Honestly, it makes me furious that he could treat you like this.”

The raw honesty in his voice caught you off guard. “I feel like such a fool,” you admitted quietly. “I should’ve seen it coming. Maybe if I wasn’t so busy with work, or—”

“No,” he interrupted firmly, his gaze locking onto yours. “Don’t do that to yourself. This isn’t your fault. You trusted him, and he’s the one who broke that trust. That’s on him, not you.” His voice softened as he added, “If anything, he’s the fool for not seeing what he had. Anyone who loses you… he’s the one who’s lost something incredible.”

The way he said it—so earnest and sincere—made your breath catch. For a moment, you just looked at him, your heart aching with gratitude.

Before you could respond, your phone buzzed on the nightstand. You glanced at the screen: it was your manager.

“Sorry,” you muttered, picking it up.

“It’s okay,” Oscar said, sitting back to give you some space.

Your manager’s voice was calm but carried a sense of urgency. “I saw the news. It’s already everywhere. For now, lay low. Don’t post anything, and don’t make any public appearances unless absolutely necessary. We’ll handle the fallout later.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “Understood.”

When the call ended, you sighed and looked back at Oscar. “I should go back to my room. You’ve already done so much for me, and you need to rest. You’ve got a race tomorrow.”

Oscar shook his head. “I’m not worried about that right now. What matters is that you’re okay. Are you sure you want to be alone?”

You hesitated, your exhaustion warring with the fear of being left alone with your thoughts. “I don’t think I’ll be sleeping much tonight. Maybe I’ll order some food and watch a movie or something.”

His eyes softened. “You don’t have to do that alone. If you want, we could stay here. I’ll order pizza, and we can watch something together. No pressure, though.”

The kindness in his offer made your chest tighten. “Are you sure?”

“Of course,” he said, his lips curving into a small, reassuring smile. “I don’t mind at all.”

So you stayed.

The two of you argued playfully over pizza toppings before settling on a large half-and-half. When it arrived, you curled up on the couch beside Oscar, the awkwardness between you replaced by an easy camaraderie.

As the comedy played, you found yourself laughing more than you had in weeks. Oscar’s quiet chuckles were contagious, and every now and then, he’d glance at you to make sure you were still smiling.

“Thank you,” you said softly during a quieter moment in the movie.

“For what?” he asked, looking genuinely puzzled.

“For being here. For… everything.”

He shrugged, but the warmth in his gaze betrayed how much he cared. “You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad I could help.”

And as the night wore on, sharing pizza and laughter, you felt a flicker of hope in the warmth of his presence—a reminder that even in the midst of heartbreak, kindness could still find its way to you.

@justaf1girl

[haddonfieldwhore]

obvious - damian priest

damian priest x gn! reader

part one here

word count: 2.8k

warnings: scripted violence, reader almost passes out, nsfw themes/implied smut, again - no age specified for reader but it’s written as if they’re around rheas age

you had been correct; rhea hadn’t said anything about you spending the night in damian’s room, nor had finn or dom. the five of you had spent the last few days together, and you were grateful at how quickly you felt like you were fitting in with the group.

that had been almost a week ago, and you and damian had managed to not get caught as you continued sneaking around. currently you were in the gym training with rhea for your match against raquel, enjoying some alone time with your best friend.

“are you excited?” she asked, and you shrugged.

“yes - but i’m also nervous. it’s not gonna be an easy match,” you replied. obviously, you already knew the outcome of the match, but the rest of the team didn’t; they just knew what to do afterwards.

“it’s no fun if it’s easy,” she laughed, and you smiled.

“you’re right. i’ve worked too hard for things to be handed to me now.”

“that’s the spirit. and me and the boys will be there to cheer you on,” she smiled.

“thank you. i’ll be way less nervous with all of you there with me.”

“of course,” you signalled that you were done working out, wiping sweat off your forehead with a towel as you flopped onto the floor, laying on your back. you heard damian and finn walk into the gym, and looked up as a shadow fell over you, damian’s talk frame blocking the light as he stood above you. he reached his hand out to help you up and you took it, letting him pull you to your feet. you stumbled slightly as you got to your feet, your legs still tired from the workout you��d just finished. damian caught you as you teetered, his hands on your hips as he steadied you.

“you okay?” he asked, and you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. you nodded, smiling.

“yeah - thank you for the assist,” you laughed, and damian finally let go of you as rhea walked up behind you, reminding both of you that she was there.

“no problem. you feeling ready for your match tomorrow night?” finn asked, setting down his stuff on the bench and lacing up his workout shoes.

“i think so,” you said, but you didn’t sound so sure.

“you’ve got this, we all know you can do it,” damian smiled, giving you a pat on the shoulder.

“we’ll see you guys for dinner later?” rhea asked, and the guys nodded, as you and rhea left the gym.

“you and damian seem to be getting along,” rhea commented, and your heart sped up.

“yeah,” you smiled, hoping you played it off well enough. “he seems cool. all of the guys do.”

“that’s good, i knew you guys would hit it off.” you didn’t have time to wonder if she knew more than she was letting on, when her phone rang.

“that’s buddy - i’ll catch you later!” she smiled, disappearing around the corner of the hallway as he answered the call from her fiancé. you smiled, happy for her as you walked back to the hotel room. you took a quick shower and started getting dressed for dinner with rhea and the boys, when your phone buzzed on the counter. it was a text message from damian, and you smiled as you sat down on the bed.

the text message was a photo taken in the gym mirror, damian lifting his shirt to show off his abs. you felt you face heat up, admiring his physique as you typed out a reply.

‘wish you were here in person instead’

‘name a time and place and i’m yours’ he replied, and your heart flipped.

‘after dinner? i think this hotel has a pool….’ you sent back.

‘deal’

you were about to set your phone down when it buzzed again.

‘if you think you can wait that long ;)’ you rolled your eyes at the message, but smiled as you replied.

‘i’m more worried about you’ you sent back, and still in just your undergarments, you sent back a photo of your own.

‘this dinner is gonna be torture; not being able to touch you all night’

‘i know you can behave’

‘you’re in for it when i get you alone’ he threatened playfully, and you felt you cheeks getting warm.

‘promise?’

‘let’s just say you’re lucky you have a match tomorrow or you wouldn’t be walking anywhere’

‘damn. why did i choose this career’ you joked. ‘i have to finish getting ready, but i’ll see you later’

‘can’t wait’ he texted back, and you finally set your phone down and began getting dressed. you had picked out a nice outfit, mostly black and not too fancy, and got dressed. you heard the door opening as rhea got back, yelling to you you that she was gonna have a shower.

of course you were looking forward to spending time with your new friends, you just hoped this dinner went by fast.

•••

dinner had been a lot of fun, and you felt like you had gotten to know the rest of the judgment day better by the end of the night. you were sitting between damian and rhea, and damian had been messing with you all night, either touching your leg with his or resting his hand on your thigh under the table. thankfully, no one had noticed, but you were definitely going to give him shit for it now that you were alone. it was around midnight, and you had texted him as soon as rhea had fallen asleep to meet you at the elevator. within two minutes damian was walking down the hallway towards you, and you smiled as he approached you.

“i hate to ask, but you do know the pool is closed right?”

