#...defamation suit. and the years that that bullshit has been going on. fucking hell. it's so hard. i feel for her and i hope she has...

[fantabulisticity]

The new Kesha album Gag Order ABSOLUTELY FUCKS!!!!!!!!!!!!! I've been listening to it on repeat the last several days. It's intense and heartbreaking and chaotic and disturbing and wistful and motivating. Listen to it when you have emotional space for it, but definitely listen to it.

[natsunoomoi]

Chinese Romance Novels in English

So by chance and obviously successful marketing, I’ve had a lot of web novel apps being advertised to me and out of boredom I downloaded one and got hooked real bad.

The first app I got I think I might delete because most of it seems like trash and was clearly like American wannabe writers. I kind of just read the first few chapters of one story that they happened to put into an advertised Facebook post and I just wanted to continue the story 1 or 2 chapters just to get off the cliffhanger, but the story itself actually isn’t that good and the character motivations seem kind of stupid. The main character also seems kind of like a Mary Sue where like she is just special by some huge coincidence of fate and it’s kind of annoying. Like the beginning part was alright, and then it took a sharp turn when the first guy she was into that rejected her decided for some stupid reason to challenge her new guy who accepted her and then when he claimed to not concede a fight to the death, he went absolutely apeshit and somehow it traveled into dark magic. Idek. Plus like...almost all the stories on that app for some reason have to do with wolf people and packs? Like it’s obviously some kind of trend inspired from Jacob and Twilight and I don’t even like that series. And in addition to that, it’s like on par with the famously former Twilight fanfiction 50 Shades where it has some really uncomfortable unhealthy depictions of BDSM relationships. Like it’s just kind of thrown in there for no reason...? Like whatever floats your boat, but you can totally write it in there in a more sensible way and not just like throw it in randomly. In that sense, maybe it’s actually worse than 50 Shades. Seriously a lot of the stories on there read like horribly written fanfiction by a 12 year old. I was 12 once and my stories then were no better because I had too many ideas and wanted them all in. That’s how much of a mess those stories are. This one I just mentioned is the better one. There’s another one I started reading that’s much worse that’s like a high school drama that I barely remember the story too, but I remember the person putting in a whole ton of One Direction lyrics, which I think is going to get the person and the app sued because lyrics are copyrighted and the writer shamelessly pointed out they are a Directioner and to unlock new chapters you need certain items that you can earn or buy and basically they’re definitely making money off of it.

But then similar to how I found this app, I found another app that had Chinese romance novels translated into English in the same way I found the previously mentioned app through a Facebook ad, which is cool cuz I don’t often get to read literally anything with main characters that are Chinese let alone Asian. Most of the Asian protagonist media I consume is from Japan and I just gave up on looking up anything in Chinese cuz I honestly didn’t know I could find any in English.

But damn, the quality of writing is rather good. The translations could use some work and consistency where sometimes the translator doesn’t know common English expressions or there’s grammatical mistakes in newer chapters or sometimes I think they’re speed translating too fast and accidentally mix up characters. But the story itself is top notch and suspenseful. I’ve been reading non-stop for the last week and a half and caught up and am awaiting new chapters. Sometimes there’s bits where character decisions are a little frustrating or like some of the plot twists are like again or like how come this person can’t catch a break, but I got invested in the story so quick.

There’s two in particular I’m enjoying right now. One is Irresistible Romance and the other is Thorny First Marriage on Bravonovel. It’s actually a bit pricey to charge for diamonds and pearls to continue the story, but I felt like it was worth it because I did want to read more and didn’t regret it. I actually started a third today just because I ran out of chapters in those two. Both are similar in that the male lead that the female protagonist is with or trying to get with is like a rich Chinese business man that is so well-known for their business acumen and power via their company that they can strike fear into the hearts of other people and companies. So there’s like some intrigue and like really fascinating maneuvers and media manipulation.

In Irresistible Romance, the main character is an actress that had a really shitty relationship with the loser President of her management company who was cheating on her with another actress and he had convinced his fiancee (the main character) to basically give up her life for him and help him to push the actress that he was ultimately having an affair with. The main character, Yan Wen, gives up the final straw when like he ditches her at the Marriage Registration Office for some lame excuse where he’s with his mistress and by chance the rich guy in this story shows up at the Registration Office and gets stood up by his own prospective fiancee although for him it was a random girl he picked from a pile just to satisfy his family getting on his case about not finding a wife. So basically because the main character grows a spine and decides fuck her fiance she’s not going to just take his bullshit, she asks the rich guy, Jiang Sui-an, if he’d mind marrying her. He totally accepts though and they get married on the spot. He seems at first to be kind of a cold-hearted jerk, but he’s actually super cool. Like he marries Yan Wen just to get his family off his back, but then after he does some research into his wife and finds her super interesting and as she begins her journey of trying to take back her life from her ex-fiancee and his stuck up bitch mistress, he like finds out and helps from the shadows and like realizes she’s actually super cool too. And then like through the whole process they actually fall for each other and are super sweet and have each other’s backs. They have a really beautiful and healthy relationship where they can each have their own separate lives and do their thing, but they get supported and help when needed.

It was so refreshing cuz like the rich CEO thing was like a huge fetish for sure especially after 50 Shades, but like a lot of people noted, that relationship was hella unhealthy. This story though, Sui-an lets Wen take her time fixing her career and life in her own way and like postpones announcing their marriage so she can set things right herself. He totally supports her space and her own decisions, but if he ever sees that she needs an extra boost or gets backed into a corner by some unexpected thing, he steps up and lends a hand. But ultimately he leaves everything up to her decision. And like on her end too, she’s totally a really good supportive wife and tries to make sure she doesn’t worry him too much and that he gets plenty of sleep and eats regularly, and she even tries to help him where she can with his work. They are so cute together. Along the way a lot of other people try to defame Wen or pull some shady entertainment world tactics, but she stays poised and lets the truth come out on its own or even does some defensive research and stuff. It’s so good.

Plus, writing-wise it’s really fascinating how they intertwine the online commentary tabloid headlines into the story so you can see different angles. And then when they write the antagonists’ sides they give you their internal dialog POV so you can understand the situation the best. The actual story and plot development is so good.

Then Thorny First Marriage, holy shit the intrigue. Plus for the most part, the main character is most like my personality only I’m not a former journalist. It’s just a lot of her reactions and sassy thoughts to things are really similar to me and how I feel like I would react if I was in her position. There’s a few times where she does things that I don’t think I would necessarily do or I would do things a bit more drastically, but so good and I identify with her. Writing-wise I don’t think it’s as good as Irresistible Romance because there’s been two times where they kind of forgot about something that they mentioned in an earlier chapter, so they have some issues keeping track of their plot twists, and there’s a few times where I’m reading like, “Why don’t you just tell them what happened and then they’d STFU?”

But yeah, this story starts out with the main character, Xia Zhi, waking up in the presidential suite of a hotel and not knowing how she got there and distinctly feeling like she was raped and finding some...remnants on the bed next to her. As the plot develops you find out that her asshole husband, who had never touched her himself for some reason and has the spine of jellyfish, sold her to some rich guy for 2 million bucks (she finds out later). What the actual hell? What kind of husband pimps his wife to another man?! And like she gets a pregnancy test later and somehow someone blabs to her mother-in-law and her mother-in-law totally doesn’t believe her and she knows that her son and her were never intimate, so she throws her out of the house. Then some dude that’s like some kind of secretary or assistant just comes by all stalker-like that appears to be from some rich guy that knows her and basically coerces her into going with them and going to some mystery safe house mansion. She’ll be cared for there by two staff, but she also tries to escape and find out who tf this guy is and if he’s the Dad. She still has a job and goes to work as a journalist, but gets assigned to interview some rich VP of a famous company. All the while she’s trying to get a hold of her asshole husband to find out what the hell happened to her that night she didn’t remember where she got super frickin’ drunk at his company party. This dick has been in hiding and trying to avoid her for some reason since that night and he finally calls back in the middle of her interview and because she’s freaking out about her unexplained pregnancy she unprofessionally takes the call. The rich VP, Sang Qi, ends up calling her boss and getting her fired, which I mean, obviously. That’s a thing where I probably wouldn’t have taken the call. One of the differentiating things between her and me. But how she reacts to being fired, yeah, that’s totally me. She runs into Sang Qi later at a rich people shopping mall shop and somehow manages to steal his phone and starts a plotline where she tries to use it as leverage to like get back at him and make a living for herself that also involves him being crafty and like kind of tricking her into some situations like confronting her ex-husband. And then like at some point she remembers a custom cufflink she remembered finding in the room she woke up in that one time and starts to wonder and suspect if maybe Sang Qi was the guy cuz he does have those kinds of things. And she like looks at the cufflink she has that she took from the room as evidence, but she has to do a direct comparison. He like uses GPS to find her mansion prison and tries to take back his phone and Zhi gets like even more suspicious that he is the guy cuz for some reason he knows how the balcony door at the place works even though it has a weird af lock, and they have witty banter and somehow he ends up staying over and she tries to sneak in his room at night to check out his cufflink but he catches her. And like hot damn, so much intrigue. After like a ton of frustration with trying to interrogate everyone around her about who the baby Daddy is she’s just like f it, I’m not going to be your baby incubator and tries to go get an abortion (I would’ve gone way sooner) and before they can start the procedure Sang Qi shows up and claims to be the Dad, and then afterward also takes care of her because she’s allergic to anesthetic. Since she knows who now they like stay together and stuff and she tries to question him about that night, but he actually has no memory of it either cuz he was super frickin’ drunk too. It’s just a lot of unanswered questions. And like since he’s supposedly the Dad, he tries to get closer to her, but she won’t let him really. There’s a lot of witty banter between them and like he even helps her out with her loser husband by getting him demoted. Over time they actually become fond of each other and like used to each other, and it’s really sweet. He actually is there for her and helps her on a number of occasions even though she doesn’t really trust him cuz of course he bought her right? But then little by little you see them really start to like each other and it seems like he might be more interested whereas Zhi is like more reserved because he’s her captor as far as she knows. But then just when you think that maybe they’ll get together, Qi disappears and then the process of him showing up you find out who the actual Dad is and a whole lot of family drama, and other drama where like you actually don’t know where Qi stands, and it like isn’t until like where I am that you find out he was actually upright the whole time. It’s so stressful but it’s so good.

