#I wanted to do Ford too but six buttons was already SO many

[bookfangeek]

What mysteries will we uncover?

PREORDER ON KO-FI

✧ REBLOG to poke Bill in his big dumb eye. ✧

[dulafer]

REHAB

Another old one where I only posted links to another site. Twin brothers, one with great career and drinking problem. The other fills in for him. It’s long, detailed etc....

The Favor

I haven’t seen my brother Marcus in years but he needs a favor, so of course he called. He didn’t provide any details,  just that he needs a ride to Cleveland, Ohio and for me to watch his car for a few weeks. Marcus is my identical twin, down to a tribal band tattoo we got on spring break in college. Even our initials are identical thanks to our mother’s naming us ‘Michael Robert Thomas’ and ‘Marcus Robert Thomas’. Growing up, our parents could never tell us apart and many times we’d trade places even through college. 

We both graduated from University of Michigan with a degree in marketing but I took a minor in finance. After graduating, he craved the big city, high pay lure of Chicago while I stayed in Ann Arbor working for a trendy web marketing company. We haven’t been close since graduating from college.

Personality wise, let’s just say Marcus is the charming, outgoing twin and I’m more of a wall flower. In high school and college he was always getting the girl, or guy and sharing with me. He’d do all the work and I was happy with sloppy seconds. Many times we dated the same person without them knowing—that’s how identical we are. Nowadays, we talk occasionally and on our birthday. He’s got his life, I’ve got mine, and I keep up with his via his very active Instagram and Twitter accounts. I’ve got enough ‘marketing’ in my life so I’m more of an online stalker, never posting anything.

According to his Instagram, he just got promoted vice president at Coleman Marketing—a very prestigious firm in downtown Chicago. Someone tagged him in videos from last night celebrating his promotion. He’s raking in the money while I just got laid off. Not that I’m worried as I got a nice severance package and have a few leads on jobs. I was head of a marketing department for an automotive trim manufacturer. Truthfully, I was the marketing department completely.

Marcus pulls up to my house just after 7 am looking exhausted getting out of his BMW. It looks like he’s dressed in what he had on last night. He's wearing a great black leather jacket. His hair is gelled and spiky, and he’s clean shaven. I’ve let myself go lately, not shaving in days and no haircut in weeks. I’ll worry about a haircut and shave when I get a job interview. I greet him on the stoop.

“Marcus, when the hell did you leave Chicago? I was expecting you at lunch. Since when do you get up before noon?” I mock him.

“I was on a high, celebrating my promotion and couldn’t get Chad, my boyfriend, to come home with me. So I didn't sleep, packed up my things, jumped in the car and drove right here. Got coffee?”

“Sure, plenty, help yourself. You look beat bro.”

“You look like a bum bro, what’s with the scruff and hair?”  He angrily fires back.

“Using up some vacation time here, getting things done around the house. Love the BMW bro, awesome machine.” I cover for my job loss and change topic.

Marcus walks in, heads straight to the Keurig and makes himself at home. “I just drove 4 hours straight without stopping. You’re driving the rest of the way.”

“Nice, I love BMWs. So what in the hell is in Cleveland, Ohio?  Nothing that I know of.”

“I’ve been court ordered to check into St. Joseph Rehab Center.”

“Jesus, what the fuck did you do?” I act shocked but I’m not. 

“I had an accident, totaled my car and someone else’s, there was alcohol and drugs involved and it’s my fourth offense.”

“Is everyone okay? Are you okay? You look fine?”

“Yeah, other car was parked and empty, My Land Rover crumpled like paper but it really protected me.”

“Wow, you were lucky bro. I always told you—“

“Shut up, I know, I know…. So I go into rehab for a few weeks, get the doc to sign off that I’m fine and no one is the wiser.” He grabs his head like its pounding.

“A few weeks?  Tammy went to rehab for six months!”

“She didn’t have my lawyer.” He boasts.

“So I drop you off, pick you up?”

“That’s it. Keep it quiet, call into work for me Monday, take a few weeks off due to the death of our father.”

“Our father who died seven years ago?”

“Exactly, be all broken up about it. Shed some verbal tears. I have your script written, who to talk to, what to tell them.”

“Why don’t you call them yourself?”

“Once I check in, there’s no phones, computers or visitors allowed.”

“Jeez, sounds like a prison but you’re dressed like you going to a club bro, love the jacket.”

“Yeah, I’m a little over dressed. I came straight from the bar. They said to just bring sneakers, jeans, sweatpants, hoodies and t-shirts. The jacket is Coach, got it a few weeks ago shopping with my boyfriend Chad on the Mag Mile.”

I feel his jacket. “Can I borrow your jacket while you’re locked up.”

“Well, you are driving the rest of the way.” He takes it off, hands it to me and I pull it on over my t-shirt.

“Looks better on me bro.” He snickers at me. “It’s not meant to pair with a t-shirt. Mind if I take a quick shower? I was out all night with friends, haven’t showered yet.”

“Sure go ahead.”

He takes his coffee into my bedroom. The shower turns on while I find the keys for the BMW in his jacket I’m still wearing. I head outside and unlock the sleek black metallic M8 with a stunning red interior. Behind the driver’s seat is his briefcase and in the trunk is a large suitcase. I jump in, hit the start button and she roars to life with a powerful purr. It’s a remarkable car and I can’t wait to drive it.

Back inside I snap a pic of myself and finish up my coffee. Marcus steps out of bedroom, refreshed, wearing a pair of my jeans, a University of Michigan t-shirt and my new Nikes.

“Hope you don’t mind bro. I’ve been in the same clothes since happy hour last night, needed a change.”

“Not a problem, I’ll have my manservant launder and press your clothes.”

“I was sorta overdressed for this place.”

“You think? Now you look like someone with the drinking problem.” I laugh.

“I look like you doofus!” He heads to kitchen and has another cup of coffee. 

I grab my hoodie and toss it to him to wear. “I love this jacket bro, you can wear this. Since you won’t be needing anything this nice in rehab, I’ll just borrow it for a while.” I order him.

“Bro, it’s a $1100 jacket. You're not keeping it.”

“Fuck bro, no wonder it feels so soft.” I feel it more. “What you’re wearing now is more appropriate for the Betty Ford Clinic, or wherever the fuck you’re going.”

While he’s rummaging through my kitchen for something to eat, I head back to my bedroom.  His outfit is tossed on my chair. I quickly strip out of my sweats pants and dress in his clothes. He’s wearing my best sneakers and favorite t-shirt, I want to try out his look on me. I slip into his Polo Chinos, tuck in his dress shirt, fasten the belt, step into his driving shoes, then check myself out in the mirror. I try fixing my hair like Marcus’ but it’s too long.

I walk out to the kitchen, feeling my new pants, his eyes pop out seeing me. “Damn bro, I’ve never worn pants this soft.”

“Polo, all I wear, got them at their flagship store—“

“On the Mile.” I interrupt him, already knowing the answer. “Cole Haan driving shoes? Really? A bit pretentious if you ask me.”

“They match the jacket and belt man plus they’re so comfortable. You’ve been living in bumfuck Michigan too long, shopping at Walmart. You need to get a sense of fashion. You look presentable now though.” He snidely responds.

“What are you talking about ‘Michael’, I have a great fashion sense, just look at me.” I smile, assuming his identity then confidently pull back on his jacket and hand him my baseball caps. 

“Don’t get too comfortable in them, I’ll be back in a few weeks.” Marcus warns me while putting my baseball cap on backwards.

“We’re still identical after 29 years bro.” I look in the mirror seeing a scruffy Marcus staring back, my brother comes up behind to compare.

“You just need a decent haircut, some hair creme and shave. Hey, since you’re the scruffy one, you should do rehab for me.” He jokes.

“In your dreams bro. I’m not the one with the drinking problem.” I shoot him down.

“Whatever ass wipe, you probably can't get a decent drink within 30 miles of here. It’s no wonder you don’t drink. I can take an elevator from my office on the 19th, up to the 95th floor, to the best bar in all of Chicago.” Marcus brags, thinking I’m impressed.

“Oh I drink but not to the point of not getting home, almost killing myself and getting a DUI. You’re the pathetic one.” 

“Whatever bro, just remember—dad’s death, then vacation time to get his affairs in order. I have plenty of time to do this without anyone finding out.”

“So call into work for you, lie to them, drive your car around and pick you up in two weeks. Easy.”

“That’s it, by the way, you’re driving since I’m not legally able to. Keys are in my jacket” I pull them out and toss them in the air.

“Great! Just great. Guess I should be grateful I’m not bailing you out of jail.”

Road Trip

We leave Ann Arbor and he talks the entire trip about his accident, how he was drunk and high, driving home from Chad’s place, paying an expensive lawyer, promotion at work, buying this new BMW cash and how he’s going to change. I’ve heard this since college. He’s so self absorbed that I barely talk about myself and don’t mention my job loss or hunt.  I’m actually very jealous—his career is exploding even with his fuck ups and mine is imploding. I feel like a loser but driving this new BMW, in his expensive clothes, at least I look like a winner.

As is typical for Marcus, his coffee consumption has me pulling over at a rest stop on i80 not even an hour after leaving my house. I glance in the vanity mirror and start fussing with my hair, thinking of his comment. He’s right, we’re still identical—a haircut and shave would make us indistinguishable. I could have fun as him for a few weeks I think to myself and grin. His phone rings while I’m sitting in the car waiting, so I answer it.

“Hello?”

“Marcus, are you on your way? You’ve got to check in by noon today.” ID shows Stephen Backes.

“Yeah, I’m making good time, according to GPS, I’ll be there about 11am.”

“Please tell me you’re not driving.”

“No, a friend is driving me.”

“Okay, so I have some bad news for you. The judge didn’t agree to two weeks like I thought he would. You’ll be there three to four months, sorry man.” This has to be Marcus’ high price lawyer. “I’m so sorry. Are you there?”

“Fuck!!” Is all I could say while thinking of me needing a job.

“Believe me, we’ll get you out sooner, I won’t stop fighting for you. I’m pushing for a reduction already.”

“So what can  I do?” I’m stunned as Marcus will be.

“There’s nothing you can do. Check in today, do all they say and don’t make a scene. I’ll keep in contact via the staff there. I can’t visit and you can’t call out. Get yourself clean. On the bright side, the Alexanders aren’t pressing charges for the property damage, which is great news.”

“Silver lining.” I mutter.

“Okay, don’t worry, I'll get you out in no time.” He hangs up.

I sit there as a crazy thought forms in my mind—Marcus away for three months. I need something to do and who knows about his rehab stint? It’d be fun to step into his life for a while. We did it all the time growing up and in College. During summer break just before graduating from college, we traded places for a few months. He went to Daytona Beach with my boyfriend while I stayed home and partied as him. It worked out great because I was sick of Jonathan’s flaming personality. Marcus’s boyfriend was hot and he was bored with him. It was a great summer being my douche brother, fucking his boyfriend, partying with his friends and living his life. I didn’t want to swap back. Even our parents never figured it out, we were so identical. I stare in the vanity mirror and check myself out, turning my head from side to side, playing with my hair. I’m certain I can pull it off. Just then the car door opens up, Marcus jumps in and startles me.

“Lets get moving bro, I need to be there before lunch.” 

“We’ve got plenty of time. So who at work knows about your DUI and rehab visit?” I start to question him to make sure I can step into his life.

“No one, not even my best friend Jason or my boyfriend Chad know. I just got a huge promotion and Coleman was not happy with my last DUI. This one I managed to keep quiet but if I get caught, bye bye career. I called my lawyer right away and was out in hours. I told everyone I bought the BMW to celebrate my promotion, not because I totaled my Range Rover.”

“So you’ll just tell them you’re taking care of dad’s affairs, email them a few times over the next few weeks and no one knows.” I question him.

“Oh fuck, bro, never thought of it that way. I’ll be cut off from the world. You’ll have to check my email and answer my phone for me too, respond to some of them. Tell them you’re having a hard time with mom and she doesn’t have internet or good cell service in northern Michigan. Just adopt my bullshit attitude and tell em you’ll get back to them.”

The more he talks, the easier it’s getting to pull this deception off.  “Wow, you haven’t thought this through. Where is your computer? Log in? Phone?” Gathering pieces of his life if I want to go through with this game.

“I didn’t have much time, my lawyer called last night during happy hour, told me to get to Cleveland today. Work computer and files are in the briefcase right behind you. Password is first 4 letters of our last name and last 4 numbers of my social security, 1785. Got it?” He points to the iPhone charging on the center console.

“You better write that down.” I propose. He reaches behind me, grabs the portfolio from his briefcase and starts jotting down notes in it. 

“What if someone calls about something specific, like an account or proposal?” I fake concern for more details.

“They’re all on my desktop in folders. You’ll have to email the Ballis Automotive powerpoint to Gary McClintock on Monday so he can handle presentation for me.”

“You always do this Marcus. One little favor blows up into a cluster fuck, just like one little drink for you.”

“I promise this will be easy. I start the position Monday, there is a great marketing team to manage, it’ll run itself for a few weeks. They’ll feel bad contacting me during such tragic times.” He laughs at his deviousness. 

He continues to talk the rest of the way, filling me in on his career, telling me what I should be doing, and bragging about his success.  He’s quite in love with himself, talking about his recent bonus, how his $2,000,000 condo is now worth $2,500,000, and his $500,000 salary. I know I can do his job in a heartbeat based on our discussion.

When we get off the Cleveland exit I pull over for gas. He has to use the bathroom again but I put my hand out for his wallet. 

“Wallet, PIN number?” I ask.

“0394.” He gives it to me without hesitating but it’s the same PIN he’s been using since college. 

I fill the tank and jump back in, tucking his wallet in my back pocket where he keeps it. 

We make excellent time, getting there at 11:00 am. He grabs his suitcase from the trunk and we head in. The receptionist just stares at us.

“I’m Marcus Thomas, checking in.” He walks up to the receptionist. 

“Yes Mr. Thomas, we’re expecting you. Welcome to St. Joseph Clinic, please fill out these forms. We need to check your bags for any substances. Also we discourage any valuables as things tend to go missing or are used to bribe staff.” A bright energetic nurse greets us. 

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders.

“Here, take these, put them in my car.” He removes his watch and ring, and I put them in my pocket.

“I have your wallet.” I pull it out of my pocket.

“You won’t need a penny here Mr. Thomas. In fact we keep your wallet and money locked up to discourage any sorts of bribes. I just need to verify your ID.” The nurse says.

I open his wallet and hand her his ID. She hands it back to me and Marcus waves it away for me to keep it. They have Marcus fill out some forms and he puts me down as emergency contact person. Security rummages through his bag, pulling everything out and even checking the lining. While he is signing things, I take out my phone and sneak pics of his hair, making sure to zoom in on all sides. 

“Okay Michael, thanks for the ride. Take care of my baby. Everything for Monday morning is in my briefcase. Cya soon.” A large male nurse grabs his luggage and escorts him to his room. 

Heading Home?

