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jodilin65 · 24 years

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SUNDAY, APRIL 30, 2000 For about 60 seconds I could hear that car stereo somewhere towards the front of the house. It was maybe half a mile to a mile away. Fortunately, this car seems to be just a visitor and not someone who lives there or else I’d hear it every day and not just on weekends. And I don’t hear it every weekend. We better not! We moved out here to live in peace, not listen to other people’s music. When I’m at home, I don’t want to know anyone other than my husband exists, and if I want to hear music, it’ll be mine. I’m sooo glad every weekend that goes by that I’m not in Phoenix! It’s been six months now since we left and It’s just oh so nice to know that right now I don’t have to be stressing like crazy and trying to keep from wishing I could kill those freeloaders. I know it’s got to be a nightmare over there right now unless they simmered down upon my leaving. If they did it’d only be because God never had it in for the H’s as far as noise went, and God could and would have the Mexicans happen to quiet down. Either that or God would have it so that the H’s don’t mind their little antics. It’s such a great feeling knowing no one lives just a few feet away, and knowing I can go to bed anxiety-free and not have to wonder if their fucking stereo’s gonna wake me up. The military might, though, if they start up on the 1st and if I don’t keep my schedule on days, so I’m gonna wait and see what they do. I was stressed out 95% of the time I lived in Phoenix. I was either stressing over what noise they might sic on me or fuming mad at noise they were siccing on me. Always with me, always with them. That’s how it was. Well, no more and never again! Hee, hee!!

Every weekend, I’m as curious as I am grateful. Meaning, I wonder all the time - just how do the H’s feel about living next to a pack of sick Mexicans? Just how do they have the house decorated? Did they recarpet? Repaint? Remodel the kitchen? Put a new floor down in it? And just how do the Mexicans feel about being boxed in by five dogs? Yeah, I know - stupid question. They couldn't care less.

Anyway, we went out today to the Walgreens in Sun Lakes. Of course, we had to drive 10-15 miles below the speed limit some of the time. The last time I was out when we got the mice, we stopped at the Walgreens near there to see if I could find a small super ball for the rats, but they only had big ones. They had the skater Barbie I want, too. That day Tom said there was money for either the mice or the Barbie and to take my pick. Naturally, I picked the mice. Today’s choice was the Barbie, if it was there, or Dairy Queen. Well, we ended up having Dairy Queen as well as a few things from the store, but no balls or Barbies. I figured this one wouldn’t have that Barbie. This one’s harder to come by. I got a couple of pairs of panties since I’m sick of having only three pairs that aren’t too tight. I also got White Musk cologne. He got patches for a rip in his pants. Lastly, this sticky stuff that you can use to hang posters, pictures, and whatever, but it’s crap. I got the cool idea of sticking my Barbies to the wall, but they were too heavy, then the damn shit made a mark on the wall. If there’s anything I don’t like about these walls it’s the papery texture. I like the glossy, slick, smooth walls better which allow you to wipe things off so much easier. Things like spaghetti sauce just get absorbed into this stuff.

Tom fixed the Barbie stand I have. I never set it up right, I guess. He also straightened Colette’s leg. As my shit doll luck would have it, I always thought that she was leaning over a bit too much, making her pose look a bit unnatural, so he straightened one of the legs which was attached at a poor angle, so he could straighten her up a bit and make her look much better.

This is the second weekend to go by without a call from Paula. Maybe she finally did lose her phone.

SATURDAY, APRIL 29, 2000 Tom said that the instant he went out to turn the water on for the flowers, a bee landed on him and he reflexively shooed it away. He’s lucky he wasn’t stung. I can’t wait till we have that Arizona room so we can be outside, but be safe from these desert creatures!

Gophie’s changed her schedule on me. She isn’t showing up till later in the day. Yesterday, she didn’t show herself till 2:30 and she stayed out till close to 4:00.

I’ve rearranged the mice’s cages nicely. The five newcomers are together, while Oreo, Butter Rum and Freddie live together. Freddie’s the equivalent of how Velvet was - fat and lazy. He doesn’t wheel and I’ve never seen him screwing, either. He just eats and sleeps.

Some of my measurements are the same, some are smaller, and some are bigger. My tits are the same, my waist is down half an inch, my hips are up an inch, and my thighs are down an inch. Well, at least I’m still pretty much maintaining, which is all I can do. My weight is 122. It looks like I’m gonna be stuck today which will throw me back up to the usual 124-125. Plus, we plan on doing Dairy Queen tomorrow, which is about a thousand calories right there with the small fries and cheeseburger I get. We’re also gonna check out the Walgreens in Sun Lakes to see if they have small super balls. I know the rats would love one to play with when they’re out.

Rowing on the Bowflex is so fun and so easy that I question its effectiveness. However, Tom says that whenever you do any kind of physical activity, whether it’s fun or not, it’s doing something for you. Anyway, I just throw on the music and it’s a lot like listening to music.

Tom got up at 7:00 this morning, so if we get together today for a boring, predictable, cumless screw, it won’t be till the late afternoon or early evening.

FRIDAY, APRIL 28, 2000 Woke up at 121 pounds today.

I’m getting closer to the end of my story. I’m just about certain I’ll finish it sometime in May.

The air fresheners we use are plug-ins that you insert cartridges in that last about a month. Today Tom got one oil warmer and refill to try. It’s supposed to last twice as long, so I’m trying it out in my office.

THURSDAY, APRIL 27, 2000 I’m so frustrated and pissed right now at God. Is asking for the right to breathe really too much to ask for? Obviously, he thinks so. I’m sick of the constant tight spells and being so short of breath. And when I’m not tight, I’m congested. Why doesn’t he just smother me to death then?! I’m gonna finally break down and have Tom make an appointment for me, but I know it’ll end up being a waste of time and money. If I can find a doctor who’s where they say they are and who’s dependable, that I can rely on to return my phone calls, what can they do for me? Give me medication that won’t help? Or that’ll drive me crazy like that Aerobid did? I want back on the Theo. It seemed to help better than anything else.

I don’t have any say in my reproductive system, I don’t have any say in my breathing, I don’t have any say in my life!

Same goes for my weight, which I’ve finally decided to give up on. I’ll never lose weight or inches, so I’m just gonna move right on to the maintenance status and make sure I never get any bigger than I am now and that my weight never exceeds 125 pounds.

The flowers in front don’t look like they’re doing too well, but the flowers in back might make it. They’re just starting to come up, but nothing much is coming up in front.

I was thrilled to learn from Tom that Vermont’s going to be one of the first states to allow gays to marry. It’s about fucking time! No one should have the right to forbid anyone from marrying anyone. If a person wants to marry their goldfish, for God’s sake, they should be allowed to no matter how off the wall someone else may think it is. They’re not going to call them marriages, though. They’re going to be called civil unions, but they’ll have the same laws marriages do. A couple won’t be able to drop one civil union for another without legally divorcing from the first one just like straights. As Tom said, I wonder how many gays will move to Vermont so they can get married and how many will wait till it becomes legal in their state. I’m not surprised the first state to allow it is in the northeast, but I really thought New York would be the first state. I’ll bet Texas and Arizona will be the last to allow it. These are very conservative, prejudiced states. They didn’t even start acknowledging Martin Luther King Day till the year I came out here in 1992. It’s too bad they’re not a little more prejudiced with the hand-me-outs, though.

Tom and I used the glue gun earlier to glue seams on the plastic bottles the mice use where water was leaking, cuz I may really need these bottles, cuz I got five new mice yesterday! There are two different breeds of fancy mice. There are the shorter-haired ones that have satin-like, shiny fur, then there are the longer-haired ones with fur that’s kind of dull. I prefer short-haired silky mice. I got an all-white one and she’s gorgeous! I got a longer-haired one too, which reminds me a lot of Katie. Like Katie, she’s mostly white but has gray patches instead of brown ones. I got another black and white one and two brown ones that are identical and impossible to tell apart. The brown ones are babies and the others are adults. I listed the brown ones on my pet chart as Brownie and Gizzy, the black and white one is Cow, the Katie-like one is Toughie because of how she was the only one to defend herself against Butter Rum, and White Satin is my white silky mouse. They’re all females, and the lady there said a couple of them looked like they might be pregnant, but I don’t see it. This will be a good test, though. They were definitely in with males and at least some of them should be pregnant, but if they’re not, regardless of whether or not something’s wrong with Freddie or if Butter Rum and Oreo are too old, that’ll enforce my suspicions about the store doing something to sterilize their mice.

They had some all-black ones and I wanted one, but they were all males. We decided to get all females so Freddie and the males wouldn’t fight, but it turned out to be a waste of time, cuz Butter Rum was the one to instigate fights with the newcomers. I was surprised. I thought Oreo might do a little minor bullying at first like she did with Freddie, but Butter Rum was really out for blood on all the mice except for the babies. She bit their tails and just wouldn’t stop picking on them. I never heard of female mice being so territorial and vicious. I separated the bitch and her evil friend Oreo from the rest. If we do end up with babies, I’ll have three groups. Freddie and the male babies, the female babies and the new female adults, and then Oreo and Butter Rum. I may be able to stick some baby females in with Oreo and Butter Rum, though.

This store really has an awesome color variety. The other stores that had fancy mice only had all browns or browns with white markings.

Tom said, true to my vibes, that we’re looking good for getting a new printer in June. In fact, I’m gonna go make up new picture pages for the people back east and see if they “disappear” between now and then.

TUESDAY, APRIL 25, 2000 I decided to go back to bottled water again. Although it was a very subtle difference, there was a difference between the bottled water and the filtered well water, so for now, until we get a good filtering system going, I’ll drink the bottled water.

Smokey’s eyes are both fine now. I think that instead of having something wrong with his eyes, they were just shut cuz he was that young and they hadn’t opened fully yet. He sneezes a lot like Ratsy does. I guess they have allergies.

After doing some research, I’ve concluded that the reason the mice haven’t gotten pregnant could be due to either the store sterilizing them, or them being too old. Today after work, Tom plans to stop at Mary’s to sand Ma’s bathroom door. If she gives him any money for it, we’re gonna get five mice and boost the population that way.

This is the third day in a row that Gophie’s hung out by her hole just outside the front of the house. It seems she appears about an hour after I’ve gotten up and opened the blinds. That’s when I go out and bring her seeds and lettuce. She runs and hides in her hole as soon as I open the door and waits ten minutes or so after I’ve gone back in the house before coming out to eat. She hangs out there from about 10:00-2:00. Same time the iguanas are out and about.

Although I’ve been watching the calories and shitting regularly, I can’t seem to budge under 123 pounds and it’s very doubtful that I ever will. So I live my life 20 pounds overweight. It could be worse. Aren’t most people 50 or 60 pounds overweight?

The renters built a chain-link fence around the front of one or both of the rentals. I can’t tell from here. I guess it’s for the big dog one of them just got, which I can’t believe I haven’t heard regularly. It’s so weird how people use their front yard as their backyard out here. At least they’re confining the dog. Most people around here let their dogs roam loose.

Dan’s still got those trailers sitting wide open. Tom said the more he thought about it, the more he doubted they were to haul trucks away. He thinks he just happened to get a good deal on them and thought they’d be good to have.

I went online to see how many hits I could get on the names I chose for characters in my book, and was amazed at how many hits I got! There were computer people, librarians, tennis players, and people born/married who were coming up with those names. So I did a little name-changing, even though I know it’s not necessary. All I would’ve had to do is what people always seem to do with books and TV shows; put a disclaimer on saying that the book is a work of fiction and any relation to any person living with these names is just a coincidence, blah, blah, blah. Even so, I’d rather try to avoid hits if possible.

MONDAY, APRIL 24, 2000 Another day of waking up at 123 pounds and having no trouble shitting.

Tom and I both worked out earlier (not at the same time, obviously). I’m working out Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and rowing every day.

It’s amazing how much firmer I’ve become. I just wish I looked it. Tom’s still so sure he can keep on eating the way he has and still lose weight and inches by May 19th (the end of the 6th week). Yeah, right. And I can grow purple hair if I eat enough popcorn. He doesn’t eat like a pig, but he still eats more than he should if he wants to lose pounds/inches. You have to diet as well as exercise. Exercise alone won’t do it. Why do you think I’ve cut my calories, I asked him. Cuz I like being hungry?

He still tries to kid me too, by saying that this working out will strengthen his arms and give him stamina so he can get off when we screw. That’s what he said - how many things ago? How many things were supposed to “cure” him since I’ve known him? Most other guys older than him don’t seem to have such a problem. You mean a piece of equipment will get him off, but his wife can’t? I don’t think so! Anyway, he can do what he wants as long as he quits trying to kid me about it.

I really picked the perfect room to be my office. Not just because it’s away from the den where he makes his gross eating sounds when he watches TV, but because there are closets in between our offices. That way, when he’s in his office playing loud games, I can’t hear it in my office and can still concentrate on my writing. If my office was in the guest room, then I could hear his games loud and clear.

I was tight earlier, so I called him at work since I was out of regular coffee and asked if he’d get some, which he did. At least he’s punctual when it comes to things like that. Cleaning dryer vent lint, fixing dolls, and cleaning up trash is a different story.

Shortly after I got up at 9:00 when my alarm went off, I saw Gophie standing by her hole, looking at the house expectantly. I brought her some of the rat/mouse food and some lettuce, too.

I saw iguanas today, but no jackrabbits.

I can’t wait till May 1st. I’m anxious to see if they update Carol Kane’s TV appearances. The guide I found gives all her appearances for April only, and of course, a month is about as far in advance as the TV stations schedule things, anyway. I can’t wait to see her in Office Killer again and this time I’m gonna tape it!

SUNDAY, APRIL 23, 2000 No music or engine-gunning so far this weekend, but lots of animal activity now that it’s mating season. We took pictures with the camera and filmed with the camcorder. We saw quails, roadrunners, and more. We’ve been seeing those iguanas every day, too. The big one’s getting used to us. I took Tom out to see it and he got as close to it as I did when I took its picture, so it’s not too timid. We also saw a pair of adult jackrabbits and they are huge! I thought they were dogs at first. These aren’t cute little rabbits either, but big ugly hares, cuz of the way their back legs get so long, raising them up. They even lose their cottontail as they grow. They’re still really cool to see. I wish we could at least have one snake to get a picture of, too.

Tom came and got me while I was listening to music to show me that Gophie’s back! And this time, she’s a little braver and living in a closer hole. I got to watch her like never before. Her hole’s just at the start of the wash, like ten or so feet away from the house. I’m pretty sure it’s the same Gophie because knowing how timid these animals are, she sure seemed as if she’d had experience with people before. Although she’d run and hide in her hole whenever I’d go out to leave her some food, she’d jump back out as soon as I went back into the house and would sit there eating the food. She did some digging around her hole, too. We’re still not sure if this is a kangaroo rat, a groundhog, or a prairie dog, but from the research we’ve done online, it looks like it may be a prairie dog.

Later…

Woke up today at 123 pounds, but I can’t say I’m excited about it, cuz I know I’ll be back to 124-125 pounds within a few days. Especially since I stop shitting for a day or two when I drop to 122-123 pounds. I can’t lose weight with this irregularity.

To my surprise, we ended up screwing today, but not before he took a shower which I’m sure he relieved himself.

SATURDAY, APRIL 22, 2000 Tom’s watching TV now, making no effort to fix Jade like he said he would months ago. I am so sick of this man saying he’ll do things he either doesn’t do at all or does so long after he said he would. He really disappoints me. Now he’s claiming he wants to wait till it gets really hot, cuz he likes to work when it’s really hot out before he’ll pick up the trash all over the property. He says he’ll dump stuff in nearby areas as I suggested by wheeling shit over in the wheelbarrow. We’ll probably use the land that’s to the right of us. I’m sure there’ll be some new excuse once it does get really hot, though. There always is. Gotta push and push and beg and plead to get him to do things. And how long must we let $250 just sit and go to waste? I wish he’d just fix the damn doll or get rid of it! I’m sure we could find some sucker on eBay that’d buy it for close to what we paid for it, then I could take that money and buy an assembled one like I should’ve to begin with.

Last night I began working on my story again.