There was a couple of times earlier one where there’s misunderstandings with other people, where I was like, dude, just tell the people your asshole husband sold you for money. I think they’d be more understanding of your situation if they knew.

And then like...for me, I like Qi and I came around to him after awhile, but like I suspected him and didn’t like him toward the beginning especially because he didn’t do or say anything that made him seem trustworthy. He never really lies except for one thing (about being the father), but also he like isn’t that truthful either, or rather, he doesn’t stop to actually explain himself properly which would have made Zhi not like freak out or mistrust him and would have made me not mistrust him. Like I shared a lot of Zhi’s fears because she was in an unfamiliar situation and being manipulated like a puppet by someone with money, and this guy claims to be the one that bought her like an object to be a baby incubator. I and the main character can’t respect that no matter how nice he is. If he admit he didn’t do it at the beginning it would have made all the difference. It’s a trek to find out who though. And at first even that guy sounds disgusting, but like where I am in the story maybe not? Like almost sympathetic.

The only one that I like really hate and disgusts me is her original husband. Like eww. He’s such a greedy asshole. And like later on you find out that actually he lied to her about how much he sold her for and it was actually more. What the actual fuck?! It wasn’t bad enough that you sold your wife for money, but you had to lie to her too about how much it was so you can hide the money from her? And for such a long frickin’ time he tried to coax her to come back and to not divorce him. What the actual hell? What kind of delusion is he living in?! But like also her original husband reminds me of someone I knew in real life when I was in uni. He was a friend of mine initially, but at some point he started making really uncomfortable jokes and it seemed like he liked me or something. I never viewed him that way, but we just hung out. And then at my uni because there was a huge rush to like try to figure out 2nd year housing, we arranged to do a co-ed roommate situation where like me and another girl and him and his friend would stay in apartment from our second year. To me that seemed normal cuz other friends of mine did that too because there’s only so many people you know and you have to try to snatch up and apply for apartments as soon as possible. There were long wait lines and I actually hadn’t thought about it until the last minute, so I didn’t see it as having much of a choice. But he started making cracks and fantasizing about neighbors and people misunderstanding and thinking we were married, which I didn’t find funny and how and why when there were other people we were living with too? It made me super uncomfortable and during the summer he was kind of like a stalker and tracking where I went so I just started avoiding him every chance I could. After awhile thinking about him made me feel physically ill. The next year after that my roommate decided to move out with two other girls into a different apartment (after unsuccessfully trying to make him leave). But the whole thing with how Zhi’s first husband was written totally reminded me of that guy. Especially with the lame excuses when confronted and stuff and not thinking and his unhealthy tie to his parents’ way of living.

That said, finding these stories are kind of like an unexpected comfort. I wish I could find someone as supportive as Sui-an or Qi. Especially when the men I’ve met in my life were just as bad as some of the other male characters or arguably worse. I’ve been bullied by the guys I fell for, I’ve liked some guys that were way too moody, I’ve had guys that liked me that were not creepy too, but I just wasn’t interested in them or the timing was just wrong, I’ve given up someone I really cared for because a mutual friend of ours crossed a line and then posthumously went kind of crazy from the grief, and I’ve met guys that were really fucking stupid and didn’t know how to act appropriately in a professional situation and actually sexually harassed and retaliated against me. I’m so tired and almost 4 years into living in Japan, I’m starting to realize that because of that last one, I think I gave up on my life because of trauma. Just hurt too many times, so don’t even think about love anymore cuz why bother? It took awhile for me to even be able to become a functioning human being again after the PTSD of harassment. I was really bad and freaking out because the guy that did it was so frickin’ stupid that he like wasn’t actually responsible enough to know the things he shouldn’t do and it was freaking me the hell out that he just didn’t know when he crossed a line. So I ran away to another country and tried to rebuild some semblance of a life for myself. Now my home country is a goddamn mess and I’d be in a worse position to go home, but at the same time, although my heart has healed enough to the point that I can function as a human. I am not at all motivated to look for anyone or let myself care for someone ever again. When I was younger I had so many dreams and really wanted a family. But now I am sad to say I have resigned myself to believing that that will probably never happen because I am apparently plagued by horrible people. I haven’t met horrible people since I’ve been in Japan, but I also don’t go out and talk to anyone other than co-workers and students because I’m busy and in my free time I want to introvert. It’d be kind of nice if I was lucky and had a kind of random chance like Yan Wen cuz like, I just can’t and don’t want to put up with low quality people.

That said, I was talking with my boss and co-worker the other day and we were discussing how China’s population problem with the bachelor society so there’s a lot of men but less available women to be their wife, so I was kind of wondering if that was also kind of how come so many modern day Chinese romance novels seem to involve a rich CEO. I suppose in China right now the chance that you could marry one is greater than anywhere else in the world because of the population problem, so maybe they’re trying to promote moving there and marrying them. LOL I’d be kind of suspicious of whether or not they’d be able to be like actually good husbands for real, but I suppose there probably is some sense of desperation.

And then because I ran out of chapters to read for today because I have to wait for them to translate more, I started another one about a Bossy Ghost Husband? It’s kind of creepy at the beginning, but the ghost husband thing has been something I was kind of curious about because you can marry the dead in China. But like for real I also wondered if youkai really are real or not and if you could unknowingly marry a youkai or something too, so basically it’s right up my alley too. And then also because my life is garbage I was like seriously thinking and wondering if it would actually be so bad to be single to the people who know you around you, but married actually to a ghost and have a ghost husband to go home to? Like would that actually be bad? I suppose in that same vein, it’s not much different from WoL having a secret relationship with Emet-Selch, but yeah.

Anyway, all of this gave me a lot to think about.

[izzy-b-hands]

Murder House, Part One

This is my @mtl-trick-or-treat for @enydart! I hope you like it; I had a lot of fun writing it! I also started something for your Treat prompt, so if you like this and want that one as well, just let me know and I will finish it and post it asap!

This was for the Trick prompt, asking for ‘something gross with Murderface.’ I went to something that most people find gross (though maybe not the Dethklok boys, since they see so much of it lol)-murder. But I had to give Murderface some fun and happiness too since he gets shit on so damn often, so hopefully this is gross enough!

Fic under the cut because this got long; RIP and my apologies to mobile users if the cut isn’t working on the app. I was actually going to try and fit the whole thing in one post, but found out there is a post length limit (who knew!) so I have split this into Part One and Two! I will post Part Two by the end of tomorrow at the latest (it just needs a few final touches!)

The ads for the haunted house played constantly from October 15th on . Radio, TV, even billboards plastered all over. He did his best to ignore them, even though he wanted to take a flamethrower to any billboard or screen that had the ad on it for even a second. 

The rest of the band, however, was harder to ignore. By the fifth night of the ads playing during their favorite evening TV shows, he was ready to snap listening to them comment. 

“Look at thats; you ams the most famous of us now,” Skwisgaar snickered as the ad played. 

Lights flashed and flickered on the big screen as it showed the haunted house actors depicting the murder-suicide that had sent him to his grandparents. There was even a chubby baby actor sat in the middle of the gore-’Baby Murderface looks on in horror!’ exclaimed the ad’s dramatic narrator. 

“Ams thats legal?” Toki asked, pointing at the screen. “To use your lifes like thats and makes a haunted house so...sads?” 

“Amn’ts even haunted really,” Skwisgaar replied. “Just sads. A sads house. What ams scary about thats?”

Pickles shrugged. “Well, someone sold their rights to their life story years ago. That’s scary, if you ask me. Cuz then they can do shit like this, and you’re shit outta luck to stop them. Ain’t that right, Murderface?” 

He wanted to just rage. To tell them to shut the fuck up, or he’d set fire to the living room just like he wanted to set fire to the haunted house and anyone who was involved with it. But he’d been upset constantly, since the ads had started. It felt strange, but he was almost tired of being upset and yelling about it. He just wanted to do something to get rid of it. 

“Whatever, juscht schut up about it. They were schupposed to make a cool movie out of my life,” Murderface sighed. 