Walking out to the BMW, I reach in my pocket and feel my brother’s watch and ring, then feel his wallet in my back pocket. In the car, I flip down the vanity mirror and start playing with my hair again, then adjust it down to admire my outfit. It would be the ultimate deception to step into his life like I did in college—fucking Chad, doing his job, fooling his friends and spending his money. All his personal belongings are in my possession. Marcus even said so himself “You just need a decent haircut, some hair creme and shave.”

I grab his phone and the facial recognition opens it right up for ‘Marcus’. His entire life is in my fingertips. I scroll through his calendar, texts, email and social media. His schedule is full of meetings and appointments, including the Ballis Automotive presentation coming up on Friday.  Twitter and Facebook are filled with political rants and chats with friends. Instagram is full of pics of his recent work promotion celebrations. There are videos of him suited up, celebrating in a conference room yesterday, and more at some bar late last night wearing this exact outfit. No wonder he looked like crap this morning. I respond to some of the comments with various emojis as Marcus would, knowing his twisted sense of humor.

After 10 minutes of sitting in the parking lot, I start driving back—straight to Chicago. I haven’t been to his place in almost three years after he moved in and wanted to show it off. His GPS has his home address set for me. It’ll be fun to step into his life for a few months and assume his identity. He’ll be pissed but it’s an opportunity I can’t pass up. I’ll frame it as saving his career when he finds out months from now.

A few miles down the road I spot a ‘Great Clips’ hair salon in a strip mall and pull in without hesitating. They’re not busy and get me in right away. Using the pics from my phone, I ask for the same haircut. A young girl cuts my hair, shaves me, adds creme to my hair, and completely transforms me into Marcus. I stare in the mirror, grin then casually rake my hand through my hair per my brother’s habit. I feel my clean shaven face and the back of my neck. It’s perfect and I tip her heavily from my new wallet. I pull on my new Coach jacket and check myself out in the bathroom before leaving the salon. From my pockets, I pull out my brother’s ring and watch and put them on. I look exactly like Marcus did when he walked into my house earlier today. 

Back in ‘my’ BMW, I take my old wallet and phone, and lock them in the center console. I’ll use my driver’s license if I get pulled over. I slip on the sunglasses my brother wore then glance in the vanity mirror seeing Marcus Thomas, vice president at Coleman Marketing. “Marcus Thomas, nice to meet you.” I say to my new reflection.

I’m doing this—taking over Marcus’ life for a while. It’s payback for him fucking my boyfriends growing up, behind my back without me knowing. I grin in my mirror, then check my Tag watch. It’s 12:30 and my Nav system says I’ll be home in Chicago by 5:30 pm.

During the long ride home, ‘my’ buddy Jason calls—It’s show time.

“Hey buddy, where you at? I stopped by your place and you weren’t there? Thought after last night you’d still be passed out?” He harasses me.

“Sorry, didn’t I mention I had to go see my brother in Ann Arbor?”

“Hell, you never even mentioned you had a brother. Hopefully he’s better looking than you and can hold his liquor.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m definitely the better looking one but he controls his drinking better. We’re not that close but he’s having an engagement party tonight and wanted to see him.” I laugh and play Marcus perfectly.

“So I’m guessing no Sidetracks tonight or golf tomorrow?”

“No, sorry, won’t be home til tomorrow night.”

“Any word on your Merit membership?”

“Nothing yet.” Not sure what he’s talking about, will check into it.

“Okay, don’t forget next Saturday, for sure at Harborside.”

“Didn’t forget, its in my calendar.”

“I need to run here. See you at work bright and early Monday Mr. Vice President.” He chuckles and hangs up. 

That went extremely well. I’d love to go out tonight but I need time to learn about my new life. I open up my Facebook while driving, look up Jason and recognize him from my party pics last night. There’s pics of 'us' doing shots, looking wasted. He’s a good friend and didn’t suspect a thing. Five minutes later ‘my’ boyfriend Chad calls. I’m a little nervous but answer it, thinking to myself ‘you’re Marcus Thomas’. My new boyfriend has no reason to doubt my identity.

“Chad, how you doing?

“You sound good after last night.”

“Yeah, good sleep. How you feeling?”

“Great, just got back from picking up sister, then lunch at Brewser's, getting her settled in. You up for meeting her tonight?” 

“Oh, I’m in Ann Arbor, my brother has a surprise for me, having a little party.”

“You never mentioned a brother.”

“Yeah, we’re not that close. I’m betting he knocked up his girlfriend and is getting married.” I chuckle. 

“Oh great, that should be fun.  When you getting back?”

“Late tomorrow I’m thinking.”

“Oh, you’re gonna miss my sister.”

“I’m sorry, this came up a few hours ago with no warning, so here I am cruising to Michigan.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll survive driving the Bimmer, just don’t get a speeding ticket. I’m sorry about last night but I had too much to drink and wasn’t feeling good.” Chad chuckles.

“Don’t worry about it, it happens.”

“I’ll make it up to you Monday babe.” He promises.

“I’m holding you to it.”

“You better hold ‘it’ to me.” Getting suggestive and laughing at his joke. 

Chad goes on and on about his sister, her abusive husband and all the drama in her life. I give him my sympathetic ear while he does most of the talking. He doesn’t notice anything different about his boyfriend. I like the sound of his masculine voice which matches his rugged scruff image on my Instagram. I can’t wait to get him into bed but I need some ‘Marcus’ time to learn about my new life.

I drive the rest of the way back to his condo without pulling over. It’s a long ride but the BMW M8 is one sweet machine and makes it pass quickly. Marcus has great tastes in automobile. I’ve never driven a car like this. According to my brother, it has 600 hp and it feels like it. I’m cruising 80 mph but feel like I’m doing only 40 mph. I admire my new car, outfit, ring and watch as I’m flying ‘home’. 

Making Myself at Home

The hardest part was finding his assigned parking space after pulling into the garage. This causes me to drive around in circles. I stroll in carrying my brother’s briefcase and find the elevator. Finding my new condo is easy because of my visit a few years ago—Marcus bragged about being just below the Penthouse on the 78th floor. Tucked in my wallet is my access card that gets me into my new home.

I’m immediately in awe of ‘my’ place. It looks like something from ‘Architectural Digest’ magazine. The living room, kitchen and dining room have unobstructed corner view of Lake Michigan. The view is stunning, eliminating the need for any art or focal points in the living room. I take off my jacket, toss it on the sofa, grab a beer and make myself at home. There’s a dividing wall between the kitchen/dining room and the living room with a huge flat screen TV and see-thru open fireplace underneath it. All the furniture is clean, square and contemporary.  On the built-in wall unit are pics of mom and dad and other friends but only one of us taken at Halloween where we look nothing alike. A lot of his personal items, like artwork, pictures and music collection reflect both our lives and tastes. There are pics of me but anyone who’d see them would just assume it’s Marcus. 

The bedroom is large with a huge master bath and two connected closets full of my new wardrobe. The closets are his and her but he has them set up for work and casual. On the wall in between the two closets is a large built in jewelry chest containing a Rolex, a few Omegas and Tags, and an Apple Watch on a charging stand next to it. There’s also a nice selection of cufflinks, bracelets and other miscellaneous items. Underneath the shelf are drawers full of underwear, jocks and socks. On the wall behind the jewelry box is a safe that opens up after trying a few variations of his social security number. Inside is a gun, cash, passport and his birth certificate. 

In my new bedroom, the suit Marcus wore to work and celebrated in yesterday is laying on a leather chaise lounge with his untied shoes nearby on the floor. I pick up the suit coat and try it on—a perfect fit as would be expected. Everything he wore, that defined him yesterday is there to transform me into him. A devious thought crosses my mind—heading out to the 95th for a bite and getting familiar with my work place, in his work outfit from yesterday. I rush to the bathroom to freshen up and check out ‘my’ toiletries. A little bit of hair creme, brushing my teeth, a quick dab of deodorant, a spray of cologne and I’m the epitome of my brother.

Back in my bedroom, I quickly strip out of my brother’s bar clothes and start pulling on his black Tom Ford suit. His cuffed pants still have his belt in as I pull them on. His white dress shirt with monogramming have the cufflinks still in place. It’s tapered and hugs my body as I tuck it into my pants. His black cap toe shoes are still tied and broken in, for me to wiggle into. In the mirror I perfectly knot his silver textured tie as our father taught us when we were 14. Pulling on his suit coat completes my transformation and in the mirror staring back is Marcus as he was at work celebrating his promotion. 

It’s 8pm and I’m starving and decide to stop by ‘my office, then grab a bite at the 95th since my brother is a regular. ‘My’ office is on the 19th floor, so that’s my first stop since it is necessary for starting my new job on Monday. In the mirror I check my hair, and tuck my wallet, iPhone and keys in my pockets. 

At his office, finding his parking spot is just as tricky as at the condo, taking me 10 minutes to locate. My RF card operates the elevator, taking me to the 19th floor, where I easily find my office a few doors down from Robert Coleman’s corner office. The view isn’t nearly as spectacular as my condo but it’ll do for a work space. I spend an hour sitting at the desk, exploring drawers and files, and learning the layout so I’m up to speed first thing Monday morning. I didn’t think to bring my computer or I would have stayed longer. 

Learning my way around this building is complicated—figuring what elevator gets me where. I have to take the business elevator to a public lobby and take the express elevator up to the 95th.  The hostess recognizes ‘Mr. Thomas’ and asks if I’m meeting anyone. I just tell her I’m grabbing a drink at the bar and she leads me to the bar where ‘Tony’ also knows me and hands me a Gin and Tonic without asking. 

“Thanks Tony. Busy Night?”

“Not really. Jimmy said last night was insane. You hungry?”

“Yeah it was busy. I’m starving.”

“The usual?”

“Yeah, that’ll do.” I have no clue what I’m getting but I’ll eat anything.

I then head to the men’s room, taking my time to learn the layout as Marcus would know. Based on ‘my’ Instagram account, I’ll be spending many happy hours here in the coming months. There’s a steak tenderloin sandwich waiting at the bar for me when I get back. Tony rambles on and on about my brother and his friends, talking about Jason striking out with the redhead from J.P. Morgan last night he heard about from Jimmy. We’re quite the regulars here and I’m glad I stopped.

I get home after 11pm, exhausted from driving all day. Just like Marcus, I climb naked into his messy, unmade bed and pass right out. The first thing I do after waking up is jump in the shower, using his body wash, shampoo and conditioner. I don’t hesitate to use his electric toothbrush, deodorant or other personal items as my own. The final touch is using my brothers hair creme and styling it as he would. I grin and say to myself “Good morning Marcus.” 

Standing in ‘my’ bedroom, I go to the closets and slowly finger all of my new clothes. I pull open doors and drawers and familiarize myself with the contents. I pick up a sweater from the top of the closet and can smell the scent of the real Marcus Thomas. I start to think of my new identity and of the months ahead of living here and wearing all these clothes - ‘Marcus Thomas’ clothes. Silently I think, “you know what they say about clothes making the man!"

I walk around taking it all in, noting how it’s organized. From his drawers, I pull on a pair of his black Under Armour briefs. From the casual closet, I grab a pair of tan Polo chinos and a baby blue cashmere v-neck sweater I recognize from his instagram. His Cole Haas chukka boots and matching belt from yesterday go great with my Sunday outfit. A gold Omega watch and his black/titanium ring complete my very Marcus look. I’m the embodiment of my brother. Once dressed, I go through my work closet and explore.

His work suits are at one end, organized by color. I scan them, pull them apart to inspect and try on a few. They’re all very high-end Tom Ford, Brooks Brothers, Brioni or Hugo Boss and the fit is impeccable as to be expected. These are easily $5000 suits, compared to my $300 ‘Men’s Wearhouse’ specials. Next to his suits are dress shirts in all colors and styles, many of them custom with monogramming. His ties, belts, and shoes are concealed in the wall via very unique organizers that rolls out from the wall. These pull out organizers separate his outerwear like topcoats, trench coats from his dress shirts and suits. There’s one empty ‘Coach’ hanger that must be for my leather jacket that I wore yesterday. 

Back in my bedroom, I pick up my clothes from yesterday and toss in the hamper, except my old pair of Calvin Klein underwear—they end up buried deep in the kitchen garbage can. There can be nothing to reveal my real identity, no connection to my brother Michael.

The kitchen is contemporary with high-end cabinets and appliances—sleek stainless steel, beautiful teak wood cabinets  and marble countertops. Breakfast is K-cup coffee and a power bar. On the counter is a note from a Trudy, informing ‘me’ that she’ll begin thorough cleaning on Tuesday. So I have a housekeeper, of course I do. During breakfast, I familiarize myself with the kitchen, learning where things are, what’s in his fridge and cupboards. 

I take my breakfast to his office and his home computer wakes up with no password, showing me bookmarks for his banking, retirement and other accounts. His Wells Fargo checking account has $50,000 in it and his spending is very revealing. The account reveals a $15,000 check that paid for his lawyer, a $5000 check went for his DUI fine, another $40,000 check for St Joseph rehab. Keeping his DUI secret wasn’t cheap but it didn't dent his finances at all. There’s a $1012 charge from Coach Chicago, and in ‘my’ emails is the receipt dated a few weeks ago. His checking account reveals his dry cleaner, ‘lovely home’ cleaning service and all his spending habits.  I’m definitely going shopping today on the Magnificent Mile or ‘Mag Mile’ as we locals call it.

His $24,000/monthly deposits from Coleman provide a great lifestyle but there’s numerous deposits from ‘Cayman National Bank’ of $100,000 going back years. Something doesn’t look right—there’s a lot of money moving around.  A Fidelity account reveals diverse investments worth $3m. There’s also a J.P. Morgan account for his Palladium VISA that ‘I’ used to buy my new BMW weeks ago. I don’t have a thing to worry about financially as Marcus.

I open up his work laptop and easily log in as him. There’s a few new emails to review, then I spend hours reading through his old ones, getting up to speed with Ballis and other key customers. Thanks to his email history, it’s easy to respond to a few new emails as he would. On his desktop are all the files he mentioned, that’ll help me to learn his work issues. The Ballis presentation looks to be complete, ready for me to give on Friday but it looks boring. Some things seem odd or missing—I’ll have to look at that later.

My First Performance

It’s now lunch, I’m hungry and grab my new leather jacket to go out shopping. With my phone, wallet and keys in place, I head down to my car to start my first day. My first stop is the Burberry flagship store where I buy a tan classic trench coat that I didn’t find in my closet. I’ve always loved that classic look but they’re $2700—a little steep for my brother Michael but not me. Across the street is the Under Armour store that I shop at monthly and just have to check out. Half an hour later, I’m leaving with new underwear and some workout gear. I walk into the Coach store and I’m immediately accosted by the salesperson who sold ‘me’ the leather jacket I’m wearing. To make his day, I purchase a black hooded leather jacket that catches my eye for $1200. As I’m loading everything into my BMW, the phone rings and I don’t hesitate to answer it.

“Hey Liam.” I love caller ID. I’m able to answer like I’ve known him for years.

