#just getting expressions all over the place and cannot be budged from -_-

[the-weeping-dawn]

'............I walked right into that. I actually have no clue what I expected you to say. Good to know. That was mildly concerning.'

The maybe I might not mind being a mindflayer line/response my beloved. No one gets to think about touching it until that has happened.

[nowimjustastranger]

Feral ford? Just any feral ford stuff?

Or Ford finding out that Stanley no longer has a kidney, his hearing is bad and he no longer has natural teeth so he uses his sci-fi magic mojo

to make Stanley’s body regrow new ones. He’s doing this because he’s worried about Stanleys health (that Stanley will die first because of his health problems which Ford cannot accept) and because he feels guilty for not being able to protect Stanley from getting those in the first place.

And it’s not noticeable at first. Stanley is like think “huh, I feel off, oh well Imma just gonna ignore it” but he knows Ford is hiding something because Ford is all like

“Take it easy Stanley, there’s no anomalies or Cryptids around for miles. We are just going to have a relaxing month, while you recover”

And Stanley of course raises an eyebrow

Ford refuses to budge though. Yeah but Stanley eventually finds out because his natural teeth start growing in, he’s able to breath a lot easier and his hearing has never been better.

It’s my bread and butter!

If you have any slots left of course.

If not feel free to ignore this 🥸🫵 (pls)

Lee should’ve known that Ford was up to something the moment he found the man in his sub-basement lab at some god-awful hour, clearly in a manic state due to lack of sleep. He had been standing at one of his workstations, vials of unknown colorful fluids scattered across the cluttered surface as he scrutinized the tube of shimmering iridescent liquid that he held in his hand, the other deftly scribbling notes into his journal without even having to look down.

Thankfully, it had been easy to coax Ford to come up for breakfast, the man obediently setting the vial aside in favor of trailing after Lee after he laced their fingers together and started to head for the elevator. Ford leaned against Lee heavily on the ride up, eyelids drooping and movements sluggish as he mechanically shoveled his omelet into his mouth moments later. And Lee would find the situation more amusing if Ford wasn’t two seconds from falling out of his chair.

Lee shared a worried look with Fiddleford, who shrugged helplessly to indicate that he had no idea what Ford had been up to in that lab of his either. Lee frowned down at his plate at the disquieting realization that Ford was shutting himself away, poking at his own loaded omelet until Ford sloppily nudged him, his worn face expressing nothing but concern as he pointedly glanced between Lee and the food in a wordless question.

Lee had choked down the damn omelet.

Ford slept for almost fourteen hours straight once he laid down, and Lee would know because he was in their shared room –there were only two bedrooms in the shack and one of them was Fiddleford’s– for all thirteen hours and thirty-nine minutes that Ford spent asleep. Ford was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning as nightmares and memories plagued him.

But Ford had assured Lee that having him nearby made it better, which is why Lee never strayed far from Ford when he was getting some much-needed shut eye. Honestly, Lee had learned to take at least one nap while Ford was conked out, which screwed up his sleeping schedule but it was undeniably worth it since he could actually spend time with Ford once he woke up.

Anyway, when Ford had stirred later that night he looked recharged and ready for whatever the universe had to throw at him. Lee was sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a huge yawn as Ford puttered around the room, exchanging his colorful pajamas for his usual all-black attire. Lee had just gotten to pulling his covers back by the time Ford was dressed, striding over to where Lee sat to lean down for a nuzzle.

Ford suggested that they watch a movie, offering to fix some hot chocolate and snacks for Lee when he agreed that a lazy night spent cuddled together on the couch sounded amazing. Ford had seemed riddled with a mix of excitement and nerves as they relocated to the living room, but Lee hadn’t pressed the man about why he was acting so shifty because he honestly wasn’t sure of what to make of Ford’s behavior.

He really should’ve known better.

Lee had drained the mug of hot chocolate without even thinking about the unpleasant aftertaste, but he had written it off as Ford’s ability to make even the simplest of recipes taste questionable at best and downright toxic at worst. And all things considered, the hot chocolate ranked super low on the gross scale, it was just a little bitter.

It wasn’t until daybreak that Lee started to feel… not so great. He was smoking a cigar on the front porch when his gums began to ache, Lee forced to take out his partial dentures to relieve the pressure. It was a fleeting respite from the throbbing pain, which only seemed to worsen. Then, something came loose, Lee’s stomach dropping as he raised a hand to spit a tooth into his waiting palm.

He doesn't remember yelling for Ford, but he must have because the man was at his side in an instant, speaking in rapid-fire that Lee couldn’t seem to hear over the static buzzing in his ears. It wasn’t until Ford took Lee’s face in his hands that everything came rushing back, Ford’s calm and steady voice explaining something about the tooth in his hand having a cavity and that’s why it was replaced.

Lee blinked, unable to process the implications of Ford’s words since the ache in his tender gums increased sharply, his muddled thoughts grinding to a halt. He cupped a hand over his mouth as more bloodied teeth fell out, his mind reduced to a whirlwind of panic and horror as he helplessly waited for whatever was happening to end.

He could feel Ford’s warmth pressed flush against his side, an arm stretched across the front of his body to act as a support as well as function as a makeshift hug. Meanwhile, Ford’s other hand gently carded through Lee’s hair, brushing the wayward strands out of his face. Lee’s uncomprehending mind latched onto the sensation, using it to anchor him to the present.

Lee actually blacked out when pain tore through his side, boots uselessly scrabbling against the porch as his body convulsed. Resurfacing into consciousness to the sound of Ford berating himself about not testing the serum more thoroughly, which made a lot of things rapidly click into place. Incredulous anger swelled and Lee blindly grabbed a fistful of Ford’s stupid t-shirt before throwing a sloppy punch that Ford made no effort to dodge.

“What… the fuck… Ford!” Lee panted, his whole body feeling weirdly warm and tingly. Blood dribbled from Ford’s nose, but he didn’t even seem to care. Ford’s hands jerked up to cradle Lee’s face, his expression shattered, and the anger subsided all at once. Lee was left to flounder in the face of Ford’s guilt and terror, his brother practically climbing on top of him as his hands roamed over Lee’s body.

“Hey, what– Am I dyin’ or somethin’?” Lee haltingly asked, catching one of Ford’s wrists when he tried to shove it under Lee’s rucked up shirt, his exposed midriff flexing as the chilly morning air caressed his feverish skin. Ford made one of those animal noises of his, something between a whine and a snarl. Which, as far as Lee could tell, translated to Ford being both irritated and distressed by his perfectly reasonable question.

“No.” Ford answered tersely, his voice closer to a growl than an actual word. Regardless, Lee was able to discern that Ford wasn’t panicking because he had slipped him something that could kill him. It had fucking hurt –hands down the worst pain he had experienced outside of that one time that he got his kidney taken– but he had survived whatever the hell that was.

Which brought his thoughts back to the so-called ‘serum’ that Ford had mentioned earlier.

“What the fuck did you put in my hot chocolate?” Lee demanded, holding Ford’s wild gaze until the man’s previously tense posture shifted into more of a defensive hunch. Now Ford looked more like a kicked puppy than an injured animal about to lash out, which was just unfair because how the hell was Lee supposed to stay mad at him when he was cowering?

“It… it was supposed to help.” Ford said with effort, speaking through grit teeth as that damn spark of self-loathing flared to life in his dark eyes. Lee sighed and reached up to take Ford’s earlobe in two fingers and gently tug, redirecting his attention. When they made eye contact, Lee’s arms wound around Ford’s neck to drag him down into a hug that knocked the wind out of both of them as Ford’s entire body weight landed on top of him.

“Help how?” Lee coughed once he had regained the ability to breathe, lungs rattling with his first proper inhale. Lee immediately tilted his head in a wordless invitation that Ford eagerly took him up on, scraping his three-day stubble against Lee’s bared throat.

“So many wounds… so much pain…” Ford mumbled distractedly, nuzzling his way up to Lee’s jaw, his brows furrowing at the drying blood that stained Lee’s mouth. Ford slowly sat back on his haunches, Lee following him up, the two of them sitting on the bloodied porch. There were teeth and several questionable fluids scattered about, the sight making Lee’s stomach roll.

“You… fixed me?” Lee asked, his brows drawing together. He felt the nearly overwhelming need to strip down and examine himself in front of the full length mirror in their room wash over him, but he settled for a perfunctory pat down to try and figure out what exactly the serum had repaired. He was floored to discover that his scars were gone, the constant tightness notably absent. His eyesight was better too, the eye contacts that he’d taken to wearing since highschool missing.

“The serum regenerated what was damaged or missing.” Ford confirmed with a stilted nod, timidly scooting closer. Lee instinctively accommodated Ford’s need for closeness by spreading his legs wider, which was more or less unspoken permission to crowd into Lee’s personal space. Ford was only too happy to plaster himself to Lee’s front, the man’s arms closing around his waist as he sat down properly.

“A heads-up woulda been nice, Ace.” Lee huffed, propping his chin on Ford’s shoulder as he melted into the embrace. Ford was having a similar reaction to their proximity, relaxing more and more with every deep breath. Ford mumbled something along the lines of never giving Lee anything without his knowledge or consent again, and Lee didn’t doubt that he’d be fully briefed on the effects and potential drawbacks as well. Ford was nothing if not thorough, after all.

“I’m not cleanin’ this shit up either.” Lee warned, wrinkling his nose as his eyes wandered to the mess on the porch. It looked like a fucking crime scene; or maybe the aftermath of a torture session. Either way, Lee wasn’t gonna spend the day trying to get his blood out of the wood.

“I’ll handle it.” Ford assured, giving Lee’s jaw one last tender nuzzle before he pulled away, smoothly rising to his feet before helping Lee up. Lee grimaced at the state he was in, drying blood covering nearly the entirety of his front and hands. A shower and a change of clothes was definitely on his to-do list, along with burning what he was currently wearing because there was no way the blood was coming out.

“We’re talkin’ about this after I get washed up.” Lee stated, wiping his hands off on a relatively clean patch of his jeans before looking at Ford expectantly, the man obediently nodding.

“It won’t happen again.” Ford promised, opening the front door for Lee so he wouldn’t smear blood everywhere, his hand lingering on Lee’s back as he followed. Lee turned on the staircase, his eyes searching Ford’s expression for a few moments before he smiled.

“I know.”

[jasscheeks]

haikyuu; the pretty setters

how would they react if you spent the whole day together, then had to go home?

pairings: oikawa, suga, kenma, kageyama, akaashi, atsumu x f!reader

kenma’s part is my favorite omg <3

warnings: ALL CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP, small mentions of seggs in akaashi’s, they all think the two of you should just move in tgt, slight begging and sulking

masterlist | ao3

pretty spiker edition.

OIKAWA knows what time it is, and he sees you glancing at the clock. he hates to see you leave because that means no more cuddles and no late-night talks when the both of you can't go to sleep. he knows it'll be a while before you visit again, and he just can't go without you. at this point, you should just move in with him. he physically cannot be without you for prolonged periods, plus, it would make his day a hundred times better coming home to you.

so as you're walking towards the door after giving him his goodbye kiss, he pulls you in from your waist, making you skid to a stop. "can't you stay for a little longer? i'll get really lonely if you leave," he whined, his chin pressed onto your shoulder as he held you tight against his chest.

"tooru, you know i can't," you try to pry him off of you but he's as tough as a rock, "you have practice, ugh, i have...school—tooru, do you really have to hold me this tight?" you tried to squeeze yourself from his grip, but he truly wasn't budging.

"you'll leave if i don't!" he insisted, but even then you found yourself still walking towards his door as he followed you along. “just a few more minutes, no one more second, please (y/n)!” he was trying his damned hardest to keep you in one place.

but seeing as you weren’t giving up, he loosened his grip on you, letting you open his front door. even as you turned to give him one more kiss goodbye he was still blabbering about you staying over. and expect an “i miss you” or “did you make it home safely?” text when you get home.

SUGAWARA is sulky about it, dramatic even. he's trying all he can to convince you to stay, from bribing you with all the food he can afford, his hugs and kisses, to smothering you against his body. but you're adamant about going home, even as you still lay in his arms.

"you hate me," he whined, as he shifted his weight on top of you. "my girlfriend hates me..." he may have had a few drinks that night, that'll explain his unusual clinginess. but even without the alcohol, this is more or less how he acts when you're leaving.

"i have a class in the morning, you know this," he groaned more hearing such a serious answer, it not containing the words he wanted to hear. "and i don't hate you, suga," you ended with a peck to his lips before pulling his comforter down so you could slip out.

he whined once more, quickly pulling the covers back over the two of you. "then i'll go with you, i'll even take notes for you," he slurred before snuggling back into your neck. his strong arms tugged you back against him, confining you against the soft sheets beneath you and this cage of his. "i'll be the best note-taker there is..."

as soon as he settled himself in with his face buried deep into your neck, you knew you weren't going to be moving around any time soon.

KAGEYAMA wants to tell you he hates when you have to leave. but as he watched you slip your socks back on from the comfort of his bed, he was at war with himself. debating if he should express that to you, he was scared he'd come off as clingy, that you'd still leave even if he said it.

as a fairly new couple, he was still adjusting to speaking up when something was on his mind. he knows he'll see you tomorrow, but he can't help but want to spend more time with you today.

he knew you both had different things to do in the morning, but who says you couldn't get ready for them together? "do you have everything?" he asked, as you stopped next to his nightstand. as soon as you looked at him he was hoping you'd drop everything to stay just by the look he was giving you. "i can bring whatever you leave with me."

but instead, you smiled his way before stepping towards him. instinctively, he was leaning into your palm, hand grazing over your waist receiving the sweet kiss you place on his forehead. "i'd like that, thank you so much, tobio," you chuckled at his robotic 'your welcome,' that followed. soon he was leading you towards his front door, praying to himself that you'd change your mind as you passed all his furniture.

but seeing as you turned to kiss him goodbye, you were set on leaving. so as he was hesitating unlocking the door, he turned to your confused face asking so quietly, "do you think you can spend the night instead?"

and much to his surprise, you giggled out a response, "i thought you'd never ask.”

KENMA is confused when you suddenly lift from his lap and step over his legs. he can hear you shuffling behind him, causing him to pause whatever game he's playing to turn his chair to face you. he watches as you search his room for something, "is something wrong, am i too loud?" he asked.

you pause, your bag in hand now, "oh no, it's not that," you smile at his concern. "it's almost seven babe, i need to start heading back home."

just hearing you say that makes him even more confused. he tilts his head just slightly, something he doesn't realize he does, "home?" he repeats, his eyes looking around the room and spotting all the little things that belonged to you scattered about.

you'd been staying with him for a little over a week, and he was starting to think you were staying for good. the two of you always joked that you'd end up staying here for so long, you'd forget that you even have your own apartment. even when you went out on errands, you’d return to his house like you lived there, kissing him hello and continuing onto the kitchen to cook something for the both of you. his apartment was your second home, and he secretly wanted it to be your permanent home.

so reluctantly he walked you to the door, sad hands wrapping around your warm frame to engulf you in a hug before he kissed you goodbye, something he hadn’t done in a while. "i love you," the two of you murmured to each other, those three words somehow making it even harder to part. and as he sat back in his gaming chair, not an hour went by that he began to miss the feeling of you in his arms. he missed your lips pressing against his every so often and your quiet snores when you fell asleep on him. he made it a point to bring up moving in together next time you're over.

AKAASHI’s fast asleep tuckered out from loving on you for hours on end. you’re close to curling back up against him and just going back to sleep, but you catch a glimpse of his alarm. it read 11:28 PM, meaning you needed to get back home.

but his arms wrap around you even tighter, pulling you even closer to his chest when he feels you moving.

“where are you going?” he asked, snuggling farther into your neck. his voice is raspy, low enough to make you stop moving. he presses his bare chest into your back as he takes in a whiff of your scent, sending chills down your back. half of you wanted to just sink back into his warmth, finding his strong arms way more comfortable than your bed back at home

you trailed your fingers over his hands, his skin soft and smooth. “keiji,” you coo, your voice sounding so sultry and soft. “it’s late, babe, i need to get back home i have work in the morning,” he hummed hearing your reply. but instead of letting go, he just cuddled deeper into you, his lips absentmindedly pressing into your bare shoulder.

he sat there, breathing so softly that you thought he had slipped back to sleep. but instead, he hummed once more, bringing his mouth closer to your ear. “i don’t want you out when it’s dark, love,” he murmured in that deep sleepy voice of his before he was cuddling back into you. “i can take you back to your apartment in the morning.”

hearing his voice was enough to have you settled back into his arms, dozing off just as fast as you did before. but best know in the morning he was asking how moving in together sounded to you.

ATSUMU is in a mood when you suddenly get up from the comfort of his arms. he had just taken you on a date, and the two of you spent the whole day together going out to food stands and shops. but he couldn’t just leave it at that, no he wanted to spend the entire day and night with you.

so he had brought you back to his apartment, as he planned to keep the date going with a movie and possibly something more… but you didn’t catch his drift.

“(y/n), you’re breaking my heart right now.” he whined, sulking from the couch as you gathered your things. “you’ll be leaving your boyfriend with a broken heart, you know.”

you rolled your eyes at the comedic cadence in his voice. this was one of his things, one of his little moods that reoccurred every time you made a move to leave, “‘tsumu, we spent the whole day together! let me go home in peace just once, please?” you pleaded with him, but somehow that just made it worse.

“aren’t i your home? aren’t i your peace, babe?” he asked, putting a playfully, sassy lilt to his voice before he crossed his arms over his chest.

“oh my god, ‘tsumu…” you groan as you place a hand over your eyes, as he continues to sulk in the other direction. you sigh as you trudge yourself back to his dramatic self. you kneel on the couch, placing your hands on his cheeks, “you’ll see me later on tomorrow, i promise.” quickly you pecked his puckered lips, and he can feel himself slowly softening his glare just for you.

he was quick to break his sulking just to wrap his arms around you, pulling you down into his lap, your gleeful squealing filling his ears. “why can’t we just buy a place together already?”

after that, atsumu came back into the living room toting his laptop, so the two of you could look at apartments together until late into the night.

for all the people who read my suna ff, a part three is on the way i promise 😭

but thank you so much for reading!

masterlist

[actual-changeling]

There has been a lot of talk about Aziraphale`s smile in the s2ep6 ending (he is planning something, he is going to rebel heaven etc...) That is not a happy, genuine smile. What do you think of it?