Nathan chuckled. “You uh, you really thought they were gonna do that? Buying the rights to your life story; that was gonna make a really cool movie?” 

“Yeah, why the fuck not? People make movies about all kindsch of dumb schit; you can make a movie about anything basically!” Murderface spat back.

“Okay, Murderface, look--thing is, they gotta have a cool fun story, to make a cool movie. A movie about your life...that’d be pretty sad, dude,” Pickles said. “I mean, who the fuck would wanna watch that?” 

“Well, once he joins us, I mean...that’d be a cool movie,” Nathan said. 

“Yeah, but then that’s just a Dethklok movie,” Pickles replied. “And that ain’t what he wants; he wants a Murderface-only movie. But nobody’s gonna go see that, or if they did they’d like...I don’t know, cry themselves to death or something.” 

Murderface bit his tongue. They were in a rhythm now, going back and forth to talk shit about him. It was easier to try to stay quiet and ride it out. 

“Yeah, probably. Can you see it? ‘Saddest movie ever, millions cry themselves to death and stab out their own eyes’,” Nathan said. “Huh. Actually, that would be brutal as fuck. Murderface, you should call them--tell them to nix this haunted house bullshit and make the movie instead.” 

There were tears at the corner of his eyes, even though he didn’t want them there. He tried to look only at the TV, hoping no one would notice them. 

“Oh geez, look yous mades him cry now,” Skwisgaar tutted. “You eggs him on like this, when he ams already a big crysbaby, makes it worse. Ams you just a big baby Murderface? No, so knocks it off.” 

“He likes attention, that’s all he wants,” Pickles started. 

“Yeah, I says thats, like a big baby,” Skwisgaar interrupted. “Needings all this attentions.” 

 “Oh fuck you! You’ve got moviesch and booksch written about you!” Murderface protested. If anyone could talk about being an attention-needy baby, it was Skwisgaar. 

“Yeah, but I has to have them all takens down. Dids not authorize anys of thems, so they amnt’s accurate. I don’ts want them, but people makes them anyway.” Skwisgaar replied testily. “And does yous mean Toki’s book? Because that ams nots something I wanted either.” 

“Oh fuck yous, Skwisgaar,” Toki scoffed. “Yous ams just as bad. What theys calls an ‘attention whores’.” 

“Oh, and what ams yous, Mr. Gives-me-a-solo-rights-now-or-I-cries?” Skwisgaar shouted. 

It devolved from there, and he tuned it out. They’d forgotten to keep making fun of him, at least. But there was no watching the show with that much yelling over it; the cue to head in for the night. 

His boots thudded against the stone floors, and then against the wall of his room as he kicked them off and tossed them into a corner. 

“Schtupid executive asscholes. Schtupid Halloween. My life ischn’t scary, or schad, or anything--it’sch mine. How’d they like it if schomeone did that to them?” he grabbed an ancient dagger from its spot hanging on the wall and slashed in front of him. “Or better yet--Michael or Freddy or schomething could come and cut them down. Just schome creepy freak coming after them.”

He let the dagger clatter to the floor. “They’d never schee it coming...” 

And there it was. The perfect revenge, to make sure they’d never take anyone else’s life and turn it into some stupid attraction. To show them he wouldn’t take this lying down. 

Or that someone wouldn’t, at least. 

After all, Charles did have a few limits legally. He got them out of a lot of shit, but some of it was going to simply come down to being careful. There wasn’t too much work to do anyway--the website for the haunted house listed two main executives from the studio he’d sold his rights to, a team lead for the attraction itself, and if he could take out a few actors in the house too, well that was just icing on the cake at that point. 

It wasn’t a lot of murders for Charles to have to make disappear, but it was enough work if it was Murderface, famous bassist committing them. 

But a faceless, nameless boogeyman could get the job done. 

The outfit was easy to draw up, his ideas flowing like water. A little bit Michael with the black protective jumpsuit, and a touch of Freddy with the knives, all hidden in specially designed pockets so it wouldn’t look super bulky. The mask was fitting of any horror movie monster--blank and emotionless, unknowable.

Really, the mask was his masterpiece. Made of a flexible material so as to still be comfortable, with specialty coatings on the front to make it difficult for any victim to stab or shoot through it. It wouldn’t stop everything, but it would help keep him from getting outright killed. Not that he planned on giving them much of chance for that. Last, it would be painted a dark shade of blue, almost black, the color he figured would make it easiest to blend into any shadows. Only holes for the eyes and a few hidden ones near the nose--anything more felt too risky, too much of a chance to potentially be recognized. 

The bonus of being this rich was that no one would ask questions when he ordered weird shit. Hell, he commissioned random costumes for Planet Piss all the time. Charles would make sure the orders got processed as quickly as possible, and then his work could begin.

It was almost therapeutic, all of the planning and designing. It made falling asleep easier and quicker than it had been in weeks, and for the first time in awhile, he slept with a smile on his face.

                                          --------------------------

The three days that followed were all tense excitement. Excitement for waiting for the outfit to get there, excitement to get started. With the main businessmen taken out of the equation, it would be easy to get Charles to start the legal side of things--to file lawsuits for everything from defamation to claiming he never sold his rights at all. And then the thing would be shuttered for good. 

The suit arrived first. Thick material, meant for an industrial setting, slow to stain or tear. And it fit like a glove. 

“I’ll corner thosche asscholes in their penthousches, and paint the wallsch with their gutsch!” he crowed as he finished buttoning it. It was a bit weird not wearing his shorts, but some sacrifice would be required to pull this all off. 

Now he could only hope the guys wouldn’t question the deliveries he was getting. They almost always did--for anyone. Pure morbid curiosity, or hoping it was something fun to be shared. 

So of course, they asked. 

“Uh, you quitting on us or something?” Pickles asked on the morning of the fourth day after the Plan had started, as they all dug into their breakfasts. “Going into construction?” 

“Of coursche not,” Murderface replied. “How’d you find out what it was anyway?” 

Pickles shrugged. “I smoke up with one of the gals in the mail room. She lets me look at all the mail that comes through here. Kinda fun.” 

“What the fuck, how long has she let you do that?” Nathan asked, his fork still halfway to his mouth as he stared perturbed at Pickles. 

Pickles shrugged again. “Couple years now. Why, you ordering nasty sex toys or something you don’t want me to see?” 

Nathan flushed pink, and glared down into his pancakes. “Don’t be an asshole. Just don’t want you going through all my shit.” 

“Yeah, you’re ordering nasty shit. I’m gonna watch out for your stuff more now,” Pickles grinned. 

“Juscht fire her,” Murderface said, grateful the topic was drifting away from his mail. “Then he can’t get in there anymore.” 

“Nah, he won’t,” Pickles replied. “You guys all know her--the one with those green eyes.” 

“Damn it,” Nathan huffed. “She’s nice. Always leaves a little note on my mail when she brings it to my room with a smiley face. I can’t fire her.” 

“Told ya,” Pickles smirked. “So, ya going to your shitty haunted house or something? Making a spooky costume, Scaryface?” 

“Yeah, might use it for Halloween” Murderface snorted. “But, itsch really for Planet Pissch. Got a...concept album idea going.” 

“Ams it piss?” Toki asked. 

Skwisgaar rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. “Whats does you think, Toki. What’s else woulds it be?” 

“Wes should does a groups costume this year,” Toki said. “Then wes can all goes to sees the sads Murderface house!” 

“I woulds be ups for thats,” Skwisgaar replied. “Gots to be somethings cool though, Toki.” 

“No, no, what the fuck, no,” Pickles protested. “Thought you Swedes were antisocial, why the hell do you wanna do a group costume?” 

Skwisgaar glared. “Because I ams Swedish, I can’ts have friends? Wes can’ts have funs with a groups costume? Ams I meant to hates fun?” 

“I just figured you wouldn’t think it was cool,” Pickles replied. “Don’t gotta be a douche bag about it.” 

“Oh fines then, I goes as the personifications of nihilism,” Skwisgaar scoffed. “Ams that an acceptable costume for mes, Pickle?” 

Murderface ate in silence as the argument grew over the group costume idea. He’d get used to even more arguments if it meant they’d forget to ask him about what he was doing. 

Still, Pickles potentially seeing his mail made him worry. When the mask showed up later that day, he made sure the mail team knew to bring it straight to his room. 

But it was Charles who knocked on his door and had the package in hand. 

“Look it over, if you want changes made we’ll send it back right away,” he said, watching as Murderface tried to open the package without letting him see too much of it. 

“Serial killer...that’s a fun costume,” Charles continued as Murderface turned away to examine the mask.

“How would you know?” Murderface asked as he felt Charles sit on the end of the bed. “Can’t see you getting dressed up for Halloween much.” 

Charles only shrugged. “So...will it work?” 

Murderface turned and stared. Did he somehow know? How the fuck could he know? 

“For your costume?” Charles asked, an eyebrow raised. 

“Oh, yeah. Perfect,” Murderface replied, relieved. And it was, exactly the way he wanted it. 

“Good,” Charles said, a small smile on his face. “Have fun putting it together. I’m sure you’ll look great.” 

After Charles had left, he pulled everything on and stood in front of the mirror near his closet. The whole picture--suit, mask, boots, a pair of black leather gloves--looked good. 