Week two of working out and I haven’t lost any weight/inches, just as I predicted. In fact, I’m even bigger and heavier by an inch or two and by a few pounds. I’m building up muscle, but it’s just pushing the fat outward that’s on top of it. I’m not burning any of the fat while I build the muscle. As I’ve known and said for the last two or three years now, I can’t lose weight or inches and I never will, and I’ve got to just accept that and move on. I decided that if I’m gonna be as big as I am, I’m gonna have something to show for these inches. So, I’ve decided to turn these inches into muscle. I’ll still always have the fat overlaying it, but I’m going to just concentrate on building muscle. That’s all I can do, so I’m going to up the weight and cut my reps and work out only three days a week. On my off days, I’ll do rowing. Toning is totally out of the question for me. I can only build.

I’ll still eat reasonably, like I always do, and drink as much water as I can. I’m even going to start drinking filtered well water so we don’t have to keep buying bottled water. I’ll run it through the Brita till we can get a filter on the pipes.

Anyway, I’m just waiting for Tom to get closer towards the end of his day so he can start tiring down so he can have an easier time keeping himself from cumming. I am not looking forward to another boring, predictable bed session!

I’m beginning to suspect that the store we bought our mice from does something to sterilize them, although God only knows what. I know we put out the infertility vibes really well, but the odds of getting three sterile mice seem very unlikely. And I always did think it was strange that none of the three mice I had gotten were pregnant when they were mixed in with males. Then we get this male and still, they don’t get pregnant, even if there are only two of them now. I really think the store does something to sterilize them to up their sales. If you can’t buy one female and one male to breed with, then they know you have to come back and buy more and more if you want quantity. So, in order to have 15 mice, if that’s what you want, you have to buy 15 mice.

Later…

We didn’t screw. He just couldn’t get in the mood. He had to get up and look out the window in the middle of my warming him up by hand cuz he was “curious” about a motor we heard cruising by. He offered to go down on me, and I was sort of horny, but nah. I’d rather just quickly take care of myself and get it over with.

The Others is back to having new shows running, so who knows how many we missed these last few weeks, or why they started reruns if they had new shows. We’re going to watch it together when it goes on in an hour.

THURSDAY, APRIL 20, 2000 Although I flipped my schedule enough to return to the Melatonin two nights ago, I woke up extra early this morning. I fell asleep around midnight and awoke at 5:00 needing to pee. I couldn’t go back to sleep, but I laid there till around 9:00 and even dozed off at times.

Dan made his departure loud and clear when leaving at 7:30. He just had to gun that engine a few times before leaving. He couldn’t just leave. The little fuck did a little afternoon engine-gunning yesterday and the day before too, but amazingly, it was only for a few minutes. When’s this fuck gonna split? In June? The trailers are still there too, seemingly untouched. With my shit luck, this cock will decide to stay here year-round.

It shocks me to say this, and probably always will, but I was the one who cracked my computer problem yesterday. The reason I couldn’t use the word processor I normally use (I’m using it again, though) was because my mouse pointer would lock up. It was a major breakthrough when I discovered that I could trick it by moving the mouse to the sides of the toolbar and not across it. Tom thought it was within the toolbar at first, but then he realized it was the mouse. I guess I had a corrupt file and it caused the mouse to fail, so he turned off the wheel motion and the double clicker, so now I’m using just a basic mouse. Just in case something happens where I can never use my word processor again, or open any of its documents elsewhere, I printed out important stuff; journal stuff, my story, pet and doll charts, grocery lists, phone numbers, etc.

Later…

OK, I’m going to finish updating with my new keyboard. Yeah, the breakage around here has been unfuckingbelievable! So far, 90% of what I’ve predicted would occur during the first few months in the house has been accurate. Tom’s not going to cum this month like I said I felt he would when he last came last November or December because I told him about it. So, he’s got to prove me wrong, of course. Fine with me. As long as he’s happy. Anyway, knowing a lot of things are going to be breaking takes some of the surprise out of it, but not the frustration. It still pisses me the fuck off. No one’s stuff breaks like ours. Not even those who have ten times the amount of stuff we do. My stereo stopped playing CDs, one of the sound machines broke, one of my staplers broke, my keyboard acted up (Tom gave me a different one which I’ll have to get used to), and I know there’s more. Of course, both computers are still having problems, although mine’s certainly improved since I made the mouse discovery. I need a new mouse. I need/want a lot of things and I realize we’re never going to truly get ahead in life, so to speak, if we don’t find out what’s cursing us and a way to free ourselves of it. I mean, we can move and have a nice house, but how much can we really do/have with this curse hanging over us? I have a zillion questions which only lead to more questions - why does this thing, or things, hate us so much? Where is it? What is it? How, if possible, can we get rid of it? We’re going to have to do some curse research.

I’ve certainly become cursed with the weight since quitting smoking. I just cannot lose weight/inches. I had silly hopes of being able to eat 1500-2000 calories a day as long as I worked out, but nope. I’ve gained weight. Some of it may be premenstrual water retention, but still, I should be at least a few pounds lighter and an inch or two smaller by now and I’m not. The only difference I feel, although I suppose it’s better than nothing, is firmer overall. I really am going to have to have just 1000 calories a day which is like total starvation for me. To go one day with just 1000 calories is hell on me, let alone weeks. But anyway, this doctor that’s associated with Bowflex is guaranteeing that if I do just 10 exercises a week, 3 times a week, drink lots of water, and don’t exceed 1000 calories per day, I can lose about 16 pounds in just 6 weeks. It gets even harder to believe: he also says that once I get my weight stabilized to an ideal weight, I can drop to working out just 2 times a week and can go up to 1600-2400 calories a day. Yeah, right! But even so, I’m curious to give it a try and see just how full of shit this cock really is, although I’m going to do nearly 20 exercises for a more complete workout. I’ll work out on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I’m currently 125 pounds and my measurements are as follows: Chest-37, Waist-30, Hips-37, Thighs-22.

For the sake of my crotch and the soreness it gets when more than two weeks go by before we screw, I gave Tom an ultimatum. I told him that I must do it at least once every two weeks or he’ll never touch me again. We don’t have to do it daily, a few times a week, or weekly, but we can’t let more than a couple of weeks go by. Nonetheless, the sex we had two days ago wasn’t as painful as I thought it’d be, and he had no problem getting hard. Of course, those times he did, he was normal, because if you can’t cum, you shouldn’t be able to get hard in the first place.

Tom ran into Dan today at Circle K. He pulled in to use the gas pump near him and asked how we like it here. He should’ve asked when he was leaving, but he didn’t want to be too chatty with the dude and give him the wrong idea. Meaning that we don’t want him to think he can just drop by for coffee whenever he feels like it or anything like that.

Again I saw those big lizards that live in front under the bush I thought Gophie lived in. If she did live there, she doesn’t live there now. It looks like there’s one adult and two babies that live there. The adult is about 1½ feet long with a dotted body and striped tail. Today I finally got a good picture of it too, which Tom was quite impressed with. He looked it up online and found a picture of it. It’s not a Gila monster. It’s a desert iguana. It’s not venomous, either. Gila monsters are supposed to be as poisonous as rattlesnakes.

The baby rats are growing day by day, but they’re still too small for the regular rat cage. I let Ratsy visit with them at times. Ratsy and Fudgie have really hit it off and they love to play together.

As for the mice, I’m just not meant to breed them. What? You mean first we can’t breed ourselves and now we can’t breed mice? Well, I don’t know what’s wrong here, but these mice would’ve had to have babies by now if they were going to. Freddie’s definitely a male, Oreo and Butter Rum are definitely females, they’re said to be in heat every other day and carry for only 3 weeks, so I guess it’s just not meant to be.

Now that I’m back on a schedule, I have mixed emotions about it. It’s different when you don’t absolutely have to be on a schedule and when you don’t have to check out of a hotel at a set time. I want to be on a schedule cuz it’d match Tom’s, and so I can sleep at night with less risk of being woken up, but I don’t want the pressure, the time frames, and the alarm clocks to deal with, either. For now, I’m just taking it day by day till my appointment rolls around and till they start booming in the sky again.

Yesterday and the day before, an out-of-area call came in the afternoon that I answered because I thought it could be Tom. On the first call, I heard nothing. On the second call, someone was definitely there, although I never heard any voices, breathing, or anything. Just someone trying to hang up, but being the little phone expert I am, I know you can’t just hang up on someone you call if they don’t hang up. You have to hold your receiver down for about half a minute before you can lose the person you called. Tom said it was probably a wrong number and that people often don’t speak when they realize they’ve dialed the wrong number. I think it was pesky sales, but why the silent treatment - who knows?

Two days ago a guy with a clipboard came to the door in regular clothes, saying something about working for or with the phone company. Then he read off the date we had our pole put in and wanted to know the address for records because of owing money or something like that. Tom asked if he was casing, asking weird questions like how many people live here, etc., but nope. Just the address. If he had asked that, I would’ve told him to mind his own fucking business and to get off our property before I made him wish he’d never set foot on it in the first place. He was probably legit, but for all I know, it could’ve been some bullshit plot set up by the cops for something someone did to the blacks or Mexicans that they were going to try pinning on me. I can’t be the only enemy those people had/have. Those kinds of people attract tons of enemies, and it’d be convenient for them to point a finger at me, say if their house was torched and they didn’t know who did it, cuz they made sure to get me on record for “biasing” them. Even Mr. Bias couldn’t see that I was the victim, but I don’t think he wanted to. Hey, what do you expect? He wasn’t white, either.

I have a new crush. Her name’s Carol Kane and she’s an actress. Surprisingly, she’s another blue-eyed blond. All I know about her is that she’s going to be 48, she’s 5‘2”, was born in Cleveland and moved to New York at age 10. I haven’t found anything saying she’s ever been married or had kids. She used to smoke, and is rather obscure and unpopular, even though she’s made over 70 TV appearances between series and movies. I never heard of her myself till I saw her recently in a movie called Office Killer. It was actually in a series from the 70s that I noticed she looked great in, but she didn’t look that great in Office Killer because her role was that of a mousy, conservative geek. She looked better at the end of the movie when she let her hair down and took off her glasses.

TUESDAY, APRIL 18, 2000 We’re still having major computer problems with both computers. He says he’s stopping by Mary’s today to pick up the Microsoft Word disk to reload it. He says that might fix the problem, but somehow I doubt this and am on the verge of doing everything by hand. I need a system I can depend on and my hand may be the only solution. I don’t like the idea of finishing my story or doing journals and letters by hand, but if that’s what I have to do, that’s what I have to do. I can’t play these hit-or-miss games, not knowing whether or not I can access this or that, etc. Right now I’m going to go print out odds and ends, in case they’re forever lost and can’t be opened in other programs. Something’s definitely cursing both our computers, that’s for sure!

SATURDAY, APRIL 15, 2000 This morning I woke up at 5:00 and we left an hour later after setting the bombs off. I ended up doing a ton of work today between prepping to bomb and cleaning up afterward, but 80% of the work was cuz of the animals.

We put the animals in the backseat and drove leisurely to Circle K where I got a brownie and coffee. He got soda and cakes. We also got a couple of scratch tickets and one won $3.

It wasn’t too hot like I worried it would be. It was actually pretty cool at first and I had to wear a sweater over my tank top. There was a nice breeze keeping it from feeling too hot once it got later. We didn’t go into the house till almost 10:00 and it didn’t smell at all, although we did what they said to do, and we opened windows to ventilate the place for a while. It was the perfect day for it too, cuz it wasn’t too calm, nor was it windy. Last night was a whole different story. It was wicked windy. Our power even flickered in and out a few times.

Tom still hasn’t gotten Microsoft Word up and running, but he said Mary has it still (that’s who it got it from) and we can reinstall it if we have to. For now, I switched from using WordPad to NotePad, because I was worried that I couldn’t copy and paste from Word Pad like I know I can from NotePad. This program’s very plain and simple. There are no colors and no spell check, but if you hit F5 it puts the time/date in for you. I like that. Microsoft Word does it too, but not with a hotkey.

Mary called earlier with some computer problems.

Paula called yesterday and I decided to answer since it had been a while. I wish she’d hurry up and lose that damn phone for a good 6 months sometimes! Nonetheless, we had a nice chat.

Oreo, one of my mice, was so cute earlier the way she was setting up the nest. I shred paper for them every time I change their cages. Anyway, she dragged strips of paper, one by one, from cage to cage and it was so cute. She doesn’t always set up nests in the same areas.

We got to see some interesting animals around here. I got to see my first jackrabbit today on our way back from the store, along with some quails. Yesterday, I saw my first Gila monster. Two of them. At least, we think that’s what they were. At first I thought it was Gohpie, who I haven’t seen, then I thought it was a small snake till I realized it was a big lizard. It was about two feet long. I took some pictures of it, but they didn’t come out too well. Tom said they’re as poisonous as rattlesnakes.

Tom dug up an ugly shrub-like thing that was by Scuttle’s grave that looked like a giant spider, which was nice of him to do.

A couple of weeks or so ago, our property began to become littered with little green clumps of what I thought were weeds, but today I noticed little flowers sprouting here and there. He says desert flowers bloom at this time of year. That ought to be really pretty.

We got the flowers planted and I started to get pissed off at God and society for a minute there while we were working. It wasn’t even 9:00 AM, yet someone, somewhere towards the front of the house, was blaring a car stereo. Again, it sounded nothing like having one of those blaring a few feet away from you, but still, I was like - you mean I still have to listen to this shit?! In the middle of a 10-acre ranch? What’s this world coming to? Before long, there’ll be no place to go to live in peace. There’ll be loud music everywhere that can be heard for miles and miles. What is it with these people I’m so embarrassed and ashamed to call my fellow humans? Why do they feel such a need to put on a show and be noticed? What makes these people so desperate for attention? So desperate to stand out and be heard? Anyway, the amazing part was that it only lasted a few minutes, not a few hours.

THURSDAY, APRIL 13, 2000 And today I’m 123 pounds. Yes, I can really feel the difference and even see it a little, too.

Yesterday was a great day. As soon as Tom got in, we headed for the pet store and found two cute rats with beautiful fur/colors! Not without getting pissed and shit on, though. Their definition of fancy rats is different. They consider fancy rats to be hairless rats (yuck) and consider what we know to be fancy rats as pet rats. They were the usual price - $7. I got a brown one that I named Fudgie that’s about the size Scuttles was when I got him, and an even smaller rat, the smallest one I’ve ever had that looks like a gigantic mouse, that I named Smoky. His fur is a gray smoky mist color. It looks really cool. He has a bad eye, though. I guess he may have gotten bit on one eye because of the way he squints. But he sometimes squints with the other eye too, so who knows what the deal is?

Fudgie’s not as dark as Scuttles was. I think he’s even lighter than Vanilla Belly was, too.

There was this really brave and curious lady rat I would’ve gotten if she weren’t a lady, even though her markings were similar to Ratsy’s. She bit Tom three different times, but not in a vicious way. She was just trying to get him to pay attention to her while he was trying to get one of the rats out. The young girl working there was afraid of getting bit.

I took some cute pictures. Naturally, they’re in the tank together since they’re too little for the other cage. They could easily slip through the bars. I brought Ratsy to visit them for a few minutes. God, is Ratsy huge compared to these guys! And to think that these rats will someday be bigger than Ratsy is hard to believe.

Anyway, Fudgie seemed to be more timid than Smoky at first, but then he became more curious about me and what’s outside his cage than Smoky was. All Smoky wanted to do was eat, sleep and clean himself. He didn’t seem the least bit interested in what was going on around him. He was so cute and funny when he fell into the water bowl. His back feet slipped off the rim, so he took a nose-dive into the water. It sure did startle him and he jumped out lightning fast. Fudgie slipped in too, but with his back feet, not with his face.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 12, 2000 The sleeping less than 8 hours caught up with me and I slept 9 hours last night and didn’t get up till 4:00 AM. My schedule has just about flipped. I want to start getting up at 9:00 regularly. That’ll give me enough time to be available to do things and go places, and I can also beat the boomers once they start booming by again. It’s been a month now since I’ve heard regularly from them.

Again, I can’t stress how great the Bowflex is. It’s even helped curb the lower back pain I’ve been having, and talk about increased energy! Between my working out and all the housecleaning I do, no one can say I’m not active enough. My workout routine consists of about 50 exercises and lasts an hour and 15 minutes. As for housecleaning - I’ve done more cleaning in the few months we’ve been in this house than I have in the 6 years in the Phoenix house.

I’m saving this stuff quite often. Like every paragraph. My whole computer is hexed right now. Tom said it was just my word processor, but now other programs are being a problem and hanging up on me.