Ah, yes. The infamous elevator smile. This will get rather long, so congrats to you anon for getting me to write GO meta.

A (temporary) welcome back to Alex's meta corner version 2: expression interpretation. Buckle up, people, because we're going to be looking at Aziraphale's face for way too long.

A disclaimer:

Do not tag hate accounts or any accounts known to steal people's posts for the sole purpose of publicly harassing them.

Do not copy and/or repost any of my writing to another account without my express permission. Do not verbally abuse and/or harass me in the tags, replies, reblogs, or my inbox. If you disagree with me you are free to scroll past this post, block me, and move on.

If you want to have a discussion based on mutual respect while being fine to agree to disagree, then you may do so, I enjoy meta discussions as long as they're free of harassment.

Let's get to it.

People interpret his expression as him being confident or having some kind of plan, but those people are nitpicking frames and ignoring everything they don't want to see.

That smile appears right at the end after his face went through a series of different expressions, so let's have a look at what ACTUALLY happens.

These are in chronological order from left to right:

There is a LOT happening in each of them, and they show us something we have seen before—Aziraphale's reaction to not getting everything exactly the way he wanted it.

The first row goes from a more or less neutral, slightly upset expression to one of extreme petulance. He's tetchy because Crowley told him where to shove it for once (and rightfully so, Crowley does not deserve to be treated that way) and throws his second temper tantrum of the day.

Pay attention to the fourth one in particular, we have seen this exact facial expression before.

The one on the left is at the end of their argument about Gabriel in the bookshop, right before Crowley leaves.

This is not someone who possesses even an ounce of emotional maturity, it's someone who is used to getting exactly what he wants at the expense of others and was just told "No" for the first time.

It only gets even better from here (someone save me I need to bleach my eyeballs after this). The last image from the second row provides us with another great opportunity for comparison.

Let's call this one annoyed indignation.

We have moved on from him being purely petulant to begrudging acceptance that he was told "No" and cannot change it. After fucking with the Bentley against Crowley's will (and coercing him into giving it to him in the first place), he is now being told to change it back.

There are very few boundaries that Aziraphale hasn't trampled over in the last six thousand years, and the Bentley is one that Crowley will not and SHOULD NOT budge on. So he tells him no, change it back.

Aziraphale is being the cranky toddler who got told to stop throwing toys at the other kids but wants to keep doing it anyway—that's what this expression is giving us.

We have reached row 3, and I have two more key expressions I want to talk about.

Firstly, the first picture in that row.

As you might have guessed, we have seen Aziraphale wearing an incredibly similar expression before, and I chose what is (in my opinion) an underrated and very character-defining moment.

We are going all the way back to the first episode of season 1 and their conversation on the bench in St. James's Park.

To refresh your memory, Crowley is currently trying to convince Aziraphale that humanity is worth saving by listing everything Aziraphale himself would lose because he couldn't care less about humanity or earth. He cares about himself and himself only.

Aziraphale tells Crowley that, of course, heaven will win, all demons will be tortured for eternity, and it will "all going to be rather lovely". A direct quote from the script book and the episode, by the way.

Why does this matter? Because, dear reader(s), just a few minutes prior to him stepping into the elevator, he expressed that exact sentiment again. His opinions has remained unchanged since even before Eden, and his final argument with Crowley did not change it either.

Hell is bad = hell will lose, heaven is good = heaven will win. And heaven winning will be amazing and great for everyone excluding those that will be tortured forever and ever. Crowley being one of those people is a fact Aziraphale intentionally refuses to acknowledge because doing so would mean having to think about what he's saying to Crowley—and he's not done that ever.

The expression Aziraphale wears in both scenes is condescending arrogance. He not only thinks himself to be better than everyone else, he thinks that, as an angel, he is incapable of doing wrong. That is what he is telling himself in the elevator—you made the right choice, you're an angel, you cannot do wrong, you're on the side of good.

He is egocentric and selfish, and that brings us to the last image of row 3 aka his "smile" in the elevator. This, too, is a smile we have encountered before. Just a few minutes earlier, actually.

This, dear reader(s), is the epitome of Aziraphale's superiority complex and disregard for everyone else.

Before you start typing up your furious response that will be 50% insults and 50% wishful thinking, hear me out.

I have talked about that "I forgive you" before, you can find it floating around my meta tag (and if you ask me very nicely I might even go find it for you), but allow me to summarize my conclusions.

Throughout the final fifteen (F15), Aziraphale is not entirely aware just how badly his words are harming Crowley. The complete lack of self-reflection and incapability of considering anyone else's world view does that to someone, but at least it's largely accidental.

I would be willing to cut Aziraphale a lot of slack for a number of different reasons that I don't want to get into right now. Emphasis on "would" because then he goes and screws up.

For the first time, Aziraphale is being openly and intentionally cruel with the sole purpose of hurting Crowley.

His face goes through a number of similar expressions, which can you observe here:

Cruel smile followed by cruel words.

It doesn't matter what he might have meant or what exactly that phrase symbolizes for either of them, because it's clear that

a) they are both familiar with it

b) Aziraphale has used it before

c) it is always harmful towards Crowley

d) it comes with the expectation that Crowley apologizes and takes the blame for everything that went down.

Aziraphale has not once apologized to Crowley for anything in his entire existence.

That smile in the elevator is Aziraphale convincing himself of and/or solidifying existing beliefs, namely that Crowley is in the wrong, Aziraphale is correct and doing the right thing, and that he is still superior to Crowley. It's him convincing himself that hurting Crowley in the way he did was either unavoidable (it wasn't) or justified (it wasn't). It's an open display of arrogant cruelty and undeserved self-confidence.

Aziraphale does not have a plan. This is not a happy smile nor is it related to any future happenings or actions.

This smile is entirely related to the F15 and his argument with Crowley. An argument which mirrors the first one they have over Gabriel, which, shocker, ends with Aziraphale denying any responsibility or wrong-doing and forcing Crowley to apologize and humiliate himself for something that was not his fault. Aziraphale fucked up, not him, but Aziraphale will never voluntarily acknowledge or accept that.

If they meet again before Aziraphale gets a kick up the arse and some character development, he will demand an apology from Crowley, and I am 100% convinced of that. Quote me on that in a few years if you like, but unless he figures his shit out first, he'll blame Crowley for anything and everything he desires.

So, to summarize, what do I think of the elevator smile?

Aziraphale is, for all intents and purposes, throwing a temper tantrum. I think it's an amalgamation of Aziraphale's current emotional and mental status and the lack of character development. First fight, last fight, both end the same way, both end with Aziraphale learning absolutely nothing.

He's not planning, he's not thinking.

He is telling himself that he is right and everyone else is wrong, and that he alone can change heaven for the better. THAT is the Aziraphale we will come back to in the beginning of season 3, and Michael Sheen did a damn good job of showing us all of that in one credits scene.

[melanieph321]

Ruben Dias/Trent Alexander Arnold x Reader - Dark Rivarly Part 8/15

What a perfect day to release a chapter hahaha. 🤣 It's derby day between Man City and Liverpool and with the beef going on between Trent and the team my story becomes more and more unrealistic, or what do you think? 🤔

Could Trent ever make peace with somone like Ruben? Let alone allow Ruben to date his sister?

Part 9 and 10 are already out on my Patreon!

Reader is Trent Alexander Arnold's twin sister. The two have been inseparable since childbirth, more so now when Reader is fresh out of university looking for a job, crashing at her brother's place whilst doing so. One day Reader gets a job offer that she cannot refuse, however it would mean working for her brother's biggest rival in football, Ruben Dias.

Enjoy!

"These are actually pretty good."

"Really?" You perked up where you sat on the sofa in Ruben's hotel room. He was sitting next to you.

"Yes and the press seems to love the outfit you choose for Ruben, look."

Miranda turned her Ipad around, showing you the published images of Ruben, wearing the outfit you had picked out for him.

"I'll admit that I had my doubts at first, but the reviews have all been great. Good job Y/N."

"Um, thank you Miranda." A complement from her felt like a lifetime achievement.

"I'm gonna call the photographer that took these and see if he can send me the negatives. We might be able to use them on Instagram to summarize the weekend. Miranda left the room to make the call, leaving you alone with Ruben, who had barely acknowledged you this morning.

"I better pack my bags." You said, rising from the sofa. Ruben however, refused to move his legs out of the way to let you pass.

"Excuse me?" You groaned. It wasn't funny, neither of you were laughing. "Ruben?"

His legs wouldn't budge, and you were getting agitated. "What the he'll are you doing, move your..."

Ruben drew back his legs just as you were about to swing at them with your own. This caused you to stumble forwards, almost tripping yourself.

"What was that for?" You frowned.

Ruben's expression was emotionless as he stood, and for the first time the height difference between you was intimidating.

"I...I just wanted to go to my room and pack my bags." You stuttered.

Ruben exhaled. "We need to talk first."

"Talk about what exactly?" You crossed your arms.

"The way you left me last night, it was unprofessional." He said.

"Ruben, I told you that I came down with something." Which was a lie, but it was the best one you could come up with on such short notice.

"And what exactly was it that you came down with?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Well you seemed fine when you left my side at the party. What made you suddenly wanna run off Y/N?"

"Ruben, for the third time, I wasn't running,  I just needed to get back to the hotel and lie down."

"So that's where you did it?"

"Did what?" You frowned, his tone spiteful to you.

Ruben shifted in his stance, crossing one arm over the other. "Y/N, I expect you to take your job seriously. For you to then run off with some guy...."

"I didn't run off with some guy."

"Don't lie to me Y/N, John saw you!"

The echoes of his words bounced off the walls. The room fell silent.

Ruben's eyes searched your face, he was angry and wanted answers, rightfully so. "Who is he Y/N, an old flame from your university days?"

"Ruben."

"No." He shook his head. "Don't tell me. It's none of my business." He walked over to the windows, running a hand through his hair.

"Ruben, it's not what it looks like. That guy, he is my...."

"Just know if you ever pull something like that on me again...." He said, slowly turning to you. "I won't be giving you any second chances, understood? Do your job from now on or the next time you're fired."

"There. The photographer gave me the thumbs up. He'll be sending me the...." Miranda stumbled into the room but paused at the sight of you and Ruben. "Everything alright?"

You were staring blankly at each other, something heavy forming in the base of your throat. Your voice shook when you spoke. "I have to pack my bags." You said and ran off into your room, gasping for air once you stood behind closed doors. You were gasping for air from the unstoppable flood of tears.

You were considering your life choices on the journey back to London. What if you just moved aboard and started a new life in some foreign country? No one would know you and you wouldn't have to lie about who you were. You'd be nothing and therefore be someone.

"Y/N! You're back early."

You stepped into Grandma's shop carrying your suitcases. You had forgotten your keys to her apartment but was glad to be welcomed by Jennifer at the front desk. However, her initial joy of seeing you quickly faded. "Oh my god, you're soaking wet. Is it pouring outside?"

"Just a drizzle." You murmured, as she rounded her desk to help usher you inside. "Is my grandma here? I forgot my keys."

"She's in her office, sorting out a golden suit. You won't guess who it's for." She giggled.

"Trent."

Her smile withered. "How did you know?"

You removed your soaked coat. Your shirt beneath had also been ruined.

"Oh my god, tell me about your weekend." She gasped. "London Fashion Week, was it as exciting as they make it to be? And your boss, was she happy with your work?"

"He." You corrected.

"What?"

"My boss is a he, and no he wasn't happy with my work."

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry Y/N. Is he high maintenance when it comes to fashion?"

"No, he's just a fucking dickhead."

"Language."

Grandma walked into the room, pinching a dozen sewing needles between her teeth.

"But he is a dickhead Grandma. And I don't care anymore, I'm not going back to work for him."

Grandma spat out the needles in her mouth, all the pins dropping soundless to the floor. "Well you're not coming back to work for me!"

"But where else am I supposed to go?"

"Home. To your mother, and tell her she's failed to raise her children."

"Ha ha, very funny."

"I'm serious Y/N, you're not staying with me. I'm getting tired of your tardiness, not to mention that furball you've got running around my apartment."

"What does Whiskey Jr, have to do with any of this?"

"He stinks, just like your attitude towards authority."

"I don't have an attitude towards authority. "

The bell above the front door rang in the distance. "Guys?"

"No, tell that to your current boss. I've overheard you talking, I bet he's done with your tardiness as well."

"Hey, guys?"

"What are you talking about Grandma, you don't even know my boss and if you did you would agree that he is a fucking piece of...."

"Y/N, please!"

Your argument with grandma was interrupted by Jenny's objections. She stood by the shop entrance, greeting the customer that had stepped through the door. He was soaked with rainwater from head to toe.

"You have a new client." She said, cheeks as red as they come. You on the other hand, couldn't find the words to speak and so grandma stepped in. "Can I help you sir, we're not open for much longer."

Ruben stepped forward.  "No....I mean yes. I want to speak to Y/N."

"My granddaughter?" She frowned. "And who might you be, young man?"

You shook your head as Ruben met your eyes. However he went ahead anyway. "I'm Ruben, Ruben Dias, her boss."

"Oh. My. Days!"

You saw Jenny bouncing up and down in the  corner of your eye.

"There's no way." She squealed. "There is no fucking way."

"Jenny please." You groaned, begging her to spare Grandma who hadn't been as quick to put two and two together.

"Your boss is Ruben Dias? Of all people." Jenny was clearly overjoyed by the drama unfolding before her. "Y/N, you're basically working for the enemy."

"Please don't be so dramatic". You sighed.

"Does Trent know? He's got to know, right?"

"Trent?"

You looked to Ruben as the name escaped his lips. His eyebrows furrowed. "Is that who you were with in London? Is that the name of your boyfriend, Trent?"

"Ha!" Jenny snorted, slapping a hand against her mouth. "You ran into Trent in London? Oh the drama. I can't."

"For fuck sakes Jenny!"

"Y/N!" The room fell quiet as Grandma's voice rose above all. "Language."

"But grandma..."

"No buts." She said, forcing your silence. "Now." She stepped up to Ruben, examining him. "This young man. Your boss? He has come here to speak to you, let's hear what he has to say."

It was a nightmare come true. Even Ruben seemed a bit taken aback by Grandma's demeanor. However he did gather the courage to address you as if you were the only two people in the room.

"I came here to apologize." He said. "For being a dickhead to you this morning."

Jenny snorted somewhere behind you,  however grandma shot her a glance that made her fall back.

"You have the right to do and see whoever you want. I was just jealous and upset that you chose to do so on the night of my friend's gallery opening. For some reason I really believed that the two of us were...."

"No way." Jenny gasped, once again interrupting you. "You're fucking him too?"

"Oh for the love of..." You grabbed Ruben's arm, pulling him aside, into Grandma's office in the back room. There the two of you were left alone, however this game was getting old, the game of Ruben hurting you then crawling back, begging you to forgive him.

"There's something you should know about me." You said, wanting to get it over with. Ready to get it over with.

"Alright." Ruben nodded. "Tell me."

It was now or never.

"That guy your friend saw me with last night wasn't my boyfriend, or an old flame from my university days."

"No, who was he then?"

Another one bites the dust, you thought. Telling the truth meant that you were going to lose Ruben, just like the truth made you lose your old friends. You sighed before you spoke.  "He is my brother Ruben, my twin brother."

"Oh, okay." There were clear signs of relief coming across Ruben's face, a slight twitch in the corner of his lips.

"His name is Trent, Trent Alexander Arnold. You might recognize the name since..."

"Wait." His expression went stiff again, carved by a deep frown. "Did you say Trent Alexander Arnold? As in..."

You nodded. "Yes, THE Trent Alexander Arnold. Liverpool's right back, however you might know him better as the guy that got booked for trying to punch you out the last time Man City played Liverpool."

Ruben's snort was unexpected. "Tried to, is the right word for what he did."

It made you gasp, as well as playfully nudge his arm. "I'm being serious."

"Trust me Y/N, I'm also trying to be serious. So you're telling me you're related to Trent Alexander Arnold, your twin brother to be exact?"

"Yes. I'm the oldest, if you must know."

Ruben's bright eyes searched your face. But it was unclear to you what had suddenly lightened his mood.

"Is this the reason?" He asked."

"What reason?"

"Why don't you want to be with me? Because of who your brother is. My "rival" in the football world?"

"Well that and the fact that you are my employer which would label our relationship as highly inappropriate."

"Yes, but it's mainly because of your brother, no? You worry about what he will think of you, of us. It's why you had him take you home the other night,  because you didn't want the two of us to meet, no?"

You nodded. "He doesn't know that I'm your stylist. And I don't think that I want him to. The truth would send him through the roof." You still wondered why it hadn't sent Ruben through the roof,  what was his angle?

"Y/N, I don't give a fuck about who your brother is?" He said this in a way that shook your core. Ruben then stepped forward, grabbing your face between his hands, tilting your head upwards. "Can we stop pretending that what we have between us isn't real?" He chuckled. "Can you just accept the fact that I want you and you want me Y/N?"

"You want me to run into your arms?"

He frowned. "What?"

"Like the girl in the painting." You smiled. "He's waiting for her to run into his arms."

"Yes." Ruben nodded. "Exactly. Come to me, run into my arms."

You crashed into his lips instead, with Ruben initiating it by pulling your face towards his. Just like that you we're back to square one, the game between you having stepped into a second round. And the next round was guaranteed to involve less tears and more fistfights.

[suspensefulpen]

Remembered

TW: Multiple Whumpers, Reluctant Bad Caretaker and Carewhumper, Sadistic Whumper, Restraints, Captivity, Implied Conditioning and Torture

Caretaker frowned deeply as they watched Whumper get dressed in front of a mirror. “I cannot believe I agreed to do this with you.” 

Whumper adjusted his white button up shirt. He grabbed his suit jacket and pulled it on. “Agreed to do what Darling?” He briefly leaned close to the mirror, examining the lower half of his face. 

Caretaker shook their head furiously and sighed before marching over. “We need to call this off! Right now!” 

He paused, turning to them with a matching expression. Caretaker cautiously took a step back as their expression softened. It only made him step closer and closer, forcing them to keep backing away. “Do I need to remind you that I can have exactly what ‘happened’ to Whumpee, happen to you in real life?” Caretaker had their back completely against the wall as Whumper leaned down. “We don’t need both of the most amazing people on Earth to go missing, now do we?” They rapidly shook their head. “Then I suggest you start acting like it. And if you so much as look like you’re going to ruin my plans, I will see to it that you go missing. Understand?” 