Except...

His hair ruined it. Everybody knew his hair, the fucking curly triangle. He had to hide it.

A thick winter beanie didn’t help, and the mask fit funny then. Any other hats would likely be the same result. 

“You gotta go,” he told the reflection of his curls. “We’re ugly asch schit anyway, being bald ain’t gonna make a difference.” 

He called for a klokateer from the hairdressing department, and changed back into his regular clothes while he waited for them. 

The klokateer had to have run, she was so out of breath. “Sir, you needed someone immediately. How may I assist you?” 

He pointed to his hair. “Get rid of it.” 

Her eyes were only barely visible with her hood on, but he could see them go wide. “Uhm...maybe we could just try a different style? Going straight to bald is a big change, sir.” 

“I. Want. It. Gone,” he replied. She’d run to Charles in a minute, he was sure of it. 

“Uh, we’ll need the clippers, not these,” she said, holding up a pair of shears. “Just let me go get those.” 

He sat on his bed and waited for the phone to ring. She’d have run to Charles, begging for help as to what to do without being seen as being disobedient. A moment later, his Dethphone rang loudly. 

“Murderface, I’ve got a very scared and confused young woman in here saying you want to chop off all your hair. Is this true?” Charles asked. 

“Yeah,” Murderface replied. “Why’sch that a big deal?” 

“Well, it is a very sudden image change. We’ll have to do all new publicity photos, promotions. And it is a bit random--why do you want to do this?” Charles asked. 

“Want a change, that’sch all,” Murderface sighed. “Can’t a guy want to change schit up?” 

Charles sighed. “Of course. I’ll send another hairdresser to you. This one’s a bit too shaky to do the job now.” 

Murderface tapped the ‘end call’ button, and flopped back against his pillows. The guys would hate having to take new pictures, but they’d get over it. Besides, maybe they’d have to make a sacrifice or two to help his revenge as well. 

It was a male klokateer this time, silent as he sat down a chair and propped a broom and dust pan near the door. He was silent all the way through the cut as well, but that was just fine. 

When the klokateer had cleaned the floor of his curls and left, Murderface put the outfit back on. 

It made a world of difference. Now, he looked like a proper faceless killer. 

Now, all he had to do was start killing. 

                                          -----------------------

The next morning, he was glowing. There was no other way to put it. He was excited beyond belief to get started. Granted, he still needed to do a bit of research to figure out where each victim would be. But there were multiple social media accounts for each person, so it would be easy enough. 

The biggest worry right now was the reaction to his hair, or the lack of it. The guys did not disappoint as he joined them at the breakfast table. 

“What in the fuck dids yous do?” Skwisgaar asked, dropping his fork. “And why?” 

“I wanted to,” Murderface replied. “Felt like something different. Not bad, right?” 

“Ugggghhh,” Nathan whined. “We’re gonna have to do new promos now. I hate promo photos.” 

“Yeah, but they moved that green-eyed klokateer to the makeup team,” Pickles said. “Charles found out she was letting me in the mail room and uh...look, it was either move her or lose her. But you could talk to her more now, since she’ll be at the promos shoot.” 

Nathan smiled a very small smile. “Would be nice to say hi...” 

“Yeah, cuz you think she’s pretty. Even with the hood,” Pickles teased. 

“She is,” Nathan said. “Don’t make it weird when she’s around us, okay? We don’t wanna creep her out.” 

“Don’t worry, I won’t ruin it for ya,” Pickles replied as he shoved a forkful of eggs into his mouth. “You’ll get your chance with pretty mail girl.” 

“Not ifs Murderface gets it firsts,” Toki said. “Ams almost normal lookings now.” 

They all stared at Toki, then at Murderface. 

“Huh...you do look decent. I mean, still weird to see, but I don’t know, it works somehow,” Pickles said, breaking the brief silence. 

Nathan nodded. “Still not getting her number though.” 

“I won’t even try,” Murderface replied, rolling his eyes. He could worry about getting groupies with his new look after all his work was done. Normally, he’d have been all over the idea right away, but this was different. 

“Nots going to beats my numbers,” Skwisgaar muttered. “But yous looks okay. Almost goods, even.” 

“What can I schay, I know what looksch good,” Murderface smiled. “I was right about my schorts being schexy as hell, now with thisch--I’m gonna be irresistible.” 

He shoveled his food in quick as the conversation moved on to some bullshit about Toki wanting more groupies at the end of each concert. He had more important concerns. He’d get the suit ready with all of the knives he’d set aside for the project, and figure out where to go for his first target. If he could, he’d head out for it tonight. 

As soon as he was done with his plate, he dashed back to his room and started putting them away. It was fun, with so many hidden pockets to fill. He’d never get caught without a weapon, and once he was done it would go back to its spot--no murder weapons to be left behind. 

“Perfect,” he breathed as he finished the suit and held it up in front of himself. 

“Is it?” 

Charles’ voice made him jump. He hadn’t even heard him come in. 

“How the hell...what the...you should learn how to knock!” Murderface yelled, carefully folding the suit in close to his chest, as if he could somehow prevent Charles from seeing it any further.

“Sorry,” Charles replied, a smirk on his face. 

Murderface felt sweat pooling on his face. Charles wasn’t supposed to know about this part of things. Just to know when the assholes were dead, so he could start the legal paperwork. “Uh...now you know my costume is really perfect! I’m gonna look great!” 

“You will,” Charles agreed. “Also, 4242.” 

“What does that mean?” Murderface asked. 

“The first executive you’re going to kill. The code to his penthouse door is 4242,” Charles replied matter-of-factly. 

Murderface knew his jaw was hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. How in the hell had he figured it all out?

“All the details for your orders lead to someone far away from here. Some ass in Ohio who keeps trying to scalp Dethklok tickets. If the worst happens, and they start tracking anyone down to nail for these killings, it’ll be that jerk. Not you,” Charles continued. 

“How did you--” Murderface started. 

“Does it really matter?” Charles asked. “Point is, you’re doing a good job of keeping your tracks covered--I’m just going to make sure they stay covered.” 

“How do I know you aren’t gonna fuck me over though?” Murderface asked. If there would be anyone to turn him in, he would guess Charles would be the first to do it. 

Charles looked genuinely hurt at that. “Look, I get it. I’m not fun, I don’t seem like the type to let you get away with this. Just--just know I’ve got my reasons for wanting you to be successful in this endeavor. I won’t fuck you over.” 

“What, you’ve got bodies buried out in a desert schomewhere too?” Murderface asked, snorting. 

Charles didn’t laugh. Didn’t chuckle. Didn’t move an inch. That was scary as fuck. 

“Uh, never mind. You don’t gotta anschwer that,” Murderface said quickly. 

Charles sighed. ‘Look, he leaves for the Bahamas soon. So we need to get you out to him by this time tomorrow. And to the rest fairly quickly too, if we want this thing shut down by Halloween.” 

“You...you don’t like the haunted housche either?” Murderface asked. He’d figured Charles honestly didn’t give that much of a fuck about it. 

“Of course I don’t,” Charles scoffed. “Makes you look bad, and by association, the band. You don’t deserve it, and neither do the guys. But I haven’t found a way to touch them yet legally, so this...well, it’ll be perfect.” 

Murderface was struck. Granted, he was just as concerned about the band as he was for him, but...someone gave a shit. Honestly, truly, cared. 

“I’ll let you know when the plane is ready. Get packed,” Charles instructed as he turned and headed for the door. 

“You know where they all are?” Murderface asked. “You’re schure?” 

“I wouldn’t send you if I wasn’t,” Charles replied as he left. “I’ll have an alibi for your absence, in case any of the guys notice. So just go with it, okay?” 

Murderface nodded, and rushed to pack as Charles footsteps faded down the hallway. 

In six days time, all the assholes would be dead, and everything would be good again. 

The excitement was delicious.

                                            -----------------------

The plane ride was quick, yet not quick enough. Still, before he knew it, he was in front of the penthouse building. It wasn’t too far from Mordhaus, only about fifty miles. He’d expected to have to travel longer, but was glad he didn’t have to. 

It was a busy enough place that crowds bustled around him, and he could drift past people through the doors without anyone glancing at him. The security guard was asleep, and there was no one else in the lobby. He didn’t want to jinx it, but it almost seemed like it would be easy. 

Then again, it wasn’t like there was much to stare at. He looked like any other guy coming to stay with someone in the building, in a black tee and jeans that Charles had waiting on the plane for him. The black duffel bag that held his suit and mask looked like any other travel bag. He was just a visitor, no one to look twice at. 

It was an incredibly freeing feeling. He’d never thought he would miss being anonymous, but it was nice for a short time. 

The service elevator wasn’t even hidden; he found it down a hall just off of the lobby. On the ride up to the penthouse, he changed, his hands shaking. He stowed the bag in the small room that housed the upper level entrance to the elevator, then started down the hall to the door of the penthouse.

The design of which was gross even to him. It might have been called a penthouse, but it was technically the first two top floors--in his mind, it was bigger than a penthouse then. 

But he wasn’t there to argue exactly what this guy’s home qualified as. He punched the code into the door panel, grabbed a large kitchen knife from one pocket sheath, and started into the dark home. 