“i know,” you smiled, as the elevator arrived, the door opening to let you both inside. the second the door was shut, damian had you trapped between his body and the wall of the elevator cart, his lips on yours as your arms wrapped around his the back of his neck. his hips pressed against yours, and you moaned softly into his mouth. the elevator dinged to signal that you had arrived at your destination. you gently pushed his chest and he backed up, creating space between you just in case there was anyone who might see you. the coast was clear, and you grabbed his hand, exiting the elevator and pleading him down the hallway towards the pool. you got to the door and it indeed was locked, but you pulled a bobby pin out of your pocket and managed to pick the lock, getting the door open.

“where do you learn how to do that?” damian asked, impressed.

“youtube,” you shrugged, and pulled him into the pool room.

“you are full of suprises,” he laughed. the main lights were off in the pool area, leaving only emergency lights in, making the room dimly lit, but bright enough to see around.

“i also didn’t bring a bathing suit,” you admitted, and damian walked forward until you were face to face with his chest, and his hands began to undo the button on your shorts.

“good. one less thing for me to take off,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck.

“there’s a hot tub over there too,” you pointed out, undoing the zipper of his hoodie to find that he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath.

“that sounds like a really bad idea,” he teased, removing your shirt as you started to work on getting his pants off. “let’s go.”

“you don’t seem worried about getting caught,” you noticed, and he smirked.

“that’s half the fun, baby.”

•••

after spending a few hours with damian, you’d managed to sneak back to your room without rhea noticing that you were gone. it was the next day; the day of your first singles match on the main roster, and you were getting your ring gear on. your hands were shaking slightly from nerves, but you were also excited. you finished getting ready and headed backstage to wait for your time to go on. the storyline was that this match was to prove how much you wanted to be in the judgment day; if you won, you were in. the rest of the group would be at ringside watching, evaluating your performance to decide if you were good enough. rhea walked over to you backstage, patting you on the shoulder.

“you’ve got this. remember to have fun though okay? i know you love this, and this is your moment; take it all in.”

“thanks rhea,” you hugged her right, the studs on her ring jacket digging in to your arms but you didn’t care.

“yeah, you’re gonna do great,” dominik smiled, and you gave him and finn each a fistbump. damian walked over to you, giving you a friendly looking side hug.

“go out there and kick some ass,” he said, and you laughed, returning the hug.

it finally came time for your match, and you went out first, your music hitting as you walked down the ramp, the other members of the judgment day close behind you. you stepped into the ring, taking rheas advice and letting the moment sink in; and she was right, you loved this.

raquel came out and the match went smoothly, all of the spots between the two of you going as planned. the match was planned out to be pretty one sided in favour of your opponent, as it wouldn’t be believable if you immediately squashed you competition on your first big match. raquel had suplexed you off of the top rope, and power bombed you into the mat multiple times, and you could tell you would be feeling it in the morning. you had managed to get her down for a pin a twice as well but not for the three count. it was nearing the end of the match, and raquel had you in a submission hold, your body begging you to tap out but you wouldn’t let yourself. you knew you had to win this. raquel adjusted her hold on you, pulling you to the centre of the ring as her arm under your chin made it hard to breathe. you reached for the ropes as rhea encouraged you to hang in there, tapping the apron next to you.

“come on, salem. i thought you wanted this,” she yelled at you, cheering you on while remaining in character. you were beginning to feel light headed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hang on. rhea was right, you did want this. being in the judgment day with your best friend was a dream come true. the official came over to check that you were still conscious as your eyes had began to flutter closed, but deemed that you were still okay to continue the match for the time being. using that motivation, you against all odds managed to roll yourself over, and with the element of surprise managed to pin raquel’s shoulders down while she was still holding you. the official counted to three and you heard the bell ring, meaning you had won.

raquel let go of you and you took a deep breath, your eyes closed as laid flat on the mat, breathing heavily as rhea slid under the bottom rope, scaring raquel out of the ring. the judgment day music played, cementing your status in the group as damian and finn helped you up, before lifting you onto their shoulders. you couldn’t stop smiling despite the pain you were in as they let you down, making sure your feet were steady on the ground, before the five of you exited the ring. rhea had her arms around you and dominik, and the other members showed off their titles, an impressive amount of gold between the members of the judgment day.

once you were all backstage, the adrenaline began to wear off, but your smile remained as other superstars congratulated you on an amazing match. you shook hands with raquel, thanking her for being a part of such an important moment for you, and she pulled you into a hug, and you winced a little in pain but laughed nonetheless.

“what do you say guys? i think it’s time for another celebration, don’t you think?” finn suggested, and you all agreed. despite how exhausted you were excited to party with your new friends again. you got backstage to change out of your ring gear, the boys already gone to wait in the parking garage for you and rhea.

“how do you feel?” she asked through the door of the locker room bathroom you were changing in.

“emotionally and mentally? amazing. physically? like i got hit by a truck,” you both laughed.

“yeah. you kind of get used to the physical part. the rush doesn’t go away though. at least - it hasn’t for me,” she explained. “and you might feel better physically if you hadn’t spent the night with damian the day before your match.”

“i-,” your eyes went wide, and you stepped out of the bathroom now fully dressed. “we didn’t-“

“save it,” she laughed. “it’s kinda obvious from the way he looks at you,” she said smiling, and you were relieved that she didn’t seem mad. “and i’m your best friend! of course i figured it out.” you laughed, punching her arm lightly.

“do finn and dominik know?” you asked, and she shook her head.

“no, they’re oblivious. i bet it will take them forever to find out. but i think they’ll be happy for you guys. i mean, whatever you have going on…”

“i’m not sure. it’s still really new but i like it, whatever it is. it’s kinda like having a friend that you also sleep with.”

“isn’t that exactly what it is?” rhea laughed, pushing you softly.

“yeah i guess you’re right,” you laughed with her.

“well i think you guys make a great couple; whatever the specifics are. i’m happy for both of you. and between you and me priest really needed to get laid he was starting to get grumpy-“

“rhea!”

“what? it’s true?” she laughed. “he’s been way more relaxed since you showed up. did you two really hook up the first night after your welcome party?” she asked, no judgment in her voice.

“yeah,” you admitted, and rhea squealed.

“i’m glad you guys got together,” she said. “now let’s go celebrate your big match!” she grabbed your hand and dragged you to the parking garage where the guys were waiting. you were all on one bus this time, meaning you got to party while you made your way to the next town. you knew rhea wouldn’t tell the others without your permission, but and you were honestly a little relieved that she knew; it would make it easier to sneak around if you had her covering for you. even if you told your friends, you weren’t ready for the whole locker room to know just yet.

“finally! let’s get this party started!” damian called as you and rhea approached the bus. rhea winked at priest as she walked into the bus, dominik and finn already inside.

“does she know?” damian whispered to you, and you nodded.

“she figured it out on her own,” you defended yourself, not sure if he would be upset.

“i’m not mad, or surprised honestly. i don’t really care if the rest of them know, as long as that’s okay with you.”

“i’m okay with them knowing too,” you smiled.