“Ye.. Yes.” 

A devilish smirk appeared on Whumper’s face. “Then I suggest you go get dressed Darling.” 

~~

Carewhumper pushed open the heavy door to Whumpee’s cell with a plate of food in her hand. She saw them curled up in the corner. She smiled, they were finally getting used to their new room. At first, they wouldn’t move from the center of it. Even when she brought food. 

“Hungry?” She asked as she stepped into the unfinished gray room. Whumpee didn’t budge. Even as she placed the food next to them. “It’s your favorite.” 

They still didn’t respond. Only hugging themself tighter, keeping their back turned. Carewhumper thought for a moment before smiling. “You get to go back to your old room.” She couldn’t help but smirk when Whumpee finally turned to face her. Their eyes still watery from their last punishment, she instantly knew what the word held behind their gag was. “Yep. You get to go back upstairs later. So be good and eat, alright?” 

They nodded, a tear falling as she pulled the gag down from their mouth and uncuffed them. Before Carewhumper could react, Whumpee reached to tightly hug her. Unsure of what to do, she slowly wrapped her arms around them. This felt strange to her despite it not being the first time it’s happened. 

Maybe it was the fact that they were about to do something that would absolutely shatter millions of people around the world. Something that would end in tragedy if the truth was found out by anyone. 

“Whumpee, how about I make you a deal?” 

~~

“As you all know, Whumpee had gone missing, completely disappeared off the face of Earth just a couple of months ago. And just a week ago, we learned the tragedy of Whumpee’s death.” 

Caretaker tightly shut their eyes as the lie lay on the large crowd gathered in front of them. They couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Whumper stood on their right, feeding the crowd with his grand scheme and false tears as if he himself had been the one to find Whumpee’s body. As if this would actually hurt him if he truly was. 

They took a chance in opening their eyes to see the complete hurt in everyone’s faces. Caretaker looked over at Carewhumper and found her staring blankly into space as if something was on her mind. 

Maybe it was also starting to dawn on her just how insane this idea had become. It wasn’t supposed to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to go this far at all. This wasn’t part of the deal. Whumper never mentioned this. He was clearly letting all of this go straight to his head with no regard as to how badly this was going to affect everyone. 

“In honor of Whumpee, we closed their favorite park to construct their memorial.” 

Caretaker, along with Carewhumper and the crowd in front of them turned around to see a large statue of Whumpee become unveiled in the center of the park. Caretaker looked over at Carewhumper. Pure shock was now on her face instead. Caretaker’s gaze went towards Whumper who didn’t even try hiding his smirk. 

It was now very clear what his true intentions were all along. 

~~ 

Whumpee stifled a sob as they watched the statue become unveiled. Despite no one being around to punish them for it, they felt the need to do so. 

As they sat on the bed that they once slept in comfortably every night, they realized that the world now believed that they were truly gone.

[isledolon]

busted || dungeon end interruption 1/?

You do not get a chance to approach the blue portal that awaits to take you back to the Antechamber. Instead, your steps are interrupted, and you feel your feet freeze to the floor--literally. Ice creeps up your ankles, and a delighted cheer sounds from behind you. Turning your head to look over your shoulder, you see a figure that has no place in this realm of rot and ruin.

Eydís stands behind you all, clapping its hands together and bobbing happily in the air.

"How wonderful! I’ve finally found you! So, this is where you all go on little adventures without lil ol’ me? This is where you think you’re really accomplishing something? Really achieving some sort of goal? Well, I do so hate to burst your bubble, butttt I think this will be the end of this little farce! Let’s get you all out of this dirty nasty place, shall we?~"

It snaps its fingers, and petals begin to swirl around your feel, whisking you away and…You find yourselves on the front lawn of the High House. The living, too, have been gathered in this place and look just as confused as you feel. 

Taking a perch on the swing under the oak tree, the spirit begins to move itself back and forth, humming lightly.

"Naughty, naughty! I saw who you were having a little chat with. Is that what my lovely little breathing Cursebearers got up to last time? So mean! You know, they were all just getting what they deserved, don’t you agree? Such terrible, terrible people with such wickedly dangerous desires…You have them to thank for how wonderfully impressive I remain to this day, you know."

It tilts its head, the cheer leaving its expression, but the smile remains.

"The island has always had such wonderful stories. It’s such a shame that so many of them are just lies born from denial and a fear of the truth. Reality is sooooo tough to chew sometimes. It’s why people would rather just forget the bad and remember the good, the magical. A spirit born from the Wishing Well, kind and benevolent to all, loving and caring towards every person on the island. It wants nothing more than to grant your deepest, most heartfelt desires…One High House--an institution that gained its prevalence because of the thought that it was favored by the Spirit of the Well--falls, then another, but wouldn’t it be tragic to think that the Spirit never loved you at all?"

Eydís slows its swinging to a stop and stands, beginning to float a winding path around each and every one of you, its voice dipping into a whisper and hands gently--lovingly, supposedly--holding your shoulders.

"I gorged myself on the selfish desires of the terrible, terrible people of this island. I felt myself grow stronger than you could ever comprehend. Eventually, I wrung dry every willing participant. Oooohhh, how scared the island was in the end. I had to go and rest. Bide my time. And wouldn’t you know it? They forgot. Eventually, stories of my Well sprung up again, and my glory days began anew. You’ve fed me oh so well, my friends, especially you terrible, terrible killers and your selfish desires. I am stronger than any being has ever been before. I cannot be stopped. Our lovely Festival cannot be stopped. Wouldn’t it be better to just accept that? Accept your fate?"

If what it says is true, then do you stand a chance? Is there anything you could possibly do? It destroyed so many lives. You have seen it. You have felt at some time the soul of a fellow human be ground into dust simply for Eydís’ own benefit and fun. 

It holds your hands in its own, each of you experiencing the sensation as if the true Eydís stands before you. Leaning in, it whispers in a dulcet tone:

"Give up."

It would be easy, wouldn’t it?

But then, if you do, what have you been fighting for? Why have you continued to do all that you can to survive, to make sure that as many as possible survive? What would the deaths behind you have meant?

The spirit awaits your answer, and you can almost feel your resolve budge as the horrors you’ve beared witness to rush through your mind. You don’t want to give in. But could there be another way? Is there a light at the end worth fighting for?

Can you win?

[olderjodijournals]

Tuesday, November 7, 2000

Estrella Jail in PHX… A109

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cells are approximately 8x12.

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, November 8, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, November 9, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said he’s vacuumed and stuff like that.

How sweet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I hate shrinks!

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

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

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

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

Friday, November 10, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, November 11, 2000

M205

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Later on, she assigned me to a lower bunk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, November 12, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I forgot to mention April and Angel from the tents.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, November 15, 2000

A109

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, November 16, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Saturday, November 18, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Same old bullshit every day.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, November 19, 2000

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

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

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

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

Monday, November 20, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, November 21, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Brilliant. Real fucking brilliant.

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, November 22, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s around 4:00 and I’m still up.

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, November 23, 2000

M204

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

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

I’m with Lora, Madeline and Deanna.

I’ve already described loud, obnoxious Lora.

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

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

According to Madeline, Deanna’s crazy.

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

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

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

Medical finally did swipe some money; $9.

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

Friday, November 24, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good question.

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

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

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

Saturday, November 25, 2000

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

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

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

Deanna’s the quietest, except for her snoring.

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

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

M203

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now 3rd shift is on.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, November 26, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, November 27, 2000

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, November 29, 2000

M205

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, November 30, 2000

M204

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Whatever.

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

Bunch is working now. What a weird name.

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

[iriemorning]

reverse engineering

my initial ambition was to be a civil engineer. it’s why i took the STEM program in high school. as i set off to a more creative path in the past few years, little did i know that i would come back to it again, albeit more on the mechanism part. how i go about my goals usually begins with a simple process. i envision a finished prototype first then disassemble them like lego; i break them down to build it again as close to what i had pictured in mind.

it’s strategic thinking, like how athletes do. how do you win a gold medal? they train for years and they often start when young. they think about the desired outcome and reverse-engineer what would be necessary to make it happen. in a magazine interview by lebron james, he said he wanted his team to win the championship—to do that his team must surpass and win all the other teams all the way to the finals, and to do that he practiced his three-point-shooting skills every day. he went from a general goal and funneled it down to what he can easily work on every day, in order to make his big dream happen. he could have criticized the shortcomings of his team members but he didn’t; he worked on his skills instead. he filtered all possible ways to only the best way—one that he had utmost control over. and now look at him.

that’s the power of reverse engineering.

ೃ⁀➷

sometimes you begin to question the probability of your goals—if they’re unreasonable, delusions, or just pipe dreams. the same dilemma that entrepreneurs have when starting a business. it’s wobbly and fear-inducing in the start. whenever i start to feel that way, i come back to what made me dream of it in the first place. the exact place and time i built the prototype in mind. this repainting process neutralizes my worries, and also sets me on fire. i often feel like an entrepreneur whenever i set off to a new goal every decan.

there’s a lot of luck involved in going after your goals as well, no matter how much you plan your way around it. like how businesses have breakout moments in the market.

but entrepreneurs dont gamble. gambling is mostly luck.

one thing that entrepreneurs and goal-oriented people have in common? they’re in it for the long haul. their goals have lasting impacts in their lives. a gambler only bets randomly for instant gratification. an entrepreneur takes a calculated risk based on market study and an extensive business plan, while a gambler is a blind risk-taker.

in my everyday waking life, i often remind myself to live like an entrepreneur, to walk my path with a solid goal and purpose, and not like a gambler who waits all their life for the wheel of fortune to point at them.

ೃ⁀➷

in writing creatively, reverse engineering is also a must. i used to think that i should be a gardener—the type of writer who allows their stories to progress naturally, like tending to a plant. gardeners value the freedom to let their stories grow in an organic way. as opposed to architects who prefer to have every detail of their story organized before they start writing. you see, the prospect of being a gardener is pretty, right? they write with their emotions, their writing exciting and fresh, while an architect’s would come across as soulless and robotic. after all, expressing creativity must be as free as a bird, not shackled in the cages of a ‘plan’, right?

that’s how i used to think.

for a very long time i’ve been caught up on my writing having no emotions and sounding robotic, and in the end i gave myself a harder time to write anything at all. it’s a hard lesson that’s even harder to erase the longer i didn’t budge to change.

if you only write by the seat of your pants, you get more vulnerable to writer’s block—that sinister moments before disaster when you’re facing a blank page and you cannot come up with anything to write. boom. you’re stuck.

but its okay. great ideas dont come everyday. neither does inspiration. you have to catch them when they appear, put them in a basket and use them at the right time.

nowadays i split my writing process into the creative stage, then labor stage. first is when i make a storyboard freely; exploring stuff i could add to my idea basket and start sketching my outline from there while being open to changes. all the fun and exciting stuff about storytelling goes here. i draw a roadmap to come up with the beginning, the middle, and ending. preparation is a must. if you skip it, you’ll have a decision fatigue in the labor stage, where you execute the act of writing itself. most people just go straight into writing without having a central idea or timeline in mind so they’re stuck halfway. the quality would then almost always fall off and we either get an unfinished story or a mediocre ending. in retrospect, embodying the sentiments of a gardener and the means of an architect in my creative stage gave me a reliable system i can work with as a better writer.

this is a message to the past me: it’s not wrong to have a plan. it won’t hamper your creativity; a solid outline assures that your creativity is unleashed properly. this is how illustrators make beautiful drawings; how engineers build sturdy buildings. they make sketches and blueprints to a goal, then reverse-engineer it down to the simplest tools needed.

[rcreveal]

Run! They think we're their Valentine!

Summary:

For Sendarya's Discord Writer's Group Prompt a week 2024 Prompts:1)Valentine's day, 2)oysters, 3)"Should I say 'thank you?'" Need a palate cleanser before your next course of creating and reading Aziraphale and Crowley romantic fluff? This one is rated Teen for innuendo and states of undress. Readers have called this fic 'hilarious' with an unusual premise. This is set shortly before the Antichrist arrives on Earth in S1 when they are still more "working acquaintances". Something odd happens on Valentine's Day, and they do not care for it! How can they escape from... .

Work Text:

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” Crowley hurried down the Soho streets trying to take advantage of every bit of cover.  They saw him anyway.  His only hope was to keep moving until he could make it to Aziraphale’s bookshop.

Not surprisingly, the door was closed and locked.  Very surprisingly, it wouldn’t budge when he tried the doorknob.  He rattled and cursed, growling, “Aziraphale, don’t do this to me,” and pulled out his mobile to call the shop.  He heard the phone give his special ring through the windows, but there was no tread on the stairs, no one shifting up from a comfy chair.  In desperation, Crowley tried both blessing and cursing the door into opening.  Nothing.

“They’re coming,” he moaned, looking around with a hunted expression and dashing into the alley.

Trying to find the deepest, darkest shadows in the alley, cursing so angrily that he’s literally spitting sparks of fire, he hears a voice issuing from the fetid archway he’d been wanting to hide in.  Figures.

“Crowley, is that you?  Please tell me it’s you!” Aziraphale sounds desperate, and well he might, outside on this of all nights.

“Angel!  Why aren’t you in your shop!?  Why did you bloody well lock me out!” Crowley rages, as quietly as he can.

“ I didn’t lock you out! I’m locked out!  What are you doing out tonight!  I was going to try and make it to your place and beg for shelter!” whispers Aziraphale.

“Can’t get in there, either.  I’m locked out of my flat, too!  And before you ask about the Bentley, it’s locked in the underground garage. Which I also can’t get into,” Crowley snarls in frustration.

“Oh God, they’re coming, Crowley, what do we do?” Aziraphale looks to the mouth of the alley in something like terror.

“Let me think, let me think!” hisses Crowley.

Two unlikely groups rounded the corner at the same time. Suddenly, their dark refuge felt illuminated…because a building light that had been broken for thirty years miraculously restored itself over their heads.

‘ Oh damn, here it comes,’ thinks Crowley.

“Hey Ginger, give us a try!  We’ll show you a good time!  Nobody wants to be alone tonight!” catcalls a man detaching himself from a group of leather clad bikers, sauntering down the alley towards Crowley.

At almost the same moment, “Hey Angel! Be mine tonight. I’m pure…mostly,” a woman with a fake halo and wings in a skimpy white dress and 4 inch stilettos starts stalking down the alley towards Aziraphale advancing out of a group wearing similar attire, some with little toy bows and arrows.

The humans, locked onto their selected target, only seem to see one of them.

“I cannot live through another 1969, Crowley, I just cannot ,” begs Aziraphale.

“We said we’d never speak of it!” Crowley shudders.  “Is there a back way out of the alley or up to the roof?” but he already knows they’re trapped.

“We have to do the thing!” urges Crowley.

“It won’t work!” moans Aziraphale.

“At least try, Aziraphale!  Anything is better than a repeat of 1969!” Crowley implores.

Just before the humans reach them, Crowley and Aziraphale grab each other and yell, “He’s my Valentine!”

With an almost audible pop, the biker and the woman in the angel costume stop, bemused, taking in the two men clutching each other.  The woman pouts a little but seems to notice the biker for the first time, looks at him from the poured on leather pants up to the tight undershirt.  This must be the fellow she was so intent on.

“Hey, you fancy taking an angel for a ride, love?” she propositions.

“Thought you’d never ask, pet,” he holds out an arm and helps her back to the two groups, who have suddenly become one group.

“Come on!” Crowley says, head up and smiling brightly as he feigns an easy saunter up the alley.  He whispers to Aziraphale, “While they’re confused we can get out of here.  But whatever you do, DON’T LET GO OF ME!”  Crowley leads the way through the humans at the mouth of the alley, keeping his arm draped around Aziraphale’s shoulders while Aziraphale wraps his arm around Crowley’s waist. 

Out of the mob of humans, Aziraphale can still feel the tension Crowley is trying not to show while he saunters through the neighborhood.  Aziraphale isn't doing as well hiding his nerves, scanning every face, feeling every glance as they clutch one another for protection.

Crowley spares a vengeful thought for whatever happened around forty or fifty years ago.  Humans, whose gaze usually slid off them, could suddenly see them for the demon and angel they were on Valentine’s day.  But instead of running in terror and awe, plugged them into their own personal fantasies and pursued them relentlessly!  Even worse, if the besotted humans caught him or Aziraphale, the humans could sometimes roll them under the Valentine’s influence like some horrible fey glamor to act out those fantasies!  Even their miracles were blocked unless they followed a Valentine's script.  In short, being on the street on Valentine’s evening created an almost 100% chance of ending up somewhere… unexpected. 

Walking arm in arm, fewer people are taking an interest now that they seem to be together, but a few start to tail them anyway with that dreaded look in their eyes.

“Quickly, buy me flowers!” suggests Aziraphale, glancing over his shoulder.

Passing a corner shop with a wall of fresh blooms, Crowley selects a dozen red roses, and miracles a 50 pound note, to pay the shop keeper. 

“Happy Valentine's, keep the change,” he says to the pleased shop keeper as they keep moving.

To Aziraphale he says loudly, “For my Valentine! A token of my affection!”

“How lovely they are, dear Valentine!” Aziraphale hams it up.

Looking like he’s coming in to peck Aziraphale on the cheek, Crowley presses his lips next to the angel’s ear, “We have to get off the streets!  Can you get us a table somewhere suitably couplish?”

Aziraphale announces, “We don’t want to miss our reservation for our intimate Valentine’s dinner, my dear!” and tries to hustle them down the street, but not before two befuddled humans start to cross in their direction.

“Swingers at 9 o’clock! Put your hand in my pant’s pocket,” Crowley orders, then jumps nearly a foot in the air, “My back pocket, you idiot, my back pocket!” while putting on a fake lecherous smile, “Not here, Valentine!  You get to have me all to yourself later tonight!” which sends off the hopeful couple.

Aziraphale steers them down a side street, “We’re almost to the restaurant!” They walk up to a brightly painted little cafe and duck into a dim interior lit by candles on every table.  The waiter seats them at an odd little corner booth, which forces their feet into a tangle, but at least they don’t have to manufacture a way to keep touching.  After pouring cold, flat water into their glasses, the waiter inclines his head and says, “The first course and pairing will be out shortly, gentlemen, please enjoy this perfume and pheromone mixture to set the mood,” spritzing them both full in the face before they can duck or refuse.