Remember how I said I had a feeling something didn’t want me printing out the pictures for Tammy, Doe and Art? Well, now there’s no doubt in my mind about that. All the pictures I grouped for them are gone, but everything else is still intact. If I’m getting all this shit for just planning on sending these pictures, what will I get if I actually do send them? These people just aren’t worth finding that out, so I’ll white out their names/addresses and send stuff to Paula when I get the chance. I don’t need to send them shit anyway. These are people I don’t like and don’t intend to reunite with in 10 years like Larry did because I’m not interested in their money.

I can’t wait for Tom to get home from work, cuz today’s the day we’re going rat hunting! I was just too tired yesterday, but today, I look forward to getting out even if I don’t find any good rats. They did, after all, have a shitty selection the last time we were in the store getting Freddie.

Yesterday I was up a pound at 125, but today I’m down to 124. Even if I could have the measurements I had when I was 100 pounds, I’d never weigh 100 pounds because the muscle I’m building is going to be heavier. I don’t think I’ll be able to get my weight much lower than 120. Maybe 115, but that’s pushing it. I also don’t think I can have my old measurements back either, but if I can get somewhere in between where I am now and where I was then - great.

TUESDAY, APRIL 11, 2000 I’m typing this in a thing called Word Pad because there’s a corrupt file within the word processor, Microsoft Word that I normally use. I can’t use the thing because I can’t access drop-down menus or close windows. I even lose my mouse pointer. Tom’s going to work on it tonight. Once it’s fixed, I’ll cut and paste whatever I type here over there.

This Bowflex thing is the best thing I ever had, not to mention the most effective. With the floor work, I’d get so breathless, but with this, it’s more effective and you don’t get so out of breath. Already, I can feel the difference. I feel firmer all over. Not just in a few select areas. I still have a lot of fat to lose and a lot of flab to tone, but I sure feel better. It gives me more energy. For the last three days, I’ve been up around 18 hours and have only slept 5-7 hours. I hope to sleep later tonight because we plan on going rat hunting this week using some of the money he got working on Mary’s computer (he got $80).

Mary also gave us four packets of those beautiful flowers. The marigolds and the sunflowers aren’t too impressive, but the mix of colorful flowers sure is. Since we see out the front windows more often, I plan on putting the colors in the front, and the others in back. We’re going to plant them this weekend. They don’t bloom yearly. They’ll die sometime this summer. I guess that’s why they’re only 69 cents a pack.

Tom’s getting a medallion for an award tomorrow for being the wonderful coach he is at work. Basically, his job is to help people fix their fuck-ups.

Now Paula does have a phone, from what she says. She told me she was losing her phone, but she obviously hasn’t. She said her phone would still be on for a while and to call her. She just doesn’t get it. I mean, doesn’t she remember my story about the long-distance blocks? Anyway, I’ll send her letters and pictures about once a week.

Believe it or not, the mice still haven’t had their babies, but they’ve got to be very close.

Tom set up the old dot matrix the other day so I could print out letters and journal stuff. I still can’t wait to have a new printer that prints in color so I can get these damn pictures off to Tammy, Doe and Art. Instead of getting a printer that has a black cartridge and a color cartridge, I’m going to get one that has a cartridge for each color, so that’ll be one for black, one for pink, one for blue, and one for yellow. No more of this not being able to print bullshit when I’m fully loaded on black, just because my color cartridge dies.

SATURDAY, APRIL 8, 2000 Got up at 9:00. Yeah, my schedule’s climbing around. I can’t wait to get back on days and not have to worry about not being able to be available to go somewhere. And I hate having to go to bed in the bright sunlight, too!

At 10:00, although barely audible, someone was playing music. Again, it was coming from the back of the house, and again I couldn’t see any lights on at Dan’s or the renters. The trailers are still on Dan’s property too, so I guess he hasn’t left yet. Anyway, just like before, the stereo would have to be either outdoors or directly by an open door or window. The weather is nice enough, too. Not too warm or too cool at this time. It’s always possible that Dan could’ve turned off all his lights and opened his windows before blasting the music. That is the classic behavior of someone that lonely. He could even have the speakers in the window facing outward. I doubt he leaves Arizona just because of the heat. I’m sure he can’t stand the loneliness and that’s why he leaves too, to give himself a break from it and to see his family. It’s hard to have that many friends way out here, so any friends he may have are probably in Indiana and I still can’t figure out why he even bothers living out here. Anyway, we’ve never gone more than 4-6 weeks without hearing music, so once he does finally leave, that’ll be a good test as to whether or not the music was his, cuz you figure he’s got to be gone at least three months.

We’re starting to find at least one spider a day in the house. Thank God this house isn’t as loosely sealed up as Phoenix was or else we’d have a dozen a day. We’re gonna bomb in a couple of weeks or so when it’s hot to stay and when all the insects of the year have been born. That way, we won’t have to worry about three months. They’re probably coming in when we’re going in or out, and they could slip by us easily, cuz these spiders we’re seeing are super-fast.

We talked about getting one or two rats sometime within the next two or three weeks. I know Ratsy will be glad when we do. He’s obviously lonely and bummed out and he was never an explorer like Scuttles was.

Now for the best news since losing my beloved Scuttles - the Bowflex came yesterday!!! Was it missing a piece for coming when it did without us having to lead the UPS driver in? Of course. But fortunately, it was a useless piece; a rubber cap-like cover you put at the end of one of the bars to the leg extension piece. No big deal. Tom put it together while I slept and he said it took him two hours to do it.

Anyway, I love it and already I can’t imagine ever living without it! You can only do so much floor exercise, and treadmills and bikes are close to useless, so what was I to do? Go take walks in the heat with the snakes? You really need resistance! Resistance you can’t get on a floor, a bike or a treadmill. Pumping iron is the key.

It’s amazing how compact it is. It’s only about six feet tall and eight feet long. Each side has five power rods which are the weights. There’s a five, two tens, a thirty, and a fifty. Tom was smart by not bothering to get this pulldown bar you can also get, cuz it would’ve been a complete waste. You can do those same exercises with the cables and pulleys you use to do the bulk of the workout. We’ll only be using the leg extension piece for about one exercise. Everything else can be done with the cables and power rods. You attach the cable to whatever power rods you want to use. The rower is a seat that you pull a pin out on so it moves up and down the track it’s on while you keep your feet on the bar in front of you. I usually row with the 30-pound weights as my warm-up and cool-down, but to do most of the exercises I only use 10-15 pounds because I want to tone and not build. There’s a bench you can use too, either flat or inclined.

I went through and organized the exercises when I was making my own fitness program. Instead of taking the bench on or off every other exercise, I’m doing them in groups. First I’ll do the ones without the bench, then with it flat, then with it inclined, etc.

The only thing I don’t get, and that’s pretty contradictory, is how they say there is no such thing as “spot reduction” when it comes to exercising the backs of the thighs, and not to do the inner thigh exercise if you think it’ll burn fat and make them smaller, cuz all it’ll do is make them stronger. So what they’re saying is that I’ll build muscle there, but will keep the fat and the inches, too? Isn’t that impossible? I thought the more you toned up, the more the muscle you built ate the fat around it.

Anyway, my starting weight is 124 pounds, although I still don’t expect this thing to make such grand changes for me. I mean, that’s what I thought about quitting smoking, and look how wrong I was! Although I am an hourglass, I’m a pretty blown-up one. My tits are 37, my waist is 29, my hips are 38, and my thighs are 22½. Ideally, I’d like to have my tits be 34, my waist 24, my hips 34, and my thighs 18, but I know this is just a dream.

I’m not going to overwhelm myself with having to do the math. They talk about counting heartbeats, measuring skin folds with a caliper to measure fat loss, counting calories, etc., but I’m just going to use common sense. I’m going to keep on eating as sensibly as I always try to do anyway, and do what exercises I feel comfortable doing without straining myself. I want to work out so I feel the muscle working, but not so I feel it an hour after I’ve done the exercise.

THURSDAY, APRIL 6, 2000 I’m pretty miserable right now. Scuttles is definitely dying. I can’t find any tumors on him and he’s definitely not dying of old age, so my guess is that he caught Tom’s cold. Anyway, I’ve been crying on and off and am not in the mood to really write much now, so I’ll be back another time.

Later…

It is with much sadness that I begin this entry, for I have lost my sweet little friend. I’ll miss my dear Scuttles. He was so cute, smart, and fun to play with. He really loved me as much as I loved him and looked forward to seeing me as I did him. And poor Ratsy, who has to live all alone now. Rats don’t like living alone. Ratsy doesn’t like to come out and explore nearly as much as Scuttles did, but when he does - boy is he a hyper one! Maybe that’s why he doesn’t last as long when he’s out. Scuttles was much calmer than this little guy. Why is it that all my rats (with the exception of Bear) have died so soon, yet Ratsy, the oldest, lives on and on? Tom thinks it’s because all the others were bigger than Ratsy, and that the larger you breed an animal to be, the more you cut their lifespan.

And where does our mean, insensitive, unfair, cruel, heartless, ruthless God fit into all this? Only he knows. I’m angry with him, that’s for sure. He didn’t have to let Scuttles die so young, so soon. I only had him for five months. And I still don’t know what killed him, either. I didn’t see any tumors, and he certainly wasn’t old, although he looked and acted it during these last two days. He was weak, he wouldn’t eat and lost weight, and his brown fur started graying in the back near his tail. Tom doesn’t think he caught his cold, or else he’d have given it to Ratsy and Ratsy would be sick and dying, too. He reminded me that it could be a blood disease or other things just like people get. Maybe something went wrong with his kidneys or liver.

The last couple of days, all he did was lay around. He was very weak and appeared to have difficulty breathing. I couldn’t get him to eat, but he did take a few drinks here and there. Amazingly, he wanted to come out at times, too. It was like he wanted to see me and explore as much as he could, knowing his time was limited. He didn’t roam around, though, like he usually did. He’d just walk a few feet away from his door and sit there. At one point, I put him by himself in the pig’s old tank because Ratsy wanted to play and I thought it was hard on him with the way he was jumping all over him. However, despite his weakened state, he jumped right out of the tank, wanting to go home and be with Ratsy, even though Ratsy could get quite rambunctious.

It’s scary how fast one can die. Just three days ago he was as healthy as could be, so full of life and energy. It scares the shit out of me when I think of the possibility of losing Tom before I die between the ages of 61 and 63 like I’ve sensed I would for a few years now. Whether or not he died slowly or suddenly, I could not live without him and I would not live without him. Not even if I had all the money in the world and could buy anything money could buy.

We were about as close as any pet and owner could be, and I wonder - how long will I grieve for him? How long? I can be concentrating on talking with Tom, reading, singing, writing, etc., and then he pops into my head and I start bawling my eyes out. I think my eyes will always at least sting every time I think of him. Sometimes they just burn with the threat of tears, and other times I lose it completely and I cry and cry and cry. How it hurts to look towards his cage and not see him waiting at the door for me. That hurts the most; knowing he’s not at the door waiting to be let out to run around. To chase strings and bubbles, which is something Ratsy loves to do, too. I guess a rat is a rat. But even so, Scuttles was so special to me. There will never be another Scuttles and I can’t imagine ever bonding with another rat like this, or having another rat take to me as much as he did, although I do intend to get another rat as soon as I can. At least for Ratsy’s sake. Sorry guinea pigs. You’re cute, cuddly, and you sound neat, but you’re not my favorite rodent anymore. More like number three, with mice as number two, and rats as number one.

The day I realized he was dying, which was two days ago, was the hardest emotionally. I cried and cried so much that my eyes swelled shut and my allergies went crazy on me and I woke up every two hours. Up till I was 25 or so, I could just cry when I needed to cry. Now it seems to have a domino effect on me. Crying causes other problems, so I’ve been trying not to dwell on him too much. If I think of him too much, I burst into tears.

Surprisingly, I slept well today. He was gone when I got up at 4:00. Tom, who says he’ll miss him too, buried him in a special spot I picked out. He’s away from the others, but Ratsy will join him next to him one day. He’s just out front across the wash by the big tree.

Meanwhile, both lady mice are definitely pregnant and should have their babies any day now.

TUESDAY, APRIL 4, 2000 I think I might’ve been boomed awake once or twice, but I can’t say for sure. It could’ve been some other sound or a dream, but I was back asleep in less than a second. Today I slept till 3:00. The flipping’s going slow. It’s hard now that I’m not used to this anymore, and I hate it, too! It just isn’t me anymore. I miss the routine of a schedule. I hate trying to stay up, trying to get to bed early enough, trying to beat the clock, hoping I can be available at such and such a time, etc. I also hate going to bed in the bright sunlight, never knowing what sounds may wake me up. I miss going to bed in the dark, with less risk of being woke up.

I’d say Dan’s definitely getting ready to head out of state. He has two trailers that hook to a semi on his property. Tom says he thinks it’s to take some of his truck collection with him, cuz people often want trucks from the southwest cuz their vehicles get damaged by the salty air. He said that’d explain the engine-gunning, too.

So, what’s he gonna do? Buy a handful of shit trucks when he returns and gun those into shape too, for next summer’s trip to Indiana? How many years has he been doing this, I wonder?

Tom’s definitely not lying about having a cold. Although he’s getting better, as he says, you can hear it in his voice and there’s no way he could fake it if he wanted to.

I hope and pray that my worst fears aren’t about to come true. My worst fears pet-wise. Scuttles isn’t acting right. He just seems a little out of it. Quite a coincidence too, seeing how I just had a dream about him dying. I’d be soooo devastated to lose this rat! Never have I loved a pet like I love Scuttles. Maybe he’s OK, though. Maybe he’s just tired. God, I hope that’s all it is! I never want to lose him, although I know I have to someday. Just not so soon, God, please? Not so soon.

MONDAY, APRIL 3, 2000 Never before have I had such a craving for different foods than the usual mashed potatoes, chicken and salad. I want a week off from the same old, same old. I’ll never lose weight anyway, so why not a box of white powdered donuts, some canned peaches, some spaghetti, and some Grape Nuts cereal? Except for the donuts, this isn’t exactly junk food. Just different stuff. I eat healthy foods, don’t exceed 1500 calories a day, and am still fat, so what the hell? Although I’d look best at around 100 pounds, I may be able to drive my weight down to between 115-120 pounds if the fucking Bowflex would ever get here, but that’d be about it. For now, I’m bouncing between 122-124 pounds.

I’ve had allergy attacks on and off throughout the day. There’s just no knowing what’ll trigger them. It’s a real bitch to live with; never knowing when your nose is going to go on the fritz.

Paula left a message saying she was going to lose her phone because she can’t afford it and says she’ll send a letter. Yeah, I knew she’d lose that phone. Also, she’s moving again like she does every 2-3 months.

It’s been a week since I’ve heard from Dan. I’m not sure if he’s left the state yet, but I don’t think he’s gone two weeks, and definitely not three, without engine gunning. So, if I don’t hear from him by the middle of the month, I guess we can assume he’s gone.

I’ll be going to bed early this morning, and it sucks to know that the military will wake me up several times during my sleep. I don’t know, it just seems like it’s time for that. Time for them to be heard a few times during the day.

My computer has a slight flicker to it, which Tom doesn’t know how to fix. I’ll just live with it for now.

There’s not much left to do with my “spring cleaning” I plan to do every few months. The dolls were the most work. The rest is just cleaning the blinds, tops of doors, doorways, cabinets, and pictures. Places I don’t usually hit regularly.

The child desires have remained backed off, thank God. I feel silly having said I’d use a donor if I ever wanted one again. Yeah, right! As if he’d let me? If he interfered with my getting pregnant naturally, he’d interfere with my getting pregnant the invitro way too, to say nothing of the divine interference I’d get.

Even if the choice was mine to make, I doubt I’d choose to have a child. I would’ve in a heartbeat in the past, but times have changed. 99% of the time I’m OK with knowing I’ll never have one. I’d rather be curious than have a kid and wish I didn’t.

I sat and thought of the different things I’ve done and gone through in life, both good and bad, and I can’t imagine ever dancing again, even if I was still thin and transportation wasn’t an issue. I could never let myself be used like that again. That is so wrong and so greedy of those cheap club owners to make the dancers support the bouncers, DJs, and bartenders. The owners are obligated to pay their salaries, not the dancers. If I’m gonna work, it’s going to be for me and my husband and not my coworkers.

Later…

Just as I predicted, our brand-new house is already having things break. Tom says it isn’t broken, but nonetheless, our garbage disposal shouldn’t have hung up like it did. Tom unplugged it before going to bed and will fix it later. What else is he gonna have to fix? The car? The dishwasher? The washer? Dryer? What? God, leave us alone with the breakage for six months! Just six lousy months, will you?!