“Hey Marcus, what are you doing?”

“Was out shopping, looking to grab lunch now and need to work later.” Reminding myself that I need more time in the office before my first day on the job. 

“Where you at, I’ll join you.” He offers.

“On the Mile near Burberry.” I respond eagerly but think of the test of fooling ‘Liam’.

“Great, meet me at Capital Grill in 30 minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” My brother’s usual lingo, or it use to be.

Capital Grill is a few minutes away, giving me plenty of time to dig up information on Liam. Based on text messages and emails, he is gorgeous with short brown hair, an amazing six pack, blue eyes, stubble and is definitely a love interest. It looks like my brother and him were hot and heavy during the summer, with trips to Saugatuck and Holland Michigan on weekends. According to recent emails, he moved to Detroit for a big promotion with Bank of America. ‘My’ Instagram is full of beach parties, bonfires and drinking on a beach. My phone is even better with pics of him naked in my bedroom. Nice one bro!

I’m sure I’ll fool him easily. He shows up 30 minutes later with a big wet kiss for me. I’m instantly hard seeing him and from passionately kissing a hot stranger. During lunch he’s teasing my legs with his toes and reaching across with his hands, touching mine. 

“How’s Detroit treating you?” I start with what I know.

“I hate it! It’s dirty, the bars suck and no there’s no shopping like here.” He teases my legs constantly.

“It’s a big change I’m sure.” I can’t help but stare into his blue eyes.

“Are you seeing anyone?” He probes.

“Not really, a few dates, you? Been busy with work and my promotion.” 

“We need to celebrate that, I saw your Instagram posts and would have come home a few days earlier had I known.” He has his foot in my crotch, feeling my hard-on with his toes.

“We could celebrate privately now back at my place.” I smile and take his hand.

He grabs mine, pulls me up and we head back to ‘my’ place. Once inside, I press him against the wall, ram my tongue down his throat then drag him back to my bedroom and rip off his clothes. I push him on the bed.

“Fuck man, your horny Marcus.” He reaches into the drawer, easily finds a condom and pulls me into the bed. In seconds I’m on my back, the condom is slipped on and he’s straddling me, riding my throbbing cock. 

“Oh my god Liam.” I scream out in ecstasy and explode in him.

It was a great afternoon, especially when he screams out “Fuckkk Marcus” and I pump him full of cum. 

“Man, you’re incredible as always.” He cries out exhausted.

“It feels like it’s been years, I’ve missed you so much. You’re so hot.” I collapse back with my hands behind my head, totally thrilled with my performance as Marcus.

“You’re one horny fucker, it must have been a while for you. You seem different, more relaxed, laid back?” He shocks me, then giggles and I join in.

“That was months of missing you.” I kiss him deeply and get hard again. 

He takes my stiff throbbing member in his mouth without asking, getting me off again in seconds. Fuck, my brother really should keep this one—he’s hot, smart, funny and great in bed. Men like that are tough to find. We shower, scrubbing each other and making out. I’m grinning in the mirror, seeing Liam walking up behind me with a look in his eyes. He hasn’t notice anything different about ‘Marcus’.

“You look handsome as ever, babe,” he says, reaching his arm around and grabbing my stiff penis. “You sure you have to go to work?”

“Sorry but tomorrow is my first day as Vice President, I have a lot of prepping to do. When do you leave?” I turn around and kiss him gently.

“Wednesday morning, let’s do this again Tuesday night. I have a business dinner tomorrow.” He whispers in my ear.

“It’s a date.” 

He pulls off the towel from around my waist, wraps his arms around my neck and starts deeply kissing me. I brace myself against the counter and pull him tight cupping his ass in my hands. Minutes later, he dresses and says goodbye with a peck on the cheek. I grab my iPhone and duplicate a pic that’s in my camera of ‘me’ from a few weeks ago, with only a white towel around my waste. My build and six pack appears to be identical to my brother’s. I grin knowing my new identity is perfect. I’m dressing in front of the mirror, thinking of the best sex I’ve had in years. It’s incredible being Marcus with all the benefits—hot men, great wardrobe and incredible condo. It’s off to work here though. I need to be up to speed tomorrow. I need to know exactly what I’m doing.

No one is in the office on a Sunday afternoon and I have the whole place to myself to explore. My office is very impressive, very high-tech looking with a great view. There lots of plants, large conference table, hidden closet and great desk with two large monitors that automatically sync to my laptop when I open it. I’m there for hours logged into the system learning the layout, looking up files/people and my dashboard. By the end of the night, I’m responding to emails as Marcus would and planning my week. As I’m leaving, I glance my image in the window and smile as satisfaction sweeps over me. I’m ready for my first day as vice president.

Work Day One

I get to bed at 11 pm but I’m up after midnight studying the social media of fellow employees. I drift in and out of sleep all night long. The excitement of being Marcus Thomas has me up at 5 am planning my day—my 1st team meeting to review projects at 9 am, lunch with MedTech CMO and Ballis review at 3 pm.  

I crawl out of bed a little apprehensive about pulling off this charade. Then I remind myself how easily I passed for my brother with Liam, his coworker Jason and his lawyer. Since no one knows about Michael, there’s no reason for anyone to suspect I’m not Marcus. A long shower calms me down and using Marcus’s body wash gives me his base scent. All his personal hygiene items, including his Polo cologne which he’s been wearing since college are on his counter. I’m not a big fan of hair wax and creme but Marcus is. I put a dab in my hand, warm it up in my palms and work it through my hair. Running his comb through it, gives me his flawless style, identical to the photos in my phone. I use his electric toothbrush, spritz on some Polo, lift up my arm and make a few passes with his deodorant. My brother’s scent is now mine.

Marcus has alway been anal with his appearance and style—planning and laying everything out before dressing so I adopt the same habit. I’ve reviewed his Instagram and photos looking for some guidance on what he likes to wear. They’re a wealth of information on his tastes. His charcoal glen plaid Tom Ford suit catches my eye and looked great on him a few weeks ago. I pair it with a white french cuff, spread collar shirt, purple textured tie and white silk pocket square. The Tag is fine for weekends and casual days but knowing my pretentious brother, I’m certain Marcus would wear either the Omega or Rolex watch for work. I select his white gold Rolex and a pair of matching cufflinks. His black cap toe Allen Edmond shoes finish Marcus’ outfit for the day. 

In front of the closet mirror, I pull on his, no, my socks, underwear and t-shirt, then cuffed pants and custom shirt. His cufflinks and tie are next. His Allen Edmonds are luxurious and broken in for me. The way everything fits, it's clear we're still the same size. Finally I pull on the suit coat, add watch and ring, then tuck phone and wallet into my suit pockets. I’m watching my transformation in the mirror, pleased with every detail that confirms I’m Marcus Thomas, new vice president of marketing for Coleman. 

It’s hard to believe how completely different ‘my’ life is now–looking in the mirror, my reflection isn’t my own any more, I’m Marcus Thomas. I reach up and rake my hand through my thick hair. I love being Marcus—his style, his money and sex life so far are great. I straighten and adjust the knot of my tie with a smirk. “I’m Marcus Thomas,” I say to myself as my new reality is settling in.

I drive to work even though I could easily walk but there’s emails from HR about my new assigned parking space. Knowing Marcus, I’m certain he’d be driving everyday to show off the BMW M8, even with his DUI issue. This version of him will do the same but in case I’m pulled over, my original wallet is locked in the BMW console. I find my new parking spot, shut off the engine and mentally prepare myself. “I’m Marcus Thomas, vice president at Coleman” I repeat to myself many times.

I pull out my new coach wallet and work ID with RF chip, then I notice ‘my’ driver’s license. It’s the one detail I need to assume Marcus’ life in Illinois—his driver’s license. Marcus’ drivers license is suspended and if I use it for a traffic stop, I’ll be in jail. I can’t call his lawyer to fix it and they probably wouldn’t restore it until rehab is complete and he’s free. Then the perfect solution hits me—first, I’ll change my name in Michigan from Michael to Marcus then ‘move’ to Illinois using my new name and Marcus’ address. I’ll have a valid ‘Marcus Robert Thomas’ driver’s license that’s perfect with a clean driving record.

A quick check of myself in the vanity mirror reflects Marcus back at me, looking very sharp as usual. I get out and stroll in with my briefcase ready for my new position. People are greeting me, congratulating me and asking about my weekend. Everyone knows about my party Friday night at McGee’s. I need to thank my team member, Richard Zeppa for that tidbit of information I was lacking.

I hang up my new trench coat but leave on my suit, not sure what the dress code is for upper management. On Friday everyone was in a suit jacket during the office party for my promotion. At the coffee machine, the office gossip, politics and small talk comes easy. It teaches me a lot about the company, helping me fit in. Back in my office the day begins with email and prepping for my 9:30 am review with my team. Marcus was kind enough to do the prep work for me, outlining all the issues and his concerns. It’ll be like he’s actually there. Come to think of it, he is here and I’ve got to think of myself as my brother completely. 

Jason shows up at my office looking even better in person. He walks in, shuts the door and jumps into one of my chairs. Too bad he’s not gay or I’d be all over my new best friend. 

“Look at you Mr. Vice President, all professional looking and in early. New tie? You look rested and ready to go.” He notices.

“First impressions are important, especially with a new team to impress. Nah, I’ve had this tie, just wanted something that pops.” I notice he’s keeping his suit on. 

“How was your weekend, when did you get back?” He asks and I’m ready.

“It was good, I met my brother’s fiancee, drank too much, a lot of family was there and pressure is now on me to tie the knot. I got home about 10 pm and crashed. What did you do?” I explain.

“You tie the knot? You can barely tie your shoes.” He mocks and laughs at me. “Crashed all day Saturday, went out with Christine to some comedy club, sex and golf with Ted and Will yesterday.”

There’s a knock on my door and I recognize Adam Trappe, Coleman’s President. Jason jumps up from chair and welcomes ‘Adam’ into my office.

“Adam, Come on in, we’re just catching up.”

Adam comes right in, I stand up as a sign of respect. “Marcus, Ready for your first day?”

“Sure, anxious to tear into the job.” I smile as he has no clue this really is my ‘first’ day.

“Don’t forget lunch with Andy Kramer from Medtech. We need to tag team him on his spend.” Adam reminds me.`

“Adam, with the proposal I have planned, he’ll be begging to give us more money and buying us lunch. I promise.” Doing my best impersonation of my arrogant brother, having memorized his talking points for lunch today.

Adams smiles. “I’ll drive, just stop by my office about 11:30. Kristi made reservations at Gracy’s.”

Jason and Adam leave and I review ‘my’ notes for my first team meeting. Apparently, Marcus’s rehab stint was a last minute event because he has the next few weeks planned out and prepped for.  Everything is right at my fingertips to be him.

The whole day was easier than I expected. For the project reviews, it was new for all everyone so I followed my standard practice and raised Marcus’ concerns from his notes. Lunch was a huge success as Kramer loved my proposal and agreed to increase his marketing budget. Adam’s only complaint was him having to pick up lunch for us. I spend the rest of the day with my new team in and out of my office, and catching up with a flood of emails. Overall, It was an incredible day.

Jason stops by my office for happy hour and a few of us head up to the 95th. The view of the city from up there is amazing but I try to ignore it since it would be familiar to Marcus. Jimmy automatically hands me ‘my’ usual Gin & Tonic. We’re there for a few hours, drinking and having appetizers. Unlike my brother, I know when to stop which Jason notices.

“You’re different Marcus, something wrong? You’re not drinking.”

“Rough weekend thanks to Friday night and you, then driving to Ann Arbor. Then starting new position today.”

“So why aren’t you drinking?”

“Because of Friday night and you.” 

He laughs at me. “Did you invite your boyfriend? Chad just came in with ‘Alex’ and is heading this way.”

Shit, Marcus mentioned Chad and something about the accident. I open up my phone and run to the bathroom quick. “I’ll be right back, beer is kicking in.”

“What beer?” He gets cocky with his best friend. 

In the bathroom I quickly review text messages from him, trying to piece together their relationship. The early text messages are about partying and clubbing at some trendy spots. Later messages are about sex, going out for dinner and hanging out. I’ll just have to wing it, can’t hide in the stall all night. I splash cold water on my face, stare in the mirror and think to myself ‘you’re Marcus Thomas, just look at you’. After straightening my tie and running my hand through my hair, I head back to the bar. One thing is certain, he’s hot and if he wants to have sex, I’m in. Chad comes over to me with a big hug followed by a tender kiss. I’m hard in a minute like I was with Liam yesterday.

“I knew I’d find you here babe. I’m sorry about Friday night, I just had so much to do Saturday and Sunday with my sister in town.” He pouts.

“Don’t worry about it. I forgot about a family event in Ann Arbor I had to go to.” I lie.

Jason whispers in my ear. “Don’t want to say the marriage word do you?” Then chuckles.

“I’ve missed you.” Chad says while his friend Alex gives me really dirty looks. I’m not sure who he is, if they’re related, friends or what.

“I’ve missed you, can I get you a drink?” 

“A vodka cranberry would be great, Alex, do you want something?” He asks his friend.

“Vodka cranberry would do the trick.” He says queerly.  I get a very jealous vibe off him.

I head to the bar and pay with my new Amex then return. Alex is hanging up his phone, excited because his boyfriend got home early and is waiting for him. He guzzles his drink and runs, leaving Chad with me and my friends. 

I play Marcus’ friends convincingly and no one doubts my identity. I make sure to take lots of selfies with Jason and Chad and post them on my Instagram and Facebook, using clever hashtags and comments. Instead of my usual Ultra beer, I’m drinking Marcus’ gin & tonic and notice that Jason is a Yuengling drinker. In the mirror behind the bar, I glimpse Marcus and his best friend drinking and getting shit face.

I’ve known Marcus my entire life while Chad has known him only a few months. After a few drinks, he’s grabbing my ass and kissing me. I lean in and kiss him deeply back, loving the credibility he gives me as my brother, accepting me so easily, loving it when he calls me Marcus. I want to fuck him so badly. We hurry back to my place and I fuck him in my brother’s bed. As I make my way down his body, I slide his underwear off, then delicately lick his perfect penis. He’s been here before as he has no problem finding my condoms and slipping one on me. I slip into him slowly and push in deeply, making him moan louder and louder. When he calls out ‘Marcus’, I climax immediately and he follows a minute later. I spoon him to sleep with my hands wrapped around his waist. 

I wake up to my shower running and him running around the apartment.

“Don’t get up, it’s early and I have a shoot at 6am with Charlie Matthews. He’s gorgeous.” His voice full of excitement.

I grab my phone off the charger and quickly google Charlie Matthews. “Not as hot as what you had last night.”

“Hot and sexy. I had a great time, let’s do this Friday night and we can sleep in Saturday.”

“Let me text you on that, Friday is really busy and I have a golf outing with Jason really early Saturday. I blew him off last weekend, can’t do it again.” I explain.

“Let me know then.” He comes over to the bed and kisses me deeply. I keep my hand on the back of his head and try to keep him from leaving. 