Blinking and wrinkling his nose, Aziraphale turns over a hand inscribed card at the table.

“A lover’s banquet!

Seven courses and wine pairings to enliven the senses and invigorate the evening!”

Shaking his head, as he reads over the angel’s shoulder, Crowley intones, “This is bad, angel, this is so, so bad.”

“We can do this, Crowley!  Just don’t lose your nerve on me!” Aziraphale whispers, hand gripping Crowley's arm, forcing a smile.

“But all the wine!  And I won’t be able to sober up quickly until tomorrow! You know that,” on Valentine’s, Crowley can neither hold his liquor nor say no when anyone offers it.  A state that leaves him open to…influences.  His eyes are swiveling in panic behind his glasses.  Feeling Aziraphale’s hand on his knee, he freezes, locking his eyes back on the angel.

“That couple was thinking of asking us over,” Aziraphale raises an eyebrow, “Just keep your eyes on me, Crowley.  You’ve watched me eat for years.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Crowley grabs a sip of water, before the first course descends onto the table.  ‘ Oysters.  Of course, the first course is oysters, ’ well, might as well try and do it properly, he picks up an oyster, taking care to brush the angel’s fingers with his own and keeping desperate eye contact through his sunglasses.

After the second wine pairing, the rest of the dinner was hazy for Crowley, with the waiter, damn him, topping up the wine glasses with every course.  Other patrons are enjoying Aziraphale being even more obvious in his sensuous appreciation of every delicacy than usual (he can’t help it, it’s Valentine’s, thinks Crowley muzzily).  Despite their attempts to act completely enamored with one another, other couples start to send them things: extra oysters, couples massage vouchers, keys both personal and to hotel rooms.  With distant, tipsy horror, Crowley watches Aziraphale’s hand descend into the pile of offerings at the end of the meal and extract a hotel room key and the massage vouchers, bestowing a radiant smile on the group before scooping Crowley into the hollow of his arm and steering his stumbling feet outside.  “Hold on a little longer, we should be able to hail a cab now!” Aziraphale whispers kindly, throwing out his hand only to overbalance slightly since he’s partially supporting Crowley and none too clear-headed himself.  Thankfully a cabbie pulls over immediately.  “Please take us to this hotel,” Aziraphale shows him the room key, and the cabbie remarks, “Nice place for lovebirds such as yourselves.”  Aziraphale, smiles in relief, he’d been worried that the cabbie wouldn’t be able to read the hotel name until they’d been to the massage parlor.  Holding the massage vouchers up to his uncertain vision, he sees that the vouchers are from the same hotel.  

No one looks at them askance for arriving arm in arm without any luggage, though the bellhop discreetly takes the 100 pound note from the fair haired fellow with instructions that they not be disturbed with the promise of 200 more pounds if he can accomplish that feat all night, with the exception of the couples massage which should arrive “with alacrity”.  The bellhop opens the door of the suite displaying an enormous bed on which lays a white faux fur coverlet strewn with red rose petals.  He also demonstrates the workings of the advanced sound and television system, the jacuzzi, and the location of the champagne in a large ice bucket.  Pointing out the heavy turkish cotton ankle-length robes, he promises the two masseuses will be up in the next 20 minutes.

“Quick, Crowley, take off your clothes and put this on!” tries Aziraphale, less tipsy than the more slender demon.

“Uh-uh, angel,” Crowley weaves towards him, shaking his finger, “ I have to take off yours and you have to take off mine! ‘S the Valentine’s thingie…rules,” he pats the angel’s chest and takes off Aziraphale's long coat, “But we don’t have to be uncivilized about it. Whereza wooden butler thing?” finding one behind him when he looks for it. Trying to untie Aziraphale’s bowtie, Crowley finds his fingers too clumsy for knots.  Improvising, Valentine’s style, Crowley finds the end of the bowtie with his teeth, and tugs, slowly undoing the knot, “But not too civilized!” he winks at Aziraphale’s sharp intake of breath.  Aziraphale recalls that the drink and the Valentine's compulsions are making Crowley erratic now.  Tomorrow morning, he’s likely to be embarrassed and resentful.  Quickly, Aziraphale starts undoing the buttons of his own vest one handed while fumbling with Crowley’s belt, to stave off whatever Valentine induced methods he might try next.   

The belt distraction works, just like when he’d grabbed Crowley’s knee in the restaurant, Aziraphale sees him shake his head in confusion, frowning slightly, trying not to fall over.  Crowley puts one hand to his head and the other on Aziraphale’s shoulder as Aziraphale quickly eases Crowley’s tight pants to the floor. Their shoes already came off at the door.  Coming up swiftly, Aziraphale slips the shirt and jacket over the demon’s head, catching Crowley around the waist as he overbalances away from the quick move.

“Should I say thank you?” Crowley asks quietly while he takes off the angel’s unbuttoned vest and tugs the shirt over Aziraphale’s head. Aziraphale, gives him a sympathetic smile, then says more loudly, “For that? Wait until you see what else I’ve got planned for you, Valentine!”  Crowley mouths, ‘ oh, right ’ manages the slacks reasonably well, after nudging the angel onto the loveseat, then is surprised into exclaiming,  “Savile Row Victorian unmentionables! Oh you are so lucky to be in here with me!  There are some quarters where you wouldn’t be able to keep the humans off with a sharp stick!” 

“They’re comfortable!” Aziraphale explains, “We can take our own underthings off,” he cautions, holding up a hand.

“Only if we show off the goods while we do, angel!” Crowley demonstrates, taking off his black undershirt and underwear only to pose dramatically with his back to the angel like some classical Greek statue, albeit one that is prone to tipping over.

“Lovely, dear boy, and you’d still be much admired at the Roman baths,” says Aziraphale, glancing at him, while slipping out of his undergarments.

“You and me both, angel.  I have to cover you up, tho’.  Masseuses coming and all that,” Crowley wraps the plush robe around the angel.

Aziraphale flourishes the other robe over Crowley’s shoulders and looks up at a knock on the door.

Tying the belt, Crowley says, “It’s just the masseuses,” and saunters unsteadily over to the door to let them in.

Two massive gentlemen, looking rather like WWF wrestlers but in khakis and matching polo shirts, wait in the hall carrying massage tables.

Aziraphale says brightly from behind a frozen Crowley, in whom imminent threat is causing instant sobriety, “Hello, gentlemen! Would you be able to do a brisk Turkish massage?” the dark heat in their eyes fades and the taller fellow, he must be 6’8”, replies, “My great grandpa used to talk about the massage you could get at the Turkish baths.  The nearest thing Jasper and I can do is a sports massage with interfascial release.  Would that suit you gents?”

Crowley finds that he and Aziraphale have drifted together and Aziraphale is whispering urgently into Crowley’s ear, “I have no idea what he’s talking about, do you?”

“Yes, that would do us a treat,” Crowley says with only a frisson of trepidation.

From where they’ve been helped into the loveseat after the massage, independent movement being more of a theory at the moment, Justin brings them both large vitamin waters, “You really shouldn’t drink any alcohol after a massage like that, gents.  Just stick with the vitamin waters and don’t operate any heavy equipment for several hours.” 

“Oh, and the jacuzzi is probably not your friend at this time,” Jasper rumbles from where he’s wiping down and folding up the massage tables.

Crowley miracles another couple of 100 pound notes from his robe pocket and passes them over while taking Justin and Jasper’s cards.

“Excellent work, gentlemen!  Your great grandpa would think it was 1871.  No fear, message received!  Stay out of the jacuzzi and no more alcohol tonight!” as the door closes behind the two men he lets his head fall back on the loveseat.  “That was a stroke of luck!  Massages, jacuzzi, and bubbly sorted.”

“How many more hours?” Aziraphale asks plaintively with his head propped in the corner of the loveseat and one arm calculatingly draped towards Crowley as he sips his vitamin water.

“It’s early yet.  Nine or ten hours?” Crowley holds his bottle to his forehead before taking a large gulp while Aziraphale turns on the TV.  It really is an enchanted evening if the angel can work a remote, thinks Crowley darkly.

“A romantic movie? What’s ‘Notting Hill’ like?” asks Aziraphale.

Scrambling for the remote, Crowley says, “YES! Quick, pick that one before something else presents itself,” blessedly the light romcom actually starts playing instead of so many other movies that could have come on.

Tilting his head, Aziraphale says, “Those people from 219 are coming back, persistent, aren’t they?” as the movie gets going.

Crowley replies, “Little blighters are watching for the bellhop to move on.  Uh, try light-hearted banter about the movie, like: ‘Did you ever consider Notting Hill for your premises?’”

“Nooo, too far away from the City,” Aziraphale replies.  “Soho just has that certain something.”

With a wicked grin, Crowley banters back, “Color, a lot more color.” Carrying on like this throughout the remainder of the movie, they feel other besotted humans diverted away from their room.

“There’s nothing for it, Crowley.  We have to go to bed,” Aziraphale announces, turning off the telly before another show queues up.  They both look over the back of the loveseat at the king-sized monstrosity still strewn with rose petals as though it’s some sort of trap.  A discrete and thoughtful basket of ‘items’ sits on both nightstands.  

Crowley rubs his eyes, having taken off his sunglasses during the movie.  He makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat before putting his head in his hands, “You know we have to do something vigorously on the bed,” then he sits up straight and looks wildly at Aziraphale, “How’s your Shakespeare?”

“Reasonable. Why do you ask?” Aziraphale replies.

Crowley takes his hand and draws him over to the bed, stepping up onto the broad surface like a stage, passionately intoning, “Romeo, Romeo wherefore art thou Romeo?”

“Oh, good thought,” Aziraphale shakes out his sleeves, and warms up his voice.

“It is the east and Juliet is the sun!” proclaims Aziraphale.

Then sotto voce to Crowley, “Less projection and more intimate intensity.  The iambic pentameter is calling in the Royal Shakespeare patrons!”

Crowley, sotto voce back, stares at him, appalled, “How many humans are after us in this hotel, angel!?” Seeing Aziraphale’s pained expression Crowley starts to jump lightly on the bed, shaking himself out for the performance, and, incidentally, producing a suggestively rhythmic creaking from the bedframe. “Ok, ok, we’ve got this.”

Holding nothing back from the performance of the star crossed lovers, their words are inaudible outside the room, but their sighs, exclamations, gasps, and set changes when they move on and off the bed and loveseat apparently pass muster. The physical contact required by the play doesn’t hurt, either.  Finally, panting in an artfully entangled heap, rose petals streaming from them like the lovers’ heart’s blood, they wait for their pulses and breathing to slow down again before cracking an eyelid.

Looking up at Aziraphale from where his cheek rests on the angel’s chest, Crowley asks, “Do you think it’s safe to go to sleep now?  I’m knackered.”

“I think so,” Aziraphale senses around, “But best sleep nude, just to be on the safe side.  Are you going to shower first?” he asks, even while moving towards the bathroom. 

“You go ahead.  I’ll get this mess sorted first,” Crowley downs some more vitamin water and starts to return the ravaged bed to something with bed clothes that can cover them properly and pillows that are only at the head of the bed.

Aziraphale finds Crowley already asleep when he comes out of the bathroom swathed in huge towels and steaming.  Considering how well things have gone thus far, it would be a shame to have someone sneak in on them now.  Rummaging in the bedside table for reading material, he’s encouraged to be able to produce something suitable from his own shop.  As he settles down to read love poetry and “watch his Valentine sleeping” Aziraphale smiles to himself as the couple in 219 finally give up and go to their own bed.

The next morning, Crowley wakes but keeps carefully still with his eyes closed on finding himself nude in a strange bed the morning after Valentine’s, again.  Then he hears the page of a book turning and opens his eyes to see Aziraphale reading a small, antique volume, "The Collected Love Sonnets of William Shakespeare” while drinking tea from a room service cart.  Crowley sits up and looks hopefully at a French press and a couple of covered plates.

“You’ve got pajamas on!” he points out, enviously.

“Hotel pajamas are allowed the next morning while our clothes are being cleaned and pressed.  Your pajamas are hanging up in the bathroom,” Crowley’s robe is laying across the foot of the bed.

Crowley rolls out of bed to get up, Aziraphale glances over to see the demon’s back dotted with rose petals. “Um Crowley, you’ve got rose petals on your…”

“If rose petals are the only thing that I've got stuck to me the morning after Valentine’s, I’m ahead of the game,” he says over his shoulder while putting on his robe and padding towards the bathroom, firmly closing the door behind himself.  Aziraphale, returning to reading Shakespearan sonnets, raises his eyebrows and intones, “ Strewth, ” considering some of the post-Valentine’s mornings they’ve had.

Sauntering back to the vicinity of the room service in a set of his own black silk pajamas, apparently miracled out of his flat, Crowley stretches himself into the love seat and gratefully sips on some excellent coffee.

“I haven’t been locked out of my place in years, you?” says Crowley.

“Last year I let it be known that I was out of the country that week and hid in the basement for the night of.  The pressure must have built up,” remarks Aziraphale.

Waving a croissant with a bite out of it at the angel, Crowley says, “Yeah, but, all things considered, we got out of quite a tight spot last night, by being…you know.”

“Each other’s Valentine?  Yes, it could probably use some refinement next year.  And maybe if we set it up earlier the humans wouldn’t be so hard to deflect!” Aziraphale is getting that, ‘up to something’ look.

“Are you thinking, what I think you’re thinking? Crowley asks the angel, dubiously.

“Would you be my Valentine again next year?” asks Aziraphale, brightly.

Crowley, considers for a moment, “Yeah, sure, but do me a favor.  No oysters, okay?” he begs, extending a hand.

Aziraphale tries to nod solemnly, as they shake on it, then claps a hand over his giggles  and chuckles until tears stream out of his eyes egged on as Crowley starts to laugh along with him.

Thank you for reading! Your comments and kudos make my day. If you enjoyed this fanfic, there's more at my Master List

[violenthunted]

penelope loves finding new places to party at ; it feels like part of her job, to alleviate whatever horrors they have witnessed during the day by bringing them to a small, yet colorful, piece of heaven located between two narrow streets on the fourth avenue. she had picked up the girls in her old cherry cabriolet, outfit as flashy as the car & glasses obviously matching with the rest. as for her boys, she had taken half a second while juno got in the car to text derek with a single location, soon followed by a kiss emoji. she knew he’d know to take reid with him : morgan had become rather effective at kidnapping him without raising any suspicion. the boy was either too focused on street patterns to notice, or he genuinely liked being included against his will. that, garcia couldn’t tell.

for a while, it is just them girls, a drink in each right hand, only for them to rotate like horses on a carousel ; tasting each with a severe expression, as if appointed mistresses of cocktails, only to give the drink back with a compliment and a print of lipstick. once they have gone from sober to tipsy, the group has moved on to the dance floor where space is offered to them in the form of amused customers watching as jj & juno wash over the old parquet. penelope is in the business of getting them refills when derek passes the door. it’s a strange feeling, the way she immediately knows when he has entered the door ; how her eyes fall on his body with a conviction she so rarely encounters, like, yes, here you are, i was waiting for you. even though she isn’t always aware that he is about to walk through the threshold. call it her spidey senses, rather than a stupid crush.

derek’s already dancing by the time she has taken him to the middle of the circle, and she has to admit he is as incredible here as he is out of such a place. whatever his mother put in his bottle as a child, it worked out perfectly, because that boy is lighting the dancefloor on fire & all garcia wants is to become part of the barbecue. so, for lack of a better word, that’s where we lose her : she’s stolen by the spectacle of morgan & has no more thoughts to be observed. at least none that don’t reach a too-high number of decibels.

the same cannot be said about spencer reid, who’s still standing at a certain distance from the group. he doesn’t have the same confidence as derek and he certainly does not possess the same skills. so he’s sitting, and waiting, and perhaps hoping that time will pass and they will get so intoxicated they will not see him slipping out to go read his book outside. it’s not as if he can leave : they took derek’s car.

however, that strategy of waiting it out didn’t take into account juno’s interest in him, which takes the form of loud & heartfelt pleading, something that he wasn’t prepared for and is completely infatuated by. her hands capture his & the boy finds himself following, after a moment of refusing to budge. he fears that if he had tried for longer, she would have gone for a firefighter hold in order to get him where she wants him. juno is not a woman you want to cross ; especially not if she’s as tipsy as she appears to be right now.

safe hands, she says, probably a countermeasure to calm down the erratic beatings of his heart & the terrified look on his face. “twenty percent of emergency room visits are tied to nightclub injuries” he tells her, words fumbling over each other, “and most of these occur when patrons are dancing. so this is not what i call safe.” but there’s no point in arguing with her : she’s barely staying on her feet, and he fears that if he doesn’t follow her through the crowd she’ll fall on her face and disappear under the stomping.

after they are found facing each other, he calculates his options & realizes there is little he can do to get out of it ; juno needs to lose interest for that, and she is not one to stop biting as long as her prey is still struggling. so his hands fall from her shoulders to her hips, a form of surrender, and he steps slightly closer. his steps are not in rhythm, and he’s probably sticking out even more here than he did at his table, but juno’s praise gets a small, shy smile upon his lips as he tries, as best as he can, to follow her steps. “you’re good at this.” he murmurs, but realizing she can’t hear him, he leans toward her right ear, her hair tickling his cheek as he repeats himself. “where did you learn to dance like that?” talking is most certainly not good club appropriate behaviour, but reid is still reid, and whatever piece of information he can collect, he will grab with excitement.

it should be considered a talent, really, how penelope garcia is able to pinpoint a new, hole - in - the - wall hubbub every other weekend. all so they can get away, but not entirely so, because they’re still in each other’s company. spending moments together they know to be so precious and ephemeral, all which could be washed down by a round of shots, and yet, they try to make as much of it as they can. try to make the thrilling buzz and rush of adrenaline—the good kind for once—last as long as it may on the roof of their mouth, rotating drinks and sharing sips from the sweetest glasses.

the ground vibrates with each booming tune, one that they have to shout over to hear one another; even if they are shoulder to shoulder. for a while it’s just the girls, obnoxiously laughing and taking up the entire dance floor with their tipsy antics. for a while, juno is twirling around jj until penelope has slipped away and drags derek along. soaking him up in the warm magentas and garnet lights of the club, no intermission necessary because he has already jumped into action. all eyes are on him and, she has to admit, derek is pretty good considering how much brawn he is. penelope is hooting and hollering, the others are cheering him on. juno, whose ego is slightly bruised, catches a glimpse of the boy morgan had yanked along with him. doctor reid, who showed up to the club in a button down and recently ironed pants. sticking out like a bruised thumb, alone and twiddling his thumbs while a half - sipped coke lies across from him. at least he’s wearing his sneakers, and this thought alone seems to encourage her tiptoeing off and hovering over his table.