“that means i can do this,” he said, leaning down to kiss you. you smiled, hearing tapping on the window of the bus from inside. you looked up to see dom in the window, and could hear rhea laughing as finn yelled for you and priest to get on the bus.

laughing, the two of you got into the bus, finn taking the first driving shift as damian sat down, pulling you into his lap. things had gone even better than you’d imagined during your first week on the main roster, and you were more than excited for what the future would hold. you had new friends, a new romance, and were doing what you loved most in the world, and you got to do it every week with your best friend.

“cheers- to the newest member of the judgment day!” rhea toasted, and the boys all cheered, damian kissing your cheek as he squeezed you in his arms. you giggled, leaning back against him as rhea passed each of you a drink.

“and congratulations on an amazing first match on monday night raw,” dominik smiled, tapping his cup against yours.

“thank you guys. i couldn’t have done it without you all there cheering me on,” you smiled.

“we’re a family, that’s what we do,” rhea smiled, sitting next to you and damian, and she leaned over to kiss your other cheek, causing you to laugh again.

you could definitely get used to this life.

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

The Demigod On Earth - Steve Rogers x Reader (Love and Thunder)

Summary: Thor pays you a visit and your family expands by one.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Light Angst! Mention of Character Death! Talk of Cancer Thor: Love and Thunder Spoilers!

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist / Main Masterlist

Love and Thunder

Summer was probably one of your favourite times of the year, especially now that you had less work over the summer vacation and more time to spend with JJ. Today Steve also had the day off from work so the three of you had decided to spend a day at the pool. 

You were just about to leave when a spaceship of all things landed on your front lawn. 

“Were we expecting any visitors today?” Steve muttered quietly to you. 

“Not that I’m aware of” you muttered back, you didn’t even recognise the ship. 

The door to the ship finally opened and you had your answer “Uncle Thor!” JJ exclaimed running off towards his uncle before you had a chance to stop him. 

“JJ careful!” Steve shouted after him before furrowing his brows “Who’s the girl?”

“Huh?” you hummed before spotting the little girl who looked to be a similar age to Thor walking off the ship behind him. 

“Little man you’ve gotten so big!” Thor boomed as he lifted JJ up. 

“Thor, I didn’t realise you were visiting today. Who’s your little friend?” you asked as you and Steve walked over to him. 

“I did send a raven, did you not get it?” Thor frowned.

“Not a raven no… did you send an email?” Steve answered. 

“No, ravens are more reliable and faster,” Thor said shaking his head “Anyway this is my daughter”

You choked on some air “Daughter?”

“Yes, I adopted her just a couple of weeks ago and thought we’d visit for your birthday” Thor explained nodding over to Steve.

“My birthday was two weeks ago” Steve pointed out.

“Oh my apologies, it’s been an eventful couple of weeks,” Thor said with a visible gulp, his voice breaking slightly. 

You instantly picked up that something was wrong and this visit was more than just introducing you to your niece “Um Steve why don’t you take the kids out to the backyard i think me and Thor have some catching up to do” you said putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“But what about the pool?” JJ pouted. 

“We’ll go later or tomorrow, why don’t you show your cousin all the tricks you’ve taught Scout?” you suggested.

JJ’s face instantly lights up “Ooh yes c’mon!” he said gesturing to the girl to follow him. The two kids hurried to the front door, Steve following closely behind. 

“Remember no lasers Love!” Thor called out as she went, making Steve look back over his shoulder in shock. 

You gave him a reassuring smile and thumbs up “We’ll keep watch from the kitchen” you told him before returning your attention back to Thor “I’m sorry I just realised I didn’t catch her name”

Thor furrows his brows in confusion “I just said it, It’s Love”

“Right my mistake” you muttered “Why don’t we go get a drink and you can tell me more about my new niece” You patted him on the shoulder and guided him inside. 

Thor followed you inside and to the kitchen. You paused by the kitchen window looking out to quickly check on the kids and Steve outside, no laxer burns anywhere yet which was good. 

“Do you want a drink or anything?” you asked turning back around to face Thor. 

He shook his head and took a deep breath “Have you spoken much to Jane recently?” he asked.

You furrowed your brows at his question, unsure of the relevance “Oh um, no not really” you said shaking your head as you moved to sit down at the kitchen island “Not through lack of trying, I reached out a couple of times but assumed she was busy, why’d you ask? I know you guys haven’t been together since before the snap”

“Ah right well um we haven't but we crossed paths back in New Asgard” Thor explained clearing his throat as he shifted from one foot to the other.

“New Asgard? What was she doing there? Research?” 

“She was looking for this” Thor answers holding out his hand, to your surprise instead of Stormbreaker appearing, Mjolnir did instead. 

Your jaw dropped as you looked at the hammer, you could see the cracks from where Hela had destroyed it yet it had been fused back together “I-I don’t understand I thought it had been destroyed” you muttered in disbelief. 

“Me too, but turns out I put an enchantment on it to protect Jane so when she touched it, it healed itself and her” Thor explained.

“Her? What was wrong with Jane?” you asked shaking your head. 

“She had terminal cancer” Thor sighed, swallowing thickly as he looked down.

“Oh gods that’s awful, it’s a good th-” you started before your brain caught up. Thor had used the past tense, he had the hammer with him now and his demeanour didn’t convey happiness that she’d been cured “Wait… you said had” you said voice becoming thicker “What-”

“She passed” Thor answered without you needing to finish your question.

If you hadn’t already been sitting, you would have needed to because you felt yourself deflate at the news “shit… I– I- Thor I’m so sorry” you muttered.

Thor gave you a small nod before letting out a shaky sigh “Yeah- um I’ve changed my mind, you don’t happen to have any ale do you” he asked weakly.

“No, and you know that would be a bad idea anyway,” you told him with a sympathetic sigh, you didn’t have alcohol in the house full stop, with you pregnant and Steve’s hiccup with Asgardian liquor during the snap you only got it in for special occasions and in small quantities “come sit down and tell me everything” 

Thor sat down with a heavy sigh but to your relief told you everything that had happened the past couple of weeks. You tried your hardest to hold back your tears as he told you everything but with the hormones, it was a losing battle. 

“I’m so sorry you went through all that Thor, you did all the right things though and I know as hard as it is to hear it but Jane is in a better place now, she won’t be suffering anymore,” you told him softly, resting your hand on top of his.

Thor nodded “She’s in Valhalla now”

“Exactly, but please reach out more if you need me, I don’t want you to go back to that dark place” you said. 

“I won’t I promise, having Love… it’s something to focus on, a light in the darkness” Thor told you making you smile softly. You knew that Steve had felt the same about JJ when you were gone. 

“She is, and if you ever need us we’re here” you promised him. 

“Thank you sister” Thor smiled. 

The backdoor opened and the two kids ran back in, Steve following close behind with an apologetic look on his face. 

“Mom, is it time to go to the pool yet?” JJ asked as he came to a stop next to you. 

“Yes sorry, we’ll just need to get Love a swimming costume on the way” you told him.

“Yes! C’mon” JJ said getting Love to follow him, Thor went with them leaving you and Steve in the kitchen. 

“You okay?” Steve asked putting his hand on the small of your back as you stood.

You took a shaky breath and nodded your head, “yeah” you said your voice breaking, it wasn’t true and Steve definitely knew that but you just weren’t ready to talk about it.

The rest of the day at the pool Steve periodically checked in on you. You stayed out of the pool on the sunloungers with your book which Steve could tell you hadn’t actually read a single page of. Whenever he looked over to you from the pool you were either looking off into the distance or watching the kids play with a sad look on your face. 