I’ve been Marcus for two days and have had sex every day—more than I had in the past six months as Michael. His life is better than expected and I wouldn’t change a thing. I wonder who else I could fuck, or hook up with Liam again since he is still in town. Marcus has been living the good life for sure. I then remember seeing Grinder on my brother’s phone, grab it and start swiping for some possible action for tonight. 

Work Day Two

In the shower, I grab my semi-rigid penis, think of my new sex life, rub one out then follow my routine. I’m in love with Marcus’s life—the sex, job, friends, car, and condo. Stepping into his life it has been easier than I ever imagine. I’m really appreciating his closet, especially his suits. When we were growing up, he always had a more ‘put-together’ preppy look, paying attention to details. I was more grunge and laidback. It was the only way our parents could tell us apart. He’s taken his preppy look to the next level. He has a subscription to GQ and collection on his closet shelf going back years. I never knew he was such a metrosexual. 

His appearance is easy to duplicate with his complete wardrobe at my finger tips. Thanks to his Instagram, there are years of pics and videos of him during and after work at happy hours. There are pics of him in a light gray window pane suit that catches my eyes. It’s dated a few months ago and it looked great on him. It’s a Hugo Boss suit that I easily find in his closet. All the details except the shoes are easy to find and pull together. As Marcus does, I lay everything out on my bed to perfect.

My second day starts with Jason waiting for me in my office.

“Where were you bro?” He demands.

“What?” I have no clue what he’s referring to.

“Hello? The gym? Did you forget?”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry man. I hooked up with Chad, was ‘busy’ all night and over slept.” Thinking quick because I had no clue about Marcus working out. I did notice a gym bag on the floor in the closet but didn’t think about it. 

“I didn’t see you leaving with him?” 

“Because you were busy with Cathy.” I give him one of Marcus’ devious smiles, like he ate the canary.

“All is forgiven oh great one.” He jokes, bows and twirls his hand as a sign of respect. 

The rest of my day is easy, getting into account and proposal details, working with my team. Jason is in and out of my office talking about anything and everything—I really like the guy and being his friend. We do lunch together at the Big Pig just across the street. According to my debit account, it’s at least a weekly occurrence if not more. Marcus eats anything so there’s no need to worry what I order. The only questionable choice was me getting a Coke instead of a beer. Jason commented and told him I drank too much again last night. It seemed to quiet him quickly. 

As we were finishing up, Liam called about getting together tonight and I don’t hesitate to say yes. I pick him up at his hotel, take him to Ghezzi’s for Italian. I ply him with wine while staying away from it. The wine doesn’t affect his ‘foot work’ in my crotch fortunately and I’m throbbing hard all through dinner. We skip desert and I he ends up with my penis as ‘desert’ and loves it. I’m now three for three with sex so far this week. Liam doesn’t stay so he can catch his early morning flight back to Detroit tomorrow. 

Work Day Three

Two days of work have gone fairly smooth. There’s been a few glitches, like Marcus’ gym habit or not knowing things off the top of my head, that have been out of character. There will be more missteps and I’ll just respond the best I can. 

To sort out the gym routine with Jason, I start with his gym bag where I find his gear but also his gym ID card and dry cleaning slip in the end pocket. He’s a member of John Hancock Center Fitness, and also uses the Hancock dry cleaner. On my calendar are blocked off areas for ‘gym’ on Tuesday and Thursday morning at 7 am. There are still a lot of blanks I need to fill out so I head to work early for a quick stop at the gym.

I’m greeted by ‘Gina’ the receptionist at the entrance. “Marcus, we missed you yesterday, Jason was looking for you too.”

“Yeah Gina, he tore into me in the office for it.” I laugh.

“What can I do for you?”

“I think I may have lost my ear buds here, did anyone turn a pair in?” I ask.

“Not that I know of but let me check.” She heads into the manager’s office while I head to the men’s locker room to find my locker.  There’s a number on my ID card that leads me to my locker and opens it right up for me. Marcus has his complete bathroom duplicated in here—Polo products, toothbrush and extra gear. There’s a clipboard showing a routine that he hasn’t used it in a year per the date but it does give me an outline of his habit. 

I grab my earbuds out of my pocket and head back to Gina.

“It looks like you’ve found them.” She notes happily.

“Yeah, left them in my locker like an idiot.” I laugh. “Hey was Jason in today?”

“No but then again, he never comes without you except on Sundays once in a while.”

“Oh you have his attendance history?”

“Sure, going back years to when you both joined.” She turns the monitor around for me to see. Right there is what I needed—Jason and I work out every Tuesday and Thursday like clockwork at 7 am, leave about 8:30 am, grab a coffee at the Starbucks per my spending alerts and head to work.

“Thanks for your help Gina, see you tomorrow.”

“No you won’t, remember Ron is on Thursday.” She corrects me.

“Oh yeah, it feels like Monday for some reason.” A plausible recover.

My gym routine is set for tomorrow morning with my best friend.

After a few days as Marcus, my life is already becoming routine. I’m using ‘I’ll get back to you’ a lot but I do get back to them after I research the issue. This helps with learning the job and customers. No one has questioned my identity but then why would they with my looks. 

Late in the day a young kid with a man bun knocks on my door and walks in. I have never seen him before.

“Mr. Thomas, hi, I’m Gavin from IT services. Are you having computer problems?” He asks.

“No, why?” I respond not thinking I have any issues. I’m in the system and seem to have full access.

“Well, we track logins and you haven’t been using your biometric scanner, just your PIN.”

Damn, I did see a fingerprint scanner on the desk and haven’t bother with it even though it blinks when I open up my MacBook. I tried it once then it turned red and rejected me. 

“It didn’t work on Sunday so I’ve just been using my PIN. Isn’t that okay?” I explain.

“The PIN should only be used when you’re traveling, working remotely. The fingerprint is much more secure, prevents hackers from gaining access. Mr. Coleman wants his senior staff more protected.” Gavin explains.

“Understood, I just wasn’t worried about it.”

“Shut down and reboot and try it.” He directs.

After it boots up, I try my fingerprint and it beeps red.

“Hmmm, your fingerprint file must be corrupt. We’ll rescan and reconfigure it for you. It happens now and then.” From his bag he pulls out his computer and hand size scanner. He hooks everything up and the scanner glows blue for him.

“Now just place your right hand on it and don’t move till it glows green.”

I’m nervous wondering if this will compare old and new, and alert him to the difference. He removes my hand, then types away at his laptop. 

“Okay, now reboot and try any finger.” He orders.

It boots up, I try my index finger and it approves. 

“All set Mr. Thomas. Next time it happens, call me right away. Also, we’ll be adding biometric scanners to all the executive offices and lobby entrance in a few weeks. You’re all set for that now.”

“Thanks Gavin, I appreciate the help.” Gavin doesn’t realize how much he’s helped me. I’ve been looking at that scanner all week, wondering how get my fingerprints recognized and afraid of asking for help because of fear I’d be discovered. I’m now Marcus Thomas with security.

I skip happy hour with my friends and head home to prep for tomorrow’s big presentation. On the way I stop at the cleaners and pick up a bundle of laundry, suits, ties and shirts. The elderly woman greets ‘Mr. Thomas’ and thanks me for my business. At home I review my dry cleaning as I hang up everything in my closet. There’s a sharp 3 piece charcoal suit that’s one of my favorites based on Instagram and will be my outfit for tomorrow. 

I work in my home office till 9 pm reviewing the Ballis files, meeting notes and account details. Marcus’ Ballis history spans almost 2 years. It’s obvious the quality of his work has vastly improved over those years. There’s a maturity to it now. I pull up the Ballis presentation and practice it for Friday’s meeting. The one difference between myself and Marcus is that I’m the better public speaker. There are a few videos of him giving presentations in his account files and we’re about equal now. 

TGIF

I’m awake very early, planning my outfit for today’s big presentation. I’ll be wearing one of my brother’s, I mean one of my favorite outfits—I’m all Tom Ford today.  I checked my shopping receipts and found that I purchased a ‘Tom Ford Windsor 3-piece peak lapel suit’ for $7200 a few months ago. That was just for the suit—add $300 for tie, $50 for a pocket square, $600 for a custom dress shirt, $2000 for a pair of English Tan leather shoes, $75 for black underwear, $145 for t-shirts and a stunning $4950 for ‘striped’ cufflinks for a total of $17,000.  They must love me at Tom Ford. It takes 30 minutes to find all these items in my closet. 

It’s amazing slipping into $75 boxer briefs that hug my ass. I never liked wearing t-shirts but Marcus always does so I pull on a brand new $145 Tom Ford t-shirt. For socks, I find a crazy colorful bright green pair with golf balls on them—for a pop of color. He showed these off on his Tiktok account which I’ve yet to use. I pull on the cuffed pants and add a belt, using the same hole as he has a few times. His custom shirt tapers to my waist. The striped cufflinks are a bit tricky but look like a million dollars. The tie decision is tough but I stick with the gold paisley Tom Ford he wore with this suit before. His tan dress shoes look great but are not yet broken in, but he left them tied so I just wiggle into them. I’ve never worn a 3-piece suit in my life but the vest adds an image of authority as it goes on. I remove the suit jacket and confidently pull it on, adjusting the cuffs and tie in the mirror. ‘My’ Rolex and ring complete my transformation into Marcus Robert Thomas. 

In the mirror is Marcus Thomas, vice president at Coleman Marketing, running his hand through his hair, checking every detail of his appearance. My new Burberry tops off my identity.

Friday cements my new identity. The Ballis presentation is flawless and after 5 hours, their marketing team awards Coleman a huge contract worth $5m. My biggest challenge was quickly learning the names of the key players since my brother had a number of meetings with them. Robert Coleman congratulated me at happy hour on the 95th. He pulls me aside and says. “keep doing this and you won’t be VP for long.” 

Jason, who wasn’t in the meeting, comes up to me and I have Mark take a pic. “Marcus, you’re the buzz of the entire office, even Adam is praising you.”

“Buddy, Ballis was just ripe for a new marketing direction and it all fell into place.”

“Well, it was your best work according to everyone in the room.” He adds.

“Robert quietly told me I wouldn’t be VP for long, so he’s either firing me or promoting me.” I smile while Jason jumps up and down hugging me. 

“You better not be stealing my boyfriend.” Chad shows up, puts his hand around my neck and pulls me in for deep kiss. 

“Babe, you’re late.” I note.

“Yeah, last minute phone call with California. I’ll make it up to you later.” He smiles.

Jason chimes in.”don’t keep him up all night, we’re playing Harborside bright and early.”

“I didn’t forget.” I assure him.

After Chad discretely reaches in my pocket and fondles my cock., we excuse ourselves, grab dinner and head back to my place. We fuck all night long, including in my shower, early the next morning. As soon as Chad leaves, Jason calls to make sure I’m up. 

He offers to pick me up and drive. I’m grateful since I’m clueless how to get to Harborside. Marcus’ golf clothes are in the casual part of my closet and his clubs are in one of my spare bedrooms along with his other toys. Marcus was always a better golfer than me and I haven’t played in years. Again, I use instagram to select a typical Marcus outfit—Under Armour shorts and shirt, Adidas cleats and his leggings since it’s chilly outside. He has a great set of Callaway clubs and bag but it doesn’t help. Jason points out that I suck more than usual but I blame it on not sleeping last night and not playing in weeks.

The best part of the day is Jason driving me back to his place to help him move some furniture. I now know where my best friend lives. We hang out for hours, watch some college football, and drink too much beer the rest of the afternoon. That night we hit up “Sides” and I get wasted for the first time in 7 years. My new friends are great and clueless they have a new friend.

Sunday is set aside as a ‘me’ day to celebrate my first incredible week living my brother’s life. I dress in my usual Polo Chino, a sweater and my favorite leather jacket. For breakfast I take the M8 north along Lake Michigan and find a little diner to eat then head back to the city to shop. Even though I mock the ‘Mag Mile’, there’s no better place to shop and that’s my plan. My net worth is north of $5 million now and I’m going to spend some of it. At the Polo store I’m recognized, kissed up to and end up spending $2500 for sport coat, pants and casual shirt. At the Rolex Boutique I spend $13,000 on Rolex Daytona, putting it on my Platinum VISA. The serious damage is done at Tom Ford where I spend $20,000 on a few new suits, suspenders, shoes and ties.  One is a double breasted, the other is a 3-piece suit and I haven’t seen anything like them in my closet. Everything I purchase reflects Marcus’ style and tastes, not Michael’s. 

Back home, it takes two trips to unload the car. Chad comes over for dinner and spends the night. He’s shocked to learn I can cook but I keep it simple with some steaks on the grill, potatoes and salad. He’s up early to go to work and I decline an invitation to join him so I can sleep in. I really enjoy spending time with him, especially the sex. 

The next week flies by like the first with long hours, working out and happy hours with Jason and friends. Robert has given me the AMP account to conquer next, bypassing Adam. My love life is insane. Chad fucked me in the bathroom on the 95th, Liam wants me to spend a weekend with him in Detroit. Merit approved my application for membership so Jason and I will be taking the AMP management team there for a round before the season end. 

I can’t believe how easy it’s been stepping into Marcus’ life and how much I’m enjoying it. His routine is now my routine—whether it’s working out, or happy hour or work. I’ve replaced him and no one has a clue. When someone says ‘Marcus’, I instinctively respond to ‘my’ name without hesitation. My fear now is losing it back to him and ending up back in Ann Arbor building websites and working for another little company.

Visit Number One

Marcus’ rehab clinic called, letting me know I can visit on Saturday and take him off campus for lunch. I confirm I’ll be there at noon and to let him know. On the way there, I stop by my house and change from his clothes into my typical Levis and t-shirt but keep the leather jacket on. I also wear my Michigan baseball cap to hide my new haircut. Marcus’ clothes are put in a duffle bag and hidden in the trunk to change back into later.

There are a lot of rules to agree to before Marcus is allowed out for the afternoon. He’s limited to a 10 mile area and no alcohol, drugs or cigarettes of any kind. A big male nurse brings him out to me and we jump in the BMW.

“You’re not getting out?” Is the first question I ask.

“Fuck no, I’m stuck here for 90 days at least according to my therapist. My fucking lawyer says it was a last minute change and that he even told me. I was so drunk the last time we talked, that I probably forgot the conversation.”

“Great, I was confused when the clinic called about lunch, figuring they meant taking you home. What about work? They’re expecting you on Monday.”

“I know, I know, I’ll lose everything I’ve worked for with Coleman. I was thinking we could swap places and you stay here but this ankle bracelet doesn’t come off.” He lifts his leg to show me.

“Jesus, you’re under house arrest bro. I could have, would have. I was laid off from my job a few days ago. We were bought out by Tyco months ago and when I refused to move to Philadelphia for them, they laid me off.” He’s not the only good liar in the family. 

“So what are you going to do?” Marcus asks.

“Well, I got a 9 months severance, even have some leads on jobs, so I’m in no hurry yet.”