“ come on, @violenthunt! ” she pleads, louder than what’s needed. her hands have grabbed onto his, pulling him to his feet with immense effort: he’s heavier than he looks. juno shrugs off the petrified expression on his face—no dance partner of hers has ever given her that look when she’s offered them the opportunity—and she is up for the challenge. he is the stereotypical outlier, the nerd, as derek will teasingly call him. having spent more days with literature than actual people and juno cannot judge him for this, not too much. she’s just as guilty. “ don't be shy, now. you’re in safe hands, ” spoken with too great a certainty as he stumbles onto the floor, but like she said, he’s in safe hands and hers are there to catch him.

there is some pleasure to be found in this, in being able to level a man who’d seemed so classy and dapper sitting near a lava lamp. sipping at his coca cola like he wasn’t old enough to drink, but picking up conversations with strangers about topics you’d be more likely to hear from an older generation. talking about his inexperience too nonchalantly, juno craved testing its boundaries. were it all an act? a disguise he hid behind, much like the rest of them? she weighs it as a likely possibility when his hands dip from her shoulders to her waist. “ that’s it! just loosen up, doc. ” the palms of her hands gentle against the back of his neck, guiding him through excited steps, and laughing with him not at him. “ it’s just you ‘n me. ”

[oboy-me]

𒁍 Jealousy ▸▸ Diavolo

You could see it in his face; his words didn't match his eyes. Diavolo swore to you he'd be fine and that you should go have your fun as long as you send pictures, but you felt that deep down in his chest a jealous fire burned in his heart.

Notes: Possessiveness/possessive marking during sex, male!MC/male reader assumed (he/him pronouns used in the beginning but body descriptions/attire left completely vague throughout), longer story

"There he goes," Diavolo would mutter as his arms crossed over his chest. He knew Barbatos was floating nearby and wasted not a moment voicing his dejection. "Those brothers certainly are blessed, even if they don't realize it. To spend so much time with him..." Though he didn't finish his sentence, Barbatos could tell what he wanted to say.

I would move the very realms just to spend an entire day with you.

...

Diavolo is jealous. Time is so precious to him, and rarely can he spend it with you. He pleads playfully and whines like a young boy to get them to cave and give up their time with you so he can indulge himself, but it does come from a place of genuine envy that he cannot often express. It burns so much brighter and hotter than he lets on because he cannot afford to make it any more obvious.

You've noticed it though. You've sometimes heard the fabric of his sleeve pull audibly as his hands tighten, his gaze sometimes sharper than usual as you're bombarded with the brothers demanding your time, your attention. Diavolo always wanted to step up, to say something, the way his lips purse tighter before parting with a sigh. Sometimes on outings you'd see the faintest flashes of annoyance in his eyes when someone came up to interfere with your dinner dates, or your shopping outings. You were his. And anyone who capitalized on you in his presence would find their weeks were suddenly plagued with bad luck.

You're mine, Y/N. I want them to know that.

One day after you returned from a trip with the brothers, he demanded your presence at the castle in the group chat. Everyone was voicing objections as they had plans with you, but Diavolo said something interesting:

         [ Diavolo ]    ‹‹ I'm sorry. I cannot budge on this. It's imperative                                  that Y/N takes care of this with me. And before                                  you ask, Lucifer, it is something only they can                                  handle. ››

Everyone had suspicions. Diavolo had texted you every single day you were away; they started innocuous enough with little things he saw that reminded him of you, updates on things he did — but those messages slowly became more. Needier. To the point you could almost hear his breathless gasps and pleas to absolutely, under no circumstances, make any plans when you returned. He wanted you. He needed you. So when you finally arrived, you made it only a few steps away from the main foyer's entrance before you felt yourself pressed to the wall next to you, lips frantically bearing down on yours.

Diavolo had not even given you a chance to speak before he did, his words like breathless wisps of air across the plush surface of your lips.

"Y/N... I couldn't bear it. Being in my office all those days without you, without your voice, knowing the brothers could look upon you, listen to you all they wanted... I wont let you go back so soon. Stay here for the night... Let me lavish you... Please."

You finally had a chance to look up to his face; his gaze was already hazy with desire, lips parted, the shadows on his face making him look far more dominating than he already was the way they accented those glowing golden eyes. Diavolo was so very, very jealous that the brothers had been able to touch you, tease you, please you, it was clear as day he needed to make his mark on you, claim you, remind them who you belonged to. So you swallowed thick and gave the nod, with the stipulation that you'd only grant his request in private.

Almost immediately after that you realized you were being moved — your steps were being taken backwards as Diavolo practically walked you down the halls. His hands were never idle as they felt every inch they could reach, as if reacquainting himself to every rise and dip across your body, each little grope of those powerful fingers eliciting another soft gasp from both you and Diavolo himself. It didn't take long at all for you both to be ducked into an unused room off to the side, the door shut swiftly and locked by his powerful magicks; none could enter, and none could leave.

The desk nearby served as the surface you'd be cornered against as Diavolo's hands now turned to gripping along your posterior, the sharp inhale you took only fueling the way he groaned and pressed up against your body. You could already feel the way his bulge pressed against your stomach, the slight jerking twitches it gave informed you that he was already oh so very excited to be able to handle you like this.

"I dreamed about this every night, Y/N," the prince would breathe in to your ear before his sharp canines brushed along the outer ridge — the sensation sent a shiver down your spine. "I'd toss and turn some nights, with even trying to pleasure myself being of no use. I was too absorbed in the thought of ravishing you, marking you as mine..." You jolted a bit when you felt that strong palm roll over your own groin, your legs instinctively curled up towards you a bit as your back arched when those white-hot waves washed over your nerves. Diavolo's lips had traveled lower then, leaving kisses and nips of his teeth in their wake down your jaw towards your throat.

"Make those noises for me. Those beautiful noises... Let me know just how you feel about me. Drive me crazy... remind me this isn't a dream." It was as if he commanded you, for in the next moment your lips parted to loosen one of those moans of yours from deep within your lungs. Oh, how he growled in delight against your neck when you did that, rewarded with a hard grind of his hips against your stomach to remind you just how quickly his bulge was swelling in size. You made him melt. No one had ever had this level of control over him, and he was going to show you just how strongly you dominated his mind, his desires, and it would start with how he was so quick to push aside the bottom half of your clothing until you were bared to him.

There was a moment where he paused his relentless loving to just admire you; you, so bashful, wriggling a bit under his intense and hazy gaze as he witnessed your flesh bared to him. Then a smirk — it was only for a moment before it corrected into a full grin, but you had seen the hunger in his face; you were only distracted after the fact by the way his lips pressed to your most sensitive area, his tongue already daring to explore around it. The sensations that overtook you were like bolts of lightning and you had to grip the edges of the desk as he worked what you could only describe as magic on you as he used his hands to keep your thighs apart.

Diavolo was so passionate, so focused, so desperate to hear your noises, and it showed in just how masterfully his lips and tongue worked in tandem to taste every single inch, coat his mouth with nothing but your essence, his whole body almost seeming to move with every little motion. The prince's legs had to spread a little more every moment with how tight his pants felt now, how flushed and hot his body had become, hands only pulled away to tear another layer off of his body until you could see his own muscular torso between the flashes of white that overtook your vision. Any time you dared to let your thighs snap shut on him, he had moved to bite against them to leave his mark — both a "punishment" of sorts whenever you acted up, and as a reminder of where he had been, what he had indulged himself in.

You were so hot, so so hot, slick with sweat that rolled down your body, soaked your upper clothes, your gut coiling tighter and tighter rapidly; you tried to mewl out how close you were, but your words fizzled out in to a gasping groan as he hit a particularly sensitive bundle of nerves and made your eyes roll back in to your head briefly. There was no chance to warn him; he was eventually greeted by a strong orgasm that caught him by surprise all across his face and parts of his hair. Your vision returned to you slowly, but the next sight your eyes caught was one of Diavolo with his eyes sharp and filled with unfiltered lust, his smirk returned to his lips, the trails of your cum having trickled down his strong jaw and on to that powerful chest of his.

"Y/N, I hope you know you won't be leaving so soon..." came his low, rolling growl as he approached you once more, his tongue making a pass across his lips to lap up even just another hint of your cum — a taste that to him was sweeter than any soul he would ever have. He moved to loom over you, the darkness cast across his front leaving those golden eyes to glint bright in a display that would have been terrifyingly menacing if you were not so completely turned on now.

"Those plans of yours will have to wait. You're mine. All mine... and I'll make sure they see the way I've lavished every inch of your body... I wont let this moment be taken from me. Were you hungry for me, Y/N? Don't worry... I'll feed you well, and then some."

[awrkive]

Congrats on hitting 1K soon :)

I have a request for a very very fluffly drabble for bts jimin with his little daughter and yn feeling all fuzzy seeing them together ☺️

pairing: husband!jimin x (fem)divorce lawyer!reader

word count: 1.2k (this is more than 1k ik i cannot shut up forgive me i will be sticking to my word in the next requests bless🙏🏼)

It was a hard day at work.

Mrs. Yang called you very early in the morning – 8:20 am, to be exact – when you were just waking up, sounding so angry about how his asshole of a husband still wouldn't sign the divorce papers she filed a month ago. When you came to your office at 9, she was there thirty minutes later, going off about how exhausted she had been, asking you exasperatedly about what she ought to do. You talked to her about it, strategized, and when you mentioned if she wanted to take the matter to court, she broke down.

It was arranged, she said. Then they had a baby together five months in their marriage. The life with the new family formed was blissful in the earlier parts, but it became sour eventually. Her husband started disguising his absence as business trips, not until she finally found out he had a mistress. It was the reason why she had filed for the divorce in the first place, but her husband wouldn't budge. Because of their kid that he admittedly loved a lot. It was what Mrs. Yang had been torn over about. It was why she came to you only asking for legal advices for the week she'd hired you now – because she still wasn't sure if she wanted to fight him legally. She hated her husband, but he loved their kid, and the kid was grown enough to have formed a strong bond with his father and she didn't want to jeopardize that. So it was hard to go to a legal dispute when their child would be caught in the middle.

You were used to the ugly parts of your job as a divorce lawyer. You were used to fucked up marriage stories. You were used to fucked up couples. You were used to asshole husbands and asshole wives, you were used to sad stories. You were used to the broken ones.

But it didn't make it less draining when your day ended and you knew you had to go look over their paperworks again so you could help those people. You were so very, sadly, used to it. But it didn't make it less sad to think about how not every couple was successful. It didn't make it less upsetting that people didn't take marriage seriously.

[8:15pm] jimin💗: got off work early. made the little princess her favorite carrot puree. also cooked u alfredo pasta, u don't want it to get cold so come home quickly

[8:15pm] jimin💗: I missed you

[8:20pm] jimin💗: drive safely love. i love you

[8:23pm] jimin💗: the little duckling is now screaming

He sent you a video of your baby girl, Hani, with carrot puree all over her mouth, in her walker, little fists flailing around and shrieks and her adorable, occasional "Maaaa"s filling the speakers of your phone. In the background, you can also hear your husband laughing, cooing at your daughter.

You got the messages after you just pulled over to your garage. They made you smile, your deflated mood from earlier slowly picking up.

Going home was always the best part of your day.

It almost felt cathartic entering your front door, and you almost did fall to your knees at the faint sound of your daughter's babbles and Jimin's laughter.

"I'm home!" You said a little loud. Just like you always did. It was kind of like a routine. Something that you said reflexively as you return home, as if it was just nature.

And your heart felt strong waves of emotions when your daughter's excited screech welcomed you, with Jimin carrying her to his hip, huge grin plastered all over his face as he saw the sight of you after such a long day.

"Hello, baby," you cooed when you neared her. She mirrored the gleeful expression of his father, cute teeth and gums showing.

"Maaaaa!" You giggled, wanting to just squeeze her in your arms and squish her cheeks. But you resisted the urge to do so, not having cleaned yourself yet and sanitized your hands.

"Hi, gorgeous." Jimin greeted, holding your daughter in one arm so he could wrap the other around your waist and leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Ditto, handsome." You were just about to kiss him on the lips when you felt slobbery, smooth skin on your other cheek.

And it was none other but your daughter. She leaned back and giggled in her hand, quite mischievously, like she got away with something.

"Oh my, you got a little kiss for mommy?" you exclaimed animatedly, widening your eyes. Hani giggled and then turned herself to hide in her father's neck, who only laughed at your daughter's antics.

"Daaaaa," she said, earning a laugh from both Jimin and you.

"She's been so excited to see you," Jimin informed you, pressing a soft kiss on the top of Hani's head and removing his arm off of you to keep it on your baby's back. You melt a little at the sight.

"I know, I saw the video," you laughed, remembering her cute tantrum.

"She's adorable. Hey, I just heated the pasta. Get yourself out of your work clothes first. I'll get this duckling to sleep." Jimin said.

"Buuuuu," Hani babbled.

That got you laughing again.

"She doesn't like it when you call her duckling." You told Jimin. But he just shook his head.

"Nah, it's her favorite nickname. Right, duckling?" Hani lifted her chubby arm to her father's face and pulled on his cheek. Jimin laughed and took her little fist, giggling because he knew your baby didn't like that but it sounded adorable and he said it was a perfect nickname for your daughter.

You shook your head again, watching them. But you had on a fond smile on your face.

"I'll just shower and then I'll eat and help you with getting her to bed," You dropped your mouth on Hani's temple and she let out an adorable sound again. It made you smile harder. "I love you, baby girl. And you too," you looked at Jimin who was already leaning down for a kiss again. You gave it to him in an instant.

As you walked towards your room, you couldn't help but turn to your husband and daughter again, watching them for a little while while they had their backs on you and Jimin was singing a new nursery song they were learning together and Hani trying to imitate the sounds coming out of her father's mouth. Jimin laughed and then told her she was the best singer he'd ever heard, and as if she knew what he meant, she let out a happy shriek in response.

You could've burst in happy tears right at that moment.

In your career where you were used to broken relationships, you were glad you could go to a home that was not only a four-corner space that you happened to reside in, but a place where your heart truly is. A place where you had a husband who was caring and loving, good at communicating, the best partner you could ever ask for, someone who took your marriage seriously. Someone who loved you so much and put such big importance on your little family.

You were so relieved to have a shrieking Hani to welcome you home. A husband who kissed you home. A place surrounded by love and healthy relationships.

It was a hard day at work. But you were glad to come home at the end of your evey day.

[simpymf]

𝐈𝐋𝐌𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐘𝐒 pt. 3/3

⌈ OBEY ME LUCIFER x OC ⌋

(n.) vision, apparition, manifestation; phenomenon, spectacle, sight; (religion) revelation

CONTENT WARNINGS: SMUT · CORRUPTION KINK · DUBCON · ROLEPLAY · DARK-ish · RELIGIOUS THEMES · CREEPY · CONSENSUAL · SIZE DIFFERENCE · SLIGHT CUMPLAY · BREEDING KINK · PRAISE · PARANORMAL-ish · DACRYPHILIA · CHURCH

Word count: 9465 words

- - - -

Ahhh, the last part. The smut you obviously want most. I don't blame ya, I'm a sucker for smut. This is, uhhh, quite a smutty smut, so go feral ig. Teehee.

Have fun with this final part. Cha cha <3

- - - -

“I need you to get on your knees, little lamb,” in a naturally intimidating and sincere voice, Lucifer instructs Sister Destiny on her next move.

“M-My knees?” she repeats, her words coming out slightly incoherent—only such would occur when one has their cheeks squished by a frighteningly tall, supernatural being.

“Yes, your knees,” he answers, lowering his red, gloved hand from Sister Destiny’s cheeks only to trail it over her white bib collar.

Sister Destiny doesn’t expect the tight grip on her wrist to loosen before Lucifer completely releases it, quickly switching her attention to the way he guides both his hands over her shoulders to discard the white collar she wears over her black gown.

His movement fluid, Lucifer sheds the collar from Sister Destiny’s shoulders, disregarding the way it gently flops onto the stone floor. He leaves the novitiate in her black gown, veil, and a silvery crucifix that dangles over her nearly exposed chest if it weren’t for the gown. Lucifer’s black-garnet gaze is intensively fixed on the short woman, his lust evolving into a ravenous hunger the more he imagines the kinds of dirty sins he wants to taint the virtuous woman with.

He’s relatively surprised by the fact she hasn’t taken the chance to flee now that both of his powerful hands have released her, but he’s also—strangely enough—relieved that the sister hasn’t made an attempt to escape.

She has to run. She knows she has to. Even as she stands free of Lucifer’s restraint, she doesn’t budge.

Why… Wh-Why am I not moving? Is it him? Is he doing this?

Sister Destiny peers up at the horned man, brought to confusion as to why she cannot move. Despite the turmoil within her, Sister Destiny is already aware of why she hasn’t taken the chance to flee—deep down, she knows why she won’t leave. The novitiate won’t deny the fact the demon before her is attractive and alluring in both physical attributes and in personality, and not only that, but he could have relinquished her power to make a choice in all, completely disregard her wants and devour her soul as he originally intended…  and yet he left her to choose, even if the options weren’t completely satisfactory.

She finally realizes that she doesn’t want to leave.

Lucifer guides his red, gloved palm up to place it on Sister Destiny’s cheek, staring down at her innocent expression fervently before his hand trails up the side of her head only to settle it on the top of her veiled scalp.

He feels hot. So, so hot. The elaborate and luxurious, high-collared, tailed coat not at all proving to help. The Avatar of Pride doesn’t seem to notice, or may it be that he simply refuses to, but his limbs are trembling. Of course, a human would never notice the quivering in Lucifer’s limbs as they would be the one quivering in fear instead, but never has he felt so consumed with the urge to take from a human that his body would shudder at the thought. Merely fantasizing all these sinful thoughts he has for the wide-eyed, porcelain woman makes the four-winged demon suppress an eager groan, his gloved fingers twitching on the top of Sister Destiny’s head.