A bachelor, and it showed by the state of the penthouse. There was still a pile of coke laying on the living room table, which was just showy and ridiculous to Murderface. Erotic art covered the walls, and while he owned a few of the same pieces himself, even this was a bit of overkill. You could barely see the wall behind the art there was so much of it. 

A light shone in the darkness, probably a bedroom. He moved towards it, as quiet as he could manage. 

“Jasmine?” a raspy voice called out. “I didn’t expect you tonight, baby. I’m not gonna pay you for a surprise visit; I hope you know that. But I’ll be happy to have some company.” 

This was it. Murderface gripped the knife tight, and charged into the room. 

The executive was in a open robe and boxers, and stared in shock at Murderface. 

“What in the--” he started.

Murderface stepped forward and shoved the knife into his open mouth. It was hard to yank back out, but the choking noises were incredibly satisfying to hear as he stabbed again and again--the man’s fat gut, his chest, slashing across his arms as he back up and fell to the bed, raising them to try and defend himself. Blood was splattered across his mask, and sweat dripped down his face, but he was enjoying the exertion--which would figure. The only exercise he’d enjoy would have to be illegal. 

Finally, the executive stopped moving. His intestines were falling out of him, and blood drenched the silver silk sheets and painted the walls. It was glorious. 

“One down,” he muttered to himself. “Two and how many extras to go.” 

He checked three times for a pulse before he left. The walk out was as easy as the walk in too--he changed again in the elevator, using a rag in the bag to wipe his boots clean, and walked past the same guard who was still fast asleep. 

The air tasted sweeter outside. It was cliche, but so true. He felt good--he always talked about doing shit, but so often didn’t. It felt amazing to finally do something. 

And he was excited to do more.

                                      ------------------------

He slept on the plane ride home, not bothering or caring to check the time. He’d get home when he’d get home, and deal with any questions from the guys if any of them were up. He hadn’t left too late, so they were likely to still be stumbling around watching TV or something. 

Sure enough, they were all squished together on a couch, seemingly half asleep. They bounced back to wakefulness once he walked in though. 

“You dog!” Pickles shouted. “We heard about her; Charles told us everything! Toki was right, the hair was the problem. Now you’re getting models!” 

He grinned as Pickles charged towards him and slapped him on the back. He kept a tight hold of his duffel bag as he was steered towards the couch. He didn’t want any of them getting curious and searching through it. This was a hell of an alibi that Charles had given him. 

“So?” Skwisgaar asked expectantly. 

“What?” Murderface asked. “The model?” 

“Yeah!” Nathan exclaimed. “How was she?”

“Uh, amazing, of course,” Murderface replied, hoping he sounded less awkward than he felt. “Juscht wild, you know how models are.” 

“Looks at him,” Skwisgaar chuckled, and gently patted his cheek. “Still all sweaty and disgustings. Goods for you!” 

Murderface just nodded and smiled. This was all good and fun (though it would be more fun if Charles also could supply him with an actual model to date) but he was still tired. And he needed to get his stuff into his room and clean it all up. 

“Look at that grin,” Nathan laughed. “God, are you finally gonna be fun? That’s awesome, if you are.” 

“Yeah!” Toki added. “Then wes all gets ladies for afters our shows, and everybody ams happy! Oh wowee, we gotta takes you out to celebrates!” 

“Yeah,” Murderface agreed as he stood from the couch. “Schome night later this week maybe. Or hey, what about Halloween? Big night out to celebrate!” 

They cheered. They’d never been this enthusiastic for one of his suggestions before. Was it the hair, the alibi and fake accomplishment, or the real confidence from the murder that he’d been missing all this time to get them to really like him? He wasn’t sure, but he knew he wasn’t ever going back to what he was before. 

“That sounds like fun, and I hate to interrupt the planning,” Charles said, suddenly in the room. They needed to put a damn bell on him. “Can I borrow Murderface for a moment though? After all, I’m sure he needs to actually get some sleep now!” 

Their happy laughter echoed down the halls as Charles gently pulled him away from the couch and to his room.

He shut and locked the door, and gestured to two plush armchairs at one wall of the massive bedroom. “Have a seat. You deserve the rest. Scotch okay?”

Murderface nodded and took in the room. It was very...Charles. Richly yet plainly decorated. All black and red, almost something out of Dracula’s castle with the velvet everywhere, yet nothing stood out about it to declare it as Charles’. The chair was comfy, if nothing else. 

He dropped his back by him as he dropped into the chair, and gratefully took the glass of scotch from Charles. 

“So...how was it?” Charles asked. 

He took a breath. “It wasch...amazing. I can’t wait for the next one.” 

He felt his cheeks flush as Charles grinned. 

“I’m glad you had fun. I figured you would, but I wanted to check in just in case. I’m proud of you for this, you know,” Charles said. “This is quite an undertaking. But you’re doing wonderfully.” 

Murderface nodded. “Thanksch.” 

The silence sat for a moment before Charles broke it. 

“You want to know why I’m so invested.” 

He nodded. “I mean...I get it. You take care of usch, and all our bullschit. But this...you’re really exschited for this.” 

Charles tossed back the scotch in his glass and smiled. “Well. I can’t tell you everything. In fact, there’s more I can’t tell you than there is that I can. But I--I had my own reasons to do this sort of violence you’re doing now. The why doesn’t matter so much anymore, not to me at least. But that’s because the people I needed dead are in the ground, rotting, and no longer a threat to me. And that is...very freeing.” 

“You feel safe,” Murderface found himself whispering, so quietly his speech impediment didn’t have a chance to start. 

Charles nodded, but his eyes were on his empty glass. “Yes. I suppose that’s the best way to describe it.” 

“Did you enjoy it?” Murderface asked. 

Charles chuckled. “I think you know the answer to that already.” 

He nodded. “Yeah. Bet you’d be out here doing these yourschelf if you could.” 

Charles sat up a bit straighter. “I mean...it would be fun. To do it again. Even just once. But I don’t want to take away from your fun.” 

“I’ll need help at the haunted housche,” Murderface replied. “I’ve got to take out the team lead, but there’ll be a bunch of actorsch we can take down too...I don’t want to be overwhelmed by anyone fighting back. You could come with, if you think you can make it.” 

Charles looked happier than he’d ever seen him before. “If you really want me to; I’d love to. I don’t get out very often anymore.” 

“It schows,” Murderface scoffed before he could catch his tongue. He looked nervously at Charles, awaiting the lecture.

Instead, Charles threw his head back and laughed. “Fuck. It does, doesn’t it? All work and no play...Yeah. I’ll come with for the haunted house. You can have fun with the second executive on your own first though.” 

“I schuppose you’ll have all the info for me about him by tomorrow?” Murderface smiled. 

“Of course,” Charles replied as they slowly stood and went to the door. He unlocked it, handed him the duffel bag, and patted Murderface’s back gently as he walked out. “Get some good sleep--you’re going to need the energy.” 

“What? Isch this guy schome sort of Olympian-executive or schomething?” he asked. 

Charles shook his head. “But you should be well-rested before these, uh, little adventures no matter what. Better form, and then you won’t tire out halfway through things.” 

Murderface nodded. “Hey...uh, thanksch. For all of thisch. I mean, I’d probably be fine on my own too, but--” 

Charles just nodded back. “I get it. Have a good night, Murderface.” 

The door clicked shut behind him as he started down the hall towards his room. He was definitely ready to sleep some more. But the morbid curiosity was gnawing at him too--what other skeletons did Charles have in his closet, and what exactly had he done to put them there?

Maybe he’d find out after Halloween night, if he could get him to join them for celebratory drinks. He hoped he would. 

                                                 -------------------------

[anavoliselenu]