“Bro, this is perfect! Go into work as me, cover for me.” I knew he’d come up with that on his own. Internally I’m smiling but outwardly, I look gravely concerned. 

“Oh come on bro, this isn’t college, this would be your life. This would be for months. How do I learn your job by Monday morning?”

“Michael, we’re both marketing majors, you have all my files on my laptop, all you have to do is clean yourself up, put on one of my suits and go in. It’ll be easy, like when we swapped for the summer in college.”

“You’re comparing this to college? We swapped boyfriends for a few months.”

“Yeah, it’ll be easy. I’m starting a new position with a new creative team that barely know me.”

“What about your coworkers, friends, neighbors and boyfriends? Your phone has been going crazy with people calling, offering condolences and wanting to send flowers. I spoke to Liam and Chad a few times, they’re worried about me, I mean you and our dad’s death. That lie traveled really far and fast.” I’m as good of a liar as Marcus.

“Oh, it was probably my buddy Jason, he’s as bad as a woman.” He chuckles.

“So Jason knows you really well, right? As soon as I fuck up, he’ll figure out I’m not you.”

“No, he has no clue I even have a brother, let alone a twin. He’ll have no reason to suspect you’re not me.”

“What about everyone else?”

“I’ll write down everything you need to know about my life. Pull into that Dollar Store and grab a tablet. Do you have my computer with you?”

“No, it’s in my living room along with your phone, wallet and jewelry.” I pull into the store and we grab all that’s needed. I throw everything at him and he starts writing feverishly while I look for a place to eat in this little town. We settle on a Sonny’s BBQ and get a table in the corner away from everyone. I keep my baseball cap on so Marcus doesn’t notice my haircut that actually looks better than his’. 

He’s quietly chatting and writing the entire time, only taking time to eat his BBQ ribs and drink some ice tea. He’s drawing floor plans, scribbling names with notes and paragraphs of information.

“Ok, here’s everything you need to know.” Marcus announces proudly and pushes papers towards me. “It’s in groups of work, friends and boyfriends.”

“Great, tell me about my new boyfriends, tricks or ‘friends with benefits’.” 

“Ha, Let’s start with the important people, those closest to me.”

“Do you have a little black book I can use?” I beg.

“Focus! Jason is my closest friend, followed by Mark. We do happy hours, work out, work together, golf, road trips, and watch football on weekends.” Marcus gets very serious.

“I need to have a little ‘fun’ bro.” I whine. 

“Here’s everything you need to be me with them.” He responds with attitude then passes me sheets labeled ‘Friends/Boyfriends’. He has their names listed, how they met, quirks, habits, hobbies, interests.  Then he hands me a ‘Coleman’ sheet.

“For work, Robert Coleman hired me, mentored me and I’m like the son he’s never had. He’s been easing out of the business, letting Adam Trappe assume more responsibility. I’m next in line for Adam’s President  position next.”

Marcus has detailed notes for all managers I’ve been interacting with for weeks. This gives me even more information that only the real Marcus would know. I use this to fire off more questions about my new life and the information just flows from him to me. 

“What about ‘my’ sex life bro? I need a boyfriend or boytoy. You have to have one based on texts and phone calls I’m trying to respond to. Oh, and the pics in your phone, fuckkkk.” I smile at him.

“No serious boyfriend so you’re safe. Chad, who you’ve talk to is latest. We met at an art showing for our common friend Peter. I fucked him in the back office of the gallery the first night and hook up weekly at least. He’s great in the sack.”

“I looked at his pics on your phone. He looks amazing.”

He goes on about Liam, Jim and Dennis, filling in a lot of blanks. Then he talks about Jason and his straight guy friends. About half the information is not new to me but the rest is great. Marcus fills in a lot of personal history about people, things like how they met, jokes they share, likes/dislikes and habits. A lot of the little things Marcus knows, are now part of my identity and strengthen my identity as Marcus Thomas.

“So how is the Clinic treating you? Making progress?” I ask.

“The last two weeks was me shaking, having withdrawals and night sweats. I would kill for a drink right now. There’s group therapy every day before lunch,  then after lunch are the one-on-one sessions. Dinner is at 6pm and the rest of the day is ours. There’s TV and complete library but no phones or internet.”

“What about your lawyer, record and trial? How does that work?” I probe.

“I get a weekly, 10 minute call. He says the 3 months of treatment may be counted as 3 months of jail time but I could still get real jail time of up to 5 years.”

“What about you driving? You’ll have a record.”

“It’s too early to know. I’m hoping I do 3 months here, have limited driving rights and no jail time. He’s also working on getting the arrest record expunged.”

“You have a lot riding on this lawyer, do you want me to contact him?”

“No, but check my mail for any of his bills and pay them. My bank login information is here, but it should be saved on my iMac.”

“What if I’m caught?” Not that I would but just want to play up my concern.

“Are you joking? You won’t be. With all this information and your looks, you’ll pull off my identity easily. Have fun at work Marcus.” He hands over his life to me.

I drop Marcus off but don’t go inside. It’s another 6 hour drive home with a quick stop in Ann Arbor to change into Marcus for another month. The entire drive home my mind is spinning with what just happened. My brother has turned over his life to me and I don’t have to worry about the last two weeks. Once I’ve changed back into my ‘Marcus’ outfit and driving the BMW, I only think of myself as him. I start thinking of work and upcoming projects, working out with Jason and lunch at Merit using my new membership.

The Better Marcus

The Ballis Automotive rebranding campaign kicked off a few weeks ago to rave reviews. Robert storms into my office all excited because we’ve been nominated for a number of Association of National Advertisers B2 awards. Just to be nominated is a huge honor even if you don’t win. The Ballis campaign was nominated for the categories of ‘Web Presence’, ‘Branding’, ‘Employer Branding’ and ‘Product Relaunch’. The B2 award gala will be held at the end of the month, at the Sheraton Grand which is less than a mile from our office. 

Marcus may have done the initial work on the overall proposal, but I’m the one who reworked the website and branding portions at the last minute. I’ve always been the more creative one. Robert is convinced this will catapult Coleman to the top for Chicago marketing. When Robert leaves, I look out the window, overlooking Michigan avenue and look at myself in the reflection. A deep sense of accomplishment and satisfaction hits me—I’m a better Marcus for sure.

“Is your head swollen? Will it fit through the door?” Jason comes running into my office after hearing the ANA news. 

“No, you better call building maintenance so they can enlarge the door so I can get out.” I turn around, he high fives me and I smack the back of his head for his comment.

“Ouch, you fucker! We’re heading up to 95th.”

“For sure, just give me a few minutes to finish up here. I’ll meet you there.”

I finish up some emails, then think about Marcus getting all the credit for my hard work. He’d have no problem sitting here with the award on the desk, showing it off, bragging while not having a clue what went into it. Thinking of this, just pisses me off. I’m not going to let him do this, he’s been taking things from me our entire life.

Happy hour is insane and even Jason notices I’m back to drinking ‘like a ho’. The whole office is here including Robert and Adam. Robert pulls me, Gary,  and Adam aside to let us know that we have a table for the black tie gala, we’re all attending in a few weeks and it’s black tie. It’s a huge celebration for just the simple nominations. 

I text Chad and he joins us then drives me back to his place for the night. This helps a lot since, like Jason, I had no clue where he lives. Sex with him is great. I don’t even mind him being a screamer, especially when he’s screaming out ‘Marcus’. Fucking him as Marcus is such a turn on for me, that I usually explode upon hearing my new name. I figured out, based on emails that Marcus dated him for about 6 weeks, and I’ve been at it for 4 weeks. Like everyone else I interact with, he’s clueless to the switch. 

Two weeks later ‘team Coleman’, as we’re now calling ourselves, is at the Gala dressed to the nines. I spent about $9,000 at Tom Ford for a new Tuxedo and accessories. There is a Brooks Brothers tuxedo in the back of my closet but wearing it would be out of character for Marcus. It was a brilliant night for Coleman and Ballis, winning ‘Web Presence, Employer Branding and Branding’—all areas that I created, not Marcus. Robert hands me one of the awards and has me talk about the web presence concept. Chad films it for my Instagram. We go back to my place to celebrate with more sex but I leave early for my lunch with my brother tomorrow in Cleveland.

The next morning I spend hours at the DMV getting my new Illinois drivers license. I walk in as Michael Thomas from Ann Arbor, Michigan and walk out as Marcus Thomas of Chicago Illinois. I managed to find the same shirt  Marcus used for his license, and wore it for my new pic. Putting both side by side, the only difference is the license number itself. At home I log into all of my accounts, like banking, work, travel and update them with my new drivers license number. My old wallet and my brother’s license are locked in my safe and I change the passcode. The new driver’s license replaces the old one like i’ve replaced Marcus.

I’m shamelessly using ‘my’ Instagram, Facebook, Snapchat and TikTok just like my brother. Whether I’m at happy hour, the gym or out on a date, I’m posting and bragging about my life. 

Visit Number Two

Six weeks have passed since my brother went into rehab and I assumed his identity and life. I’m firmly in place as Marcus, acquiring his friends and career—basically his entire life is now mine. I’m a better version of Marcus Thomas. This time I don’t change my clothes or identity to visit him. On purpose, I’m in one of his favorite outfits, that was well documented on his Instagram.  I’m there early and he’s waiting in the lobby for me. He jumps up when he sees me.

“Michael, you’re early.” Using a name I haven’t responded to in weeks.

“Come on bro, let’s go, I’m starving.” I sign him out with the front desk.

We jump into the car and head to the Sonny’s again. I bring in my briefcase and computer into restaurant with me, to have him help me with some account information. The hostess looks at us oddly, probably wondering if we’re twins. Marcus looks horrible with an overgrown stubble and long hair while I’m the epitome of Marcus Thomas. 

“Wow, don’t you look all spiffy in my clothes.” Marcus stares at me. 

“Yeah, I didn’t realize you were such a fashionista but I’m starting to appreciate it. You approve of my outfit?” I adjust my sleeves in my suit coat. 

“Ah yeah, because it’s one of my favorite outfits—Hugo Boss, my Omega watch and even my Prada shoes. Why so dressed up?” He notices the details.

“Yeah, I saw it on ‘my’ Instagram and loved it.” I’m wearing his Hugo Boss tan glen plaid suit with wine color dress shirt, and Prada lace up derbies. I duplicated it exactly from his pics on Instagram. “I thought I’d show you how much I look like you with hair done, in one of your outfits you. Don’t worry, I take off the jacket and hang it in the car while driving.” 

“Just make yourself at home, in my home and my life.”

“Actually it’s my life Michael. Your friends and coworkers haven’t noticed anything different about me. It’s been really easy being Marcus.” I smile at him, giving him my identity and he doesn’t say a word. 

“I can see why. You’re the spitting image of me, even the hair now.” He acknowledges. 

“Yeah I had to get a haircut of course. Learning your job, friends and life was challenging but I’m you.”

“What about Chad?” He questions.

“Oh my god, I’ve had more sex as you than I had in the past year. You’re still dating Chad and Liam visited. They’re both incredible in bed.” I grin devilishly at him.”

“You’ve slept with both of them?”

“Yeah, Liam was in town for work, called and we had lunch, then sex but he’s back in Detroit. I’ve been ’dating’ Chad regularly and he’s blast too.”

“Wow you have replaced me. I’m so horny and jealous. They didn’t notice a difference?”

“Only that I was better in bed!” I boast.

“Oh shut the fuck up!”

“So how is it going with rehab? Making progress?” I ask sincerely. 

“I would give you a million dollars for a beer right now. I finally started sleeping normally but the cravings don’t end. The other day I had an incident with my doctor when I rejected some pills to calm me down. I threw the bottle in a fit and pills flew across the room. They ended up injecting me with a needle instead and I was out for 12 hours.”

“I never noticed your drinking issue. In college you were no different than anybody else.”

“It happened after college with the job, daily happy hours and binge drinking.”

“I can relate now because Jason wants to do the 95th every night.”

“How is he doing? I miss hanging out with him.” Marcus sadly asks.

“He’s doing great, seeing a girl he met at a football game. He claims she’s the one.”

“Ha, yeah he says that with every new girl. I give it 4 weeks max.” He laughs a little.

“What’s the lawyer saying?” I ask seriously.

“It’s not good.” He’s down again. “He’s trying but not having any luck. He also says I have ‘at least’ three months here, that it could be longer.”

“Jail time?”

“3 to 7 years.” He says soberly.

“Fuck bro! Fuck!!” I was a little loud and some people heard me.

“Yep, I’m fucked for sure. Even 3 years in jail will kill me.”

“I’m sorry bro. I don’t know what to say.” I respond very quietly.

“It’s out of my control, nothing I can do. I just have to hope my lawyer is worth all the money I’m paying him. I don’t want to think about it.” Marcus sighs in defeat. “How is my life, you certainly have my look nailed.” 

“The first few weeks were sketchy, learning your job, habits and people who know you. You didn’t mention your gym membership and working out with Jason. He noticed that when I missed our ‘normal’ workout. Then I messed up when I was clueless about Nikomahs Casino, your first major success.”

“But has anyone discovered you, questioned you?”

“Look at me.” I lean back in the chair and run my hand through my hair in a typical Marcus gesture. “If our parents couldn’t tell us apart, do you think your friends can? They don’t even know you have a twin, so why would they think I’m anyone but you?”

“That is amazing but I shouldn’t be surprised, it was alway easy for us to swap.”

“I’m you, living your life and loving it. I’m doing one hell of a job.”

“No glitches or problems with people or issues?”

“Not a single person has questioned my identity but there has been some slip ups on my part. The worst moment was my lack of knowledge about the changes to the Nikomahs casino account over the past 6 years, that ‘I’ personally handle. I was so embarrassed but Robert jumped in and filled in the blanks. Afterwards he pulled me aside and asked what’s wrong, that I was not myself. I pulled the ‘mom isn’t well and I can’t focus. It seemed to work but that night I spent hours in the office reviewing every document and email about it.” I confess but lie. 

“You can’t possibly know my career history or little details.”

“That’s why you’re going to fill me in on the details. You’re going to fill in the blanks of your life for me.” I pull out his computer from his briefcase. 

“Sure, you’ve got 6 more weeks to cover for me.”

“I have to ask…what if you go to jail? What do I do?”

“I don’t know. Resign my job, sell my condo and put everything in storage? Make up some lie, like I’m starting my own business and moving to London.”

“Throw everything away? What if I keep your identity? Robert loves you like a son, and Jason loves you like a brother. They’d be devastated.” I toss it out there to see his reaction.

He gets pissed at me for saying it, I see his anger. “Then fucking live my life, you’ve always been jealous of me. You can be me! It’s the opportunity you’ve been waiting for.”

“Well, I hate to tell you this but I’m definitely doing a better job of it.” I get cocky back with him. 

“Yeah right, your vast experience of job hopping and creating dinky webpages really qualifies you for my job. Looking like me and actually being me, are two different things.”

“Fuck you. I’m crushing it as you. Robert has noticed a positive change in you since I cut back drinking and even Jason has admitted it’s time for us to drink less.” I fire back at him. 