Freddie bit Tom when he was holding him the other day. I don’t know why. He’s never bitten me. Not yet, anyway.

My schedule’s slowly, but surely flipping. I slept from 7:30 to 4:30, but not without a million interruptions. Not due to the military, but due to a series of weird dreams. In one of them, a couple of boys who might’ve been in their late teens were trying to break into the retreat window. I could hear them talking and see their shadows through the white blinds. I got up out of bed and got dressed, planning to go out the front door and run around to the back and surprise them, but woke up before I could get out of the house.

When the Bowflex isn’t here by Thursday or Friday like it should be, Tom will call to find out what the next problem is. I just hope it isn’t the references. I had to guess Kim’s number and address since I can’t find it, and Paula’s losing her phone. Well, if worse comes to worst, we can use Steven and Dennis as references. They used us, so we’ll use them if we have to.

Dan hasn’t left the state yet. I’m not surprised. I think he’ll leave closer to May. The reason I know this isn’t because of the engine-gunning, but because I could see lights on in his place earlier. There’s a chance he could have lights set on a timer to light the place up at night while he’s gone, but I doubt that.

SUNDAY, APRIL 2, 2000 The series The Others is already over. Isn’t that pitiful? They used to make hundreds of shows per series back before the late 80s. What is this with only making 10-20 episodes per series? Everything on TV is repeats, repeats, repeats!

Dusting 33 dolls was a much bigger task than I thought it’d be. It seemed to take me forever, and there’s still more work to be done. Every few months I’m doing the cleaning that I don’t regularly do weekly, like the tops of the kitchen cabinets, and shit like that.

Tom has one of his famous colds. I knew it, too. I just knew it. Last weekend I told him I didn’t want to have sex. Well, normally, he “gets me back,” so to speak. He goes and does the same thing to me and comes up with a reason himself to get out of sex. I swear that just the other day I said to myself - no sex again this weekend, cuz you know he’ll have some kind of excuse to not screw cuz you wouldn’t last weekend. Then sure enough, here he is telling me today he has a cold. Is he lying? I don’t know. Although his timing is quite a coincidence, he is due for a cold, and he says everyone else on his shift is sick. He can’t go more than 3-4 months without a cold, but the good thing about it is that I know I won’t get it. If I caught colds as easily as I used to back east, look how often I’d have to go down with him and get sick, too!

Anyway, I know I should probably be sad about this, but I no longer have any desire for sex with him. If I knew we’d never screw again, I’d be perfectly OK with it. It’s for two reasons. One is that I’m sick of it, cuz it’s not new and exciting anymore. Two is because of all the lies, manipulations, and controlling he’s done in bed all these years to ensure I never got pregnant (with the exception of the 15 times or so that he dared to squirt in the “right” time frame. Yeah, after I’d convinced him I was psychic and that one of the things I saw was that I’d never have a child). I know I could never get pregnant, and I know I don’t want a kid and its burdens and responsibilities, but I don’t think I could ever forgive him for what he’s done/does in bed. It was/is totally wrong of him, and more so, it’s unnecessary. He need not worry about a baby that cannot be made, and this tells me that it’s more than just fear of pregnancy. It’s his stubbornness and his desire to be in charge of the sex and what happens with it. He wishes I was deprived and unhappy with it. When I used to be, he was amused by it. I know he was. It was obvious. Any idiot could see so no matter how much he’d deny it. Well, I’m pretty much permanently turned off and I don’t think anything can be done to rekindle my desire. We can’t make it new and exciting again, and even if he lost his fears and decided to show me how good I am in bed like he says I am, I still don’t see how my desire would be rekindled. I love the man to death outside of bed and look forward to being with him forever, but he’s old, dead news bed-wise. I’ll take my fantasies over him and his dry dick any day.

Last night was his last night at work. He goes in Monday morning at 6:00 and has to leave here at 5:00 and get up at 4:00. The night shift gave him a “good-bye and good luck” card that they all signed and a cake. He brought me home a piece.

I finally got to start printing again and began printing out pictures for Dureen and Art, but the fucking cartridge was defective. Yeah, I know. I just had to be the one to get the damn defect, too. I did get Dureen and Art’s letter printed out, and the 40 or so pictures that I printed, which are a bit grainy and blurry (the ink leaked) will go to Paula. I’ll enclose a few with each of my regular letters to her. Anyway, I’m beginning to wonder if something up there doesn’t want me printing these letters/pictures to Dureen, Art and Tammy.

I shortened the rat’s cages. I was sick of popping off their shelves, which they’d piss all over, and have their shit and piss go flying onto the walls and carpet, so I shortened their cage and left them with just their tubes. That’s all they really need.

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benonirosehouse · 1 year

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"Take it one thing at a time"

Someone who wasn't restoring a 145 year old house said that.

I would love to post about a single project that I've finished since we moved in seven days ago. I cannot.

What I have done is rip a plywood closet out of a bedroom (to make space for our furniture and because it looked like a goofy afterthought) to reveal that the walls inside got skipped when the rest of the plaster in the room was last repaired.

What we have done is torn the carpet out of the two bedrooms that will someday become our master. We removed the underlayment (and the HUNDREDS of nails attaching it to the original floor) from one of those rooms. (Original flooring officially set free in one whole room! A win!) Closet room? That's supposed to be our safe haven while we peel layers away to reveal the original floors and walls. Except I tore the closet out. Which was the Good and Right thing to do. Except that delays the timeline on rebuilding our bed frame and dresser in there while I repair the plaster and then prime and paint the walls. So we've been sleeping on our mattress and living out of boxes on the floor of what will someday be my office. My fiancee can only take so much of this. I can weather it better because it's my fault. But sleeping on a mattress on the floor as a 31 year old with A Lot Going On at Work Right Now is way harder to tolerate when it's not your fault the bed can't be built yet. All of this will become so much easier when the bedroom is set up and our belongings are out of boxes. We'll be living in a third of the house while we restore the rest of it, but we can't just do things one room at a time and expand our living space as we go. In the uninhabited 2/3 of the house? All the wallpaper has to come down.

Then all the walls have to be patched.

All the trim has to be stripped. All the doors have to be fixed. A few of the door knobs have to be replaced with period appropriate ones that match the originals. All of the originals have to be repaired. All of the floors have to be freed from the junk that got laid on top of them.

An ENTIRE WALL has to come down (I am so sorry historic preservationists! We want to keep it as original as possible! We just need a master bedroom that fits two 21st century humans! We're keeping all the trim and doors and things I promise!)

All of the walls have to be primed and painted white (so we can just live with a clean slate for a while before we start adding color and wallpaper of our own! We are not minimalists in this family.)

An entire upstairs bathroom needs walls tiled, sink replaced, clawfoot tub restored.

The radiators need to be removed, repainted, and reinstalled.

And then all the floors have to be refinished.

And only then can we move into those rooms, and start thinking about the wing of the house we're living in now. Kinda scary to write out.

#century home #victorian home #home restoration #diy #diy renovation #old home

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halcyontechnologies · 1 year

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What are the things that we need to look for when buying a used tractors ?

You should go beyond simply kicking the tires if you're looking to purchase a used tractor. There are several telltale indications to watch out for even if it's not always simple to tell if tractor maintenance has been ignored.

To assist you in finding a dependable, well-maintained tractor, I've provided a walkthrough and a helpful used tractor inspection checklist.

VERIFY THE SECURITY FEATURES.

Check the ROPS first. Modern tractors almost universally feature roll bars, however some older tractors don't. Ask the vendor if the ROPS was taken off a newer model tractor if it's missing and if he still has it.

If the tractor has a roll bar, a seat belt is required, and you must wear it. There shouldn't be a seat belt if there isn't a roll bar.

Safety switches are located throughout the tractor in various locations. Check the PTO, transmission, clutch, and brake pedals. Safety switches prevent the engine from starting unless the transmission, PTO, and brakes are engaged and in neutral.

VISUALLY INSPECT THE WORK.

Examine the tractor's exterior for dents, rust, and painted-over areas. The tractor may have been in an accident or just suffered from neglect if it is in poor condition. Which implies that it might also not be mechanically sound. Repainting is not an issue if the sheet metal is in good condition but the paint is missing.

Next, check the tires. Hey, I never said we wouldn't do that.

Verify the tires for uneven or excessive wear. Check for tread depth, damage, and repair hints like plugs or patches. Even though replacing tires can be expensive, bad tires don't always have to be a deal-breaker. After spending money on a used Agricultural Tractors For Sale in Auctions , you need to know if there will be any more significant expenses down the road.

CHECK THE WATER PUMP, third.

Make sure the engine is turned off before sticking your hand inside and trying to move the fan blades to check if everything is stable. To ensure everything is secure, make sure to check the belts as well.

Examine the fluids.

Open the hood when the engine has cooled and checked all the fluids.

Remove the radiator's cap. Verify that it has coolant and is free of floating oil.

Examine the engine oil. Check the level using the dipstick to make sure there are no water beads on the stick. If the oil hasn't been changed recently, it should be black.

Verify the hydraulic and transmission oil. You may need to run your finger over the dipstick to check the level of hydraulic oil because it ought to be nearly clean. When you check the fluids, keep a rag close at hand to wipe your hands.

steering-pump power. Check the fluid level after unscrewing the cap. The majority of new tractors lack a separate

LOOK AT THE BRAKE AND CLUTCH PEDAL.

You may learn a lot about how the tractor has been used by examining the wear and tear on the clutch and brake pedals. The operator likely enjoys riding the clutch and/or brakes, which will reduce their lifespan, if the dimples and paint on the pedals are worn down.

VERIFY THE EXHAUST.

It's time to turn it up. Start the tractor, lock the brakes, and confirm that the transmission is in neutral. Check the smoke when the Tractors Online Auctions has had a chance to warm up. Is it clear, black, blue, or white? Engine issues may be indicated by the color of the smoke.

If tractor smoke, then

Best case: clear. Nothing is wrong if you only notice a tiny puff of exhaust smoke before it disappears.

White - The head gasket may be faulty, or there could be water in the fuel system.

Oil is being burned by the tractor in blue. This can point to a pricey problem. Either the rings are worn or there is an internal problem.

Black - Usually an air or fuel issue, and usually a quick, inexpensive fix. Most likely clogged, the air filter has to be changed.

After starting, if the tractor continues to belch smoke, it can be a sign of anything more serious.

VERIFY THE ELECTRICS.

Verify that everything functions. Verify the headlights, dash lights, and flashers. create that anything that should flash, light up, or create noise actually does so.

Raise the lift while turning the steering wheel.

The steering wheel should turn freely and smoothly if it has power steering. If the fluid trembles or tremors, there may be an issue with the fluid or a low fluid level. The suction screen, filter, or pump could possibly be having issues.

Lift the lift lever next. It's in good shape if it comes up neatly and smoothly. If it trembles, there can be a fluid issue within or a problem with the lift.

Examine the brakes.

Put your right foot on one of the brakes, place your foot on the clutch, and change into low gear. Release the clutch slowly. The tractor should not move thanks to the brake. Apply the second brake after that. The tractor should be able to be kept in place by both brakes.

You can simultaneously assess the clutch's functionality. The clutch is slipping if the engine doesn't alter and you can't feel the tractor struggling to drive.

CHECK THE HOUR MARKER.

An hour meter that displays the tractor's usage history can be found on the dashboard. It could be challenging to read. The marks on the glass could be worn or blurred. This is a typical feature of a secondhand tractor, but it's still vital information. You should be able to see the timer running while the motor is running if the hour meter is still functional. If you don't see that, you won't know how "used" the tractor actually is, and you risk buying a dud.

You can make a much wiser investment of your hard-earned money when you know what to look for when purchasing a second hand tractor. You can print off and bring along this checklist for inspecting old tractors.

#tractorsforsale #tractorsale #tractoronlineauctions #usedtractors #newtractors

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azpaintingltd · 1 year

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Transform Your Home with the Help of a House Painting Company

The right paint job can transform your home. I know this because I've seen it happen. When I bought my house, the walls were a dull gray and the trim was an unattractive beige. In fact, the only thing that wasn't gray or white was the ceiling—it had been painted blue but had long since faded to a hideous shade of greenish-gray. Fortunately for me, there's nothing that professional painters love more than turning homes into beautiful works of art! They'll work with you to create whatever look or ambiance you're going for in your home. If you're looking for ideas on how a professional house painting company can help make your house look great without breaking the bank, read on!

A fresh coat of paint can transform your home.

Painting your home is one of the best ways to transform it. A fresh coat of paint can add color, style and personality to your space--and it's also an important investment in keeping your home protected from the elements. It's no wonder that people often choose to repaint their homes before selling them or renting them out!

Here are some other reasons why you should hire a house painting company:

Paint makes you feel better about living in your space (especially if it was previously beige). When we moved into our first apartment, I was instantly excited because--aside from being close to work--the place had been decorated by someone else! But after living there for awhile, I realized that I didn't love all those bright colors anymore; they made me feel like I was living inside an ice cream truck instead of my own home. So we hired someone else (who actually knew what she was doing) and painted over everything white again...it made such a difference! Now when people come over they say things like "Wow -- this place looks so much bigger now!" And while yes true size does matter...I think it has more than just size going for itself here at 5555 West End Avenue South East Suite A-10 Chicago IL 60621

A professional house painting company is helpful for you.

They'll also be able to guide you in choosing the right color, texture and finish. If you have specific requirements, such as keeping costs low or using environmentally friendly materials, they'll make sure that they're met.

House painters are often called upon to fix and restore damage done to walls and other surfaces.

If you're looking to make your home look new, house painters can help. They often get hired to fix and restore damage done to walls and other surfaces. For example, if you have old paint that has started peeling or cracking, a professional painter will sand down the damaged area and apply new layers of color over it. This process can be done in conjunction with other types of repairs--for example, if there are holes in the wall from hanging pictures or shelves; these holes could also be patched up with fresh coats of paint after being filled out by a professional.

A house painting crew may replace cracked or peeling paint with new coats.

If you have an older home, a house painting crew may be able to help with cracked or peeling paint. This is a sign that your home needs some TLC.

The good news is that old paint can be removed and new coats applied in its place. However, it's better to just replace the entire thing with fresh coatings of paint instead of trying to remove them first because this will make your job easier and faster; plus, new paint covers up old cracks and peels much better than trying to fix them yourself!

A good painting crew can offer you all kinds of decorative touches.

If your house needs a new look, you don't have to hire an interior designer at a high cost. A good painting crew can offer you all kinds of decorative touches without breaking the bank or requiring special skills or training.

Professional painters are trained to do the job right and in a timely manner so that your home looks great as soon as possible. They'll paint over any damaged areas on walls and trimwork, then prime them before they begin applying base coats of color. This ensures that there are no gaps in coverage between layers of paint (which would show through) as well as creating an even surface for future coats of finish material (like glazing). The result is smooth surfaces that look professionally done - and won't need touching up anytime soon!

A professional painting company can help you create the look.

A professional painting company can help you create the look and ambiance you want in your home. With their expertise and experience, they will be able to assist with color selection and design ideas. A professional painting company also knows which paint is best for your project based on its location and purpose, which makes it easier for them to provide advice on what type of paint would work best for each room in your house.

AZ Painting Ltd. is the best painting company in Vancouver. We have been working hard to provide our clients with quality service and great results. Our team of professional painters can be trusted to get the job done right, on time and on budget. AZ Painting Ltd. are committed to providing you with a quality service that will make you happy with your home or business for years to come.

AZ Painting Ltd. 7235 18th Ave, Burnaby, BC V3N 1H4 1(778)231-6622 https://azpaintingvancouver.ca/ https://www.google.com/maps?cid=16146290806850359373

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marvel-and-mischief · 3 years

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Lavender

Part of my Floriography Series

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader Words: 1700 Warnings: reader is mother of Frankie's newborn, swearing, angst, talk of death Synopsis: Frankie is met with a sour welcome when he returns home from South America

Lavender: mistrust

💐

The blood red door hid the scars of your last encounter with Frankie. The wood had been a pure white but in your fury at what your husband was about to do, you let a gravy jug fly through the air where it landed with a smash in the middle of the open door, denting the surface and chipping the original paintwork. You repainted it a few days later with the only can of paint you’d found in the garden shed, the same paint Frankie had used to decorate your baby’s room halfway through your pregnancy.