Anchor me chpter 5

I move slowly down, licking his skin, teasing the light smattering of hair on his chest. I flick my tongue over his nipple and am rewarded by the way he grabs my hair, his body stiffening beneath my hands that are sliding down his body, too, keeping time with the progress of my kisses. I go lower, dropping to my knees as I reach his navel. His abs are rock hard and the muscles quiver under my lips. I can tell I’m driving him crazy, and he tightens his grip on my hair even as his other hand reaches for the side of the stall to steady himself. Lower and lower, my lips teasing his skin, tracing that magical line of hair that leads from just below his navel all the way down to his cock. And when I reach it, thick and wet, I draw my tongue along the velvet steel as Justin moans under my ministrations. With purposeful slowness, I lick around the head, then flick the end of my tongue over the tip, tasting the pre-come. Then I draw him in, and as I do, the hand that Justin has twined in my hair shifts to the back of my head. At first he just holds me steady, but as I suck in long, deep strokes, he groans with satisfaction and longing, and tightens his grip. Right now, I’m the one in control, but I can feel that control slipping from me. No, not slipping. Justin is grabbing it by grabbing me—by holding tight to my hair and keeping me in place as he fucks my mouth, totally turning the tables on me. But I don’t care. I’m too turned on to care, and as his cock fills my mouth and water pounds down over us, I slip my hand between my legs and touch myself, then whimper softly. I’m slick and swollen and so turned on it’s painful, and as I suck my husband’s cock, I tease myself, seeking release. I’m close, too, so close I can feel electricity filling my body like an approaching thunderstorm. I can feel the tension building in Justin, too, and I know the explosion is coming. Doesn’t matter. He pulls back, leaving my mouth open in surprise. Then he pulls me to my feet and turns me around, his hands gliding over my wet skin as he spins me. “Hands on the wall,” he demands, and I comply eagerly as his fingers slide over my ass to find my core. And then his cock is there, and he’s pounding inside of me, his hands tight on my breasts as he orders me to “finish what you started, baby. Touch yourself. I want to feel you come with me.” I don’t hesitate, and as Justin’s wet body slaps against mine—as he thrusts deeper and deeper inside me—I tease my clit, feeling the shockwaves gather inside me, readying for an explosion. And when Justin’s body goes rigid—when he thrusts hard that one final time—when he releases completely inside me, that’s when I finally go over, my deep cry of satisfaction ringing out in harmony with his as our bodies shake and quiver together from the force of our simultaneous release. When the shockwaves have faded, he turns me gently in his arms, then rinses me off before shutting off the stream of warm water. He opens the door, and steam curls into the rest of the bathroom. He leads me out onto the fluffy bathmat, then uses a thick, cotton towel to dry me off. Only then do I lean my head back, smile, and speak to him for the first time. “Good morning, Mr. Stark.” “Yes,” he says, matching my grin. “It is.” “I figured since I can’t wake up with coffee, this was the next best thing.” I say it with a wink, and he chuckles. “Happy to be of service, Mrs. Stark.” “I’ll keep that in mind.” “I’ve read that pregnancy hormones make a woman wildly aroused,” he adds conversationally. “I thought I should mention that I’m always happy to help with whatever you need. Ice cream. A quickie on your office desk.” “Frozen Thin Mints?” I suggest. “I think that’s the first time I’ve been displaced by baked goods. Too bad it’s the wrong time of year for Girl Scout cookies. Besides, I thought your favorite guilty pleasure was frozen Milky Ways.” I lift a shoulder. “Who can understand cravings? But don’t worry. I won’t stop craving you.” He pulls me in for a long, slow kiss, before easing back and studying my face. “Now that, Mrs. Stark, is something I’m very, very glad to hear.” “When should we tell everyone?” I ask once we’re dressed and Justin is walking with me toward the foyer. “Part of me wants to wait until Monday after I see my own doctor. But I also want them to hear it from us, and not on social media.” “Most people don’t believe what they read online. Even Greystone-Branch asked you. They didn’t just assume.” “True. And I think the gossip may be mostly contained. That printout John showed me was from a Dallas gossip site. And Jamie didn’t say a word. And she absorbs gossip intravenously.” Justin tugs me to him for a quick kiss. “Then we’re probably safe waiting,” he says. “Why don’t we host a brunch on Sunday— mimosas for them, juice for you. Unless it comes up before, we’ll tell everyone then.” “Good. Sunday’s good. Before then, and it’s like we’re stealing Jane’s thunder. I want her to have the full princess treatment at the premiere on Friday.” “Sunday it is.” I hesitate. “Should we wait to tell Jackson and Syl, though? I mean, he’s your brother.” “And he’ll understand if we wait. Baby, everyone will understand.” He’s right. None of our friends or family will feel slighted by us choosing how we want to share our news. I just hope they hear it from us first. “All right,” I say. “Sunday.” I press the button for our private elevator, and it opens immediately. I step on, surprised when Justin follows me into the car. I’d expected him to walk through the corridor to his penthouse office suite. “Do you have outside meetings?” He flips the switch to lock the doors open. “I just wanted to say a proper goodbye to my wife,” he says, then draws me close for a kiss so full of heat and desire I think it’s going to take me the entire descent to recover. “Mmm,” I say when he breaks the kiss. “I have a phone conference at ten. I could text Marge and tell her I’m not coming in by nine, after all. I’m sure she’ll be fine with putting off reviewing everything on my calendar for this week.” Marge is the receptionist for the entire floor of office suites, but I also recently hired her as my part-time assistant. “Tempting,” he says, then brushes his lips over my ear. “But I’d hate to throw Marge off her game. I’ll see you tonight,” he says, “and we’ll finish what we started in the shower.” “I thought we finished just fine,” I tease. “Trust me, sweetheart.” His teeth tug gently on my earlobe. “That was just an appetizer.” “Oh.” I hold onto the handrail because I suddenly feel a little limp. “I’ll see both of you later,” he says as he flips the switch to release the doors. I laugh and then blow him a kiss as the doors slide closed. And the last thing I see before he disappears completely is a smug smile filled with the promise of things to come. Honestly, I can hardly wait.

I’m still smiling as the elevator doors slide open in the lobby. Normally, I’d just take the elevator all the way to the parking garage, but I’d started to feel nauseous during the descent, and I thought maybe a muffin would stave off morning sickness. So I head toward Java B’s, the little coffee shop in the Stark Tower lobby. Unfortunately, the line is at least a mile long, but since it’s a gorgeous summer morning, I opt to go outside to the cafe’s outdoor kiosk. I head that way, calling out a quick good morning to Joe at the security desk as I head toward the revolving door. “Welcome back, Mrs. Stark,” he says. “Thanks, Joe.” I’m about to ask if he’d like me to grab him a coffee, but I end up choking on the words. Because right there on the other side of the glass I see the familiar dark hair, trim figure, and sharp cheekbones of a woman who so closely resembles Audrey Hepburn that she often turns heads on the street. Giselle Reynard. Immediately, my stomach lurches, and I’m suddenly glad I haven’t eaten that muffin. What the hell is she doing here? And not just in Los Angeles, but at Stark Tower? Justin had sent her very firmly away before he and I were even married. The bitch had not only told the press that Justin had paid a million dollars for a nude portrait of me, but she’d also floated bullshit stories to the media, including the ridiculous rumor that Justin, Jamie, and I were having a three-way. She’d been in the middle of a divorce, desperate and hurting for money, but as far as I’m concerned, what she did was unforgivable. Justin had bought out her art galleries and agreed not to sue her for defamation if she got the hell out of Los Angeles and didn’t look back. The last I heard, she was in Florida. Apparently, she decided to tempt fate by returning. I don’t realize that I’ve stopped dead until the mechanical voice of the revolving door chides me to “Please keep moving”. I take a step forward, then another. I’m actually considering just making the full circle back to the lobby when Giselle looks up, sees me, and flashes a tentative smile. Well, fuck. I step out of the safety of the door and into the bustle of a city coming to life. People scurrying into the building. Horns blaring. A news helicopter overhead. And Giselle, hurrying over to meet me, her smile just a little too bright. “Selena,” she says. “Congratulations.” “Excuse me?” My voice is cold. Hard. She swallows, her smile faltering. “I heard that you’re pregnant,” she says, dashing my hopes that the gossip was localized in Dallas. “Or is that just a rumor?” I raise a brow. “A rumor? Who would be vile enough to start rumors about me? Especially about something personal.” Her shoulders sag. “Do you want me to say I’m sorry again? I am. I was a mess back then. I had so many debts, and I was so scared that everything was going to come crashing down around my shoulders.” Her mouth twists ironically. “And then it all did crash, and I survived. And I realized that now I have to live with every horrible thing I did during those dark days. So if you hate me, that’s okay. I deserve it.” I exhale slowly. “I don’t hate you, Giselle. I did,” I admit. “But now you’re not even on my radar.” My words are biting, and I expect to see the force of them cut through her. Instead, she just nods as if she understands completely. Hell, maybe she does. Maybe she really is contrite. I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t much care. All I know is that she went out of her way to hurt not just me but also my relationship with Justin. And not even out of spite or jealousy, but simply to push her own self-interests. Even if she is in a better place now, that doesn’t mean I’m ready to forgive. “Why are you here, Giselle?” I demand. “I have an appointment. With Justin.” “You set up an appointment with Justin?” I can’t believe he didn’t tell me he was going to meet with Giselle. “Not with him. Through his assistant.” I nod, relieved. Rachel was only working weekends when I was dating Justin. Odds are she doesn’t even remember the drama that Giselle caused back then. She glances at her watch. “I should go. She squeezed me in at eight-thirty. I told her I was only in town for the morning and, well, I don’t want to be late.” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “I have a feeling Justin will be as enthusiastic about seeing me as you are.” Her voice is high and self-deprecating. “And I don’t need to add fuel to an already unpleasant fire by being late. But, seriously,” she adds, her tone shifting toward sincere, “congratulations. I’m happy for both of you. Truly.” With a final apologetic smile, she scurries inside. I stand there for a minute, trying to recall why I’d come onto the plaza in the first place. Muffin, I remember and take a step toward the kiosk. “A latte, Mrs. Stark?” the barista asks, but I shake my head. Right now, the idea of food sitting heavy in my stomach sounds like the most horrible thing ever. “No,” I say. “Never mind, I’m good.” But I’m not good, and that bothers me. Because I can’t deny that seeing Giselle has cast a gray pallor over an otherwise beautiful day. 10 What have you ever earned on your own? The vile words flash at me from my cell phone as I enter my office building. Another anonymous message. Another stab to my gut. I’d ultimately decided that the first message in Dallas was from another applicant for the Greystone-Branch position. Maybe someone trying to psych me out. Someone who didn’t realize I’d already finished the interview. I’d pushed it out of my mind, and since there’d been no repeat, I’d forgotten to mention it to Justin. Maybe I would have remembered if I weren’t pregnant, in a public spotlight, and crying at my sister’s grave, but all of that drama pushed one vile text message right out of my head. Now, it’s back, front and center and with traveling companions. And I know that I need to tell Justin. I’m about to call him, but then I remember that he had to face Giselle this morning. Considering the negative impact she’d had on my mood, I expect that Justin will be equally put out. And hearing that I have a new pen pal isn’t going to make him happy either. I slip my phone back into my bag and make a mental note to tell him tonight. I’m already reconsidering if I should call him now when the elevator stops at my floor, and I step off, ready to toss a smile to Marge. But instead of Marge at the reception desk, I see a tiny little girl with big blue eyes and coal-black hair. She sits up straighter when she sees me, picks up a pencil, and says very clearly, “May I help you?” “Why, yes,” I say. “I’m looking for Selena Stark. I have an appointment with her.”