The tightness in his sombre pants is unbearable to the Avatar of Pride, begging him to be released and for him to satisfy himself with this unintentionally tantalizing human who has a twinge of unholy curiosity spark in her wide eyes. Just thinking about ruining this gullible sister of the church spurs him on, hand trembling against Sister Destiny’s head as he urges himself to lead her down to her knees.

Not resisting against the dark-haired demon’s guidance—not that she even could—Sister Destiny begins to crouch down until the curves of her knees press on the hardness of the stone floor, sure to grow sore if she sits on her knees for too long. Her black gown rumples around her like ripples in a still mass of stygian. She can feel the warmth of Lucifer’s hand on her veiled head, chancing the opportunity to gently lift her chin so that she may look up at the ominously tall demon.

Her back faces the stained glass installed in the clerestory that distinctly reflects all the tapping noises of the repeated raindrops inside the cathedral. Sister Destiny remains kneeling in front of the four-winged demon, breathing nervously as her curious eyes stare up at Lucifer in all his glory. His wings are as open as they can be, casting large shadows behind his tall figure; his coat tails, which are split into two segments of fabric, nearly brush against the stone floor, and, overall, the Avatar of Pride stands imperiously as if he is sovereign to the kneeling woman.

Sister Destiny realizes how meticulously dressed Lucifer is, admiring the wine-red accents of his lavish coat.

“Unfasten my pants.”

“M-Mmh-?” The novitiate flinches and blinks out of her stupor.

Lucifer clenches his jaw, black-garnet eyes intensely focused on Sister Destiny’s position.

“You will find it reassuring to know that I do not like repeating myself, little lamb. Now, do as you’re told,” he advises through clenched teeth, gloved fingertips mildly pressing on Sister Destiny’s head as an implicit sign of caution to not test his patience.

The feeble novitiate stays kneeling in front of the Avatar of Pride, her tanzanite gaze staring up at him timidly until her breath hitches upon making eye contact with his daunting, black-garnet eyes. Sister Destiny is forced to realize that, at her current position, she is facing the four-winged demon’s crotch, cheeks flaring a bright red hue the moment her wide eyes glimpse down at the two, dangling, golden chains linked from a lavish ornament.

She fears tampering with Lucifer’s already developing impatience and vehemence, hesitant to lift up her petite hands and press them against the firmness of his thighs. The muscles in his thighs briefly tense up underneath her soft, porcelain hands like an impulsive reaction to her touch. Sister Destiny bites the inside of her lips for but a swift moment, reluctantly acknowledging the fact that she must do this, or pay him with the consumption of her soul.

Her hands and fingers tremble evidently, palms trailing up slowly as if she is meaning to tease the already frustrated demon who stifles a hiss through clenched teeth.

She’s consumed with anxiousness, wondering to herself if losing her self-respect would be worth over having her soul devoured. There’s an inner voice, however, that whispers ever so softly in Sister Destiny’s ears. She can hear it convincing her that she will no longer be ambiguously ridiculed for her ignorance of sex by the other novices. She can hear it assuring her that this is the right choice—that any other novitiate, from her perspective, would also make this decision.

Would they?

Before Sister Destiny can even pause to reconsider her decision, the pads of her fingers brush over a firm lump that she can feel through Lucifer’s pants—warmth dwelling beneath her delicate fingers. Her eyes blink abruptly, not expecting to be pulled out of her daze so quickly until she hardly catches the stifled sound of Lucifer’s groan.

The novitiate throws a quick, heuristic look up at the horned man before she fixes her attention back to the evident tent in his sombre pants. She cannot help the rush of heat in her pale cheeks as she gazes at the demon’s crotch, always so accustomed to averting her eyes at any promiscuous body part. Even in her adolescence, Sister Destiny would innately pull her eyes away from exposed skin, feeling a cloud of shame weighing on her back like a heavy coat. Yet, now, she has no other choice but to fulfill the demon’s demand.

With quivering fingers and a timid expression, Sister Destiny’s hands guide themselves further up to the zipper of Lucifer’s pants, remaining uneasy throughout the whole sequence. When she finally feels the brief coldness of the metallic zipper, Sister Destiny reluctantly pinches the small hook and tugs it down. Her ears are keen to the rattling noise the zip makes as she pulls it down, unable to move it any further when it catches onto the end of the link.

Sister Destiny releases a quiet and anxious breath as she unhooks the gold button with a white jewel inserted in the center that keeps Lucifer’s pants fastened. The moment she frees his button and fly, the novitiate trails her hands to the hem of his black and neatly kept boxer briefs.

She’s evidently averse to her following move, uncertainty leaking in her limbs as she nervously gazes up. Her breath quivers when the dark-haired demon tenderly caresses the top of her head, his thumb pressing softly against her scalp as if reassuring her.

“Don’t be so distressed, little lamb,” he starts off, black-garnet eyes admiring her uneasy facial expression as she stares back up at him, “I will not treat you too roughly.”

Whether it is meant to come off as reassuring or as a mild warning, Sister Destiny is uncertain, merely letting out a muted whimper as she returns her attention to the evident bulge under Lucifer’s boxer briefs. What she can see, even with Lucifer’s pants clinging to his hips, is a well-kept trail of dark hair leading down into his underwear. The clothing he wears leaves almost nothing to the imagination as to what he hides—the sheer outline of his cock adjacent to Sister Destiny’s alarmed face.

Even without fully exposing his lower regions, the novitiate knows he is unquestionably large—the contour of his cock palpable beneath the thin fabric of his black boxer briefs that snugly fit his form. She’s inwardly intimidated by the sheer size of this demon’s dick, yet having been reassured that she’d be treated—somewhat—gently, she feels her stress lessen. She recalls hearing one of the other sisters mention her lover asking for a “blowjob”—as she referred to it. According to the other novitiate, she had to use her mouth to pleasure her lover.

M-My mouth-?!

Her eyes briefly widen at the notion, hands pausing at the hem of Lucifer’s boxer briefs. Gradually, her tanzanite eyes travel up the four-winged demon’s lean yet unyielding build. She’s daunted by his expectations, kneeling before him as a virgin, not a veteran in terms of sexual intimacy.

“I-… I-I’m not sure if… i-if it’ll fit,” Sister Destiny squeaks out, porcelain cheeks smoldering with a bright red pigment.

Lucifer, much to Sister Destiny’s hopeful assumption that he’d agree and reconsider going through with this, simply chuckles deeply at her feeble remark. His gloved hand caresses the top of her veiled head, lightly tugging the dark fabric back to expose her bangs, which tenderly fall on the sides of her dainty face.

“If there is a will, there is a way, little lamb,” he murmurs to the short-haired novitiate whose eyes remain wide, staring down at her with amusement present in his very own black-garnet ones. “Carry on.”

M-Mmh…

Sister Destiny anxiously returns her attention back to her task at hand, her trembling breath sharply entering her lungs. She curls her slender fingers into the inside of Lucifer’s boxer briefs, tugging it down, feeling her cheeks rise in heat and her ears burn under her inky-black veil.

Lucifer stands with his black-garnet irises focusing on the visibly timid novitiate, his breathing growing heavy the longer he remains as patient as possibly can be for her. He’s aware of her lack of confidence for initiating such corrupt acts in the first place, but watching her gradually gather up the courage to do as he says spurs him on more than he’d like to admit.

His blood feels like it’s all been rushing down to his firm and throbbing cock, worsening his need to satisfy himself with this naive sister of the church.

In spite of his rampant desire and hunger, Lucifer remains adamant to giving in. It appears as if the demon is explicitly resisting against his carnal desires, feeling awfully tempted to press this fragile human against the stone altar and mercilessly take whatever he needs from her and leave her to be found by the bishops in the morning. This doesn’t fully satisfy Lucifer’s fantasy, however, which is what perplexes him. 

Typically, the four-winged demon would not care enough for his behavior around humans, whether it be that he was aggressive toward them, or that he was simply strict with them and demanded they satisfy his needs lest they want their souls to be mercilessly consumed.

Yet, now, as he witnesses Sister Destiny lightly tug on his underclothes with such an irresistible expression dawning on her fragile face, Lucifer cannot find it in himself to please his more demonic, sadistic self that craves violence and cruelty. He merely decides that he wishes to make this gullible novitiate willingly accept her corruption, force her to realize just how sinful she is deep down after all these years in the pursuit of becoming a full-fledged nun.

The horned man utters out a hiss as his pulsing cock is released from his underwear, the coldness of the cathedral further inciting shivers down his spine. Lucifer’s black-garnet eyes guide themselves down to Sister Destiny’s position, able to observe the surge of authentic surprise flash by in her sweet, previously innocent, tanzanite eyes as she gawks frightfully at his entire length.

Sister Destiny’s heart drops at Lucifer’s size, her breath caught up in her throat from how stunned she is. She feels quivers take over her limbs, but the odd sensation of enticed shivers crawls up her shoulders, her breath sharply entering her lungs. 

The novitiate doesn’t understand what she’s feeling. She’s kneeling down before the Avatar of Pride with her very own insides throbbing. Her breath is quiet by force, trembling with each exhale she lets out. She doesn’t know why her nethers tremble as she admires the massive dick erected before her eyes, having been taught that longing for such desires is a sin; to immediately repent after merely fathoming this corruption.

The demon’s cock is far longer than the average man’s length; girthy with pulsing veins running up from the base that meets with his appealing trail of dark pubes. At his angry red tip, slick pearls of precum ooze out, creeping over the smooth curve of his circumcised head. They give the head of Lucifer’s cock a sheeny appeal, his redness bright and burning with need.

The red shade of Sister Destiny’s cheeks rivals the cock head as it throbs desperately in front of her abashed face. Her tanzanite eyes observe the way the milky beads of pre gradually slide down the flush head, keeping her curiosity of what it may taste like to herself until Lucifer clears his throat insistently.

“M-Mmh?” she finds herself humming out, fixing her gaze up at the dark-haired demon.

“Don’t keep me in anticipation, little lamb,” Lucifer utters out, his voice hoarse, but still equally as intimidating to the short-haired novitiate.

“You-… You want me to-?”

“Please me. Yes,” he interrupts, darkened eyes seemingly glaring down at her, like a ruthless ruler to his meek servant. “Do not test my leniency unless you really want me to devour your precious soul.”

With that being said, Lucifer’s grip on Sister Destiny’s veiled head tightens, his fingers threatening to tug on her exposed bangs and, potentially, pull on her scalp.

“Eek-!”

Sister Destiny’s eyes squeeze shut, lower lip quivering from the raw fear flowing through her fragile, little body. She can hear the urgency in Lucifer’s tone, frightful of what may happen if she tries to resist his demands.

Her eyebrows crease together in hesitation, porcelain eyelids fluttering open only to discover her attention instantly flying to the demon’s erect cock.

Without dragging it out, Sister Destiny leads her petite hands to Lucifer’s pulsing shaft, the base of her palm instantly pressing gently against one of the veins running alongside the underside of his member. Her ears catch on to Lucifer as he releases a stifled hiss, the smallest of groans rumbling in the base of his vocal chords.

Distinctly hesitating for a fleeting moment, Sister Destiny begins to drag her tender grasp up Lucifer’s pulsating dick. Small drops of precum smear between her delicate fingers as they roam up and down the member in a fixed rhythm, making it easier for the novitiate to smoothly pump her hands over the hot girth.

Throughout the repeated sequence, Sister Destiny’s face remains a bright red pigment, her cheeks flaring with shame. Hidden fascination glints in her wide, tanzanite eyes, however, contradicting her attitude in the beginning of this problematic endeavor.

Her hands are soft and petite, appearing twice as small while they wrap around Lucifer’s erect cock. She runs the pads of her thumbs on the underside of his shaft, massaging upwards until she reaches the bottom of his head, feeling the member twitch in her gentle clasp before the grip of her head tightens.

The horned demon releases another hiss, baring his teeth as he momentarily squeezes his eyes shut at the pleasurable sensation overwhelming his needy dick. When the novitiate’s hands would reach the bottom of his head—barely brushing against the sensitivity—his shoulders would stiffen and his breath immediately gets stuck in his throat.

He initially thought the novitiate would prove to be a disappointment to his expectations, yet the way she delicately strokes him fills him with a new surge of relief and satisfaction.

Lucifer’s hips slightly buck, craving more firmness in Sister Destiny’s grip, which seems to catch her off guard. He sharply inhales, eyebrows wrinkled in concentration as he fixes his grip on the top of her veiled head.

Sister Destiny continues to draw her palms across the heated flesh of Lucifer’s firm cock, her hands losing their clasp on him when his hips buck forward unexpectedly. Her eyebrows rise quickly in alarm as her hands unintentionally release his slick shaft, worried that the demon would reprimand her.

She is proven wrong when, suddenly, the tip of Lucifer’s dick nudges against her thin, supple lips—his precum smearing over her softness. Her initial reaction is to flinch back from the abruptness, but the tight grasp on her veil restrains her from moving at all, keeping her lips snug against his heated and pulsing tip.

Lucifer keeps his hold on Sister Destiny’s head firm, black-garnet eyes meeting with her alarmed ones as they gawk up at him—her eyes asking for an explanation.

He simply tilts his chin high while keeping his stern gaze glued to the kneeling novitiate’s worried eyes.

“Open,” Lucifer demands, his tone cruel.

The coldness in his voice makes Sister Destiny want to whimper, frightful of him and his capability.

She can feel his cock head pulse against her lips, the impalpable scent of his pre wafting in her nose. Too intimidated by Lucifer’s harsh voice, Sister Destiny slowly parts her soft lips over the throbbing tip that keeps itself pressed intimately against her, granting him access to her wet mouth where scarce, translucent strings of saliva connect her upper teeth to her lower ones.

Her eyes instinctively squint, feeling the heated tip intrude her wet cavity. The foreign intrusion causes Sister Destiny to briefly flick the tip of her tongue against the cock head, catching the taste of his leaking precum. The novitiate is surprised to know that the taste lingering on her tongue is mildly sweet, the blandness nearly overpowering the sweet tang.

“Mm…”

Lucifer’s brows furrow as he enters Sister Destiny’s mouth little by little, sensing her tongue flick against his sensitive head—likely from the sudden invasion startling her. Regardless, he bites back a deep groan that threatens to leave the depths of his vocal chords, refusing to show any signs of being satisfied by the novitiate so early on.

His black-garnet eyes—glazed with ravenous desire—fall down to the short-haired woman sitting on her knees, able to feel her small hands tremble against his clothed thighs to keep herself in place. Lucifer sees Sister Destiny’s eyes start to water, her jaw struggling to loosen around his enormous cock. He easily spots the wet beads shimmering in the lines of her lids, watching as they slip down her pliant, fair-skinned cheeks.

Sister Destiny’s timid body trembles, jaw already going sore as the demon inserts his dick in her gaping mouth. Her eyes squint in slight pain, feeling trails of tears slide down her cheeks—the wet lines cooling at the occasional draft within the cathedral. In spite of her current struggle, Sister Destiny is surprised to realize Lucifer’s hips have slowed, keeping himself still in her mouth.

She realizes she must’ve made it obvious that she was having a difficult time taking in his cock, unaware of the fact she hasn’t even reached halfway—not that Lucifer thinks she could without reaching the back of her throat. Even then, it wouldn’t fit the entirety of his cock.

Impulsively, Sister Destiny swallows around Lucifer’s cock, meek body quivering at her current conflict. She immediately takes note of how the towering demon lightly groans with his lips sealed, eyes flying up to gaze at his face.

Sister Destiny is greeted with the sight of Lucifer whose eyebrows are wrinkled at the bridge of his nose and his eyes now half lidded as he stares down at her.

“Suck,” he commands her, hand firmly pressing against her veiled head.

Her eyes promptly widen before she drags her attention back to his pelvis with her lips closing around the erection lodged in her mouth. With a reluctant shift, Sister Destiny starts to suckle on Lucifer’s cock, cheeks burning with humiliation at her actions.

As she sucks on the cock, Sister Destiny slowly fixes her gaze back up at Lucifer, testing the waters by pulling her head back, dragging her tight lips around him. She hears him shudder, her own cunt quivering at the stifled groan he releases, her progressive head bopping increasing with hopes of satisfying the Avatar of Pride. It is positively obvious that the novitiate can’t take the entirety of the winged man’s cock in her mouth, and she fixes this dilemma by shyly removing her hands off of his thighs to gently clasp whatever she cannot reach; stroking him with a leisurely pace while sucking the upper half.

Saliva begins to dribble out from the corners of Sister Destiny’s mouth, slipping down over the curvature of her chin until reaching the nadir and finally dripping onto her inky-black gown. The spare sweetness of Lucifer’s precum taints the inside of her moist cavern, coating her taste buds and alluring her despite her virtuous conscience rebuking her for her sinful actions.

I shouldn’t be doing this! This is shameful! Why am I letting this- this demon defile me like this?! I have to repent! I can’t let him dishonor my oath to the Lord!

And, yet, in spite of all her internal protests, Sister Destiny finds herself lowering her lids halfway, her cheeks and ears burning with a discovered eagerness to pleasure Avatar of Pride, Lucifer. Her tanzanite eyes become glossy as she continues to suck up and down on Lucifer’s cock, hands stroking the rest of his shaft until she reaches his pelvis and drags them back up to her soft lips.

“Mm…” she catches herself tenderly moaning around Lucifer’s dick, voice muffled and yet vibrating in her mouth, which makes the four-winged demon groan audibly as he guides her head along him.

Lucifer grits his fang-like teeth together, eyes squinting lightly at the pleasure he feels coursing through his resilient body. He lets out a few groans, gripping the novitiate’s head like a vice, witnessing the way her eyes glimmer in the dull lights of the glowing candles surrounding them.

Feeling Sister Destiny’s lips around his stiff cock makes Lucifer choke for but a moment, eyelids fluttering with a catch. His fingers subconsciously curl on Sister Destiny’s head, her black veil wrinkling under his firm grasp until the demon figures it’s too much of a hindrance.

Without warning, the prideful demon clasps the veil from Sister Destiny’s head and pulls it off with an urgency that can only be described as neediness. He impatiently tosses the veil aside, no longer caring for the pathetic piece of fabric, threading his gloved fingers into her soft, short, white-to-azure hair. Lucifer gets a better grip on Destiny’s head and focuses more of his energy on picking up her speed.