It was that very door that you were stood next to now, staring at the man that had walked away from you a few weeks before. You had cried your tears of disbelief, heartbreak, frustration, you had cried them all out. All you had left was indifference at the sight of him returning home.

“Honey,” Frankie pleaded, shoulders slumped, eyes tired and tinged pink with emotions. He looked haggard, drained of everything that made him Frankie. He didn’t seem to even have the energy to look sorry, or hopeful that you wouldn’t slam the door in his face. He just looked defeated.

You didn’t say anything, what could you say? Part of you still loved him and that part refused to turn him away. You left the door open as you turned around and entered the living room. You took a stand in front of the TV on the other side of the room as you heard the door click softly shut and Frankie’s boots shuffled across the carpeted room. It was then you felt your heart rate spike.

Your husband had returned.

Frankie had survived his escapade to South America and was back looking worse for wear. He was back but you knew him well enough to know he had left a part of him somewhere else.

He paused in the doorway, unsure of himself despite the familiarity of home. He helped to pick this house; his pros had been the large driveway at the front to fit his truck and your family sized car, the quiet neighborhood with a park just down the road, the fenced in garden at the back for the puppies he’d always dreamed of having. He’d laid down the carpets himself, fitted the electrical appliances in the kitchen, paid half the mortgage. But as he nervously wrung the strap of his rucksack over his right shoulder and swallowed around the lump in his throat, he looked completely out of place.

“I thought you’d be gone longer.” Your voice was tight and came out frustratingly croaky as you tried to hold it together.

“I came back as soon as I could. Is she-?” Frankie pointed towards the stairs behind him, indicating his three month old daughter who was sleeping soundly in the cot he built.

“Asleep, just gone down.” Don’t go upstairs, don’t disturb her. But what you really wanted to say was you’re not going anywhere near her until we’ve sorted this out. Fortunately Frankie nodded in understanding.

You bit your lip and sighed. “D’you want a drink?”

“Water please.”

You hurried passed Frankie and into the kitchen before the first tear slid down your cheek. You bit your lip against the barrage of emotions threatening to overwhelm you, clutching onto the edge of the sink as you took deep, silent breaths.

You knew this day would come, if he hadn’t died on his little trip that is. In some ways you could have dealt with that a lot better. It was easier to prepare a funeral and carry on life as a single mother than it was to have to have a conversation with your husband about why he upped and left to go on a dangerous mission to steal millions of dollars from a drug lord, leaving his wife and newborn baby behind without any contact to say he was okay.

How do you explain to him that you wanted to kill him yourself when he left? That you felt betrayed that he would leave you in search of something neither of you needed and you certainly didn’t want? That you felt as though he was prioritising money over the importance of him in you and your baby’s life? You had begged him not to go, to tell Santi no, but he went anyway and that still pisses you off.

It pissed you off on day one and every day after. You’d nurse your daughter in front of the window, watching every car that drove by hoping it was Frankie’s truck but always being disappointed. Your ears perked up at every car horn, at the mail being pushed through the letterbox, at your phone ringing from a withheld number.

You let out a shaky breath, grab a glass and fill it with water. You would let him talk, let him grovel, it’s the least he deserves for what he put you through.

When you returned to the living room Frankie had taken a seat on the couch. You placed the glass of water on the coffee table and sat in the armchair across from him.

“I know you probably hate me right now,” Frankie began, eyes trained on his hands as he absentmindedly picked at a hangnail, “I should have listened to you. The whole thing was a bust.”

“So Santi was talking shit about the money?”

“There was money, too much of it. We all agreed to give it to Tom’s family.”

You felt your body go cold. “What happened to Tom?”

You heard Frankie’s muffled sob and you knew without needing to be told that he lost more than just money in South America.

“Fuck,” you deflated into the armchair and watched as Frankie threw his cap to the floor, running a hand through his unkempt hair.

“I should have listened to you,” Frankie repeated himself, quieter this time as he rubbed at his eyes in frustration.

“And the others?” You were close with Benny, regularly cheered him on at his MMA fights before you had the baby. Will was a good man, always asked after you and had your back when you and Frankie had gone through a rough patch a few years ago. And Santi, you’d never seen eye to eye with him, you knew if anyone was going to lead Frankie down the wrong path it would be him, but Frankie loved him like a brother.

“They’re alive,” he confirmed and you nodded in relief.

“That’s good,” you replied, because what else was there to say? The worst had happened but you were glad it wasn’t your husband coming back in a bodybag. As much as you hated him right now, the thought of never seeing Frankie again, of having to tell your daughter one day that her daddy was dead, tore you apart. You were glad he was in front of you to be angry at.

The two of you fell silent, the news of Tom’s death and the mission going wrong hanging heavy between you. You didn’t know what to say without sounding harsh. Fortunately it was Frankie that broke the silence.

“Have you both been okay?”

You wanted to laugh, remind him that you would have been a hell of a lot better at dealing with a newborn if her father was around to help but you bit your tongue and calmed your mind and remembered that what was done was done.

“Good. She’s still not sleeping through the night, but neither am I so it works out fine,” you shrugged. You wouldn’t go into detail why you weren’t able to sleep, you’d keep to yourself that you had nightmares of all the different reasons why Frankie wouldn’t make it back home. The way his eyes widened in guilt told you he probably knew anyway.

“I can take care of her tonight, if you want to try and get a good nights rest,” Frankie offered cautiously, his expression hopeful.

And how could you say no to that? He was a good dad, a natural, doting father and the reason why he’d left the two of you in the first place. And if you wanted to rebuild your relationship you would have to learn to trust him, even though you didn’t.

“That might be nice,” you halfheartedly agreed.

“I don’t want to step on your feet.”

“You’re not. You are but it’s fine. I think she missed you,” you admitted, meeting his eyes with a passive smile. You were trying, that was all he could expect of you.

You saw how tired he was, the pink in his eyes from exhaustion, the wrinkles in his brow from tension he couldn’t shake off, the downward turn of his lips and you suddenly felt the same. You couldn’t fight with him tonight, maybe tomorrow but Frankie needed sleep and peace and the feel of his baby in his arms and you didn’t have it in you anymore to deny him that.

“Go up to her,” you whispered and you think you saw the briefest flash of happiness in his eyes, “but if you wake her it’s your problem.”

Frankie wasted no time in jumping up from his seat. It looked for a second that he was going to step towards you but he thought better of it. He shucked off his boots and coat and padded up the stairs.

And that’s when you cried. All the pent up emotions of his return flooded out of you like a dam breaking. You let the tears fall but contained your sobs, not wanting Frankie to know just how much pain you were in. You were glad to see him home just as much as you were angry he had left in the first place. You had your husband back but you didn’t trust him like you once did, you didn’t trust that he wouldn’t drop you again when Santi called.

For now you’d let him hold his baby and you’d try and get some sleep for the first time since he stepped out the front door. Maybe tomorrow you could continue to repair the cracks in your home.

Permanent tag list: @autumnleaves1991-blog @phoenixhalliwell @anu-simps @computeringturtle @bts17army

#Floriography Series #Frankie Morales #Francisco Morales #Frankie Morales x Reader #Francisco Morales x Reader #Triple Frontier #Pedro Pascal

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years

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I was wondering if you could do something with ambulon, possibly fluff? Love the imagines btw

Thank you for giving me an excuse to love on my favorite underappreciated boy. Also, thank you, I love all the inspiration!

The chipping paint was a sore point for Ambulon, like so many other things about himself, but unlike all his other unfortunate traits it was made so much worse by the simple fact that it was impossible to hide. Having an embarrassing altmode, the true reason for his name, even his past as a Decepticon... he could cover all that up no problem. But the constantly chipping paint job? No shielding that from anyone close enough to simply see him...

It was made worse by how often bots tried to offer tips; use a primer, pay for a proper redo, try some new sealant... He knows they mean well, but none of them know what they're talking about, not really. If it was that easy, did they really think he wouldn't have fixed it by now? The Decepticon purple paint underneath was just as fragmented as the medic coded red and white on top, and that wasn't going to be fixed by anything simple.

The truth was "Flaky Paint Syndrome" could have many causes despite manifesting as a single, embarrassing result, and while most bots had poor application or easily irritated mesh to blame, his problem was rooted in something far less corporeal.

He was anxious. Every hour of every day, something had him on edge, and the constant strain on his nerves resulted in chips of paint cracking away from his always agitated frame. It was lucky really, most bots as unsettled as he was developed spark static or overheated and warped joints, his constant buzz of disquiet just made him look somewhat sloppy. Such a personality probably made his occupation seem like a bad choice, but he was content to endure the struggle for the satisfaction of saving lives, and now that he was on the relatively stable Lost Light he was managing better than he had in a long time. Thus, he hadn't had any plans on changing his status quo anytime soon.

Until you had showed up.

He hadn't even met a human before you'd joined the crew, but even if he had, he never could have expected that you'd get tangled up in his life the way you did. Something about you had just... connected with him. Maybe it was the fact that you didn't make fun of him, either for his altmode or his appearance, and also hadn't judged him for his past... Not even the reason for his silly name had made you laugh! He just liked spending time with you, even if it was to do nothing in particular.

As a result of these feelings, a desire to impress you had formed, and he'd actually made an effort to keep up with his looks for a change. Granted, that meant daily repaints completely unaided and in secret, all in his room where he twisted and turned in a ridiculous effort to look good for the person who probably only saw him as a friend. Logic didn't play much of a role in feelings, however.

Of course, it was just his luck you'd walked in on him at this most embarrassing time for the kind of friendly visit he ordinarily would have been thrilled about.

The cry of surprise that had escaped him when the doors whooshed open was impressively high pitched for a bot of his size, but you'd probably been more focused on the paint his startled jump had sent spattering in all directions, though none of it had flown far enough to hit you by some miracle.

"Ambulon, are you okay?!" You shouted in alarm, seeing the flash of red but not his paintbrush and immediately thinking of blood. Though you knew bots bled glowing pink, the instinct to offer aid at the first impulse was just too hard to ignore. Without hesitation, you hurried to get to his side, only growing more concerned as he hid his hand behind his back. Even if this wasn't how you'd wanted your visit to go you cared far too much about the medic to be concerned about such petty things. "What's wrong? Where are you hurt?"

"Who? Me? Hurt?" He rushes in ongoing panic, backing up against a desk to put as much space between you and him as possible. Despite looking ridiculous backing away from someone as small as you, all he can think to do is hide his paintbrush in an effort to save his dignity. At least, what's left of his dignity as he sputters through an excuse made up on the spot. "I'm just, uh... You know..."

Painting a landscape? Applying color to his hab suite? Decorating his medical supplies!?

"Are you painting something?" You asked, moving your small body to catch a glimpse of a bot sized paintbrush in the hand he hadn't done a good enough job of hiding. You figuring out the problem actually seemed to make him panic more, and he twisted again to hide the offending object behind his back, looking down at you as if you'd just stumbled upon him burying a body.

"Of course not!" He said in a rush, lie falling apart when the thick application of bright red he'd applied to his chest dripped downwards from the force of his rapid twisting around. Cringing, he avoided your eyes like a criminal. It would be bad enough if you simply knew about his troubles in any level of detail, but to have personally seen his juvenile and ridiculous efforts to cover up his humiliating condition... Would it be too much to ask that he dissapear at this very moment?

"Ambulon, are you okay?"

Nope, he's not, he won't be ever again but it's very nice that you thought to ask-

"Seriously, look at me."

You're firm but not at all angry as you issue the command, starting to put the pieces together in a way that makes some sense. The medic has had paint troubles more or less his entire life, as you've heard, but they had started to dissapear right about when you showed up. Though you hadn't pried, it had been logical to assume he'd been fixing himself up. Regardless of the accuracy of your guess, however, you know that this bot needs help. As much as you care for him, you simply can't let him suffer needlessly. No matter how often he switches between seeking you out and avoiding you...

"I'm... I'm fine, I promise." He mumbles, feeling like a pitiful failure for not even thinking to lock his door. There's so much to be embarrassed by he doesn't even know where to begin being mortified, but it's obvious the fallout will be a spiral into further humiliation, so he still wants to stall. You'll laugh when you hear he's been fixing himself up in a ridiculous attempt to impress you, because of course it's absurd, and he'll never be able to show his face again...

"Why are you embarrassed about some paint? I figured bots touched themselves up every now and then." You said innocently, baffled as to why he'd react in such a way. Rodimus bragged about redoing his colors all the time, so you'd figured there were no issues in doing so. Was there some other reason this could be considered embarrassing? The only possible explanation required you to go on a bit of a limb, but for his sake you decided to chance it, gulping once before you hesitantly spoke up. "Did you do this for me? Have you been redoing the colors since I got here?"

Ambulon flinched, and you realized you'd hit the nail on the head.

"I'm sorry-"

"For what?" You asked incredulously, head swimming with emotions clustering to be felt first. There was surprise, giddy delight, bashfulness, and even confoundment at the idea you could be in this situation. A part of you wanted to celebrate, but there was still far too much to sort through at the moment. His look of hopelessness exemplified the problem.

"For being ridiculous! Look at me! Pretending if I touch up some rough patches, it'll actually do anything? Ha!" He said, giving voice to the unpleasant uncertainty that lurked just below the surface. Drowning in his insecurity, he frowned hard, the absurdity of what he'd been trying to do all but slapping him in the face. Forget the species difference, you were a vibrant and charming individual who deserved far better than he. What had he even been trying to do? The answer came out of him as he sunk down to the ground and let the brush fall, hugging his knees as the weight of it all pulled him down. "I wanted so badly to look good for you, I lost track of common sense..."

"But Ambulon-"

Unable to hear you, he kept right on going, lost in his own little fog of shame. "You weren't supposed to know... Nobody was supposed to know... But I blew it-"

"Ambulon!"

You couldn't take it any more. The heartbreaking sight of the bot you thought was so delightful tearing himself apart was too much. Ignoring any common sense, you put yourself out for his sake, opening up your heart in the hope that your own vulnerabilities might help him feel better. A tender hand on his own preceded a gentle expression of reasurance as you looked into his optics.

"I'm flattered you want to look your best for me, really. But it's not necessary." You said, suddenly aware that your heart was hammering as you prepared to confess. It was probably about time you cut to the chase, after spending these months bobbing along in uncertainty, but that didn't make it any less scary to be so open. Hopefully it would all end well... "I think you look fine just how you are."

Ambulon felt his processor go blank, and all that he could do was fall back on his usual attitude with a surprised retort. "But I'm a mess!"

You laughed, but not in the way he'd feared. It was a good natured, loving, laughing with him and not at him kind of sound. "I don't care about some paint chips now and then, you goof. Why do you think I'm here?" All of a sudden your fear seemed to be turning into confidence, the anxieties you'd created for yourself melting away as the truth came out. Seeing a towering alien laid low by your simple feelings definitely made it much easier to express them. "I wanted to see you, purple and red and all, because I like you."

Something clicked inside of him upon hearing those words. So much shame and fear dissolved in what felt like an instant, his optics pushing up with his cheeks as he smiled the biggest and happiest smile he could, optics brightening the whole while. It was what he'd wanted more than anything but feared he'd never receive. Unfurling his legs, he leaned down just a tad to get closer. Heedless to everything about himself that had bothered him so much, he spoke softly in return.

"I really like you too."

"I know." You replied softly, looking to the brush that had fallen to the floor and the paint still drying on his frame as an idea hatched in your head. The two of you had a lot to talk about, it seemed, and you had the perfect way to pass the time while doing so. "Now, how about I help you finish up? Don't want all this to go to waste."

Realizing what you were suggesting, he picked up a much smaller paintbrush and handed it to you, still smiling as he helped you onto his desk where the paints laid out for use.

"I'd like that."

#ambulon #ambulon x reader #transformers #maccadam #tf #idw #more than meets the eye #mtmte #lost light #human reader #self insert #my writing #requests #my asks #anon

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iwritetopassthetime · 3 years

Note

Hey 👋

How are you? I saw your post got requests and I was wondering if I could put one in?

I was wondering if i could request a wee fic of the triple frontier Boys meeting frankies new baby for the first time?

Thanks! Hope you have a nice day 😊💛

Frankie’s darlings (Frankie Morales x fem!reader)

There you go, honey! Hope you like it 🌸

P.S. I’m really good, I have a little off time from uni so I’m spending it doing nice things :D

The nights in the last couple of weeks had been peaceful and quiet. The weather was getting warmer, so the windows of the cottage were open most of the time to let the soft breeze into the small space inside. The gentle hum of the waves being welcomed into the shore filled the calmness of the night until a little cry replaced the tune of the ocean.