From the corner of my eye, I see my sister-in-law, Sylvia, fighting a grin from where she’s sitting on the reception room sofa holding the baby, Jeffery, in her lap. Ronnie giggles, then sighs. “No, no, Aunt Selena. That’s wrong. You can’t be looking for yourself.” I let my eyes go wide. “You’re right! How did you get to be so smart, anyway?” She slides off the chair and trots around the desk toward me, then shrugs. “I just am.” “You just are?” I repeat. “You just are?” I raise my voice to a tease, and at the same time rush forward to scoop her up, lift her into my arms, and twirl her around. She squeals with delight. “Faster, Aunt Selena! Faster!” But faster isn’t in the program today because my ever-present nausea has decided to pay a visit, and so I plunk us both down on the couch beside Syl. Ronnie immediately scrambles out of my lap and goes back to Marge’s desk because “I’m supposed to be in charge until she comes back.” I meet Syl’s eyes, and see that she’s trying not to laugh. “Marge is in Peter’s office,” she explains, referring to the freelance graphic artist who has the smallest office suite on this floor. “She asked Ronnie to watch the desk while she gathered some papers to forward to him in Maryland.” “His mother asked him to fly out and help her move,” I comment. “Mine didn’t even send a change of address postcard.” Syl frowns. “What?” I wave away the words, then pull one of my feet up onto the couch. My ankles have been aching all morning. “Never mind. It’s not important. I’m much more interested in holding this little guy.” I reach for Jeffery as Syl lifts him to his feet, and he toddles over the sofa cushions to plunk down in my lap. “Ni-Ni!” he says with a big grin, and I pull him in and cuddle him close, then press kisses all over those adorable baby cheeks. “So why are you here?” I ask. “Oh. Well. Ronnie has a two-week summer camp in Burbank, and Stella has a doctor’s appointment,” she adds, referring to her nanny. “I took the morning off to bring Ronnie, and since we were nearby, and . . .” She trails off, her cheeks going pink. I sit back with sudden understanding, Jeffery snuggled in my arms. I flash a wide smile and then lift a shoulder in a small shrug. “We were going to invite you to brunch on Sunday and tell you then. I didn’t want to steal Jane’s thunder before the premiere.” Syl looks like she’s about to say something, but right then Marge comes back into the room, and Ronnie scurries around the desk to cling to her mom’s legs. “Come on,” I say, standing and balancing Jeffery on my hip. “Let’s go into my office.” I have a basket of crayons, coloring books, and Lego Duplos that I keep for the kids, and Ronnie immediately races toward it. I put Jeffery down beside her, and when I turn around, Syl engulfs me in a hug. “Congratulations,” she says, giving me a squeeze before she steps back and grins broadly. “I’m so happy for you guys!” “I’m a terrible sister-in-law,” I say, and Syl laughs. “We should have called you and Jackson first thing.” “You’re fine. I’m just nosy.” I laugh as she settles into one of my guest chairs. “Nosy,” she repeats, “and maybe a little concerned.” She wrinkles her nose apologetically, but I get where she’s coming from. Syl’s mother isn’t quite the nightmare mine is, but it’s fair to say that we’ve both had our share of parental issues. She doesn’t know all the details about my life growing up, but she was in the thick of it when I was planning my wedding. So she knows enough to understand that I have issues with my mom—and to know that the idea of being a parent myself would make me nervous. “Thanks,” I say sincerely. “But I’m fine. Truly,” I add when she just watches me, her expression suggesting she’s assessing my veracity. “I was freaked at first—this was entirely unexpected—but now I’m kind of floating.” Sylvia’s smile lights up the room. “I know what you mean, both of mine were unexpected, though in entirely different ways.” I laugh. Ronnie is Jackson’s biological daughter, and when Sylvia and Jackson first got together, Syl had no idea the little girl existed. As for Jeffery, he and my little peanut have conception-by-failed-birth-control in common. “I would have called yesterday, but I didn’t realize that the news had spread outside of Dallas. Jamie called me before my interview and didn’t say a thing, so I just figured the gossip was localized.” I frown, because Jamie’s the most tied-in person I know. She’s been addicted to social media and the internet for years, but now she’s even more obsessive about checking all the gossip sites. She calls it “professional research” and “staying on top of her game”. So surely she would have seen the coverage. After all, the odds of Sylvia noticing and Jamie remaining clueless are slim to none. So surely she knew. But why the hell didn’t she say anything about the baby? “It’s not too widespread,” Syl says, interrupting my thoughts. “That’s actually why I wasn’t sure. I’ve seen a couple of mentions that you fainted on the lawn of your family home—true?” I roll my eyes. “Yes and no. It used to be my family home, but apparently my mother has moved on.” Syl opens her mouth, ostensibly to ask me about that, but I just wave the words off, because I’m really not in the mood to even think about that woman. “They’re just covering the fainting?” I ask. “I should have gone online myself, but I didn’t have the stomach for it.” “Mostly just that,” she says. “But I’ve seen one or two sites that say you’re pregnant. Nothing reliable, though. Jackson said it was probably all bullshit, but I guess I had a feeling. I’ve seen you go through some pretty rough stuff, you know, and you’re really not the fainting type.” I laugh so hard that Ronnie looks up, startled. But Syl is right. Since she was Justin’s assistant before he and I got married, she had a bird’s-eye view of our tumultuous relationship—and the obsessive, horrible, invasive tabloid coverage we’d been subjected to. “Oh, hell,” she says, glancing at her watch. “I need to get the princess to art class.” Across the room, Ronnie stands up, her hands on her little hips. “Mommeeeee. I’m not a princess! I’m a mermaid!” “I thought you were a mermaid princess,” Syl says, and Ronnie just rolls her eyes. I watch, soaking it all in, and imagining a day when I can tease my own daughter like that. And, yes, wondering if I’ll know how. Because God knows, there wasn’t ever a whit of humor between my mother and me. “Toys back in the basket,” Syl orders. “Hurry up.”