He wanted to know what it was that Thor had told you that made you so upset but he wasn’t going to push you. You clearly needed some processing time and he wasn’t going to ask Thor either.

That evening after saying goodbye to Thor and Love and putting JJ in bed, Steve found you in bed curled up as best as you could on your side. Steve climbed into bed next to you, wrapped his arm around you and pulled you gently into his side. You rested your head against his chest and started sniffling.

“You ready to talk about it?” he asked softly.

You sniffled and wiped away your tears “Jane died” you whispered.

“Oh,” Steve muttered, his shoulder dropping.

He didn’t know Jane as well as you but knowing she was gone was hard to hear. He knew the two of you were pretty close following your fight against the dark elves even if you fell out of contact throughout the years.

“Turns out she had terminal cancer, I just can’t believe I didn’t know, that I couldn’t be there for her,” you said shaking your head. 

“I’m sorry sweetheart, I know you would have done everything you could of, did Thor know?” Steve asked as he rubbed your back soothingly. 

“Not until just before,” you said before recounting everything that Thor had told you.

“Well as hard as it is to hear it seems like she didn’t want people to know and we have to respect that decision even if it hurts” Steve sighed as he held you close. 

“I know I just wish I had reached out more” you sighed as you snuggled further into him. 

“I understand, when people die it makes the people that are less behind regret all the things they didn’t do” Steve sighed “I regretted not telling you that I loved you more, I regretted everything that happened with the accords and that we couldn’t move into this house when I originally planned, I’m just glad I’m getting a second chance”

You smiled softly up at him “I love you too, every day for the rest of our lives” you whispered.

“I love you too” he smiled as he kissed you softly “And when we get an opportunity we can go visit and say goodbye” Steve suggested.

You smiled and nodded your head “It might have to wait until this one comes along but I’d like that” you said running your hands over your bump. 

“Sounds like a plan” Steve smiled. 

The two of you relaxed together, Steve grateful to feel you relaxing in his arms. He replayed the day in his mind unable to quite comprehend everything that had changed in less than 24hr. He had a niece now, something he didn’t think would ever happen. 

“I know we’re supposed to love family…” Steve started “But love is terrifying” he said making you burst out laughing. He smiled and laughed along with you, glad to see you smiling again. 

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Masterlist / Masterlist

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[kaminocasey]

Shy Boys Go to Heaven

Summary: Fixer doesn't like how much Scorch cozied up to you. He intends to show you that you're his and only his.

Pairing: Delta Squad!Fixer x F Medic!Reader

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+; SMUT, Possessive/Jealous!Fixer, P in V (unprotected; wrap it up friends), oral (f receiving), cum eating, Rough sex. (If I missed something, lemme know)

WC: 3.1K

A/N: Guys... I was like possessed while writing this. Lmao. I genuinely don't know where this sudden love for Fixer came from bc literally the man pissed me off yesterday while I was reading. But c'est la vie, right? Anyway... I think I'm gonna start writing more Rep Comm fics. I'm still working on the Ordo x Reader x Mereel one, don't worry!

Taglist Form

“Ma’am.” Scorch winks at you, as he and the other Deltas walk into the medbay. 

“Well, hello boys.” You smile. “Long time no see.”

“Only a few weeks.” Scorch teases.

Sev and Boss both nod in greeting toward you, taking off their helmets, but once you see Fixer’s familiar green armor, your whole body goes warm just as it does anytime you see him. It was still a secret to everyone, including his own brothers, that you and Fixer would hook up anytime they’d come planetside. You weren’t exactly official or anything, but you enjoyed each other’s company. He wasn’t exactly chatty or anything, as he was a man of few words, so you did most of the talking. 

Fixer nods, his helmet still on, but you know he’ll find you later, so you give him a flirtatious grin as you go to help Scorch and Sev stock up on their medical supplies.

“So, when are you gonna join the field?” Scorch teases, bumping you slightly. “We could always use a skilled medic.”

“Leave the poor woman alone, Scorch.” Boss rolls his eyes before walking over to Alai, your pretty coworker. 

Fixer told you once that Alai and Boss hooked up a couple times, but never became anything serious. But he wasn’t supposed to know that, and Alai never told you, so the two of you weren’t the only ones with secrets. 

“When are you gonna stop asking me?” You tease Scorch back.

“When you cave to my charm and good looks and say yes.” Scorch winks. 

With a roll of your eyes, you turn to look at Fixer, finding him more rigid than usual. Why hasn’t he taken his helmet off? 

You let Scorch and Sev do their thing as you walk over to Fixer, looking up into his visor. “You alright?” 

He nods once, which is code for “Not really, but we’ll talk about it later.” and you know it’s a promise. With a soft sigh, you pat his hand and go sit at your desk, pulling up your end of day data reports.

“How long are you boys planetside?” You ask them. 

“Til tomorrow. Why, you trying to join us for a night of fun?” Scorch flirts.

You shake your head with a laugh, but before you can say anything, Fixer tosses Scorch another crate, barely giving the other man time to catch it, and walks out.

“What’s his deal?” Scorch asks Sev, who just shrugs, taking the crate to stock it. 

You know you can’t go after him. If you do, it’ll raise suspicion, which you know is the last thing that Fixer wants. So, you just hope that you’ll see him later.

Later that night, back at your apartment, you can’t stop thinking about Fixer. What if he doesn’t come tonight? What if the real reason he was so stiff and rigid is because he wants to end it with you? You’ve been doing a lot of thinking the last few months, and you’ve come to the realization that you want this thing with Fixer to be more permanent… But if he doesn’t… then, you’ll have to accept it and move on. No matter how much it hurts. 

As you make a cup of tea, preparing for bed, you hear the front door open and you know immediately who it is. You don’t even have to look. 

But, he’s the one who left so swiftly and suddenly earlier, so he can be the one to initiate the conversation tonight, which you know is something he’s not particularly fond of doing. You aren’t going to sleep with him until he talks, though. A conversation has to be had, no matter what conversation it is.

You hear heavy footsteps make their way to your room as you make your bed down. 

“Hey.” You murmur, barely glancing at him in the doorway of your room.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He walks over to “his” side of the bed, but you put your hand up, stopping him. He’s not wearing his armor anymore, but he is in just his bodysuit. You try to avoid looking at his well-toned form, looking him in the face.

Fixer tilts his head.

“Nothing to say?” You ask, quietly, waiting for him to just say something, but he doesn’t. “Of course not…”

He looks down at your fluffy comforter he loves so much, which he’s mentioned a couple times before. 

“Fixer.” You sigh, making him look up at you with those deep warm brown eyes that you adore so much.

He sighs with a soft grunt running his hand through his curls, clearly frustrated. 

“You have to give me something.” You crawl on the bed, settling in the middle on your knees. 

He’s eyeing the soft skin of your thighs that’s showing in your short silk pajama set. It’s his favorite pair, and you know it. Maybe you’re using it to your advantage. He looks like he wants to touch you, but isn’t letting himself. 

“If you want to fuck me tonight… you have to let me in.” You do your best to look at him, firmly.

“I…” He starts, rolling his eyes as he struggles to say what he wants to say. “Ugh. Scorch… knows that I… feel things… for you.”