“Fuck you, you may be sitting at my desk, doing my job but you’re not me.”

I open up my acceptance speech video from last night and shove his iPhone in his hand. “I’m actually better than you after only one month. Watch the new Marcus Thomas, ANA B2 award winner.”

He’s just watching in silence, mouth open in disbelief. “You accepted my award for Ballis?”

“No, it’s my award for my work. The meeting was delayed and I reworked about 75% of your proposal, which are what the awards were for.” I boast, he has nothing to say after that.

I open my notebook, pull up the Ballis proposal and shove it towards him. He scrolls through the entire thing, totally silent again. 

“So you built on top of what I created. If I had more time, I would have done even better.” He proclaims after reviewing the presentation.

“Oh, give me a fucking break. Your proposal put me to sleep the first time I went through it. Gary and Adam loved my new concept and Ballis was onboard before the meeting ended. Coleman never saw that happen. You’re welcome.” 

“I’m not thanking you for shit.” People heard that. He’s going thru his social media on ‘my’ iPhone stunned. “You’re living my life.”

“Like my new Tuxedo? It’s Tom Ford. I didn’t want to wear ‘my’ old Brooks Brothers tuxedo I wore for Mark’s wedding.”

“What did that cost me?” He snidely questions.

“Michael, not your concern little bro. I wanted to look my best for my 15 minutes of fame.” 

"My 15 minutes of fame!" He barks again.

“Like I said, I’m being you, including your stupid TikTok and Instagram. It’s what you wanted and it’s exhausting being a narcissist, keeping your ‘fans’ happy.” Actually I’m enjoying the attention and comments but I’m not letting him know. 

“Your TikToks are great and I can’t tell the difference in our posts and pics.” He calms down.

“Duh! We’re twins, you do realize that? You better hope I just don’t walk away tomorrow from your life. You’ll be screwed career wise. You’ll be designing dinky websites and taking crappy jobs.”

“You’d never do that, my life is so much better than your’s and you know it. You should be thanking me.”

“Try me. I’m the one doing you a huge favor, remember that!” I threaten him.

I’m in charge after that and we spend hours reviewing files and his work history. He doesn’t hesitate to answer any of my questions. After some quick shopping for clothes for him at Dick’s Sporting Goods, I drop him off at the entrance and head home. The long drive home gives me time for reflect on my new life. I'm really enjoying everything about it. After only 6 weeks, I don’t want to give it up. 

More Control

I'm living life exactly as Marcus would. The only difference is that I drink half as much as him. I love hanging with Jason and Mark, golfing, playing basketball and working out with them. I've slipped easily into his circle of friends. There's been a few incidences where I didn't quite catch a joke or references but they're usually drunk and don't notice. In Ann Arbor, I had work friends but outside of that I was a loaner, occasionally dating but nothing ever serious.

Other aspects of his life have fallen into place. I keep his appointment for a haircut with Steve at Halo, a hair salon not far from my place. It was a combination wash, haircut, manicure, eyebrow trim and hand job! As I was leaning back over the sink, he’s massaging both my heads at the same time. I’m wasn’t sure how to react but he whispers in my ear that he gets off at 8pm and he’d get me off by midnight if I pick him up. I play it cool as he makes out with me at the same time.

When I leave Halo, I post my shocked looked on Instagram. I pick him up at 8, take him out to eat, then back to my place. This is a regular haircut for my brother since he leads me back to my bedroom, wraps a condom from my drawer on me and rides it all night long. Marcus’ sex life is way better than mine and Steve doesn’t notice a difference just like Chad and Liam. I call Jason to apologize for blowing off Side Tracks but as soon as I say ‘haircut’, he calls me a slut and tells me how jealous he is. I’m grateful to Steve for the sex and for tidying up grooming details like my eyebrows  and cuticles.

I'm officially 'exclusive' with Chad but having too much fun with all this new attention. I’ve scheduled a trip to Detroit for a weekend with Liam. What can I say? He’s tight, fun and just my type. Chad thinks I'm going to a marketing conference in Detroit. Chad is great eye candy for my management to see me with and he’s as fun as Liam in bed. He’s been dating me longer than he did my brother but I don't see much of a future with him. Chad adds credibility to me as Marcus and I still explode when he screams out 'Marcus' as I ram his tight hole. The sex is awesome.

My job is going so well. I believe, no, I know I'm being groomed to be president, taking over Adam's spot. At least once a week, I do lunch with Adam and Robert where we talk about the future of Coleman and of Robert stepping back. They've both notice a change for the better in me, saying I'm more focused, more of a leader and creative.

Financially, I'm spending more than Marcus normally would but I did need a new tuxedo for the ANA, and joining the Merit Club wasn't cheap but it is a legit business expense for my taxes. I met with my Fidelity advisor, Andrew Gingerich, which is something Marcus never did in person, and never took an interest in his money. Good old Marcus, as usual, he only cared that he was making money. My advisor was happy to meet with me and help with diversifying my portfolio. In just the last month, my costs have dropped while my returns have increased significantly. 

One thing no one at Coleman noticed about the old Marcus is his embezzling of corporate funds over the years. We're talking about $500,000 per year that magically moved from marketing to his own personal Fidelity checking account via a Cayman account. No wonder his could just plop down $120,000 for his new BMW and $30,000 for his Merit Club membership. My brother would have eventually been caught and really ended up in jail. It took a while to unravel the money trail but then I returned it to Coleman, making sure it looks like a simple accounting error. My net worth has dropped by about $2m but more importantly, I have leverage over my brother.

Visit Number Three

It’s going to be a day of reckoning for my brother. I’ve been him for 10 weeks, making this our longest identity swap and also a lot more complex than when we were in college. I pick him up and head to our usual Sonny’s BBQ. Marcus doesn’t say a word during the short drive and he looks good but not happy at all.

“So what’s with the silence?” I carefully ask.

“Oh nothing really, just another month of rehab followed by 3 to 7 years in jail.”

“What? What the hell happened?”

“My worthless lawyer and a judge, with a stick up his ass for 4th time offenders.”

“Wow, I didn’t expect jail time for you. Can you appeal it?”

“Yes, and I could get parole in a few years.”

“When do you go to jail?”

“In about two weeks.”

In a small way, I feel bad for him then I think of his previous incidents, and him embezzling from his employer who adores him. He had it made financially just on his salary alone with no need to steal a penny. After a few fleeting thoughts like that, reality comes back and I think he’s not getting close to what he deserves. I’m also thrilled at the thought of keeping his life for myself.

“So you go straight to jail? No probation, no time in between?”

“The police will pick me up right here, the prison is in Jackson, Michigan. It’s for white collar criminals and addiction with continuing counseling.”

“Fuck man, fuck! What are you going to do?” I vent.

“How about we swap places and you do me a little favor.”

“Oh yeah, that sounds like a plan, especially with that nice ankle bracelet you’re wearing. Do you still have urges to drink?”

“In all honesty, after I got the news of jail time, I wished I was at the 95th, downing shots with Jason.”

“Well, it’s quite a lot to accept. That’s normal.”

“You’ll probably be let out early. It’s not like you killed someone.”

“Yeah, my lawyer agrees with you on that, but still, three years in jail.”

“What about your life and job?”

“Just quit my job, pack everything up and put it in storage.” He says it too easily.

“Throw it all away?”

“Yeah and when I get out, I’ll be doing websites and marketing for ‘Sammy’s Garage’ in Ann Arbor like you.” He laughs at his put down.

“Maybe you will be, in fact, you probably will, but I won’t. I’ve grown accustom to your life.”

“You’re moving to a big city and getting a real job? Oh yeah, I so see that happening.” He mocks me. 

“Already a done deal bro, not giving it up.”

“Are you saying, you’re keeping my life?”

“Why not? I’m the better Marcus, my coworker Adam says I’ll be promoted to his spot in a few months when Robert retires. Look at me bro, I’m you without the drinking problem. I’m set for life—great salary, boyfriends, great friends, awesome condo and hot car.”

“Why not? Why not? Are you fucking insane? First, it’s not your life, it’s mine. Second, I won’t let you do it.”

“I’ve been thinking about this and it makes complete sense. I need a job, I’m perfect for it and I’m a natural. No one has a clue I’m not you, thanks to my looks and your coaching.”

“I’ll have my lawyer make sure you don’t, you’ll go to jail for fraud. I’ll claim I had no clue what you were doing.”

“I don’t think so bro, unless you want to spend more time in jail for embezzling funds.”

“What?” He looks shocked.

“I know you have millions hidden in accounts all around the world. I bet Coleman would love to know how you screwed them.”

“How did you find out?”

“Oh come on bro, I’m not stupid. I looked at your tax returns and even if you saved every penny,  you’d be lucky to have $3m in the bank. Then there’s mysterious deposits from and to an account in the Caymans. It took a little sleuthing but with my degree in finance, it started to make sense.  Then when ‘my’ buddy Javier called from the Caymans, it all fell into place.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I told you, I’m taking over your life. As you mentioned, it’s pretty sweet, I’m good at it and you were right, I was a little jealous.”

“You fucking bastard.” He curses under his breath.

“Calm down bro, it’s not too bad. You can’t use it, you won’t need it for a few years. It’s going to be our little secret from now on. Oh and it’s permanent too, so even when you do get out, don’t come asking for your life back.”

“You won’t get away with this.”

“I have gotten away with this for months now. By the way, if something happens to me, I’ve made arrangements to blow this wide open and you will be back in jail. Also, Javier is no longer helping me, I put an end to your scheme.” His mouth is hanging up.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this to your own brother.”

“Ha! Seriously, you’re playing the brother card? My brother who calls once or twice a year, who I haven’t seen in years and who keeps me secret. Nice try.” I laugh and mock him.

Marcus just sits there saying nothing, staring at his ribs. I can see he’s seething and thinking of his options. He’s just got to realize it’s checkmate and accept it.

“Bro, I’m doing you a huge favor. Your reputation remains intact and it’s actually gotten better with me in charge. I’m now well known in the marketing world. It’s best for both of us but it’s only fair that I benefit the most. When you get out, I’ll be here to help you get on your feet, hell, I’ll give your plenty of start up money and as me, you can create your own company even. You’ve got time to plan it.”

“Fine!” He blurts out defeated.

“Bro, I’ll come see you in prison, keep you updated on things. You’ll be fine, we’ll both be fine.”

We finish our lunch and he doesn’t say a word the entire drive back. We pull up front, I walk him in and give him a hug. 

“Cya bro.” Are my last words to him. I take my time driving back to my new life in Chicago.

THE END

[shima-draws]

OKAY OKAY SO I had this idea that’s similar to Reverse Falls—except everyone’s personalities/roles are swapped, so for example Stan takes the place of Ford and ends up in the portal, and Ford takes the place of Stan and is stuck trying to get him back for thirty years. Mabel and Dipper swap, as do Soos and Wendy, and Gideon and Pacifica, Candy and Grenda, etc.

They’re the same people with the same likes/dislikes and talents, but their personalities are all switched around!! So while Dipper is still mega fascinated by science and mysteries and stuff, he’s very outgoing and energetic and silly, while Mabel is more reserved and very shy about her creative passions—which leads to her being the one to find the journals, and take interest in them because they’re quirky and entertaining—and written by Stan :’) Dipper has a million different sweater vests, and Mabel has buttons and pins all over her clothes!

I see Ford and Stan’s story playing out as like, Ford was the one born with six fingers but it never bothered him much, and he was a very energetic personality as a kid, leading him and Stan into tons of trouble. Meanwhile Stan has always had self confidence issues, and he always took people calling him the “lesser twin” to heart, despite Ford encouraging him not to. Stan always had an interest in the mysterious, as well as Ford, but Stan’s fascination of it stemmed from his own anxiety issues, and found that he could relate a lot to the weird and unusual (because really, a lot of them were like him, labeled as weird and dumb because of his “mental” issues)

Rest is under the cut because it got LONG lol

This all came to a head during high school when Stan started writing fiction;; and really GOOD fiction at that. He couldn’t outwardly express himself and his interest in the supernatural, but he could do that through fiction, which made everything so much easier for him since he has social anxiety! And he found he was really talented at it. Which leads to a great big story writing contest, and the principal telling Stan that if he wins he can get a scholarship and go to college for writing. (The principal also says Ford is going places, too, but the things Stan can do will get him far, while Ford will always be stuck with the more…disapproving of careers. Assuming writers are a big hit, and scientists are just seen as frauds and losers.) Stan gets REALLY excited about this, which bums Ford out a lot because he wanted to do the treasure hunting thing and search for anomalies together, but Stan protests saying this is his passion and he’s finally being given an opportunity to do something good and worthwhile with his life.

The night before the contest, Ford sneaks in to the library where all the entries are set up, and accidentally mixes Stan’s story up with someone else’s—the pages get all intermixed and weird, and he quickly leaves before he can fix it because he’s about to get caught by night security (but he THINKS he got the pages in order when he in fact did not). The next day the judges read Stan’s story and say it makes no sense, it’s all out of context and the writing is all over the place and sloppy—so Stan loses. Of course he realizes that something must have happened, and after seeing a pen that belongs to Ford on the floor, he realizes what Ford has done. Which results in their enormous fight, and Ford is the one to be thrown out of the house.

Ford still manages to make it into college anyway, despite being homeless for a time, and starts studying hard. It’s not…a good college, at all, and he gets roughed up a lot and teased by frat boys, and struggles endlessly to make ends meet financially, and battles with intense depression. But he manages, somehow :’)

Stan, on the other hand, is so torn up about Ford leaving that he is essentially writers blocked—and he can’t write anything of any worth for a LONG time. Eventually he’s forced to get a low paying job in Glass Shard, wondering where it all went wrong, and missing Ford fiercely but still too upset to reach out. (He’s sure Ford is doing fine on his own, anyway.)

Eventually Stan manages to catch the attention of a publishing company along the way, and gets enough money to finally move out and continue his work! Which leads him to Gravity Falls, a place rumored for being weird, so Stan goes there to get inspiration for his writing, and starts a new life.

Ford, meanwhile, has graduated from college, but with a degree from such a shitty place he’s turned down for many job offers. He essentially starts traveling around the country, trying and failing to get noticed, and things start getting really tight for him moneywise, and people start chasing him down to repay his college debt. Yeah. It’s bad lol

Stan decides to call up an old friend of his that he encountered working part of the industry, Susan!! Susan happily comes up to Gravity Falls to act as an “editor” of some sorts for Stan’s latest in-progress novel. Stan also starts keeping a record of all the weird things he sees in Gravity Falls in a journal—and as time passes, the more he gets involved, and the more crazy he gets about discovering the source of all the weirdness there…which leads to him discovering a cave full of symbols and eventually ends up summoning Time Baby (yes, he and Bill are swapped in this!). Time Baby tells Stan that he’s brilliant, that he can bring all of his stories to life and live out his wildest fantasies if they work together. And so, Time Baby helps Stan in order to build a portal—but not a DIMENSIONAL portal, no. A TIME portal. Because I see Time Baby wanting to extend his rule to every time period possible in this AU, but being limited by time laws and possibly a revolutionized force trying to stop him. If he gets access to a time portal he can spread his influence farther, and attempt to take over all timelines, the past, the present, and the future. And Stan, who in this AU hadn’t grown up knowing when someone was trying to con him, falls for Time Baby’s flattery EASILY, and starts building the portal with his instructions. Susan also helps, being a mechanic alongside an editor. But unfortunately, an accident during testing gave Susan a glimpse into the future, where she witnessed the horrifying truth of Time Baby’s rule. She quit the project and decided to leave Stan on his own, who realizes Time Baby’s lies and started to lose his mind as he attempted to protect himself against the overlord’s influence. Which leads to him calling up Ford!!