“M-Mmh-!” 

Destiny’s eyes squint harsher than before, lips sliding over his hot member with ease because of her drool increasing with each thrust forward and backward. Her cheeks appear larger than before, still as red as the bright flames burning endlessly in the waxen tunnels sitting on the black, iron candelabras. She can instantly tell her pace has been picked up, especially since her veil’s been abruptly pulled off by the horned man towering over her who curls his fingers through her short locks of hair.

She promptly follows Lucifer’s urging motions, feeling her scalp sting as he tugs on her hair. Destiny whimpers through her nose, her breathing labored the longer she remains sucking on the firm dick sliding easily into her mouth.

In spite of her growing discomfort, the taste of Lucifer intoxicates her little by little, intriguing her to learn more about the ways of sex if it means she won’t be belittled for her lack of knowledge anymore.

“Ah-” the dark-haired demon feels his hips stutter for a brief moment, delving his cock a little deeper into Destiny’s innocent, little mouth.

His eyes are focused on her, seeing the shine of her drool smear all on his dick firing him up.

“What a good little lamb… H-Hah-… sucking my cock so nicely,” Lucifer grunts out, facial expression hardening with great focus.

The praise instantly shoots arousal through Destiny’s petite body, feeling herself grow wetter than before. She continues sucking on the cock that practically pumps itself into her soaking, tightening mouth, her teary eyes fluttering repeatedly, struggling to get a good focus on Lucifer’s tall physique.

T-Tastes-… Tastes s-so, so good…

Destiny’s eyes blink until they remain half lidded, moans resonating from her vocal chords as she increases her own speed to match up with Lucifer’s selfish thrusts. 

Had it been the same novitiate who entered the cathedral, she would feel an unbearable amount of shame dribbling out of her conscience, forced to become aware of the sin that’s always been in her virtuous soul. Now, however, the novitiate’s mind is fogged with desire—a severe appetite for lust igniting within—while her lips drag over the stiff rod pumping itself into her suckling mouth.

Albeit muffled at best, Destiny’s moans reverberate within the cathedral hall; glowing, vermilion flames burning away at the heated wax.

“Mmh-!” Lucifer’s pale face hardens as his lower torso flexes abruptly, feeling his impending climax. He can hardly contain himself when the not-so-innocent novitiate before him keeps stroking his dick with her lips wrapping around him, sucking like a greedy leech on his sensitive areas.

He’s close. Very close.

The demon’s wings flutter with vigor behind his back, stretching out only for his hidden muscles to stiffen beneath the dark plumage. They rustle continuously, nearly able to stifle Destiny’s soft and mumbled moans.

His shoulders start to cave in, his pace growing more and more impatient, starving for his imminent release. The thought of cumming in Destiny’s mouth flashes by in Lucifer’s head, further inciting his fantasies and earning him a guttural growl under his breath, hand tightening around Destiny’s head.

Destiny can sense that the horned man’s pace has heavily increased, nearly overwhelming her as her jaw aches terribly with each stroke her mouth achieves. She finds herself struggling to breathe, salty tears uncontrollably sliding down her fair cheeks. In the midst of the merely one-sided passion, Destiny lets out a distressed whine, mouth full of Lucifer’s cock.

“M-Mmph-!”

He hisses sharply, pace not letting up. “Yes… h-hah-… y-yes-… agh-”

Destiny cannot fight back against his forceful movement, eyes merely shutting themselves as her hands struggle to continue pumping his shaft with all the intense filling of her mouth. Her ears catch on the sounds of Lucifer’s desperate pants, hearing the slightest chokes in his voice as he thrusts himself into her slobbery cavern.

Lucifer’s balls clench tightly, the brief indication of his impending orgasm that has him groaning more audibly than last time. His eyes shut themselves tightly, focusing, now, on the feeling of Destiny’s delicious mouth wrapped so nicely around his dick, driving his hips deeply in her direction.

His wings abruptly shudder, the rest of the demonic being’s body flinching harshly. Lucifer’s eyebrows wrinkle suddenly as he feels himself stiffen up and firmly press Destiny’s head closer to his base.

“Hck-!” Lucifer chokes out, keeping most of his firm rod burrowed in the human’s mouth. His sharp teeth tightly grind against each other, releasing his cum in the unsuspecting novitiate’s mouth with a heavy exhale following after.

“M-Mm-?!”

Destiny’s head is harshly pushed forward, forcing more of Lucifer’s cock into her mouth when her jaw already endeavors an abundance of sores and aches she didn’t know she could experience. Her tanzanite eyes widen; loads of a warm, thick substance gushing out from Lucifer’s dick and into her mouth, coating her tongue and overwhelming her taste buds.

It tastes mildly salty, at best, but Destiny doesn’t find the tang unbearable. What really throws her off is the texture: gooey, heavy, and mildly hot. Her cheeks bloat from the fullness, hardly able to contain all of the demon’s load without potentially letting some of it dribble out of the corners of her lips

Lucifer’s cum idles in Destiny’s mouth, not yet swallowed nor spat out, but causing her a hassle to keep it all contained.

Destiny’s lips slightly open themselves wider, feeling the ridges and pulsing veins of Lucifer’s dick as it pulls out. Her breath quivers as she exhales through her nose, not wanting to risk having drops of semen slip out.

“Hm?” Lucifer fixes his black-garnet eyes down to Destiny’s swollen cheeks, secretly admiring the pretty red tint dusted across her paleness. He pants ever so lightly, keeping his convulsion discreet.

Her eyebrows are creased at the bridge of her nose, displaying her great worry for spilling the cum in her mouth without a trace of immediate humiliation—merely revealed to be keeping her hands lifted at the height of her shoulders and slightly waving them out of distress. 

He lowers his red, leather gloved hand, carefully cupping her stuffed cheek. Lucifer tests the fullness of Destiny’s mouth by tenderly pressing the flat of his gloved thumb against her soft cheek, earning a startling whine from the white-to-azure-haired woman. He can see the teary glisten in her eyes, noticing a few driblets of his milky-white cum leaking out of her puckered lips.

Lucifer can hardly keep himself together at the sinful sight displayed so openly before him. He lets out a strained gasp, arousal, once again, surging through his powerful body and breathing life into his hanging cock that leaks of extra semen.

“My… and I didn’t even tell you to keep it in,” he comments, nearly mocking her in a way.

He can see a variety of emotions burn in Destiny’s wide eyes, able to decipher practically each individual thought that flies through her gorgeous mind. It’s as if she’s been pulled out of her lustful indulgence, the realization of her actions hitting her far harder than she likes. Lucifer, however, feels the corners of his lips twitch up into a dark grin.

“What a fruitful little lamb you are. Show me,” Lucifer speaks out, tilting her chin higher to face him.

Destiny winces as her chin is pulled up, peering up at Lucifer’s piercing eyes with her reddened cheeks still stuffed of his load. She hears him demand her to open her bloated mouth, nearly inclined to refuse because of the wavering risk that she may accidentally drop some of it on herself. Perhaps that’s what he’s looking forward to.

Uncertainly, Destiny parts her lips, exposing the inside of her mouth for Lucifer to admire. Her ears heat up with embarrassment, gawking up at the dark-haired demon who hums studiously, feeling herself tremble on her knees while the demon keeps his hand gripping her chin firmly.

Lucifer can clearly see his cum filling Destiny’s gaping mouth, tempted to order her to stick her tongue out so that he may witness his load fall and stain her black clothing. He refrains from doing so and, instead, watches a few milky droplets trickle from the borders of her lips, gradually slipping down until they reach his red, gloved hand.

He’s deathly silent as he wipes the cum on Destiny’s chin off with his hand, forcing his thumb into her mouth to feel the thick consistency inside.

“Mm-!” Destiny hums out of alarm, eyes growing large at the gloved finger intruding her cum-stuffed mouth.

“Swallow,” Lucifer orders, not daring to tear his gaze away from her startled expression. In fact, he keeps his attention on her lips, watching them compulsively wrap around his thumb. He swishes his thumb inside Destiny’s glutted mouth, partially able to feel the viscous semen swirling around his digit as well as her probing tongue which pokes at the intruder.

With a bit of a struggle, Destiny does her best to swallow the horned man’s load, trying to keep most of it in her mouth. The thick consistency slides down her throat, but with Lucifer’s thumb invading past her lips and toying with the inside of her mouth, she finds it slightly more difficult to swallow all of his cum that eventually leaks out in small drops. With the faint taste of Lucifer’s semen lasting on Destiny’s tongue, she quietly whimpers and stares up at the four-winged demon.

“Mm… well done, little lamb,” he approves, humming deeply with lust further building in his chest. He eyes the miniscule droplets of his viscid, milky-white cum spilling out of the corners of Destiny’s tender lips, withdrawing his gloved thumb from her mouth to swipe them away.

Destiny’s eyes briefly squint at Lucifer’s rather intimate gesture of wiping her face somewhat cleaner than before, reopening them when he recoils his red, leather gloved hand away.

She hesitates to speak for a moment, lips parting, yet, not a word slips out.

After a few seconds of regaining her nerves, Destiny separates her lips again.

“I-I did what you asked. Will-… Will you let me go now?” she asks the demon, worried eyes staring up at him expectantly. 

She—ironically—prays that she’s managed to satisfy the horned man’s needs well enough to have earned her right to leave without any further damage. Destiny is brought to dread, however, when she hears Lucifer chuckle deeply at her words as if they were part of a running gag. Her tanzanite eyes widen as she discovers herself to be gawking up at the malicious sneer on Lucifer’s pale face.

“Oh, no, no, no, little lamb,” he purrs out in a taunting voice, forcibly clasping the novitiate’s petite wrists and effortlessly pulling her up from her aching knees. He hears the feeble squeak of fright slip past Destiny’s soft lips as she falls upon his firm body, calmly placing the both of his gloved palms on her pliant cheeks to direct her utmost attention on him. “You didn’t think we’d leave it at that, did you?” Lucifer smirks down at her wide-eyed expression.

“Wh-What?”

“I did promise I’d take your virginity, didn’t I?”

Destiny whimpers quietly as Lucifer nears her face, forced to stare up into his black-garnet eyes that are brimming with desire. She tries to pull herself back from Lucifer’s, somewhat, firm grip, startled to find out that, while he does release her face, he automatically grasps her wrists.

He begins to walk close to her, which causes the white-to-azure-haired woman to step back, gown waving at her abrupt movement. With each step he takes forward, Destiny takes one backward, unknowingly letting him guide her to the altar where a Holy Bible sits directly in the middle along with a small plate of bread and a little glass of wine—likely to be grape juice that’s gone bad, instead.

“Eep-!” Destiny squeaks out, not predicting Lucifer to grab both of her wrists with one hand while his arm swipes the white book with a golden cross etched in the middle along with the bread and wine off of the altar, listening to all of the Holy objects clatter on the floor and echoing loudly in the cathedral. “Wh-What are you-”

She can hardly get a word in when the four-winged demon turns her around without warning, startling her when he presses his chest against her back and pins her to the altar with his hands pressing over the back of hers.

Lucifer can feel Destiny’s visibly smaller body tremble beneath his, his breath hovering over the shell of her ear. He leans closer to her, chest pressing on her quivering back before he unites her wrists under one, red, gloved hand. With his free hand, he slithers up Destiny’s arm, wrinkling the dark fabric before he follows the curve on her bicep, eventually leading his hand to her chest.

The Avatar of Pride hears both the metallic jingle of her crucifix and her mild whimpers as he glides his palm over one of her clothed breasts. He’s able to feel her taut nipple through the inky-black fabric, teasing her body by gently circling the nub before he pinches it mildly. He grins to himself upon inciting a mewl from the novitiate below him, pleased to know just how easy it is to manipulate her bliss and keep her in his domineering control.

H-He’s touching me-! I-I can’t do anything-!

Destiny tenderly whines under Lucifer’s weight, wrists squirming in his tight clasp which remains unyielding no matter how much she struggles. She can feel his hand roaming over her trembling chest, feeling humiliated that he can easily manipulate her body like it’s child’s play. With a light pinch to her nipple, she mewls and nearly bucks into his touch; with a gentle rub around her bud, she’s whimpering softly and writhing in his hold, uncertain of whether she wants more, or if she wants him to stop.

“What a sensitive little thing you are… and we’ve barely gotten to the fun part,” Lucifer hums, pressing his lips up to the sliver of space behind Destiny’s ear.

“M-Mh-”

Destiny hesitantly lifts her head after previously trying to hide her shame by concealing her face into her extended arms, cheeks a delicious red hue while her eyes appear glossy.

“It’s almost as if you don’t even know what your body wants. I can help you with that,” murmurs Lucifer whose hand slowly slides down Destiny’s waist, savoring the feel of her delicate body even with his glove slipped on.

“Wh-What are you-”

“Shh- a good little lamb would know to speak only when spoken to. Don’t fret, I can take care of your needs… that sinful fire within you,” Lucifer mutters, his lips caressing the nape of Destiny’s neck.

Destiny breathes in sharply when she senses her flowy gown being tugged up, exposing her leg at a noticeable pace. Her vulnerable legs are littered with shivers, the smallest shudder leaving her lips like an obedient prayer. The chilly atmosphere of the cathedral rises higher and higher on the exposed flesh of Destiny’s legs, forcing her to acknowledge, now, that her dress has been pulled up to her hips—clothed crotch exposed between the altar and Lucifer.

The demon is hasty to slip his gloved palm beneath the dress, allowing the extra fabric to drape over his wrist like a curtain, casting the faintest of shadows on the stone floor. With her clothed nethers exposed to the cathedral ambience, Lucifer swears he could smell her arousal from the apse of the interior, suppressing a hungry groan himself by humming deeply into the back of Destiny’s head.

He hovers his gloved hand near Destiny’s cunt, able to feel her warmth even through her panties and his own glove. Craving more of the sensation, Lucifer tenderly cups her leaking mound, an intrigued hum rumbling in his throat.

“It seems our innocent little nun isn’t as innocent as she appears,” the horned man teases, his nimble fingers ever so lightly circling on the covered opening of Destiny’s genitals.

“N-No-!” Destiny whimpers out, squeezing her eyes tightly as her hips jerk away from Lucifer’s taunting fingers. “I-… I’m not-”

“Mm-?” 

Lucifer winces for a brief moment, not seemingly expecting the novitiate to, without warning, snap her crotch away. He is, however, further engrossed in Destiny’s resolve, more eager to break her will down and taint her in the most delightful and corrupt ways he knows she’ll love. And when he’s finished having his fun, he’ll build her back up again, giving her that hope of being a virtuous, little nun again, only to break her down once more. The satisfaction of manipulating her faith keeps Lucifer deeply fascinated, enthusiastic to see what else he could do to this naive sister, so that she may come to terms with the sin infested inside of her.

He gently presses his own hips against Destiny’s, returning his palm back to her heated mound which earns him a reluctant whine, enticing him to do more.

“I told you I wouldn’t treat you roughly, little lamb. Do you really doubt my words?” he queries, lips kissing the shell of her reddened ear. “Entrust yourself to me, and I can guarantee you pleasure at its highest ascent. I will be there alongside you, my little lamb.”

These strangely sentimental words ring within Destiny’s mind, enrapturing her steadfast will of faith to ease itself and let go of the coldness that sears her curiosity of the world of sensation. She hears his rather soothing voice speak intimately in her ear, capturing her breath in a nearly delighted clasp.

Her legs quiver at the sensation of Lucifer’s hand returning to her aroused nethers, a whimper breaking through her vocal chords as his fingers softly tease her soaking lips through her underwear. Uncontrollably, the white-to-azure-haired novitiate jerks her hips into Lucifer’s hand, a quiet and needy whine vibrating in her throat.

“P-… Please-…” weakly cries Destiny, who lowers her head with a red hue burning across her cheeks.

Lucifer’s tantalizing motions halt on Destiny’s sensitive mound, keeping his hand as still as stone over her drenched panties.

“Hmm? Go on, little lamb, use your words,” croons out the Avatar of Pride, an ambitious smirk crossing his lips.

Destiny Calyx whines softly beneath Avatar of Pride’s—Lucifer’s—weight, her petite hips twitching in his palm’s direction. She’s slowly unraveling under his touch, coming to terms with her desire to feel lust in its raw, carnal form.

He promised he’d take care of her. He said he’d treat her nicely. He guaranteed her a sensation of pure delight that would relieve her of this frigidness the life of a novitiate has brought her.

She wants to feel what he’s been offering—lustful sin.

“P-Please… touch me…” she mewls out in a delicate and fragile voice, petite body quivering with need.

Lucifer’s smirk widens from the corners of his lips, a dark glint of arousal evident in his black-garnet eyes.

“Good little lamb…” he utters out, gradually lifting the hand he does not use to pin Destiny’s wrists down to his mouth.

The demon opens his lips, sharp teeth biting down on the paltry edge of the red, leather fabric, only for him to pull his hand out from his accessory. He nonchalantly spits out the red, leather glove, hearing the muffled flop against the stone floor before repeating the process to his other hand while seizing Destiny’s small wrists with his now-bare palm.

Destiny feels Lucifer return to his original position, now trailing his bare and warm hand up on the front of her leg, ultimately pulling her swishing garment along with it. She burrows her face between her outstretched arms, eyelids squeezing shut as her legs tremble from the cold once again.

Her breath comes out shaky, biting the inside of her lip at the discernment of Lucifer’s hand slipping in the band of her panties. Destiny knows her legs tremble, uncertain of whether it’s because of the anticipation, or the trifling fear of experiencing discomfort. Her panties slowly begin to slip off from her hips, a tiny mewl vibrating in her small throat as a sheer string of her arousal stretches between the cloth and her clenching cunt. The instant the viscous and shiny thread snaps her thighs instinctively press against each other until the soaked fabric slides down to her ankles.

She feels unbelievably exposed, reluctantly whimpering at the crisp draft that travels within the ominous cathedral, effectively causing her sopping cunt to squeeze around nothing.

“E-Eep-!”

Destiny’s eyes bat open in the darkness of her arms when she feels a warm hand press against her bare vulva, unable to predict the demon’s next moves. She struggles deeply to not squirm in Lucifer’s hold as he slips a heated digit in between her aroused folds, languidly moving around her fluttering hole and teasing the aching clit hidden beneath its hood.