“And?” 

“And… he flirts with you… to get under my skin.” Fixer’s gripping the comforter, his fists tight. “And it works. I hate that it works, cyar’ika.” 

“Why?” 

“Why what?” 

“Why do you hate it?” 

“Because…” He struggles again. 

You crawl to him, running your hands up his chest, making his tight fists let go of the sheets. His calloused hands run around your soft body, pulling you against each other. His eyes are on your lips. 

Stay firm, you remind yourself. Who cares if he’s second in command in one of the most intimidating commando squads? Not you. You are not giving in first. 

“Please, Fixer.” You sigh. “I was under the impression you wanted to end things with me.”

“Oh… That’s not it at all.” He murmurs. “I promise.” 

Maker, he smells so fucking good. Too good. 

“So, what is it, then?” You pull away, sitting back on your butt in the middle of the bed, needing a little space before you cave.

He climbs up into the bed, pushing you on your back, pinning you down. 

“Fixer-” You start.

“Just listen, will you?” He asks, gently, but also strained. 

You nod, letting him continue. 

“You, cyar’ika… are mine. Only mine. You belong to me. The thought of any other man touching you, or even speaking to you…” You hear a low frustrated rumble in his throat. “If Scorch wasn’t my vod, I’d have ripped him apart.” 

You didn’t know that Fixer feels this way about you, but it does something to your insides and goes straight to your warmth. Does he know how you feel about him? Surely, he does.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” Fixer asks, lowly, his lips so close to yours.

You nod, losing yourself in those brown orbs and breathlessly murmur, “Yes.” 

“Say it then.” Fixer whispers, even closer to lips. “I need to hear it.” 

You think this might be the most he’s ever said in an entire night. And fuck, if they’re not the hottest words any man has ever said to you… 

“I’m yours.” You bite your lip, trying to squeeze your legs together for some sort of release. “I belong to you, Fixer.”

“That’s right.” He smiles, softly. “Good girl.”

Unable to hold back any longer, you reach up, crushing your lips to his. He groans loudly against your mouth, pressing himself against you, making you feel just how hard he is. All from hearing you tell him you belong to him. 

“You like hearing that you belong to me?” He hums.

You nod, whimpering as he grinds his hardened cock against your clothed core. “Y-yes.”

“Good.” He whispers before, pulling away to pull your shorts down, dropping them to the floor behind him. 

“Clothes off-” You gasp as he grips your thighs.

Fixer chuckles, getting up off the bed quickly. “Yes, ma’am.” 

As you watch him drop his clothes with yours, you sit up to pull your silky tank top off, tossing it with the rest. He takes in your naked form and groans, gripping his cock, already dripping precum. 

You start back toward him, eager to get your mouth on him, but he pushes you back again and then, to your surprise, flips you over onto your stomach, pulling you up on your knees and then pressing your face down so that your ass is up. 

You think he’s gonna push his cock into you, unable to wait any longer, but he surprises you once again, by licking a long stripe up your drenched folds.

“Oh, Fuck… Fix…” You groan, reaching above you to grip the comforter, just as he was doing earlier. 

“Taste so good, sweetheart.” He murmurs against your cunt. “Like always.” 

You whimper softly, almost pathetically, when he continues licking into you, his strong fingers, pressing against your clit and rubbing expertly, as always. 

“So wet.” He teases.

“So talkative.” You tease back, just happy to hear him talking. 

He places a swift smack to your back cheek and you gasp sharply into the room. He rubs the spot where he spanked you and then kisses it before returning back to your soaked pussy.

Your moans fill the room as he continues to work your cunt, getting you nice and soaked for his cock, soon you hope. You want so desperately to be filled by him again. It feels like it’s been too long. 

Twenty-six days. But who’s counting?

When he reaches his fingers into you, you feel like you’re about to come right then. It’s been days since you even touched yourself, and you’re pretty sure Fixer can tell. 

He chuckles breathlessly. “So needy for me.”

“Mmhmm.” You groan, burying your whimpers into the covers. 

“So fucking tight… Can’t wait to sink my cock into you.” He rambles.

You’ve always been accepting that he was a man of few words, but tonight… something changed. Like some sort of switch inside of him, flipped the other way. He’s talking, quietly, and Maker, you love his voice. It’s so low, and so sensual, and goes straight to your warmth. 

“Why… wait?” You bounce yourself on his fingers.

“Patience, cyar’ika… Or I’ll make you fuck your own fingers.” He threatens you. 

You whine softly, looking back at him and he grins before burying his face in your cunt again, still thrusting his fingers into you, starting to tease that spongy part deep inside of you. The warm familiar feeling pools into you, spreading all the way to your toes, making them curl and before you know it, you’re cumming all over Fixer’s fingers and tongue, moaning into the mattress.

“Let me fucking hear you.” He reaches up to grab your hair, pulling so that your moans and wet sounds fill the entire room. 

His thrusting fingers gently slow, before pulling out of you. You pant slightly, as you fall to the bed, rolling over to look up at him, smiling blissfully. 

“Fuck me… please?” You whisper. 

“I will, I promise.” He murmurs, laying next to you. 

The look in his eyes is serious now, not playful like it was just moments ago. 

“What is it?” You trace your gentle fingers over his chest, anxiously making lazy patterns.

“I’m afraid that I sounded overbearing earlier…” He stops your hand and brings it to his lips.

This is the softest, most domestic that he’s ever been with you, and you’re almost afraid to move, not wanting it to end. 

“I didn’t think you did.” You assure him. 

“I don’t want to like… own you.” He chuckles. “But… I guess what I’m trying to say is… I want people to know you- we belong to each other.”

Your chest tightens at his confession and you can’t help but reach up and kiss him. It’s different somehow. Like, all of your kisses before were that of passion or lust… this is… sweet… kind. Fixer sighs against your lips, full of content. 

“Next time Scorch flirts with me, I’ll just punch him if you want?” You tease. 

“Actually, yes please.” He laughs and you cross your leg over his thigh. 

This is the first time you’ve ever heard him laugh fully and you try to commit the sound to memory, hoping that you get to hear it more.

“What made you come to this realization?” You ask.

“Oh, I always want to punch Scorch.” He smirks.

You playfully smack him in the chest, making him chuckle. 

“I was on a mission… and I thought for sure we were going to die…” Fixer murmurs, making your stomach churn. “All I could think of was you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your kindness. The way you curl up next to me at night. The way you-” You roll over on top of him, straddling him, grinding your wet folds over his still hard cock. “Keep going.” 

“Fuck…” He groans, gripping your hips tightly. “The way that you cry at holofilms…”

You lift your hips, reaching under you and grabbing his cock, making him gasp. 

“Th-the way y-you…” He struggles.

“Keep. Going.” You encourage him, smiling down at him as you line yourself up with his hardened length. 

“Th-the way you have to stop to say hi to every loth cat-” He groans incredibly loud as you sink down onto him. “Fuck!”

His eyes roll back in his head as he tilts his head back slightly, making you smile. Clenching around him in a teasing manner, he lets out another string of curses. He fills you so perfectly, just like always. But tonight… it just feels like it means so much more. He feels the same way about you, that you do him. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, not a mission.” He grumbles. 