“I can do it,” I say. “Trust me,” she says. “Start them early.” She reaches down, gathers up a few crayons, and scoops Jeffery up in a single practiced motion. As soon as he’s settled on her hip, she reaches a hand down for Ronnie, who reaches up at the same time to grab hold of her mother’s hand. My eyes sting, and I blink back tears. And though I totally blame it on hormones, I can’t deny that the simple, easy connection between mother and daughter has my heart twisting with both longing and regret. “Did you say something about brunch on Sunday?” Syl says as she shuffles her tribe toward the door. “Absolutely,” I say as my phone rings. “A small group. I’ll text you the time. You’re free?” “We’re totally in,” Syl says, then points to my phone. “Get to work and let me know if I should bring anything.” She blows me a kiss and disappears out my door. I grab the phone, expecting it to be the call I set up with a client in Seattle. Instead, it’s Justin. “Hi, stranger,” I say. “I was just going to text you. Syl was just—” “Selena,” he says, his voice firm enough to cut me off. “I’m so sorry.” “About what?” I say, then, “Oh! Giselle.” Seeing Sylvia and the kids had completely wiped her from my mind. “I had no idea she was back in town, much less that she’d made an appointment to see me.” “I know. She told me she went through Rachel.” “I was on the verge of throwing the bitch out of my office—” “Did she tell you what she wanted?” We’re talking over each other. Me, trying to sound like it doesn’t matter. Him, with latent fury tainting his voice. He’s known Giselle for years—they’d even dated for about five minutes before she got married. And he’d been sympathetic when she and Bruce had divorced. After all, she’d lost pretty much everything in their split. But then he’d learned that she was fucking with me—with us—and Justin had put all of his resources to work and essentially run the bitch out of town with her tail between her legs. I hear him exhale, and it sounds like defeat. “She wants to donate to the silent auction,” he says, referring to the fundraiser for the Stark Children’s Foundation that is part and parcel of the moviepremiere on Friday. “Oh.” His words surprise me. I’d expected—well, anything else. A request for a loan. To buy back one of her galleries. Simple forgiveness. Instead, she’s turned the tables. Instead of asking for help, she’s offering it. “Oh,” I say again. “Well, I guess you should agree.” Justin clears his throat. “I already did.” I start to say oh one more time, but force my lips to stay closed. He did exactly what I just told him to do, so it’s silly to be annoyed that he did it before asking me. But silly or not, I am irritated. Actually, I think I’m downright pissed. “I didn’t realize she’d managed to hang onto any of her pieces that were worth anything.” The words come out sounding false. Like I’m making conversation with a stranger in a bar. “She remarried,” Justin explains. “Not only is her husband wealthy, but he knows the parents of one of the kids in the bus.” Immediately, my irritation morphs into something more gentle. “That’s horrible. Those poor people.” The premiere is for The Price of Ransom, the film adaptation of Jane’s narrative nonfiction bestseller. It’s a story about five third-graders who’d been kidnapped and held for ransom, then almost killed when a rescue attempt went horribly wrong. The premiere—and all the activities surrounding it—is a fundraiser for the Stark Children’s Foundation, tickets for which start at five hundred dollars and go up to ten times that. “She and her husband are donating a Glencarrie,” he says, referring to an up-and-coming artist whose work has been garnering six figures at various auctions lately. “I told her we’d appreciate the donation, and that they’re welcome at the premiere. I’m sorry,” he says again, before I can reply. “I should have asked you first.” “No. Of course, it’s okay.” This time, I really mean it. She apologized, after all. And she’s donating a fortune to the foundation. “Besides, there’s going to be a huge crowd there. Maybe I won’t have to see her again.” Justin chuckles. “I love you.” “That’s a good thing, considering I’m having your baby.” “How are you feeling?” I can hear the shift in his tone. Just the mention of the baby has lifted both our moods. “Good, actually. I feel really good. Syl was just here, though. The word is out. You should call Jackson, and we should start telling our friends.” “Agree. They should hear it from us. We can tell them when we call to invite them over for brunch.” “And brunch will be one big celebration.” I glance at the clock. “I need to run. My client’s going to call any minute, and then I’m meeting Jamie for lunch. I’m going to try and work late and get caught up, but I may come home early.” “Pregnancy exhaustion?” “Try hormones,” I say. “And the way they’re hopping, you can expect me to jump you tonight.” “As I said, I’m always happy to help you with anything you need during your pregnancy.” “Very altruistic of you.” “Later, Mrs. Stark. And I’m looking forward to an evening of therapeutic aerobic activity.” I end the call and flip through my agenda for my notes. I’m still grinning when the phone chimes to signal an incoming text. I grimace, expecting that it’s my client texting to tell me the obvious—that he’s running incredibly late. But when I pull up the phone, it’s not my client. It’s not Justin either. Instead, it’s my new text stalker. And the message makes me cringe: What makes you think you deserve it? 11 I stare at the phone screen, bile churning in my gut. I hate this feeling—weak, exposed—and for one crazed moment, I imagine myself hurling my phone across the room to shatter against the far wall. I think about the hard plastic pieces, the raw edges as sharp as a knife. And I think about how I can get this churning, nasty feeling under control. How I can calm myself. Center myself. How I can use those shards of plastic as a lifeline to drag me back home. No, no, a thousand times no. That is not what I want. Cut, and whoever is baiting me wins. Cut, and I’ll destroy everything I’ve accomplished with Justin by my side. Most of all, if I cut, then what kind of model will I be for my child? I press my free hand over my belly, determined to safeguard this precious baby. This child I hadn’t expected but will now do anything to protect. What makes you think you deserve it? Once again, that vile message fills my head. I toss the phone on the desk and put both hands over my baby, then force myself to take deep breaths. I do deserve it, I think. I do, I do, I do. But deserve what?

The job? My baby? My marriage? “Oh, shit,” I whisper, as the synapses suddenly click into place. Giselle. It can’t be a coincidence that she showed up right about the time I got the first text. Can it? I whirl around for my phone. Maybe I’ve hesitated to tell Justin so far, but I can’t wait any longer. Not if it’s Giselle behind all of this. Giselle, worming her way into the fundraiser. Into our lives. But then I think about it, and Sofia seems an equally obvious suspect. Except that she’s all the way in the UK. So that probably takes her out of the running. Either way, I have to let Justin know. I snatch up the phone, then actually squeal when it rings in my hand. For a moment, I’m certain that it’s her, calling to torment me. To warn me to stay silent. That she has plans for me, and if I’m not careful, she’ll spill all of my secrets to the world. But then I see the caller ID—Ollie. Eagerly, I press the button to answer the call. At the same time, Marge buzzes the intercom. “Ollie, hang on. Yes, Marge?” “Your ten o’clock just called to cancel. Apparently, he had some unexpected travel.” “Tell him thanks for letting us know, and ask him to email me his availability.” “No problem.” She hangs up, and I move around my desk to collapse into my chair. It leans all the way back so that I can put my feet up, the kind of thing that would totally mortify my mother, but that I love. “Listen to you, big shot,” Ollie says. “Bossing around the assistant.” “You are such a jerk,” I say affectionately. “By the way, I saw your mom. She looks great.” “You did? Where?” “I was in Dallas. She didn’t tell you?” “I’m trying a fraud case in New York. I’m wasting precious lunch hour prep to call and congratulate you. And to make sure you aren’t a little bit weirded out.” I laugh, then put the phone on speaker so that baby Ashley can hear her uncle Ollie’s voice. We’ve had a few rough patches over the years, but at the heart of it, he’s still one of my best and oldest friends. And even though it took him a while to come around to Team Justin, I know that he’s not only got my back but that he truly understands that my husband does, too. “I appreciate the congrats. And, honestly, it was a shock at first, but now I’m looking forward to every step along the way.” “Pretty fast, though, right? I mean, it’s going to be over before you know it.” “Well, yeah.” I frown but decide that his odd questions stem from a Y-chromosome kind of place. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to savor the experience. Besides, nine months is almost a year. That doesn’t seem fast to me at all.” “Nine? I thought it was a six-month deal.” “Six? What—” I pull my feet off my desk and sit up. “Wait a sec, what are you talking about?” “Me?” he counters. “What are you talking about?” “The baby,” I say with a definite tone of duh in my voice. “Baby?” he asks, and I’m certain I can hear the wheels turning in his head. “You’re having a baby?” “I—yes. Wait. You really didn’t know?” “I had no idea. I told you—I’ve been buried in this trial. But, Selena! That’s amazing. Congratulations!” I draw in a breath, only then realizing how nervous I’ve been about his reaction. I grew up with Ollie, after all, and no one knows the extent of my family issues better than he does. “Thanks. I’m nervous,” I admit. “But mostly, I’m thrilled.” “You’re going to do great.” His gentle voice belongs to the Ollie of my childhood. The one who was always my champion. The best friend before Justin came along. I feel a little twist in my heart. Everything is fine between us now, but it will never be the same as it was. I don’t regret that, but sometimes I miss it. “And you’ll be a wonderful uncle,” I say. “Hell yeah, I will.” I laugh. “So what did you call to congratulate me for? There’s nothing else going on right now.” “For landing that contract with Greystone-Branch,” he says, in a tone of voice that suggests I’ve lost my mind. My heart starts pounding, and I roll the chair back away from the desk. “Say that again.” “The job with Greystone-Branch. You’d said you were nervous about it. So I thought I’d call to congratulate you.” “I don’t have the job,” I say. “I mean, I don’t have it yet. And honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to get it. They seemed pretty worried about my ability to get the work done now that I’m pregnant.” “You did get it,” Ollie says. “The announcement’s in the newsletter they sent out about twenty minutes ago.” “Wait. What?” I dig in my satchel for my iPad only to realize I left it on the counter back at the apartment. Since I haven’t yet fired up my computer, I switch over to email while keeping the phone on speaker. Sure enough, there’s a newsletter from Greystone-Branch sitting in my inbox. And three paragraphs in is the announcement of their new software development relationship with the exceptional team at Fairchild Development. “Holy shit,” I say. “You didn’t know?” “I didn’t have a clue. Why wouldn’t they call first? And why the hell are you getting the Greystone-Branch newsletter?” “Can’t help you with the first,” Ollie says. “But as for the newsletter, I represent one of their competitors, so I subscribed about a year ago.” “Lucky me,” I say, but I’m frowning. “Actually, this explains a lot,” I say, then tell him about the more-irritating-than-threatening texts I’ve been getting. “My first instinct was that they were from a competitor. But then this last one came in right before you called, and I started to think it was someone jealous about Justin. Or the baby. Anything but the contract, because why bother when I didn’t have the job?” “But now you’re thinking the person saw the newsletter, too.” “Maybe. I hope so.” I make a face. “If I’m going to have a text stalker, it would be nice for it to be about my work and not my marriage for once.” Ollie laughs. “You two do tend to make headlines.” Sadly, he’s right. “What does Justin say about the texts?” “I haven’t told him yet,” I admit. “Oh, that’s going to go over well.” I roll my eyes. Ollie and Justin may have settled into a friendly truce, but that doesn’t mean they’re each other’s best champions. In this case, though, Ollie’s probably right. “I’m going to tell him right now,” I say. “I was just about to call him when you rang.” “Then I should let you do that,” Ollie says. “And I also need to go. I need about ten minutes with my witness before I put her on the stand.” “Break a leg,” I say. “By the way, how long are you in New York?”