Frankie was wide awake. He turned his face to see his beautiful wife, cuddled up to him with her head nestled into the crook of his neck. She hummed in her sleep, her hand moving up his chest and she shuffled just a bit to get more comfortable. Frankie was glad that at least she could get some rest; she needed it.

He gently moved Y/N off of him, placing his pillow where he just lay for her to hold, and thankfully she didn’t stir. With a quick stretch to awaken his sleeping limbs, Frankie padded to the corner of the bedroom where the little crib they borrowed from his cousin stayed. The wood was repainted white, the only additional colour being the handmade baby mobile and the neat drawing of a bear on the headboard. Both Y/N’s creations, along with her most beautiful one which was currently sniffing inside the crib itself.

Frankie poked his head above his disgruntled baby daughter. He gingerly picked her up, cradling her tiny body to his chest and shushing her. ‘Hey, pequeñita. Por qué lloras?’ (Hey, little one. Why are you crying?) Frankie checked her diaper, bounced on his feet, patted her back, but it became obvious that she didn’t want to calm down, so he decided to take her out to the rocking swing they had on the porch. It seemed to relax her when she had sleepless nights.

‘There we go,’ Frankie groaned when he lowered himself on the swing. The baby quickly quieted down when her dad started swinging them gently. He moved her so she was laying, cradled in his arms and he smiled down at her. ‘Don’t worry, I can’t sleep either. But we have to keep quiet so Mama can rest.’

Y/N had had to return to working at the restaurant almost immediately after giving birth. It was not like she didn’t enjoy it, she was happy to be back in charge of her “minions” as she endearingly called her staff. But it had obviously taken a toll on her, what with giving birth a little over than two months ago. Thankfully, the restaurant manager had begged her to take half days and eventually she relented, but with the baby finding it hard to sleep most nights, Y/N needed some sleep.

Frankie poked his daughter’s nose and she gave him a toothless grin, staring up into her father’s eyes. She grabbed onto his finger and Frankie beamed at her antics.

‘Can you explain to me why I was cuddling a pillow?’ Frankie turned his head when he heard his wife’s teasing remark. She smiled sleepily, sitting down next to him. Frankie moved one of his arms and wrapped it around Y/N’s shoulders, bringing her in. The baby smiled at her mother.

‘Sorry, cariño. Didn’t want to wake you up. And I was already awake.’

‘Did Polly wake you up? Or are you still anxious about the boys coming over today?’

Frankie looked down at Y/N, marvelling at how easy she could read him. She tilted her head, giving him a pitying smile and resting her palm gently on his scruffy cheek. She kissed the tiny bald patch on his jaw.

‘I haven’t seen Pope since… I don’t know why, I’m probably overreacting.’

Y/N shook her head, ‘You’re not. It’s normal to be feeling that way. Remember when Will and Benny came to the hospital when Polly was born and the three of you spent a full minute just staring at each other. What happened… there, it’s normal for it to leave a bad taste in your mouth.’

Frankie nodded, looking down at his adorable Apolónia who seemed to be trying to get her mother’s attention. The baby made a couple of cough-like sounds, pushing her arms out and waving them. Y/N grinned, gently taking little Polly from her father’s arms. She pulled her T-shirt up and let the baby happily suckle on her breast. Y/N sighed deeply, closing her eyes and resting her head on Frankie’s shoulder while he gazed at her with adoration.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmured, ‘you know that?’

‘Pfff…’ Y/N scoffed, but looked up nonetheless and smiled at her husband. ‘Thank you.’

Frankie lifted the thumb of the hand he had around Y/N’s shoulders to softly caress Apolónia’s head. She made a gurgling sound, her tiny mouth living her mother’s breast. Y/N pulled her shirt down.

‘Do you think our little sueñito will sleep now?’ Frankie chuckled. The nickname had become more of a sarcastic one given little Apolónia’s dislike for night time rest.

‘She’ll need to,’ Y/N replied. ‘She’s meeting her uncles today and both know how loud and excitable they are. She’ll need some energy to cope with that.’

+++

‘FRANKIE!’ Will and Benny screamed once the door opened. Frankie shook his head, giving each brother a hug.

‘Where’s Y/N?’ Benny immediately pushed past Frankie, looking for his wife instead. ‘Did she make some of that puff pastry shit again. I’m starving!’

‘He’s on a new eating regime,’ Will explained, slapping Frankie on the shoulder and walked inside the cottage. ‘Hey yo, Benny! Be careful not to raid their fridge, alright?’

‘Shut up!’

Frankie turned his attention to the final person standing on the porch. Pope kept his head low so the brim of his cap nearly covered his eyes. He had one hand in his jacket’s pocket and the other was holding a potted plant. He smiled stiffly at his bestfriend, offering a quiet greeting. Frankie pulled him in for a strong hug, patting him on the back.

‘Te extrañó, hermano.’ (I missed you, brother.) Frankie told him, feeling his friend’s shoulders deflate a little as he probably sighed in relief.

‘Y tú, Frankie,’ (And I you, Frankie.) Santi pulled away, schooling his expression to a relaxed one, but it was obvious he expected. ‘Um.. brought this for Y/N ‘cause I remember you saying she’s a chef.’

‘She’ll love it, come in.’

Will was sprawled on the couch with a bottle of Budweiser already and Benny was cooing at Apolónia who was safely in her mother’s arms. Y/N grinned at Benny who made stupid faces, trying to get the baby to laugh but she was just staring at him with wide eyes.

Benny groaned, ‘Fucking hell, Y/N. Get a refund ‘cause that baby’s broken.’

Y/N slapped his chest in reply. ‘Your sense of humour’s broken, Benny. Not my daughter, thank you very much.’

Frankie smiled at their exchange and pushed Santi forward to finally introduce him to his wife. ‘Cariño, this is Santiago.’ He moved to stand behind her shoulder. ‘Santi, this is Y/N.’

‘It’s very nice to meet you,’ Pope simply nodded in her direction, but Y/N was having none of that, instead taking a step to him and briskly kissing him on both cheeks.

‘You took your sweet time, Santiago. I was wondering if Polly’s gonna be a pre-schooler when you decided to come and visit.’

Pope chuckled at her remark. ‘By the way,’ he held the potted plant forward, ‘peace offering?’

Y/N took a whiff of the plant and beamed. ‘Oh, you brought me parsley. How thoughtful! Frankie, can you take Polly for a sec. Thank you, Santiago.’

‘No problem.’

Y/N clapped her hands and made her way to their small kitchen. 'Boys, go to the table outside, I’ll bring out the snacks.’

‘Do you have the puff pastries?’ Benny yelled while fighting his brother for a spot on the couch.

‘Yes, Benny. Now get your ass outside.’

It was always endearing to see four men, formally of the Delta Force, literally swooning over a baby. Apolónia was revelling in the attention, waving her little fists in the air. The men aw’d and it was all too much for Y/N who snorted with laughter, putting down two trays on the porch table.

‘She’s controlling you like hell.’ Y/N said, cutting into one of the pastry dishes on the table. ‘It’s usually her dad who’s all googly eyes at her, but now she has an audience.’

Benny grinned devilishly. ‘Seeing how good she can wave those fists around, we can make an MMA fighter of her. That way she’ll always have an audience.’

‘Over my dead body, Benjamin.’ Y/N told him with a mock serious expression.

‘Ah, ta ta ta!’ Frankie wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist when she sat next to him, not remotely liking even the suggestion of that happening. He’d nearly had a heart attack when she looked half-dead in the maternity ward while giving birth to Apolónia. He didn’t need to be reminded of that horrible, gut-wrenching sight or the mere thought of his wife leaving him forever.

‘Mmmm,’ Ben groaned in delight when he cut into his pastry. ‘And that’s the thing that I couldn’t remember the name of, right? Jesus, fucking delicious!’

‘Benny, no swearing in front of the baby.’ Frankie warned.

‘She can’t even understand language yet!’

Will slapped his brother on the back of the head. ‘No swearing at all, dickhead. Sorry, Y/N.’

‘Oh, please. Swearing’s good for the nerves. You know I can’t stay away from a good ol’ “fuck” for too long. Right, baby.’ Y/N winked at Frankie who’s face turned red. He bit his lip, looking down at the baby, cuddled in the crook of his elbow. Y/N giggled, taking a sip from the lemonade she made for the lot.

‘You two are just the cutest,’ Will commented. ‘They grow up fast, don’t they, Pope.’

Santiago grinned, now more relaxed than when he first came in. ‘What I want to know is how he—’ he pointed at Frankie, ‘—bagged you. I mean he’s a sexy mug, but he was never good at wooing ladies.’

‘Oh, I had to woo him.’ Y/N explained. She looked lovingly at her husband, giving him a tender pat on the cheek. ‘He was too shy to talk to me, so I had to do it for him.’

‘Good thing you have more guts than me then, cariño.’ Frankie told her and she shushed him playfully. Polly started to get fussy and instantly drew her father’s and everybody else’s attention. ‘What’s wrong, pequeñita?’

‘She doesn’t like not getting attention,’ Y/N joked heartily. ‘Benny, if you’re done eating half that tray, would you like to hold your niece?’

Ben’s eyes glowed and he pushed his arms out, making grabby motions with his hands like a kid, his mouth half full. ‘Give, give, give. Hello, you little devil. Who’s gonna teach you how to fight? Who’s gonna make those little chubby arms into big muscly machines so you can beat up creeps with uncle Benny.’

Y/N rolled her eyes at Benny’s words, ignoring his promise to teach her daughter to “beat up creeps”. He was making more and more silly faces at her, altering between blowfish face and crossing his eyes. All to make her life. In the end he got her to giggle and lift her hand to grab onto his nose. Benny ouched, pulling his nose out of her grasp.

‘Maybe you should return her to the pro before you drop her on her head,’ Will suggested to his brother, earning a kick under the table from Benny who still gave Polly back to her mother. ‘There ya go, punk. Back to Mummy.’

Apolónia hummed when she was in her mother’s arms, settling and playing with the collar of Y/N’s shirt. Y/N lifted her finger, hoping it would distract the baby for a little while and once the digit was in the air in front of her eyes, Apolónia was grabbing it with one hand and trying to put it in her mouth.

‘So why Apolónia?’ Santiago asked, helping himself to a second portion of Y/N’s dish.

‘Frankie’s grandmother’s name,’ Y/N explained. ‘And one of the nurses in the hospital was a pagan who swore Polly’s first cry sounded like a song, so it must be a gift from Apollo.’ She beamed at her daughter. ‘Can’t say she’s wrong. This little thing has lungs like an Olympic swimmer.’

Frankie nodded. ‘Well, can’t say that he crying sounds like bird song all the time. Especially when it’s 3AM.’

‘True.’ Y/N laughed, affectionately bumping her forehead against his.

‘I’m really happy for you two,’ Pope said finally.

‘Thanks, hermano.’ Frankie patted his best friend on the shoulder.

‘Thanks, Santi.’ Y/N smiled. ‘Now eat before this food vacuum finished all of it.’

‘Not my fault you’re cooking’s incredible,’ Benny protested then brightened up when Y/N told him that there was a third tray in the oven anyways.

Frankie tightened his hold around Y/N’s waist, drawing her attention back to himself and briefly kissed her and told her ‘Te amo’ before digging into his own plate. The small group ate, and laughed, and got to catch up on thing missed in the mean time. Y/N was delighted to see Frankie interact with his best friend after a long time apart and couldn’t hide how proud she was of her husband’s kind and resilient nature. And towards the end of their little lunch, Apolónia managed to fall asleep in uncle Santi’s arms to her parents’ great surprise.

The wind blew soft and quiet around them, carrying with it the smell and sound of the ocean. The sky was starting to turn different shades of yellow, orange and pink. Will and Benny took their turns peppering Polly’s forehead in kisses and quietly saying their goodbyes to her parents. Finally, Santiago carefully handed the sleeping baby to Y/N, thanking her for the meal and invitation. Him and Frankie shared a final hug before the shorter man was joining the Miller brothers in their truck and the three were on their way out of the Morales’ family sandy driveway.

‘Thank you for today, cariño.’ Frankie told Y/N, once the dishes were washed and dried, and the little one was fast asleep in her crib. His arm was lazily stroking his wife’s bare thigh, underneath the bedsheet. ‘If it was up to me we would’ve watched soccer, drank beer and would’ve never such a great time.’

‘You’re not giving yourself enough credit, my love.’ Y/N rubbed a thumb into Frankie’s cheekbone. She pushed herself closer to him, planting a brief but sweet kiss to his lips. ‘I’m glad you and Santiago are okay. I know it must’ve been difficult what with the bad memories of that place, but I never doubted your strength of character.’

‘Thank you, mi amor.’ Frankie smiled at her, pulling her closer to his body as he felt sleep finally come over him and he yawned. ‘If he can make Polly pass out so quickly, we should have him over every other night.’

‘Or even ask him to move in,’ Y/N joked, yawning as well.

‘Sleep now, cariño. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Frankie.’

Main masterlist or buy me a ko-fi? 🌸

__________________________________

[THANK YOU for this request @phoenixhalliwell! It was so fun to write, and especially since this is my first time writing about Frankie as well! Does that mean that I’ve popped my Frankie cherry then?😉🍒🍒]

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #one shot #request #pedro pascal x reader #Pedro Pascal #iwritetopassthetime #triple frontier

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 3 years

Text

Riding the Lightning: Part Two

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word Count: ~2.1k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill, fluff and angst

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated.

Feedback is gold, and it’s the only currency I take

The couple’s house hasn’t been treated well. It has so much graffiti and damage that the city had to put a chain-link fence around the place to keep trespassers away. However, if more came, it wouldn’t make much of a difference. The place is so badly damaged, you’re shocked it’s still standing. This place holds a lot of memories, and none of them are good.

This used to be a good house--you can see it. Years of ignored care left it in the state it’s in. The outside walls used to be bright white but now are a dirty color. The wood is falling apart at the base of the house. The windows are smashed and shattered, so to keep people out of the house, they board it up haphazardly.

��Jacob's workshop is out the back,” Derek says.

“I don’t know about this place, Derek. I have a really bad feeling,” you say with an uneasy feeling.

Derek leads you onto the property and towards the back. The closer you get to the place where his workshop used to be, the more the uneasy feeling comes back. All that’s left back there is just dirt, but you can clearly see the workshop as if it were standing right now. Everything is perfectly clear as to what used to be here.

“He claimed that Sarah Jean would lure the victims from mall parking lots. She'd invite them to smoke pot in her truck. They'd find Jacob but no pot. They’d bring them here.”

“This is where the workshop stood,” you state, looking around as if it were actually here.

“What do you see?”

“It’s a lot smaller than I thought it was going to be. It’s big enough to not warrant concerns from anyone else but small enough to hide away from the street’s view. It looks homey like a guest house, but not too scary to throw off any of the people who passed by the house on a daily basis. There are high cabinets with a ton of tools inside like a mechanic would have. There are some tools hanging on the far wall, a few desks around, and a big bench saw,” you whisper fearfully when you see what’s on it.

Right on the blade is red liquid, and you know it’s blood.

“The blade has a ton of blood on it. He used it to cut up his victims,” you say.

As you get out the last word, you see a mystified version of Jacob standing by the saw with one of his faceless victims on the table. She is squirming, but he cuts her up anyway. Sarah Jean is nowhere to be found, but you have a feeling that she didn’t know he did this to these poor girls. Killing, maybe, but killing them this way, absolutely not. Sarah Jean was a victim herself--and she still is.

“I can’t look at this anymore,” you whisper and look away from the crime scene that’s no longer there.

“We know that Jacob was abused as a child. What about Sarah Jean?” Derek asks.

“Her mother refused to give any testimony in her defense. She never talked to anybody,” you state.

When you look back at Derek, the workshop had disappeared. Your mind is focused on something else, so it doesn’t have the energy to conjure up what was, but instead, focuses on what is.

“Maybe she's willing to talk now. Let's go pay Sarah Jean's mother a visit.”

“Despite what happened, she doesn’t live far. It’s within walking distance.”

“I wonder why she didn’t move halfway around the world.”

“She’s a mother, Derek. A Mother doesn’t abandon her children,” you say with sadness.

“You say that like you know that. Do you have children?”

“No.”

You don’t say anything more on the matter, not like you would if you could. Your past promised to stay in the past, so there is no use in digging up things that have been locked away for almost a decade now. You two quickly head over to Sarah Jean’s mother’s house to see if she’ll talk to you now.