“Yeah, but what a way to go, right?” You grin down at him, brightly.

“I’ll fucking say.” He starts to buck up into you and you push him back down, keeping your hands against his chest. 

You start to lift up slightly, only to fall back down against him, making him actually whimper. It’s always music to your ears when you get that sound out of Fixer. 

“Maker, Fix… you’re so hard.” You tell him, seduction clear in your tone and his hands fly up to yours on his chest, gripping your hands, creating more support. 

He wants you to take over. And you’re happy to oblige. You start bouncing up and down on his cock, causing both of you to groan with need. 

The sounds leaving the man underneath you deserve to go into some sort of auditory museum, they’re so fucking beautiful. He’s so beautiful. 

“You like when I’m on top?” You ask him, breathlessly, squatting so you can glide up and down on his cock, easier. 

“Stars, yes…” He pants. “So… tight.”

You feel the burn in your thighs but you’re able to ignore it, purely driven by the craving for this man. He must sense it though, because he provides support under you, gripping your ass, helping lift you up and down and you can’t help but smile. He winks up at you and it goes straight to your core. You can tell he’s getting closer with each thrust, though.

“Permission to take over?” He whispers.

“Granted, trooper.” You laugh. 

He flips the two of you over, so that you’re on your back and starts driving into you. 

Oh, he’s definitely welcome to take over. 

“So fucking pretty… and perfect.” He groans in your ear, continuously slamming into you, getting the most perfect sounds out of you. “All mine.”

As he tells you that you’re his, his hips stutter only slightly, filling you up, painting your walls with himself. Normally, he’d start to pull away, but he just keeps fucking his cum into you, and honestly, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. And then when he pulls out, you expect him to stop, but he doesn’t. 

He travels down your body, latching his mouth to your cunt again and you nearly descend into another realm. 

“Fuck…” You moan, still overstimulated from earlier. 

He’s never done this before, cumming in you and then going down on you again. But you’re not complaining. His tongue feels way too good, but with the way that it's moving in you… it takes you a moment to realize he’s gathering up his cum as he rubs your clit. Before you can even say anything, another orgasm is ripped from your body, and he travels back up your body and taps your lips, clearly wanting you to open your mouth. Oh. You gladly open for him and he lets his cum slide into your mouth.

“Swallow for me, sweetheart.” He smirks.

Who are you to deny a dangerous commando? You do as you’re told, swallowing his cum, appreciating the taste of him like you normally do when you go down on him. 

“Good girl.” He tells you again for the second time tonight, and then kisses you, proudly. 

You both pant against each other, your chests heaving, as you try to come down. He pulls you up to the head of the bed, against the pillows, wrapping his arms around you.

You rest your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. You’ve always found it calming. 

“Maybe I should join your squad…” You tease, only slightly. 

“Absolutely not.” Fixer shakes his head as he traces patterns over your bare back. 

“Why not?” You ask, looking up at him, confused.

“Because I wouldn’t be able to focus… I’d be too busy trying to make sure you were okay.” He smiles. “I like knowing you’re here… safe and sound.”

You suppose that makes sense… Even though, when he’s away, you don’t know if he’s safe.

“Can I tell you something?” You whisper, afraid to speak too loudly.

“Anything.” He kisses your forehead.

“Every time you go, you take a piece of me with you, Fix.” You admit. 

“Can I tell you something?” He murmurs.

“Of course.” You answer, nervously.

“Every time I go, I leave my heart here with you.” He admits. 

Warmth floods your veins. “Well, I promise to keep it safe.” 

“I know you will.” He leans down to kiss you again.

You eventually fall asleep like that, holding each other with sweet promises of him returning to you and you keeping his heart safe and sound. 

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[payservewomen]

I’m tempted to say “I’ve hit a new low”😔 but in reality, I’ve been at rock bottom for…a very long time. Years I suppose.

But at least a few years ago, I interacted with women outside of work. But now? I don’t even leave my bedroom on my days off from work.

I sit on my bed, watching humiliation clips; calling ignore phone lines; taking embarrassing photos of myself; edging myself, oftentimes for many hours(almost never less than 4hrs. up to 12hrs)

The one newer development is- I’ll edge for a while, but then the sadness/anxiety makes me go limp….or i’ll be semi hard but my loser penis only grows slightly larger.

It’s like i’m trying to keep in as small as possible, because I know it should be teeny tiny. It CAN grow to 7in but considering how pathetic I am, part of me wishes I had a microdick. Then I could forget these thoughts i have of becoming a normal person again.

Then I could search 24/7 for a superior woman who wants to use and abuse me.

I fantasize about meeting a woman and dating….Getting comfortable with her to the point that I’m able to do the best I’m capable of in making her orgasm…. But then we open up and share kinks etc….and i know as time goes on, there will be many times my dick doesn’t work.

Slowly over time, she realizes just how much of a beta i am, and begins flirting with real, confident men.

By this time, we’re living together; Maybe one month she asks me to cover all the rent, then bills and spends her money on going out….Then a “friend” of hers(maybe with a unisex name that’s usually a woman’s name)is coming into town; she offers our place to stay….Tells me to make dinner etc saying “ali loves lobster tails and filet mignon! I know ur low on money, but it’s ok! I’ll still have enough left until ur next paycheck! Thanks sweetie! Maybe we’ll meet at the airport, then I’ll let you know when we’re on our way, flight gets in i think about 5pm but who knows if it’ll be on time”

I get off work, begin prepping everything….texting her asking if ali’s plane arrived at 5:30….”it did but we’re tryna find the luggage etc. With traffic it’ll take quite a while, plan for a late dinner!”

By 6:30, still nothing, so i text then call to find her phones off.

I figure she’ll probably be walking in any minute….So i check the “find my iphone” tryna be extra sweet and have everything timed perfectly. I see it moved from the airport towards home and begin making dinner….Until i realize another hour has passed. I check it again to see it’s been somewhere between home and the airport for 2 hours now!

Next thing i know, it’s 10, then 11, then 12 midnight!

I’m dozing off and finally see a text “Omg babe i’m sorry! I lost track of time! Ali said getting a hotel room would be easier, and we’ve just been catching up but ugh it got so late and you know how i don’t like to drive at night anyway, so I’m just gonna stay here tonight, see ya tomorrow!”

I just fall asleep, and wake in the AM to see several weird video texts from a number i don’t know….I hear giggling and a man’s voice….almost seeming like someone’s trying to record something and my gf saying “no stop don’t! that’s mean ali!” There’s at least 4-5 clips like that, the last one ending with my girlfriends sexy belly on the screen. I figure ohhh they’re just having fun i guess? But it did give me a bad feeling in my stomach….

Those vids were sent at about 1am. Then at 2am, just a close up of what i’m sure is my gf’s skin, but i can’t tell what part of her body…..but the audio on it was simply my gfs voice sounding like she’s whining or moaning or something? and saying “mmmmm ohhhhk fuck it”

Then 30mins later the clip begins blacked out, but with clear audio…just sounds like licking and slurping….Then a man’s voice “yeah worship it bitch. Now, say it” then the phone moves, showing an arrogant looking man smiling, then it slowly pans down over his entire perfectly fit muscular body….very slowly, stopping on each part of his stunningly perfect body….i mean this guy had an 8pack! Absolutely chiseled in every way. Then it stops to show his abs and v-lines, and then slowly shows his balls…I didn’t know balls could actually be that big!