“A-Ah-! Mm-…”

She shuts her eyes again, unknowingly circling her hips into the fingers that stimulate her sensitive folds. Her breath falls short the moment Lucifer expertly tugs her clitoral hood open, middle digit delicately rubbing against the tender pleasure point hidden inside, causing the novitiate to moan desirably.

Lucifer’s eyes are hooded as he dexterously plays with Destiny’s quivering cunt, able to feel the way she trembles beneath him and hear the nearly-muted sounds of her clenching around nothingness, her arousal dripping on the tips of his fingers. He continues his mild torment on the novitiate’s clit, intently listening to the way she whimpers with a crack in her needy voice, worsening his allure for her.

“You mewl so charmingly for me, my little lamb. Perhaps, we’ll need to work together to compensate for the way you nicely sucked my cock earlier,” he coos.

Releasing one of her wrists, Lucifer guides her trembling hand back to her own cunt, making sure to shield the back of her palm with his. Their fingers slightly interlace, both hovering over Destiny’s soaking pussy.

“There you are…” Lucifer gingerly hums, manipulating both his and Destiny’s fingers to circle her fluttering hole.

“M-Mm-…” Destiny faintly moans out, the side of her face pressing against the frigid surface of the altar as she feels her slick arousal drip over her and Lucifer’s fingers.

The horned man pecks the crook of Destiny’s neck while leading his fingers and Destiny’s to her cunt, teasing her circle before he slowly begins to push in Destiny’s middle and ring finger in—his own following after.

“M-Mmh-! Ah-! L-Lu-” Destiny stifles out, eyebrows wrinkling at the bridge of her slim nose, a tear already slipping down her temple pressed firmly against the altar.

He’s slow and steady throughout the entire process, allowing her to grow accustomed to the size of not only his fingers, but hers included as well. Lucifer’s ears are keen to the wet sounds of their united fingers easily sliding in and out, the softest groan of satisfaction rumbling in the gulfs of his throat.

Both the demon and the indecent novitiate can feel the way her hot and squishy walls clench desirably around their coupled fingers, both releasing a soft sound of pleasure at the addicting sensation.

Destiny’s cheeks are hot red, her eyebrows furrowing in tight wrinkles as she gingerly whimpers under the distinct weight of Lucifer. She gasps softly, unable to predict Lucifer curling his fingers over hers as they stroke her insides—running all four fingers along her g-spot so skillfully it brings her to tears almost immediately.

“A-Ah-! Mmm… Lu-Lucifer… e-eh-!”

Her body flinches, an uncontrollable gasp slipping through her lips the moment Lucifer picks up their speed, his adept fingers pressing more firmly on her g-spot—stimulating her like an instrument. She moans desperately, her entirety quivering from the insatiable pleasure and arousal coursing through her pious body.

Lucifer remains, somewhat, quiet, centralizing himself on the sensation of his drenched fingers—united with Destiny’s—sinking deeply into her tightness only to drag them out slowly, allowing her to feel every ridge on their digits. He burrows the lower half of his pale face into Destiny’s shoulder, resting the span of his chest on her trembling back while keeping her snugly pressed against him.

He can feel every flutter, every throb, every tight squeeze around his fingers as well as the shakiness in Destiny’s as they thrust into her cunt in alignment. Each little moan and gentle shudder that slips through Destiny’s soft lips only spurring him on, unknowingly groaning faintly on the pliant flesh of her shoulder.

“So good for me, little one. So, so good for me…” mumbles gently the four-winged demon.

The murmurs of praise and the continuous pecks against her angelic skin bring Destiny weak to her knees, moans growing in volume, which perceptibly echo within the spacious cathedral; not a soul in sight to witness this act of carnal sin being committed upon the Holy altar.

Her legs tremble, hips snapping into Lucifer’s and her own palms, desperate for the friction she didn’t even know she’s been yearning for. Clenching around the stimulant thrusting up inside of her, Destiny whines lightly, thighs pressing together. The longer Lucifer’s and her digits fill her snug cunt, the hotter she begins to feel; a pleasurable cramp building in the depths of her nethers.

Lucifer is keen to the increase of moans and whimpers Destiny openly leaks out of her pretty lips, his thumb pressing over her vulnerable clit to play with her sensitivity. He is satiated by Destiny’s higher-pitched whines, pressing deep into her leaking cunt with resolution. Eagerly, he listens to the saturated sounds of Destiny’s fluttering pussy, reveling in the way she gasps softly and squeezes her walls around their fingers moving in unison.

“M-Mmh-! Haah- I-… I-I’m hot-! N-Ngh-!” Destiny mewls out, squirming deliciously in Lucifer’s hold.

Her breathing grows heavy, mouth gaping wide at the irresistible sensation of their partnered fingers thrusting up into her soppy folds, arousal slipping down the lengths of their digits and smearing all over their palms and her inner thighs.

“You feel it? The calidity churning inside of you?” Lucifer hums, perpetually guiding Destiny’s and his fingers deep into her trembling and pulsing cunt.

“M-Mhm!” Destiny almost frantically nods. “P-Please-!” she whines out, tears slipping over the faint curve of her nose before plopping down on the altar silently.

“Mm,” aptly hums Lucifer, black-garnet eyes glazed by the ravenous desire for this alluring novitiate.

The arm that keeps Destiny’s remaining hand pinned to the altar curls in towards Destiny, wrapping around her torso to draw her closer to his menacing body. His fluid movements do not cease in Destiny’s pussy, running his fingers over her g-spot to which he’s gifted with a louder moan and sob—listening to the way her meek voice reverberates within the interior of the cathedral along with the sounds of their feet shuffling and heavy breathing.

In the split second that Destiny’s cunt tightly squeezes around their fingers and her breath hitching in her throat, Lucifer rubs a harsher loop on her sensitive clit.

“Cum,” he orders her, tone dark and heavy with lust.

Without needing to be told twice, Destiny’s hips give one last twitch to further stimulate herself. She stills beneath him for a split second until she’s discovered to be quivering tremendously, mouth gaping wide open, but not letting out a sound. Her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, thighs pressing against one another—trapping her and Lucifer’s hand on her sopping nethers.

The novitiate’s velvety walls clasp around the four digits thrusted inside, a warm wetness sliding down the curves of their fingers, gradually pooling in their palms.

Destiny presses the side of her face into the altar, sobbing at the overwhelming pleasure she’s overcome with. Finally, her voice breaks out in repeated breaths and broken moans, reverberating against the statuesque walls of the cathedral.

“Ah-! Hahh- aah- ah-!” she breathes out, cunt squeezing her and Lucifer’s digits like a vice.

Tears slip over the brink of her nose, dripping onto the stone altar beneath her head, and gradually begin to pool on the underside of her temple. She pants repeatedly, attempting to catch her breath that was so abruptly stolen from her lungs throughout her orgasm.

The dark-haired demon can feel her trembling beneath his weight, his arm eventually slipping away from her torso and tenderly guiding his hand to her resting head where he brushes her ruffled strands of white-to-azure hair away from her face in a delicate manner. His black garnet gaze remains glued to the side of her exposed face, admiring the shine her tears give off in the dim cathedral hall.

Lucifer unexpectedly leans down, careful as to not shift his hand still pressed against Destiny’s quivering cunt. With his breath delicately ghosting the exposed side of Destiny’s hot face, Lucifer’s eyelids slowly shut as he tenderly presses a kiss to her temple. Keeping his delight in Destiny’s soft and quiet whimpers subtle, Lucifer hums against her hot skin, pulling his lips away for but a moment.

“Mm… you did so well for me, my love.” He presses yet another peck on the side of her forehead. “So well for me…”

Lucifer peppers numerous kisses over Destiny’s soft and dainty skin, others lingering more than a few.

“I’ve got you now, my love… do not worry…” Lucifer gently embraces her from behind using one arm, burrowing his face close to Destiny’s jaw. “You’re safe,” he murmurs in a loving whisper, pressing more delicate kisses on her sensitive flesh.

“M-Mm…” Destiny whimpers softly, eyebrows pinching together in an anxious wrinkle before she slowly begins to relax within Lucifer’s protective hold.

Her rapid heart rate gradually begins to slow, feeling safe when embraced by her lover’s arms. She exhales with a hint of relief and satisfaction, melting by the fond affection she’s being given.

“Are you alright, my love? I was not too rough on you, was I?” She hears him ask.

Destiny does not respond right away, simply trying to recollect her scattered thoughts after experiencing such a powerful climax. She does, however, release a satisfied yet tired sigh, barely able to shake her head to answer Lucifer.

“N-… No…” she quietly mumbles, slowly pulling her lids open—doing her hardest to clearly see through the layer of tears.

Lucifer softly releases his own sigh of relief, quick to press another lingering kiss on her temple.

“I’m relieved to hear,” he gently chuckles.

Lucifer feels Destiny briefly stiffen under him, now growing aware of the united fingers that still remain delved deep in her sensitive cunt. He trails a few more soft kisses from her temple to her ear.

“I’m going to pull our fingers out. Are you ready, my love?” he asks her, refusing to move unless she answers him.

“M-Mmhm…”

The white-haired woman nods to him as best as she can even while keeping her head pressed against the stone altar, eyes fluttering shut by reflex.

She quietly moans and whimpers as her digits, along with his, begin to slip out from her drenching hole, feeling herself instinctively tighten around nothing. Destiny’s body is left in nothing but heavy quivers, dealing with the aftershocks of her orgasm even now.

“Mm… you did wonderfully, my love.” Lucifer murmurs out, pressing another loving kiss onto her flushed cheek; the tang of her tears faint on his tongue. Keeping his lips gently settled on her soft skin, Lucifer softly mumbles out: “I love you…”

Destiny, even in the midst of handling her ruined self, does her best to smile at the earnest words. She cannot do a single thing to ignore her rapid heart beats, but it feels different this time. It feels… warm.

“I-… I love you, too… L-Lucifer,” Destiny replies, finally peeling her eyes open so that she can gaze back up to exchange a soft look with the dark-haired demon.

Lucifer’s brows briefly furrow, mainly out of his own sense of being flustered, but he pushes his humiliation away by standing tall, releasing Destiny’s hand.

“I suppose we should clean up before we head home, hm?”

Destiny softly laughs, feeling her gown fall back to the floor—her legs no longer feeling frigid from the occasional draft in the cathedral. She nods weakly.

“Mm,” hums she in agreement. “Let’s go home…”

𝐅𝐈𝐍. (3/3)

[akakeiiji]

HI!~ SAGE!~ Can I have a scenario with Ushijima, Bokuto and Tsukishima? Their S/O is usually really shy so they have a hard time expressing their feelings? And one day they fall alseep on top of them? In the morning they confess its because the boys make them feel safe and they're comfortable around them? - 🌼

— Haikyuu boys' reaction to their S/O falling asleep on top of them

↳ a/n — I think I would probably be able to die happy if I were in this situation 🥺🥺 ALSO FALLING ASLEEP ON BOKUTO SEEMS LIKE HEAVEN, HE WOULD BE SO WARM AND WEFBERGHRBEGE I CANNOT

↳ includes — Ushijima Wakatoshi, Bokuto Koutarou, Tsukushima Kei

— Ushijima Wakatoshi

Ushijima knew you were asleep the moment you dozed off because he wasn't paying attention to the movie playing on the television at all. Why would he when you were a much more interesting sight to behold than the random rom-com you two were watching?

You seemed so invested in the story, gasping and giggling at certain parts, and your boyfriend couldn't help but smile at your little reactions. Over time, he noticed you slowly leaning more into him as you struggled to keep your eyes open. He didn't say anything though and simply watched you droop your head down on his chest, now fast asleep.

To say that he turned into a statue would be the best way to describe his reaction. He remained still, choosing not to move so much as an inch as you curled into him. He didn't budge, not even when his leg started to go numb from the uncomfortable position he was in, or when he suddenly had the urge to pee. However, he wasn't bothered by this, he was purely content in that position, smiling down at you as he gently caressed the top of your head.

When you began to stir after about half an hour—much to his disappointment—the way you blinked up at him groggily was enough to fill his weekly supply of serotonin.

"Sorry, Toshi. I didn't mean to fall asleep," You said through a yawn, stretching your arms up lazily. You turned to him and went back to your earlier position, nuzzling into his chest, "I just feel so safe with you, I guess I can't help it."

The corner of Ushijima's lips twitched upwards as he placed a loving kiss on the top of your head, "You don't have to apologize, (Y/N). I'm glad to know you feel that way."

— Bokuto Koutarou

Bokuto's laughs and little gasps filled the room as his round, golden eyes remained transfixed on the action movie playing on the screen. It was another blockbuster that just came out and your boyfriend was so excited to see it but as much as you wanted to stay up and watch with him, your exhaustion got the better of you and you found yourself dozing off on his chest.

Others would have jolted awake the moment Bokuto would let out a hearty laugh or yell in shock at a certain scene but you on the other hand were a special case, more than used to his boisterous self. So much so that you could sleep in peace through it, over time you supposed that it's become comforting and not bothersome at all.

A particularly cool fight scene had just ended, one that had Bokuto practically shaking in his seat, "Hey, hey, (Y/N), wasn't that guy so cool the way he—(Y/N)? Are you sleeping?" He went from half-yelling to whispering in a split second, tilting his head forward to get a better look at your face, confirming that you were in fact fast asleep.

His heart swelled at the sight of you, you just looked so adorable like this. He felt even giddier upon thinking of how difficult you found it sometimes to express yourself and be vulnerable like this and that you were comfortable enough to fall asleep with him by your side.

"Okay, goodnight, babe." He said in a whisper, pressing a kiss on your forehead and turning back to the movie, a small smile on his face as he lowered the volume down for you, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulder.

— Tsukishima Kei

You loved your boyfriend, you really did, but what you didn't love was how he always insists on watching dinosaur documentaries every time you two stay in to watch movies. But how could you say no to him when he gets so excited when watching them? Always pointing certain things out to you and explaining why he thought they were so special with a childlike glint in his eyes.

So you endured and always agree to watch them with him, they weren't that bad, some were actually pretty interesting but tonight the low, calming voice of the narrator was doing nothing but lull you to sleep against your will. As the dinosaur, whatever its name was, caught its prey, your head fell down against Tsukishima's shoulder, your eyelids fluttering shut.

Of course, the blonde didn't notice, only silently shifting in his seat to accommodate your head on his shoulder and make you both comfortable but his eyes never left the television screen.

Minutes went by, and when a particularly ugly-looking creature was introduced by the narrator, Tsukishima chuckled and pointed at it, "Hey, it looks like you."

He awaited your response, a witty quip or a light smack to his chest but nothing came. He looked down, an eyebrow raised to find you fast asleep, clutching tightly onto his arm. He froze, stiffening in his seat as you shuffled closer to him, nuzzling yourself on him as you shifted into a more comfortable position.

He scoffed, trying to feign indifference as if you were watching and could bear witness to the slight tinge of pink rising on his cheeks. He tried to keep focusing on the documentary but his eyes kept darting back to your slumbering figure, a small uncharacteristic smile now on his face. He reached over to the seat next to him and grabbed the throw blanket on it, draping it over you.

"Idiot." He said as he tucked you in, shaking his head at you.

[megumin-jjk]

Ayooooo can I get a hcs for Nanami, Gojo, Inumaki, Toji (or Megumi) going to a scary mazes with their s/o? I low key miss Halloween and the spookiness of it 😩

JJK + Scary Mazes with their S/O

A/n: thank you for requesting!! This took me a good few hours because I literally do not think after I wake up from a nap. I hope this is ok 😅

Characters: Megumi Fushiguro, Nanami Kento, Gojo Satoru, Toji Fushiguro, Toge Inumaki

Requests: open

Megumi Fushiguro

He takes you out to a corn maze with all the witches and crows !!

I can guarantee that you two will argue about directions for a good 10 minutes until he says some scientific thing about the stars that makes him correct

You’d think he’d be so calm and collected and yes, that him half the time there but the other half is him standing frozen solid in fear.

He loves it when you tug on his sleeve, asking to run or lend his jacket. knowing your boyfriend, he won’t budge an inch until you say pretty please.

His only goals are for you to have fun, keeping you safe, and make sure you’re not too scared even though he’s the one about to pee himself.

Will take your hand in his and make the both of you use your pointer finger so he can guide your hands to a star

Nanami Kento

Let’s you use his work jacket so you can cover yourself over your head to shield you from the cold.

Lightly says things like, “I never took you for being such a baby.” But will let you hide yourself into his side when get you scared right after saying, “I am definitely not!” As an “I told you so”

Will extend his arm so that it’s around you and will plant his hand from that arm on top of your head as you two walk.

He will tilt your head up with that hand, asking you to look him in the eye when scared.

He’s utterly immune to the clowns’ scares that the actors themselves are genuinely confused.

Makes the most deadpan comments and expressions that you can’t help but laugh

Satoru Gojo

He is LITERALLY the type of person you cannot take anywhere even if he wasn’t your s/o

WILL absolutely compare you to one of the characters

“That looks like you. Kidding” he laughed. “Toru!” You gasped, lightly slapping his chest.

Says he’s “the strongest” but he’s the one jumping 4 feet off the ground or hiding behind you when someone scares him

Insists on you holding his hand the entire time as if you’re the one who’s scared

Screams at random moments just to make you and the people around you jump

Toji Fushiguro

He’s not scared at the slightest but will mutter a string of curses as he has the most vulgar mouth

He whispers in your ear to calm you but tries to make it flirtatious at the same time ?

He makes things like, “shhh quiet, sweetheart” sound so hot ???

Utterly invested in the costumes and the setting that you’re the one having to drag him around.

Suddenly Becomes a costume and design critique at this very moment

Kisses you once you two reach the end, telling you that you did great

You two wear matching plain, navy crewneck sweaters and it’s so cute

Toge Inumaki

He’s more pissed than scared whenever a jump scare happens, yelling a “salmon” as if he’s just lost a round of Mario kart.

Places himself in the crook of your neck with a pout right after and when you tease him, he bites your neck

DOESNT think of the consequences because now he just got bonked on the head by his s/o

Tells you that he feels sick because he drank an entire bottle of soda before coming on this date

He’s the type of scared that will pass out at any moment if you don’t hold his hand and pepper kisses all over his face to reassure him

Actually, he’s very dramatic. He just wants your physical touch.