Her house is still standing, but it looks like there is a lot of work still left to be done. Its as if she wants to repaint and redo the house to give it a new start so she can somehow move on from all this. No matter how much work is done on the house, you can still sense the sadness within the foundations. Right by the door is ‘Rot in Hell Sarah Jean’ spray-painted loud for anyone who walks by. You ignore it and knock on the door, looking at Derek when she doesn’t answer.

“She’s sad, Derek--in more pain than anyone I’ve seen in a while,” you sigh.

“Hello? Anybody? Hello! Mrs. Mason?” Derek yells, knowing she is home.

The door opens and Sarah’s mother, Deborah Mason, stands there with a small teacup in her hands.

“Yeah?”

“Are you Sarah Jean Dawes’ mother?” you ask.

“Who the hell are you?”

“FBI. We are from the behavior analysis unit,” you state and flash her your badge.

“My daughter and her son of a bitch husband buried a thirteen-year-old girl under my floor. What more do you need to know?”

“Ma'am, Sarah Jean has agreed to meet with our colleges to talk about why they killed those girls. We'd like some background information if you don't mind,” Derek says gently.

She has nothing to lose by letting you two in and talking, so she just shrugs and lets the door open as she heads back inside. The inside looks the same as the outside, but with more work. Plastic covers virtually everything as she gets ready to repaint the house. There are some parts torn up from the floor, so you’re careful as you walk inside to where Deborah is in the kitchen. This is an open floor plan, and you can see into the dining room on the other end of the kitchen right through an arched entryway. Almost every doorway is an arch.

“Extensive remodeling. Jacob built the original extension?” you ask and point to the arch separating the kitchen and the dining room. “I see he liked arches.”

“Teenage girls, agent, that's what he liked.”

“How was Sarah Jean growing up?”

“Fine, until she met Jacob. She was shy, quiet, and also smart.”

She picks up a bottle of vodka and adds more to her small teacup, and you exchange silent glances with Derek.

“What about her relationship with her father?” you wonder. “Was Sarah ever abused?”

“He was strict. He was a military man. They didn't always see eye to eye. That's all history. He's dead. She's about to die,” she sighs and drinks from the cup.

“Mrs. Mason, if we better understand the dynamics of her relationships, we can get a better idea of why and what actually happened,” Derek says.

“Dynamics?” she scoffs and moves away from the kitchen to the living room where her purse is.

“Well, it might answer why Jacob never killed Sarah Jean. They shared something.”

“They shared pain.”

“How strict was your husband? How did he discipline Sarah Jean? Was he physical with her?” you pry.

“He was a mean bastard, but he only hurt me… never her.”

“Why didn’t you leave with her?”

“Because we had no place to go,” her voice falters as she takes another sip.

“An anonymous caller tipped the police off about Jacob, was it you?” you ask.

“No, but I know who it was,” she says and pulls out a letter from her purse. She hands it to you, and you take it gently from her hands. “This came this morning.”

You open the letter, and your mouth hangs open just a bit when you read exactly what it is.

“What does it say?” Derek asks.

“It’s a statement of innocence,” you reveal. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to call Gideon about this.”

You quickly head outside and dial Penelope so she can patch you through to the older agent.

“Garcia,” she says once she answers.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. I need Gideon please.”

“Yeah, I'll pass you through,” she puts you on a brief hold until she can get the older agent on the line for you.

“What?” Gideon mutters quietly.

“We're at the mother's house, and she gave me a letter. A statement of innocence. I want to read to you.”

“Read the letter, Y/N.”

“Mom, I know how difficult this must be. Things between us were never what they should be between a mother and a daughter. I want you to know that the best part of me, the most important part of me, is now in a better place than you and I will ever be. I'm responsible for the death of those girls. I neglected my duties as a woman and as a mother.”

There is more to it, but you can hear Sarah Jean get upset over the line. You don’t know what is happening, but you feel like you need to get over there right now. Screw prisons and your fear of them. You need to help this woman, and it sounds like you can, based on what you hear over the phone.

“I’m coming over there. I’ll be there soon,” you say to whoever is listening before hanging up. Derek exits the house, and you put your phone away and hand him the letter. “I’m going back to prison. You’ll be okay here? I can send Elle to help you.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I’ll see if I can’t get anything else out of Deborah.”

“Okay, stay safe.”

“And stay sane,” he quips back as you head to the car.

When you get to the prison, Gideon and Spencer are done talking to Sarah Jean. She didn’t know you would be reading her private letter, so she needed to clear her head before you go and talk to her. If she is truly innocent, then why is she fighting so hard to stay here? Why not fight to get out and separate herself fro Jacob? She is scared of something… or she’s trying to protect someone. You sent Elle to go to Derek when you arrived, and the team gathers where Penelope is to watch the tapes of the interviews to see if they can’t spot anything that they might have missed.

“They died as a result of my neglect,” Sarah Jean whispers regretfully.

“This letter suggests to me that an innocent woman is about to be executed for a crime she did not commit.”

“I could tell you right now, it's not enough to get a stay,” Sam Shapiro sighs.

“Well, facts. Reid,” Gideon says.

“Human sexuality is a complex dynamic of three components: biological, physiological, and emotional. Jacob's needs were informed by the emotional, sexual abuse that he received at the hand of his mother. Long term appetitive abuse informed the template of his love map. Something we refer to as a signature. Jacob was an only child, so he was alone when the abuse occurred. So, in order for him to fulfill his fantasy he has got to be alone with his victims.”

You look from the tape of Sarah Jean to the one with Jacob, and you just narrow our eyes in anger for him. He’s not a good person at all, and you refuse to even be in within sight of him. There is no way you’ll survive talking to him about anything.

“If I told you that what would I have left for myself?” Jacob says over the tape.

“He said ‘myself’. If Sarah Jean was present, it would have destroyed his fantasy,” you note.

“She confessed to killing her son,” the warden, Charles Diehl, states.

“Yes, true, but we are also convinced that she is the anonymous caller that made the phone call that nailed Jacob. In fact, I know she is.”

“Guilt-ridden and filled with remorse, she called the police. It's not the profile of a woman who would then kill a child,” Gideon sighs.

“What else do you need?” you ask the attorney.

“Evidence.”

“So, if we prove Jacob killed Riley, would that get a stay?”

“Absolutely.”

“She protects the painting, she protects the boy,” Gideon mutters.

“What?” you ask.

“Paintings are her statement. We need to figure out what they say.”

“Get me into her room, and I’ll find that out. I have to be alone though. I can’t have her influence on this.”

“You’ll get it,” Gideon confirms with a single nod.

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kidchickpea · 4 years

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Clear Shell Football Helmet Restoration

Vintage clear shell helmets are by far my favorite type of collectible helmet. Like most old helmets, however, most of the ones we find are in bad shape. Restoration is much more difficult because you can’t just sand and paint - you have to remove the paint while trying to maintain the transparency of the shell.

Once the paint has been removed, dealing with replacement decals and painting can be just as challenging:

What to use for decals? They have to be applied to the inside of the helmet, before the paint, securely to avoid paint bleeding, and colorful enough to adequately show through the plastic shell.

How to prep the inner surface for paint considering you want the shell to be as clear as possible?

What paint to use?

How to avoid paint bleeding into the decals?

If you mess up any of this once you start painting, the only way to recover is to go back to step one and re-remove the paint and decals...yikes.

Over the last several months I've worked (and reworked) a few 1970s MacGregor helmets. I thought I'd share my experience. Some of this information may be obvious but is included for someone starting with no experience. This is by no means a complete guide, just some of what I have learned.

This work is not for the faint of heart and this information is presented without any guarantee of success. If you don’t want to deal with the heartache and disappointment that can come from trial and error (and almost certainly screwing something up bigtime) then I would recommend sticking with refurbishing regular plastic shell helmets. Those can be challenging enough just getting the paint to look right. But if you really want a reproduction of that sweet helmet worn by the likes of Joe Washington or Hollywood Henderson, without doling out hundreds or thousands of dollars, refurbishing an old clear shell might be worth it.

Paint removal

Always test a small inconspicuous area before trying to do the whole helmet.

I found that Motsenbocker's Lift Off Paint & Varnish Remover works very well and does not damage the clear plastic shell. I applied it to a 1974 MacGregor that was painted silver and after a few minutes the paint literally peeled right off with no damage to the plastic. The helmet had red horseshoe logos under the paint and that material was actually harder to completely remove. See sanding and polishing info below for the solution.

I also used Motsenbocker's on a helmet that I had repainted with Krylon spray paint. After applying the remover and letting it sit for an hour the paint came off cleanly using a plastic scraper. Again, no damage to the plastic.

I have only done this on a few vintage MacGregor helmets so results may vary if different paints were used originally, if the plastic is in poor condition, etc. I have not tried this on Kelley, Maxpro or any other older clear shells.

If you're going to try Motsenbocker's, the only place I could find it was ordering online from Home Depot. $25 for 64oz. A reseller on Walmart.com has it listed for $100 which shows how hard it is to find. As stated earlier, test it in a small area first.

I also tried CitriStrip Paint & Varnish Stripping Gel and it was more harsh, melting the clear plastic if left on more than a few minutes (similar to nail polish remover). I would not recommend it.

Cleaning up the plastic shell after stripping paint

There will be some residual paint after the Motsenbocker's. I have had success wet sanding with 400 grit to get rid of the residuals. Follow that with wet sanding with 600 grit, then 800, then 1000. Go to 1500 if you like. A spray bottle filled with water is very handy. Also, if you have stubborn paint you can use 100 grit dry to start, followed by 220-320 wet, then 400, etc., and it will clean up OK.

After wet sanding, the shell will be hazy but should be scratch free and smooth. To restore the clear shell I use Novus 7100 Plastic Polish Kit with a cordless drill with foam polishing head. #3 (heavy scratch remover) followed by #2 (fine scratch remover). Polish each step until the material dries up or wears off. Wipe out the residual after each step.

The Novus does a good job but the residue left behind, while invisible, adds to the challenge of painting. You can wash the helmet with Dawn dish soap to remove the residue; however, you will consequently lose some clarity and get some haziness (which is when I redo #2 polishing). Balancing the transparency of the shell vs. having the best surface for painting is challenging. I have applied decals (see below for details) then wiped the exposed inside with rubbing alcohol to prep for paint. I've had mixed results.

Logos and stripes

This step is probably the hardest. One option is to not use decals or vinyl at all - mask off the inside of the helmet and paint logos, stripes and then the shell. This is a viable option but painting scares me enough that I try to only have to do one color, that of the shell, and use decals for logos and stripes.

I purchased Sunnyscopa Waterslide Decal Paper from Amazon. They offer white and clear. White is only useful for white stripes or simple white logos (like Oklahoma). Anything bigger and it's very hard to work with. And of course you can't print on the white because the sticky side has to face outwards.

The clear labels are good for small things printed in black (reversed of course), like the MacGregor or Kelley logo for the back of the helmet. I have not had luck with colors on the clear decal paper, as they do not print with full opacity (washed out). That is not to say it’s impossible - maybe I don’t have the right printer. Also, the larger the decal, the more stretching needed to fit the curve of a helmet. When stretched, the ink widens with the label and you’ll eventually get gaps in the colored areas.

I have heard there are companies that print custom waterslide decals but I have not found been able to find any in my limited Google searches. Sounds expensive (relatively) and it might be hard to find anyone that will print what may be considered copyrighted material.

I have a Silhouette Cameo 4 vinyl cutter and have had some success with Oracal 651 vinyl. However, I have also had some problems with paint bleeding inside the label. I have tried applying vinyl decals with strips of clear waterslide decal paper along the edges to act as a seal against bleeding. This does a good job of preventing bleeding but:

Applying the material along all the edges can be challenging. Depending on the decals there might be a lot of edge to cover. Also, working with larger pieces of the waterslide decal paper is difficult. The edges fold over and it’s very hard to undo that, often forcing you to start with a new piece.

The decal paper keeps the paint from adhering to the plastic because, obviously, it is a layer of material between the paint and the shell. If the waterslide material lifts or is removed, the paint goes with it.

I have also purchased 8 mil white Convex GearWrap (SKU C8155W), which is thicker than Oracal and also seems more adhesive. It is possible to place decals cut in Oracal on the sticky side of the GearWrap, thus using the GearWrap adhesive to hold the decal in place on the helmet. This is an acquired skill however.

Painting

Painting clear, smooth, glossy plastic is definitely a challenge. You want to keep the plastic as clear and smooth as possible so the decals, stripes and paint show through as clearly as possible. But that goes against the normal process of prepping a surface for paint by sanding it.

That said, I have had good success with Krylon Colormaxx paints (labeled for metal, wood, plastic...). Make sure you inside surface is a clean as possible. Try wiping a small area with alcohol. As mentioned, however, you’ll probably get some haziness in the plastic when cleaning it with alcohol. Keep in mind, though, when the paint is applied it seems to “moisten” the surface, thus removing the haze.

Spray several light coats, waiting the recommended minute or two, or even longer, between coats. After several coats, hold the helmet up to a light source and examine the entirety of the inside. If you can see any light showing through the paint, focus subsequent coats on those areas. Interestingly, even if you end up with some light spots, they are not often noticeable in the finished product.

One of the advantages of painting the inside of a helmet is that if you end up with drips they won’t be visible from the outside (unless it’s metallic paint - see below).

If there are spots inside the helmet that are not properly prepped, you might see some patches where the paint “beads”. Like drips, however, this is not as big of an issue as it might seem. Try letting the coat dry for a few minutes and reapply paint. Eventually the patches will be covered. How well the paint has adhered is another story, though. Try to ensure the inner surface is as clean as possible before painting.

Metallic paints present additional challenges and I would recommend avoiding them. If you run into drips or beading, you will most likely see these defects in the finished product. Because of the metal flecks in the paint, if it is not applied evenly the finish will be uneven, and drips will be obvious. Also, if the paint is not mixed (shaken) consistently it will come out of the can in different mixtures, further hosing up the finished product. I don’t know anything about the makeup of different spray paints but I would not be surprised if metallic paints have additional ingredients that don’t mesh will with smooth plastic.

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colombiapola · 3 years

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Cartagena, Colombia - At Peace By The Beach

I slipped on a set of loose-fitting cotton shorts, and stepped out of my coastline front hotel area for the night. Within a few steps, I remained in the middle of a folkloric dance group Pola Colombia

Women in white embroidered gowns were swirling around their male companions, at the very same time, generating a mild wind in the damp, seaside air.

This is regular of Colombia, a nation that takes the art of dance and also charm contests seriously. Integrate this with the all-natural, eruptive rhythms of Afro-Colombians who heavily populate the seaside locations, and you have actually obtained one continual road event.

Although their Spanish conquerors have long left, Colombians continue to discharge a flamenco-like atmosphere.

Founded in 1533 by Pedro de Heredia, Cartagena worked as a delivery course and storage space for emeralds and also gold that was later delivered to Spain.

This picturesque city on the Caribbean coastline was once the main access port of African servants to the Americas; currently it's a UNESCO World Heritage Site, as well as Colombia's favored vacationer location.

Cartagena was attacked sometimes throughout history. The British and also French stormed the city looking for cached prizes. Pirates additionally navigated its waters trying to find other hidden riches.

Among the most significant attacks came from Sir Francis Drake, that in 1586, shown up under the cover of darkness with a large team of men. By daylight, they required a lot of the city to run away. Prior to leaving eight months later on, they torched residences, services, and extorted local government authorities out of substantial amounts of cash, as well as swiped useful jewels.

The last major assault happened in 1741, when British Leader, Edward Vernon, as well as George Washington's half bro, showed up with over 25,000 soldiers and a fight group of 186 ships. Although the Spaniards and African servants were exceeded 7 to one, they withheld the assault and placed a counterattack which compelled Commander Vernon to withdraw his troops. Sadly for him, not before he lost virtually fifty percent of his men, and a lot of his battleships.

Today, Cartagena is a city which continues to hold much of its old Spanish splendor. Spread throughout the older barrios are balconied colonial buildings, repainted in a wide variety of shades.

The old, main component of Cartagena is reinforced by 14 miles of stone walls, and various other fortifications. Numerous locals still believe the material used to hold with each other these stones, was combined with the blood of African servants. Whether that holds true or otherwise, lots of servants died below while assisting to fortify the city against pirates.