Then slowly as possible, the camera moves to show the thickest cock i’ve ever seen!

Then the vids stop…but there’s a text at 4am with only an address….my gf knows i wake up for work at 4am…

i call and text her but her phones off ofc. I go to work, and finally around noon, my gf calls saying she’s going shopping with Ali, saying she didn’t bring any of her credit cards asking if i’ve got any money left…i tell her i’m not sure how much, but i’ve got $500 in a sportsbook app from winning the night before…”omg babe that’s perfect! Don’t worry i can move it from there, is it your normal password?” I answer yes, and ask her just to leave at least $100 or so….

And ask if theyre gonna be having dinner tonight…”yeah sweetie we are! I’ll let you know when we’re on the way”

I ask her wtf all those vids were. and who that guy was and she replies “huh? Wait what? You’re telling me you got videos from a random number?! And it had a perfect man’s body with a horse cock?! Lol babe i dunno what websites you’ve been visiting but i’d imagine it’s something to do with that!🤣 What?! u think i’m cheating on you with an old friend or something?! jk! Love u babe”

I hang up the phone and immediately get the same text with the same address, i look up the address to find a really really nice hotel is there. Then another text comes through simply saying “penthouse suite, beta cuck”

Then another text….just a screenshot of a receipt from stub hub for tickets to the nuggets game that night, 5:10pm. 2 tickets, $250 each, wow, better than i’ve ever had for sure.

Then one more text again with the hotels address, saying “ur welcome to stop by whenever, but i suggest you either wait for us to get there or something. not getting up to open the door if we busy fuckin. Can’t wait to see your bitch ass cry🤣”

This one hits me like a ton of bricks and it’s feeling more n more that it’s gotta be exactly what it seems….but no way she’d do this to me!

The great part of our relationship is complete and total honesty and openness! My gf, allison is kinky and loves to be a dirty slut, and we have talked about her fucking others, maybe even a gangbang!

But we’d only done a handful of super kinky things….we’re both submissive so it’s kinda hard to push it and try really crazy n kinky things….we both need that more aggressive attitude!

But i know she loves me deeply. We’ve such an intensely strong emotional connection, more than either of us ever have!

Still no word from my gf and it’s 8pm. At 9pm she finally texts me but it’s the exact same as from the other phone number and it’s just the hotel address and room number…..I call her back, and it rings and rings until going to voicemail. Maybe she didn’t hear it, i call again…it rings 3-4times, less than the last time, then goes to voicemail. I try again and it rings twice then voicemail….Again, same thing. I call yet AGAIN, prob the 6th time and it goes straight to voicemail!

I check the phone locator app and see her phone was at ball arena(nuggets play there)the length of the game….and moved to exactly where the hotel is.

I get dressed, now fearing the worst, but thinking “ok this makes no sense! Either she’s playing some joke on me; something weird like that or some surprise for me?”But i do realize that the most likely thing is…maybe she’s been partying with her friend, she cheated and isn’t sure how to deal with me…..But what’s up with the pics etc? ofc she’s aware of my pervy kinks etc, and she’s prob making it seem like she’s cheating on me, i’m hoping!

I walk to the light rail station, and get on the train….Ugh yeh don’t have the money to get an uber…i checked my bet365 account to see its at zero!

Wtf?! I had some futures bets….ones i could cash out for about $250 total, but they were all just cashed out! i’ve not one bet at all and no money here!

I see that $800 was withdrawn and my bank account was credited $800! But $500 used for the tickets, and $300 spent at some weird fancy store downtown.

Ok that’s it i’ve gotta see what’s up as i’m sitting on the train, mind running wild. Fuck, i gotta get off and walk 20mins, then get a bus!

I get off the train, walking to the bus stop…..Bus finally comes and oh fuck, as i’m tryna buy a bus ticket on the app(for $2.75) It dawns on me “fuck i don’t have enough money in my account” i look at the driver and say “i’m not sure why it’s not working” he looks at it and says “yeah cuz you’re card is being declined, sorry” and closes the doors.

I’m defeated and want to cry. Looking at google, i see it’ll take 2.5 hours to walk there….

It’s now almost 10pm and i consider going back home, but then wtf?! I can’t just sit at home wondering wtf is going on!

So i walk and walk…i watch the clip again and again of the perfect man’s body, fantasizing that the woman i’m in love with is cheating on me in the meanest way possible….Finally, it’s after midnight and I arrive at the hotel….I ask the front desk how to get to the penthouse, and she tells me “the elevator is right over there, but Sir, there isn’t anyone staying there right now”

I thank her and walk away tryna figure out what to do.

I text my gf asking why she texted me that address. she texts back right away with another address! I lose it and call a few times, each time it’s sent to voicemail. I text her back yelling “OK WTF is going on?! What’s your problem? Tell me what’s happening right fucking now!”

She texts back “i’m sorry sweetie, i didn’t mean to upset you! Just having fun with my friend, sorry guess i didn’t realize….I’ll be home tonight, but we’re out, omg babe i’m so drunk! I’ll see you at home, probably late!”

So i begin to walk back home…and remember the light rail isn’t running anymore….Now, I’ve got a 3.5 hour walk!

Finally i arrive home, it rained a little and i’m soaked, socks wet, and miserable and exhausted….

I open the door and hear slurping sounds and my gf giggling. My heart sinks and i already know what’s happening….I yell “wtf are you laughing about?! The fuck is wrong with you, ur being a fucking bitch!”

And i see the same man from the clips emerge from my bedroom, butt naked….he’s holding my favorite shirt, sweat dripping off his immaculate body and he wipes it off, then wipes his asshole with it, now it has skidmarks and throws it at me, saying “wtf did you say bitch?”

I ask who he is and what he’s doing at my place he replies “whatever tf i feel like doing faggot!” I say no it’s my place, and no i’m not gay” i emphasize gay, since i’m not a fan of bigotry and homophobia…”yeh didn’t say your gay, but you ARE a bitch ass faggot! Wtf you gonna do about it, huh? that’s wtf i thought, now, on your knees…obey or i’m gonna beat you up so badly….maybe you’ll get outta the hospital by the time i get out of jail, but it’s your choice” while making his pecs bounce in a very intimidating way. he walks up to me cracking his knuckles saying “ya know, i really DO hope you put up a fight; nobody ever wants to fight me” I look him up and down, knowing he’d kill me quickly….He’s gotta be a foot taller than me….im 5’9 and he’s gotta be at least 6’6!

I ask if i can take my shoes and wet socks off first and he laughs then slaps me in the face, open handed but hard, immediately followed by a left handed slap, i lose my balance and stumble to my knees, then i say “ok ok” on my knees looking up at him.

“Thank me for bullying you. Do it bitch” i thank him, he laughs, spits on me and gives me a wedgie….i make noise indicating it’s hurting, and he proceeds to give me an atomic wedgie…laughs then demands i take my clothes off but keep my wet socks on….

He laughs hysterically at my dick and shouts “baby, how tf were you actually fucking THIS?! omfg, ok come on slut”

And i see my love…she’s crawling on all fours..crawls up to this greek god and begins kissing his feet. She works her way up his legs, as she kisses and licks literally every inch of his perfect body.