Ford, who is currently barely scraping by, drops everything to go see Stan in Gravity Falls, in an excited attempt to reconcile. Of course Stan is driven by paranoia and anxiety at this point, so he snaps at Ford, demands him to hide his journals, and this results in their enormous brawl. Ford gets burned, they accidentally activate the portal, and Stan falls in—to be sent to an apocalyptic future.

Unfortunately without Stan’s other journals Ford has no IDEA how the portal works. And seeing as Stan worked with a being from a future with extreme technological advancements, even with his genius he can’t figure it out right away, and especially without the other journals to help. So, as Ford struggles to bring the portal back online, he decides to take over the Shack and transform it into a science museum of some sorts. Being as outgoing as he is, Ford’s able to draw people in with his friendly personality and contagious energy, which earns him enough money to keep the Shack running. He fakes his own death (mostly to escape the mountain of debt he’s in—I know, Ford isn’t the type, but he really didn’t want people sniffing around after all he’d been through, and paying back loans is the last thing on his mind, especially since he’s avoided it already and is labeled as a criminal anyway), opens the Mystery Shack, which is home to tons of crazy inventions and neat science factoids and tours, and thirty long years pass as he struggles to work the portal again. (He tries tons of different complicated things, but nothing works. He gets very frustrated with it sometimes.)

Eventually, the summer of 2012 arrives and with it comes Dipper and Mabel! And you know, things play out pretty similarly to how the original GF universe did. Bill is an interdimensional demon who keeps track of people dimension hopping (which Mabel and Dipper inevitably end up doing once they get their hands on a space tape), Gideon is filthy rich, Pacifica is a fake psychic who has an interest in Dipper, Wendy is the girl who fixes up the Shack, Soos is the guy always slacking off and being cool (and the thought of Mabel having a crush on him is. WEIRD but consider it being like, teen Soos or smth. Soos but COOL. He could pull it off), Fiddleford is a cheeky waiter at the diner—you get the point lol.

Anyway I am dubbing this AU as UPSIDE-DOWN FALLS! (I apologize if anyone else has ever had a similar idea, but it just popped into my head and I couldn’t disregard it man;;)

Also I feel that Ford and Stan might eventually go traveling the dimensions, or a mishap occurs and they get separated or something—and Ford runs into the regular GF verse Stan, and he has a great fondness for him because they’re practically the same. (Stan won’t admit it but he really likes Upside-Down Ford too.)

[leverage-ot3]

notable moments from The Homecoming Job

leverage 1.02

Dr. LeRoque: Pardon me, Mr. uh?

Nate: Oh, uh, Nathan Ford. You’re Dr. LeRoque?

Dr. LeRoque: Can I talk to you outside?

Perry: Doc, he’s cool, I found him on the internet.

Dr. LeRoque: Yes, that never goes badly. (to Nate) With me.

Nate: Uh… I’ll be in touch.

(Perry hands him the flash drive and Nate follows the doctor out of the room)

okay but big mood “I found him on the Internet” “that never goes badly”

but also,,, bruh we NEED to know how their clients found them,,, like ??? H O W

- - - - -

Dr. LeRoque: You can’t just come in here and get his hopes up!

Nate: I’m just here to provide options.

Dr. LeRoque: There are no options.

Nate: The Veteran’s hospital …

Dr. LeRoque: Is 400 miles away and has a five month waiting list. Everybody in that rehab room is a reservist. When reservists get out they get sent home no matter where home is or how far it is from the treatment they need. Nobody thought this through. We’re not a rich hospital, I cashed in every favor I had to take care of these kids for as long as I could but I have to go back in there and tell Perry we can’t treat him anymore. I have to do that. Run your scam on somebody with money.

Nate: It’s not a scam. I’m here to help.

Dr. LeRoque: People don’t just show up to help. That’s not the way the world works.

leverage really called out the us government’s negligence and neglect for veterans in episode TWO and we stan them so hard for it

leverage said “go big or go home” from the VERY beginning

- - - - -

[Audition Room]

Sophie: Why? Why? I can’t live like this anymore. With the lies and the filth. No. Help me. I want to be clean. I want to be clean.

(two directors watching are overwhelmed by just how awful Sophie is)

Rogers: Yeah, you understand this is a soap commercial, right?

Sophie: Uh huh. When I thought about Peggy I came up with this idea that the dirt was really this giant metaphor, for sin.

(Sophie’s cell rings, she glances at her purse)

Rogers: You should take that. No, no you should take that.

Sophie: Oh. (answers phone) Hello? When? (hangs up) Peggy killed her first husband.

Rogers: Thank you

I literally scream every time I LOVE SOPHIE S O MUCH WHAT THE FUCK

- - - - -

[Parking Lot]

(one man is laying on the hood of a car and another falls on top of him. Eliot turns away from the car as the last man pulls a gun on him. They stare at each other for a moment, then a phone rings)

Eliot: That you or me?

(man seems unsure as the phone continues to ring)

Eliot: Could be important. Does your mama have your number?

(man looks down and Eliot grabs the gun, punching the man in the neck. The man goes down, choking. Eliot unloads the gun and tosses it away before pulling out his phone and answering it)

Eliot: Yeah? Nothing, why?

“nothing”? I’m-

- - - - -

(guard walks by a painting hanging in a museum gallery. He looks away for a moment, and when he looks back a rope is dangling where the painting had been. A cell phone rings)

Parker: Parker. Shh. No, I wasn’t shushing you.

I love her, your honor

- - - - -

(Parker, Eliot and Sophie come around the corner and head down the hall)

Parker: From the first job?

Eliot: Yeah.

Parker: I put all that money in a Swiss bank account.

Eliot: Millions of dollars and you didn’t buy anything?

Parker: I don’t like stuff, I like money.

Sophie: I bought a little retirement home, an island.

Eliot: Nice.

Sophie: In Dubai. And Tokyo.

Parker: What about you?

(they reach the door which has a small envelope with Sophie’s name written on it. Sophie takes it off the door and opens it)

Eliot: Yeah, I’m not about to tell two known thieves what I did with a multi-million dollar payout.

Sophie: Don’t you trust us?

(Eliot doesn’t answer.)

- - - - -

Hardison: This is our new cover story. Welcome to Leverage Consulting and Associates, founded in 1913 by the great Harland Leverage the Third.

(Hardison points to a painting on the wall of an older man that greatly resembles Nate)

Sophie: I’m sorry. Nate is going to kill you.

Eliot: Did you paint that?

Hardison: I’m gifted.

Eliot: That’s weird

HARLAND LEVERAGE THE THIRD

- - - - -

Hardison: Now Leverage Consulting Inc. is squeaky clean, all corporate taxes on record as being paid for the last ninety years. (He gives them each a cell and a folder) All your identities as partners, your payroll taxes are paid, you guys have pension plans and dental, those are employment records, case files and company newsletters.

(the group walks the halls of the Leverage offices as they discuss the files)

Parker: In 1998 I won the sack race at the 4th of July picnic. Cool.

Hardison: Now these, these are your offices. Now you can bring something like a photo, you know what, a plant! I’m a big supporter of dandelions.

hardison goes hardcore when coming up with backstories

- - - - -

(Hardison opens doors to a conference room that holds a long table with many chairs around it. One wall is dedicated to large TV screens)

Sophie: Nice.

Eliot: My man.

Hardison: Long version or the short version?

Sophie: Short.

Eliot: Short version.

Parker: Shortest.

(Hardison hits a remote the TV screens illustrate his explanation)

Hardison: Photo and video forensics programs, back doors into every electronic banking system in the world, running heuristic data crawls all over the news sites to find our clients, oh also!

Parker: This is the short version?

Hardison: Facial recognition database tied into CIA, NSA and the FBI. But, the real pièce de résistance (changes screens to sports games) DirectTV HD Total Sports Package. NFL, NBA and I threw in a little bit of hockey ‘cause I know you people like that.

Eliot: Hockey.

hardison nests SO HARD

like, bring in all the highest tech into your cozy new office you designed for you and your fellow adopted criminals? heck yeah

- - - - -

Nate: Our client is the cameraman. Corporal Robert Perry. He says that the Castleman contractors spooked and started firing.

Eliot: 5.56 NATO rounds mixed in with some 9 mils from the sub-machine guns. Insurgents would have used AK-47s with 7.62 ammo. It has more of a... (hits the back of his hand to his palm) crack. Contractors shot 'em up all right.

Parker: You ID’d the weapon from the gunshot sound?

Eliot: It has a very distinctive sound

D I S T I N C T I V E

- - - - -

Nate: Yes, and lobbyists in every office in Washington, DC. The problem with a cover-up is all the paperwork it takes to keep the lies straight.

Hardison: Internal emails, memos.

Nate: Exactly.

- - - - -

[Roof]

[Hardison and Parker are wearing black and connected to repelling gear)

Hardison: I gotta go back to the office I just remembered something.

Parker (adjusting Hardison’s harness): What?

Hardison: I just remembered gravity and the squishiness of all my manly bits.

Parker: I designed this rig myself. The line is carbon fiber. Five point harness. Weight support here, here, and here. Auto-breaking resistance on the main pulley back here.

Hardison: Okay cool, so it’s tested?

Parker: Not yet.

Hardison: Not yet? When the hell was you gonna test it?

(Parker pushes Hardison off the roof. She smiles, he screams)

Parker: Big baby.

(she jumps after him. Hardison screams until he stops upside down. Parker lowers herself to his side)

Hardison: Seriously? Seriously

hardison’s first time rappelling decidedly Did Not Go Well

- - - - -

Sophie: My company’s focused on meeting senators, but I’m thinking congressmen.

DuFort: You know the great thing about congressmen? Fifty, a hundred grand well spent will get one elected, but then once they’re in the incumbency rate is over 95 percent so you can get an average 18, 20 years’ use out of one of them. In these uncertain times buying a United States congressman is one of the best investments a corporation can make.

[DuFort’s Office]

Hardison: Oh I just threw up in my mouth a little bit. I’m a professional criminal and I find that disturbing

they’re going at america’s THROAT in this one and I love it. thank you john rogers

- - - - -

(while DuFort is distracted Sophie pulls out his wallet and removes the RFID card with her teeth. DuFort takes off his coat to look at the stain)

I am but a simple gay and this was Hot™

- - - - -

the phones hardison gave the team have six main buttons: internet, text, files, to-do, id scan, and mail

- - - - -

Nate: Parker, what’s the status of the voicelock?

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Uh, I’ve been sampling DuFort’s speech but I still need a few more sounds.

[Private Party]

Nate: How many?

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Well I only need the sounds puh, tuh, oo, ah, eh, oh, ah, ke, a, ef.

[Private Party]

Nate: Ah, only those. Eliot.

(Eliot walks by carrying two trays of appetizers)

Eliot: I’m on it. Pardon. (approaches Sophie and DuFort) Hello.

Sophie: Ooh. Mmm.

Eliot: (to DuFort) Appetizer, sir?

DuFort: Sure, what do you got?

Eliot: I’ve got the pâté d’escargot avec bière d'Argentine and (looks at second tray and grimaces) what looks like old duck, kind of greasy.

DuFort: I guess I’ll have the first one.

Eliot: Of course.

(Eliot offers him the second tray and Dufort looks at him expectantly)

DuFort: Well? May I have some?

Eliot: The greasy duck?

Sophie: Oh, no, no, no, I wouldn’t have the greasy duck.

Eliot: No I wouldn’t suggest it.

DuFort: No, the other one.

(Eliot pretends confusion)

DuFort: The the pâté d’escargot with the bière d'Argentine!

Eliot: Excellent choice sir (gives DuFort the first tray).

DuFort: (takes food) Who is this clown?

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Pretty good. Got most of them. Okay, now all I need is ef, uh and kuh.

[Private Party]

(DuFort spits out the appetizer he has taken)

DuFort: This is shrimp!

Eliot: Very good then. (walks away)

DuFort: It’s shrimp you stupid F----!

[DuFort’s Office]

Parker: Oh, there they are. Really loud too

parker being so competent and knowledgeable about voice activation codes? amazing. iconic.

and the whole scene with eliot and the food? hilarious.

also there already another meta post about this but this scene shows just how SMART eliot is,,, like coming up with that on spot??? don’t get me wrong, hardison is “the smartest man [any of them know]” but damn

- - - - -

continuing list of non-weapon objects eliot uses as weapons:

an IV stand

+ bonus

nate: the defibrillator/AED

- - - - -

Perry: Mr. Ford!

(Perry pushes a defibrillator towards Nate, who grabs the paddles. The first man runs toward Eliot with a knife, but Eliot grabs his arm and pushes him toward Nate)

Nate: Hello.

(Nate hits the man in the chest with the defibrillator paddles and he flies backward, unconscious)

eliot looking Impressed™ at nate for that

- - - - -

Eliot: Play time’s over Nate, it’s only a matter of time before they come after us. The tall one, the way he used a knife, ex-Marine, probably Force Recon.

Hardison: You ID’d a guy off his knife-fighting style?

Eliot: It’s a very distinctive style.

two distinctives in one episode

- - - - -

Hardison: I didn’t sign up for any of this. What I did before, nobody got hurt.

Sophie: I stole paintings for a living.

Parker: I never hurt anybody.

Eliot: I actually hurt people, so…

LMFAO eliot but also- notice that sophie never said that she never hurt people, she just said she stole paintings for a living

- - - - -

Sophie: Nate, if anything had happened to this kid--

Nate: You know you guys called on me. You remember? You begged me to run the crew, agreed to play by my rules. Now walk out if you have a problem with that. Walk out any day if you have a problem with that. It’s simple.

(everyone looks hesitant)

Eliot: We finish this one.

Parker: Just one

PSH like any of y’all believe that

- - - - -

Hardison: How do we hit ‘em?

Sophie: Congressman Jenkins, he’s our in. Looked me straight in the eye and told me he’d never even heard of the shooting.

Parker: So?

Sophie: Looked me in the eye? When men are telling me the truth they’re not looking me in the eye. A man only ever looks a woman in the eye when he’s making the effort to lie to her.

Eliot: ...Well you can’t argue with that.

Hardison: Noted and filed

LMFAO

- - - - -

Nate: All right, Jenkins is DuFort’s pet congressman, let’s see if we can get him to bite. The best way to get two people to reveal a secret, get ‘em to turn on each other.