The Castle of San Felipe de Barajas was built in between 1536 as well as 1657. The very same citadel that endured the attack of Commander Vernon as well as his soldiers still overlook Cartagena. One glimpse and it's noticeable why it could not be penetrated.

Contemporary Cartagena is overcome consistently by a stable circulation of Colombian, as well as international visitors. The majority of their emphasis is on the old city, where they extend down slim rock streets in search of historic sites.

As you enter Plaza de los Coches (Train Square), directly underneath the city's famous clock, you encounter a huge sculpture of Pedro de Heredia, that established the city in 1533. Simply to the left of the statue, pastel colored early american buildings load the Plaza's landscape.

In the daytime, ladies line the sidewalk with their sweet stands, marketing standard desserts. Individuals relax on the benches and delight in traditional music and also dancing, road comedy efficiencies and even an occasional lecture from a curbside preacher.

At sundown, horse-drawn carriages line up right here, all set to take vacationers on a lantern lit tour with the heart of midtown. It's possible to shut your eyes and go back in time as the equine's hooves resonate off the tight patched streets.

At the end of the plaza (concerning 100 feet), is an open square with a Christopher Columbus monument. This is Plaza de la Aduana (Traditions Plaza), and stands for a dark side of Cartagena's past.

In 1564, Cartagena came to be the portal to the Americas for lots of African servants. Those that survived the treacherous passage got off the ships, and were then aligned in Customs Plaza, displayed around, and also auctioned like animals to the highest possible bidders.

Straight behind Plaza de la Aduana, is the Plaza San Pedro Claver. Named after Saint Peter Claver, that was warmly nicknamed "servant to the servants," this tiny square houses a sanctuary that births his name.

Daddy Claver revealed empathy for the servants who got here. He welcomed a lot of them when they were off loaded, and promptly honored the dying children and the unwell. He spent several years providing treatment for hurt and ill servants, and baptized hundreds of thousands throughout his life time.

5 mins stroll outside the walled city, as well as you're standing in front of Castle San Felipe. It's worth the brief climb up the high hill to reach its doors. You can explore the castle's enormous premises, touch the original cannons, and also peer via the portals. You can likewise stare over the wall surfaces, as well as see the view of the city.

Around 20 maritime miles off Cartagena are the Rosario Islands. This island chain contains 27 environmentally varied islands which have actually been picked as a National forest by the Colombian federal government. If you are trying to find the best area to unwind, it's here. Good snorkeling, diving, windsurfing, kayaking as well as walking are readily available. The outside fish tank and also dolphin programs are constantly a hit with taking a trip households.

Several boats leave early in the early morning from the downtown pier, and also slide over the calm waters to the islands in regarding 45 minutes. The last watercrafts of the day return to Cartagena around 4 p.m. So, you can load a lunch and also make it a day outing, or invest a few peaceful evenings on the islands.

Throughout the majority of the barrios in the city, you frequently pick up that you remain in a smaller town. Throughout the day, vendors stroll the neighborhoods hawking everything from ripe papayas and also fresh fish, to pots and frying pans, and also lotto tickets.

Throughout the city, you can locate makeshift football fields where lots of young children play, football in the blazing sunlight (and occasionally in gale rainfall) kicking goals like specialists, wanting to be the following Carlos Valderrama, or Ronaldinho.

After watching the dancing efficiency, I strayed down some backstreets and also located some pairs nursing cool beverages near an open pit grill. The waft of barbecued hen filled up the muggy night air. The food selection looked tasty, too.

Cartagena cuisine is a variant of authentic Caribbean as well as Creole, although you can discover a vast array of food as well as drinks. Outdoor dishes generally feature the sounds of Vallenato, Reggaeton, Champeta, or Salsa music, typically thumping from tall speakers, however sometimes live.

Generally, Colombia is a suitable gateway to South America for new vacationers; whether they're backpackers, cruise liner guests, or even those on a family journey.

From the majesty of the walled city, to scenic beaches, to casual street events, Cartagena is a location you will always bear in mind.

Where to remain:

If you get on a shoestring spending plan, hotel lodging in Cartagena can cost as little as $5-10 a night in the Getsemaní location. However, for that price, expect a basic bed, follower, with a shared washroom and also shower. Include one more $15 and you can find comfy spaces in this historical area of community, which occurs to be the oldest area in Cartagena.

The Bocagrande area has one of the most hotels in Cartagena. Right here, you'll locate many resorts on the beach. From tiny family members hotels to 5-Star, there is a rate variety for everyone.

If you intend to be pampered, attempt the Charleston Hotel. Not just does it supply 5-Star solutions, it's skillfully concealed between the city's old wall surfaces, and it sits near many tourist destinations in the old city.

The Charleston includes an impressive roof pool and also restaurant location. Right here, you get a bird's- eye sight of the Caribbean, Cartagena Bay as well as the wonderful old city.

Arriving:

Copa Airlines has direct trips from Miami and Panama City, Panama.

AirMadrid has straight flights from Madrid and also Barcelona, Spain.

Visa:

American visitors traveling to Colombia need to have a legitimate U.S. passport, however not a visa. This allows you to stay up to 90 days. This can be expanded for an additional 90 days at the Migration office (DAS).

#Pola Colombia

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capricornus-rex · 4 years

Text

The Haunt of Redemption (2)

Sequel to: A Path I Can’t Follow

Summary: It has been months since your last encounter with Cal, at that time he was a fledgling Inquisitor. In an ironic twist of fate, you cross paths and blades with him once again, and he’s keen on turning you into an Inquisitor as well—unless you bring him back to the light first.

Tags: Dark Side! Cal Kestis, Inquisitor! Cal Kestis, Redemption Arc! Cal Kestis

Also posted in AO3

Previous: Chapter 1 | Next: Chapter 3 | Masterlist

2 of ?

7 MONTHS LATER

Cameegon, a lush green planet in the Outer Rim. On the outside, it was a near-twin to Kashyyyk, with the large continental land masses patching the surface; when in the planet, evergreen valleys and lakes adorned the landscape. If tranquility was a planet, then it would be Cameegon.

This was home away from home.

Lying in the heart of the valley is Hoga, a major settlement where a diverse crowd gathers—it was a jack-of-all-trades kind of town, shop traders and market stall vendors were the faces of the bustle, people come and go for various reasons. It was more of a swindler’s paradise than a spot of honest work, thus one had to be street-smart. One is more likely to have more enemies than friends in this kind of place.

Knowing that you have to get by, you bagged a job as a mechanic in the Yewa Docking Bay & Inn. The pay wasn’t high, neither was it low—it was just enough for you to get through the days, if the boss saw you’ve worked hard enough, she’d sneak in an extra for you which could stretch until the end of the week.

To you, it was a big yet necessary adjustment. The first few days were difficult. Luckily, it wasn’t a job too unforgiving to rob you of your time to keep up with lightsaber training.

“[y/n]! Hey, [y/n]!” a woman hollered at you while working on a freighter’s busted communications satellite.

You paused from your work and peeked over the edge of the freighter.

“Yeah, boss?!”

“Come on down there! It’s lunch time already! You ain’t hungry?”

“I’ll eat once I recalibrate this old thing, shouldn’t take long!”

She replied to you indistinctly before walking away back into her office booth—which is basically a command and surveillance center for all the docks.

You slipped back into the ship’s interior through the roof hatch and went to the cockpit; you carefully examined the screens on the dashboard, hoping for an indication that your tinkering worked. You played around with the communications, hoping that you would pick up a frequency with your handheld tester—after a minute of gurgling, white noise, the blip on your little device flickered green.

“Hear that, BD?”

“Woop!”

“Yeah, piece o’ cake!”

It was a small victory that you celebrated with a private smile. Nowadays, most of your smiles are short-lived as memories, voices or images coming flooding into your mind—they come and go every once in a while, though they were numbing than comforting.

“Alright, Boss Lora, signals are clear for this old thing!” you announced, joining the boss for lunch in the control booth.

“Well, that was quick—though I’m not really surprised, since this ain’t the first time,” Lora chuckled as she scooped a spoonful of her food. ��Y’know, I never really asked you where you learned all this—the mechanic thing.”

“Oh, I…” you trailed off, trying to find the right yet indirect words for your cover story. “I just had a good teacher, though he was just as old as me—he knew more things, better things.”

You took two consecutive bites of your food, hoping that Boss Lora would change the subject. A teenage girl comes walking into the booth, she arrived with a sweet smile on her face and two bowls of food occupying both of her hands.

“Hi Kaleen,” you greeted.

“Hi mom, [y/n], BD! I hope you two are hungry, there was some extra at the kitchen,”

“Oh, aren’t you just a darling!” her mother fawned and stretched her arms towards her daughter.

Kaleen stayed in the booth with the two of you, asking you how her cooking was, and you gave her nothing but compliments.

“Oh, I picked up some juice too!” the teenager hands over two steel bottles filled to the brim with Meiloorun Juice. “Papa said it’s on the house for you, [y/n]!”

“Aww, thanks Kaleen, give Dodree my thanks!”

“Sure will!”

“Are you sure these are extras or did you smuggle some ingredients from the inventory?” Lora jokingly asked.

The mother and daughter duo burst in laughter, even if you wanted to, you just can’t match up to their own cheerfulness. Kaleen asked you about the ship in the yard right outside the booth; ever since you came here working for their business, the teenager was fascinated with you and the work you do—even if she’s seen it once or twice a day for seven months.

“I guess it’s normal for teenagers to be curious,” you once said.

Kaleen easily warmed up to you on your first week, unlike her mother who was stingy at first—a sentiment which you similarly expressed, but only in your head—but was impressed with your handiwork, eventually softening up to you after your first month working there and showing you kindness in the form of salary bonuses.

The girl turned her attention to the little droid perched on your shoulder. She treated the little droid kindly—playing with him and giving him new things to scan about, then he would project the data entry in a hologram for the girl who was beyond amused with the droid and the things she learned from little BD-1.

“Someday, I hope I get a droid as cool as BD-1!” Kaleen chirped.

At the end of the day, the owner of the ship was satisfied with your handiwork and tipped you. You bid goodbye to Lora and Kaleen. You pocketed today’s pay along with the tip, donned your poncho and hood as you exited the docking bay.

It was nearly sunset and you made your way through the streets still riddled with cantina patrons and half-drunk traders. You kept your head low until the rim of your cowl obscured the top half of your face.

“Oh shoot!” you hissed at the sight of Stormtroopers standing near the parking row where you’ve kept your speeder.

Can’t back out now, my speeder’s JUST there! You coaxed yourself to take a deep breath, relax, and look unassuming as possible—something you’ve taught yourself since you got here and found that there were Stormtroopers even in this planet too.

You anticipated for the moment where they’ll have their backs turned or when they’ll be preoccupied speaking to a citizen. Some people still perceived them as a police force, reporting petty crimes and all, but you already knew that this town doesn’t have long until the Empire comes charging on such short notice.

“Okay, [y/n], relax,” you mutter under your breath.

You pulled down your riding goggles first and then put on your headgear as soon as you took off your hood. You stood with your back turned to the troopers by your speeder bike—a secondhand BARC model that you modified and repainted into black. Prior to its purchase, it has obviously seen better days in the Republic era. It was also better than going all the way from Hoga and back by foot.

“And the cycle continues,” you muttered to yourself. The engine of the speeder sputtered and you sped through the streets and out of the town, returning to the Mantis just in time for supper.

From half a mile away, you could smell the dinner that Greez was cooking and throttled the speeder forward. Parking it just under the Mantis’s wing, you hopped off and sprinted to the door.

“Oh, [y/n], just in time,”

“Hey Cere,” you greeted back. “Greez, get any better and I’ll be smelling your food all the way from Hoga!”

Greez chuckled, obviously flattered, “Hey, that’s a good challenge! Heck, I might even whip something up so that the folks at Bozam Village could whiff!”

“How’s work today, [y/n]?”

“Same old same old, Merrin, got tipped though,”

“Oh? For your mechanical work?”

“Uh-huh!”

“You always were the tinkerer,” she compliments.

Dinner was served and the conversation carried on.

The ambience in the Mantis was warm—yet it was a different kind of warm—not a single person in the ship could ever pretend like everything is normal after all these months. In a certain point of view, the crew was a broken family—one had gone astray and everyone clung onto the hope that Cal would return. It was sort of like moving on, but in a way that you could not explain, and yet they all understood.

“I think I’ll go to Bozam Village sometime this week,” you initiated.

“As long as you’re safe and you’re careful in every step of the way, [y/n], we don’t know when the Empire or Inquisitors will strike,” said Cere, she had been learning to be more open with the tone of her voice—especially if she always spoke in concern regarding to anybody in the crew.

“I’m fine, I spotted some Stormtroopers this morning but I was far from them. I doubt they’ll get to the village, it’s so secluded anyway,”

“I wouldn’t be too sure,” Cere replied, her pessimism disguised as caution.

That night, you put your lightsaber away on the workbench right next to Cal’s—which has been lying dormant on that table for a while now. You may not have his Psychometry, but you can still feel the emotions it emits without even touching it.

Is it still the same—the feelings, I mean? Have they dulled? Have they changed? You pondered on these questions while staring at the shiny hilt.

Hesitation and curiosity constantly fought within you whenever you stand in front of the table. The last time you held it was last month, as a result, the anger imprinted on it was so strong it had rendered you sleepless. The rage Cal had demonstrated in your last duel in Koboth was the most dominant emotion, it nearly outweighed the emotions—his emotions—of Light.

“Not today, I want to sleep,” you whispered, unsure to whom you’re addressing it to—yourself or to Cal in your imagination.

Regardless, you retired to bed for tonight. BD-1 nestled on the folded poncho that rests beside your tummy.

“Good night, BD,”

“Boo-wooo…”

You clutch on the poncho, crumpling it in your grip, “Good night, Cal.”

The dreams were always hazy. It was difficult to distinguish, yet they felt surreal. You warp from one place to another, regardless if it was familiar in the present or in the distant past; the voices were like the ones back in the temple in Magyon, hollow and rambling, desperate to be heard and heeded.

An image of Cal dressed in Inquisitor garments was a constant appearance in your dreams. Slowly approaching you in a threatening stride. As he got closer to you, the more terrified and frozen you stood—even if it was just a dream—and whenever he extends his hand, you can’t tell whether he was trying to Force-Choke you or offer his hand.

By now, that kind of dream should be something you’d be used to—but it always made you wake up in a cold sweat. It seemed that waking up was the only way to get out of it.

Everyone was asleep in their own quarters, you stepped out of yours. The hallikset lying on the table caught your eye, you took it and rested it on your lap as you sat down on the couch, blindly strumming a few chords here and there—the ones that you remembered learning from Cal and Cere altogether.

Faint footsteps approached the lounge—it was Cere. She was about to fix herself a glass of water until she spotted you playing the hallikset.

“Oh,” you say as you find Cere standing by the end of the stairs. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“No,” she sits down next to you. “Is it the—”

Without even letting her finish her question, you said yes, still absentmindedly strumming the instrument as you spoke. You avoid her eyes, afraid that she will immediately read what you’re thinking—but this isn’t new, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.

“I thought I’d learn how to repress them—I mean the dreams. It just keeps coming back, it’s always the same thing I see at night. Even in meditation, they just don’t go away…”

“It takes time for the feelings to subside; you either live with it peacefully or just bottle it up until it just overflows in you, making it harder for you to control it. Piece of advice: it’s healthier to choose the first one,”

She finds that expression in your face again: blank stare but your mind is obviously filled with thoughts. She felt the loneliness that plagued you—the root of your nightmares and restless nights. You weren’t really good at hiding your emotions, if ever, you could only mask them for a time until you’re vulnerable enough to show it.

“You miss him, I understand—we understand, we miss him too,” Cere continued on. “But, let me ask you this: do you really think he has gotten astray?”

A few seconds of reflection was all that you needed; you pondered over the answer that echoed in your heart, Cere noticed the shifting of your eyes.

“I think in my heart…” you turn to the woman for the first time. “No, I don’t believe he’s really gone.”

“Then, there is still hope,”

You managed a small smile and continued to strum. Cere requested a song from you—it didn’t need to be grand, she just wanted to see how much you’ve learned and retained all those music lessons between her teaching and Cal’s.

The moment was peaceful yet somber. The notes that came out of your strumming were melancholic but it was lulling. Perhaps you couldn’t help your emotions anymore that it even exudes from other objects. You stayed up for a few more hours until the soft melodies totally lulled you to sleep in the middle of strumming and you ended up sleeping on the couch.

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