Ali then says “ok now, don’t make me tell you again”

She looks me directly in my eyes “Bobby, keep looking in my eyes, ali says we must keep eye contact and he’s in charge here, ok? Please listen to what he says, i don’t want you to get hurt, i really don’t…not physically anyway. I say that because i i i DO want you to get emotionally hurt. I am sorry but when Ali told me he wanted to fuck me, i told him about you. Over months he kept teasing me for fucking such a loser; i love you but you are a loser. He’s been sending me pics of him, and the girls he fucks and omg babe, they cum so hard, and I fondly remembered being fucked by ali. I broke up with him cuz he cheated constantly and i thought that wasn’t ok, Now i realize how superior he is. It’s a small price to pay to be allowed to touch a superior man, im sure you understand. After i admitted how badly i wanted him he began insulting you and making fun of you. He made me take pics and record our sex, and that’s why i haven’t cum in so long, he said i wasn’t allowed with a loser like you. Ali is a sadist, he loves to make women worship him and loves nothing more than breaking beta men like you. That’s not an insult; you’re a beta, he’s an alpha, ya know?

He’s been planning for months to do this….it’s his masterpiece of destroying a loser!”

By this time i’m crying, tears streaming down my face…

“now bobby, we’re recording all of this and you’re now going to thank ali for making your fantasies come true. I know it hurts; the goal is to break you. Ali and i will marry, and you will work for us and live in a tiny room in the basement. U will be used and abused. I know it hurts but this is your new life now. Sure you can run away or something, but then ali will send all the vids and clips to your entire contact list.

But right now you’re going to beg ali to let you eat his sweaty asshole, do it you fucking piece of shit!” By this time ali is rubbing her pussy with his foot and it’s making her horny af….mmm fuck, i fucking hate you loser!” And she spits on me, confusing and hurting me.

I begin to beg to eat his asshole….

And wow, I began this planning on just whining about being so sad and pathetic but then wrote all this…wow i’ve got issues

[beckandthebois]

Take Care

Another really late Whumptober post.

Also posted on ao3

Day 13: Infection

Four sat on a rock, bandages in hand. He wrapped it around Wind's arm. 

“So I had to capture the last pig for them,” Wind tells Four, leading their conversation as the Chain bandages up and hands out healing sources. Four hums to let Wind know he’s still paying attention. 

“When I came back later on I found out that they ate two of them!” Wind said practically jumping out of his seat, causing Four to startle and lose his concentration on the bandage. 

“And they named the one left Link! Can you believe that?” Wind said flabbergasted. 

“Wind, you have to sit still,” 

“Ugh, fine,” Wind relaxes again and lets Four finish bandaging his arm. 

“There,” Four says, standing up only to wince from the deep gash in his leg. Wind jumps up and runs off to go talk to Wild, probably about the weird thing his slate did during their recent fight. 

Four sighed and walked over to Time.

“I think that’s the last of us,” Four said.

“Good,” Time said “We’ve made good time today, we’ll rest for the rest of the night and make it back to the Ranch by noon tomorrow.” 

Four nodded and went to go get his pack, he pulled out his bedroll and picked a spot while Time told the other boys.

The rest of the evening was filled with happy banter, post fight compliments, and teases. Wild had made fried herbs for dinner with rice and the boys went to bed happy. 

Well, Four was happy till he woke up from the nagging pain in his leg. He twisted around and threw his blanket off. He was too hot. Then a few minutes later he was too cold. Four sat up to pull his blanket back up, but was hit with a wave of nausea, everything slightly blurry for a few seconds. Four sits still till it passes, he pulls his hands up to his head, feeling how hot his forehead is. 

Four slumps back down into his bedroll, forgetting about pulling his blanket back up. Instead, he curls in on himself. He always hates being sick. He closes his eyes and sits still for the rest of the night, forcing his body to rest. 

A hand pushes his shoulder slightly. Someone says something softly, but Four doesn’t hear it. His brain hurts and when he tries to open his eyes, the light seems to only make it worse. He feels so cold for some reason, and his leg hurts so bad. 

“Hm,” Four hums turning his head deeper into his pillow, hoping that the pressure might let up his pain. 

“Four, it’s time to get up,” Sky says above him. Four feels like he’ll throw up if Sky shakes him one more time. 

And that’s exactly what happens. Four turns to the opposite side from Sky and vomits. It burns his throat, and causes tears to leak from his eyes. Sky’s hand comes up to pull his hair back from his forehead. Sky’s other arm wraps around Fours back to his stomach to hug the hero from behind. He whispers soothing words into his ear, but Four doesn’t hear any of it. He hiccups a sob and leans his head into Sky’s chest when he’s done.

Four had hoped maybe throwing up would help his headache, but unfortunately it didn’t. Sky lays him back down on his bedroll, soothing his hair out of his face before standing up. 

“I’ll be right back.” He says before walking to the group of heroes who had all paused packing their stuff after hearing Four’s retching. Four misses Sky already. He hates being alone when he’s sick. But at least he can catch some of their whispered conversation. 

“He seemed fine last night?” Someone says, before there’s more muffles. 

“It’s still a few hours to the ranch,” Four knows he’ll never make it to the ranch like this. 

“Half of us…… come back.” 

“I’ll stay,” Four hears Sky say loud and clear, then the hero is coming back to his bedside. Carrying a few things. 

“Sorry that took longer then I thought,” Sky says softly, smiling. Four reaches up his hand for the older hero to grab. Sky grabs his hand, then pulls Fours head into his lap, which he won’t admit, but almost made him throw up again. 

Sky wipes his mouth with a rag of some kind. Four doesn’t know who’s it is and already feels sorry for them. The holds up a water canteen. 

“You should clear the gross taste from your mouth, might help a bit.” Four takes him up on that offer, and then leans back into Sky’s lap. Sky cards his hand through Fours hair, which might be the only thing Four thinks that could sooth his headache. 

“What’s the worst part?” Sky asks gently. 

“My leg,” Four answers raspily, his throat burning with effort. Sky looks confused. 

“Which one?” 

“Right, where I got cut last night,” Four answers again. He thinks he’s done talking for now, it really doesn’t help. Sky looks concerned before pulling away a bit. Four shivers from the lose of his body heat. Sky pulls up the leg of Fours right pant leg, to his knee and above his caff. Sky pulls back the bloody bandages and gasps. 

“That’s definitely infected,” Sky says in a light voice for Four’s sake. 

Oh, Four thinks, that’s probably why he feels like shit. 

“Let me see,” Hyrule says. Sky pulls away from Four’s leg and instead goes back to the young hero’s hair and head. Four leans back in, and takes Sky’s free arm and wraps both of his around it. Now he can’t leave and has to sit to soothe the ache in his head, Four thinks childishly. He closes his eyes, and everything slightly muffled and grows distant around him. The last thing he knows is there’s a kiss laid on his forehead. 

[jodilin65]

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just changed the betta’s water.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dear Teddy Bear,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love Always, Dawn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is as bad as how I handled the pigs!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She’s been rolling with laughter over the jokes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Of course, it’s not a doll.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mary, not surprisingly, sent home pizza and candy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I have 552 views and still 10 downloads.

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later…

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

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

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

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