- - - - -

Sophie: You should look out for the signs congressman. Missed phone calls, no more little favors.

Jenkins: Those are the same signs that your wife is cheating on you.

Sophie: That’s right.

Jenkins: What am I supposed to do when that happens?

Sophie (hands him her card): Play the field

- - - - -

Hardison: Congressman Jenkins is very careful. No direct bribes but he’s renovating his house and so far he’s received over $600,000 worth of work for a little over fifty grand.

(Hardison brings up pictures of Jenkins’ house on the screens)

Eliot: Castleman owns the contracting company, huh?

Hardison: I mean, he’s going through like three shell companies but yeah. And this man loves his house. Just check out his web browsing habits.

(Hardison changes the image to a website for wood panels)

Hardison: Look here, see the man spent three weeks picking out the perfect mahogany wood panels. This site is like wood porn.

Eliot: Is his house finished?

Hardison: Not even close.

Eliot: Can I borrow your phone?

Hardison takes out his phone, dials for Eliot and hands it to him.

Eliot (on phone): Hello? Yes, I’d like to cancel delivery on some mahogany wood paneling. Please.

(Hardison tries to help, Eliot walks away)

Eliot: The Jenkins house. Yeah, you know what, do me a favor man, just go ahead and cancel the whole order. Yes sir.

(Eliot leaves the room as Nate enters with a bowl of popcorn and two beers)

Nate: What’s he doing?

Hardison: Yanking the congressman’s chain

I love chaotic (pre)boyfriends

plus at one point it high hey looked like they were holding hands

and eliot’s SMILE at hardison ,,, you soft man, you never stood a chance

- - - - -

Hardison: A woo--whoa, whoa! A wood-- a wooden box?

Nate: A wooden box.

Hardison: Wood? Well, we can put a man on the moon but all our laws go into a wooden box.

- - - - -

Hardison: I mean, break a law, everybody’s done that, my mama’s done that but steal a law. Oh, she’s gonna be a legend baby.

(on screen, C-SPAN news shows the Senate floor where Parker is walking to “The Hopper”. She waves at the camera and puts the fake bill into box.

Parker: The eagle has landed.

Nate: It’s in!

Hardison: Uhn! Go ahead girl! Sexyness! Unh. Rrrnnn.

Nate: Might want to ease up on that a little bit.

Hardison: Just saying.

Nate: Yeah.

Hardison: Between me and you. Between me and you.

Nate: Never leaves the room.

adorable “the eagle has landed” parker + already-gone-for-her hardison ,,, I love it here

- - - - -

(also, again I am reminded that there is a 250 text block limit so imma have to make a part two and apparently this is my life now)

[harryxmac]

You and I

MASTERLIST

in which harry and y/n are both celebs, and celeb relationships don’t work. but harry and y/n are inseparable.

Y/N and Harry were warned. Warned that celebrity relationships don’t always work out. Media, fans and the quick paced lifestyle, don’t leave much room for a relationship. 

Of course, Y/N and Harry didn’t feel like this applied to them. The love they had for one another was so deep and strong that they felt they could conquer anything in life.

They were both besotted with one another, any person in any room could see that. Little loving looks, the gentle stroke of hand, arm or leg, the way they talk about one another and the way they loved was not one to be missed.

As Y/N walked into Nick Grimshaw’s house, she knew she was getting herself into trouble. Of course Harry is always invited, but whether he was in town or not ws another question. So, with this, Y/N had done quite well of avoiding awkward run ins and accidentally seeing one another somewhere that would once be their spot.

However, Y/N knew Harry was in town, with the Brits and BBC gig, there was no way he’d miss seeing Nick. She’d be lying if she didn’t put on an extra bit of makeup on, or put on his favourite top of hers, and brought her slippers to Nicks, because Harry just loves how she makes herself so comfortable wherever she goes.

And Harry would be lying if he hadn’t popped a few extra sprays of his Tom Ford cologne on, because all he could fantasise about was the way she snuggle into the crook of his neck and breathe in deeply taking in the way the cologne mixed with him. He, also, definitely hadn’t put on her favourite silk shirt of his and left way too many buttons undone, because she loved his butterfly tattoo.

Seeing Y/N walk in, hair a bit windswept and her cheeks rosy as well as her nose, Harry has to stop himself from doing what he would've done when they were together. Fixing her a drink, ensuring there was room for her on the couch, and if there wasn’t, he would insist on her taking his seat and he’d sit on the floor, giving her his jumper or wrapper her in a blanket he found. 

Instead, he sits still, watching closely as she makes the round saying hello to everyone located in the small London flat. Nick gawks at Harry, tring to grasp how he’s feeling, but only sees love in his eyes for once what was his love.

Y/N knew she couldn’t ignore him and had to approach him. Luckily, the way everyone had sat, she had gone round and said hello to everyone in a way that left Harry last and she was kinda grateful.

“Harry” She stretched out her arms to give him a hug.

Harry stood to his feet, towering over her figure and pulling her in for a much more intimate cuddle than she had expected. Wrapped his arms around his body, his arms slinking around his neck, pulling one another in tighter and embracing one anothers warmth.

“Love” He whispers ever so softly.

“You home?” They’re still hugging, not wanting to let go in fear of not knowing when they can embrace one another like this again. 

“A week” His lips just barely brush against the edge of her ear and she can’t control the shiver that runs through her body. Harry notices and closes his eyes, wishing he could make her feel like that everyday.

It's about then that everyone in the room notices the slight shift in the room as they stand there hugging and everyones just trying to watch Dancing On Ice. Nick decides to break the couple up, as much as he wants them to rekindle.

“You guys wanna take a seat?” 

Breaking apart, they make eye contact and give one another a guilt laced small smile. They do end up sitting against one another and neither of them can lie, that the simplest touch of their knee’s is majorly comforting after  not seeing another for two months.

-

“Harry! I just can’t!!” Y/N screeches.

“‘Cause yeh not trying!”

“Not trying?! I put up with this everyday! How long till you or I say stop?”

“Yeh can’t do this.”

“Harry, I can’t sit on my phone without receiving hate from fans or the media. I just can’t. It’s not okay. I can’t wake up feeling this way everyday. And if you’re the price I have to pay, then fine. Because I’m doing it for you too!”

“They’re never gonna love someone I’m in a relationship with Y/N! I choose you!”

“I chose you too, and I got ridiculed for it!”

“Y/N”

“I have to go Harry. I love you, know that.”

-

Everyone had done way too many tequila shots, all encouraged by the King of Tequila, Harry. But nevertheless, it was all Nick’s idea to pop out the karaoke machine. 

“No!” Everyone laughed. 

“Yes, yes, yes!” Nick encouraged, dragging Harry up from his seat to make him duet ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’. 

Many drunken songs sung later, everyone is pulling her up to sing her song ‘All I Ask’.

Knowing it's about Harry, she hesitates, simply waving her hand in a motion in order to dismiss them all.

“Please” Lou begs, “It’s so beautiful!”

Harry encourages her too, with a flood of ‘please’s.

“Fine! Fine! Fine!” She gives in, giggling away as she stands because it becomes clear to her then, just how drunk she is. She momentarily forgot when she saw the bottle of Don Julio, just how drunk Tequila got her.

She begins to sing the first verse, everyone singing along with her as they hear the verse.

“I will leave my heart at the door

I won't say a word

They've all been said before you know”

Harry’s goose bumps rise, leaving a bone chilling feeling within him. He also forgot how much of an affect her angelic voice affected him. How much he felt moved and inspired by every song she sung and wrote.

As she begins to get to the chorus, everyone has quieted down, simply swaying feeling their tequila spiked blood running through their veins. 

“If this is my last night with you

Hold me like I'm more than just a friend

Give me a memory I can use

Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do

It matters how this ends

'Cause what if I never love again?”

“YES! Go Y/N! Kill it” Someone screams. 

Harry’s eyes begin to prick with tears as he hears the raw emotions in her voice as she avoids all eye contact with him.

Harry could barely listen to the first verse, let alone the rest of the song when it played through his Audi speakers.

Now, he’s filled with hurt and regret for not fighting more for what he considers the love of his life.

Harry complentates making her stop, but it feels so good to see her in the flesh, he feels that making her stop might entice her to call a cab and leave. So instead, he sits still, living in a moment, being grateful to within close proximity with her.

-

After might fighting and debating, everyone agrees to stay at Nicks that night, not wanting to bother with calling six or seven different cabs to his house. Rather opting to stay the night and drive home sober in the morning. 

By the time that Y/N had finished cleaning up Nick's kitchen, she could never go to sleep without the kitchen being clean, she had noticed that everyone had already chosen their sleeping partner on the various blow up beds that Nick had spent an hour trying to blow up. 

So therefore, it seems she's stuck with Harry, which she feels as though everyone had ulterior motives in order to get them together. But, still she lifts the blanket and snuggles down, with her back facing him. 

Y/N hears and feels Harry sigh, he's disappointed that she’s not facing him and she knows it. His Tom Ford cologne engulfs the sheets as she pulls them across her, and she can’t lie to herself and say that she doens’t enjoy the smell.

Y/N closes her eyes, feeling how good it feels to be in a bed with him again, just centimeters apart, feeling his warmth and ever so often, when he breathes a little heavy, his breath.

It’s been an hour since everyones slowly fell into a slumper and Y/N and Harry, after years of knowing one another are both well aware that they are awake.

“Y/N” He whispers.

“Yeah” 

“Can yeh turn ‘round?” 

Y/N considers the movement, for just a few seconds before slowly turning round to face him.

Y/N hates how the moon is so bright, and with Nicks lack of blinds on his higher windows, makes it shine upon Harry’s face. His face looks so smooth and soft, he has no spots or small bumps because he has a strict skincare routine and wears SPF, which of course Y/N helped him with, so she's not surprised to see this.

His eyes dance across her face, looking for moment to further dissect how she’s feeling, but she stays still, trying not to give away an ounce of feeling, but all she wants to do is embrace him and kiss his face senseless.

“We can make this work” He states.

“This is the tequila talking, yeh don’t know that”

“I know I want yeh”

“I want you bu-”

“See, yeh said it, we can do it, we wan’ one ‘nother” He interupts.

“Harry” She breathes.

“I love you” he speaks up a little to further reinstate how he feels.

“I love you, Harry” She gives in.

Harry gingerly reaches his hand towards her face. He grasps it so softly and Y/N falls putty in it, relaxing her head to his hand as he gently strokes her cheek with his thumb.

“I’ve missed you so much” Oncemore, his eyes well with tears that threaten to spill, and in front of the woman who’s seen it all, he allows it.

“Please” He begs.

“You and I, against everything” He adds.

With Harry’s reassuring words, and the warmth she suddenly feels within her heart. She nods her head, a smile etching onto her face. She agrees. Them against the world.

[downwiththeficness]

In the Blood-Part 2

Pairing: Brasa/ Female OC

Words: ~2,000

Warnings: None

Part One

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight  Part Nine  Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve

She’d been feeling odd all day, an itch under her skin that, no matter how many times she scratched, wouldn’t go away.  It feeling sat petulantly, reminding her that there was something undone. Needing a distraction, Lilah shifted as she glanced down at her phone.  Beside her, Chewie rolled his eyes.  

Lilah didn’t know what Chewie’s real name was, and she didn’t much care.  He was three hundred and fifty pounds of wrecking ball and he always came through. Reliability wasn’t always something she found in people with her line of work.  She appreciated it where she could get it.

“How’s Barb?” she asked, to pass the time, her thumb running along the edge of her phone.

Chewie smiled wide, “She’s good.  Joined this Zumba group on Thursday nights.  Gives me time with Joey.”

Lilah nodded, “He still playing baseball?”

“Nah,” Chewed replied, one hand lifting and falling with a heavy thud onto the steering wheel. “Tell you the truth, he’s not going to be a sporty kid.  He said last week he wanted to learn to play the piano.  Where the fuck am I going to get a piano that’ll fit in our apartment?”

“Could do one of those electric ones.”

He jabbed a finger at her, “That’s a good point.  Maybe for his birthday.”

Lilah glanced at her phone again, “When is that?”

“About two months out.  He’ll be ten.”

“Ah, double digits.”

Chewie scoffed, “He’ll be claiming he’s a man soon.”

She gave a soft sound of assent and turned her attention outside of the car. They were parked outside of a warehouse.  Lilah had stopped counting the number of times she’d sat outside of warehouses, waiting for some schmuck to show up.  This particular schmuck was half an hour late.  

Said schmuck pulled up in a bright, shiny sports car that had Lilah rubbing at her temples.  She looked at Chewie and then ambled out of the sensible Ford compact she’d rented for the occasion.  With a shrug, she pulled her hoodie closer, her hands falling naturally into the pockets.  Mr. Schmuck exited his too expensive car, pulling on his leather jacket to display a nice watch.  Lilah made a mental bet that it was a Rolex. These kinds of guys always wore a Rolex.

“I got a call that I’m supposed to meet somebody,” Schmuck said with a sniff.  “What the fuck am I doing here?”

Lilah stood a little ahead of Chewie.  Although she was a little above average in height, she knew what she looked like next to him.  Weak. Small. That was her intention and always was when she asked Chewie to come along with her on messenger duty.

“You owe a debt,” she announced.  “I’m here to make sure you pay up.”

Schmuck had taken a loan against the house in a casino-slash-strip club-slash-whore house.  She’d never been inside, but she’d heard things.  It was just over the border, situated in the sweet spot where regulation didn’t quite have jurisdiction.  It was the kind of place where people like her and Chewie made good money and people like the smirking schmuck in front of her got killed and dumped in a river.

“I don’t think I owe anything.  I think I squared up when I left.”

Lilah shook her head, “I can assure you, you did not.”

He eyes twinkled, “You gonna prove that, honey?”

Honey. Baby. Sweetheart. Doll. They all called her a nickname that they thought would be demeaning. She’d heard it all in one way or another.  A fixer didn’t get to the ripe old age of thirty five in this line of work without being insulted at every turn—especially a woman.  She fought the urge to laugh.

“Listen, I’ve been authorized to broker a deal for you.  I’m going to encourage you to take it.”

“Or what?”

God, did the script ever change?

“Or, you’ll end up with your legs broken.  For starters.”

Schmuck looked from her to Chewie and back.  He seemed to take a moment to contemplate his position. Then, as Lilah thought he might, he pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans and pointed it at her. One handed, turned to the side like every gangster movie he’d probably binged as a child. She sighed.

One hand rubbing at her temple, the other lifted and made a sharp arc in the air.  From a rooftop somewhere, a sniper took aim.  Schmuck hadn’t yet noticed.  The little red dot flashed at her, she smiled.

“You got a little something...just there,” she urged, gesturing to Schmuck’s chest.

He looked down, flinching as his free hand pressed ineffectively at his chest.

“I came prepared,” she pronounced evenly.  “Now, I want you to drop your gun, then your car keys, followed by your watch, and that nice little ring on your pinky.”

Schmuck looked at her with wild eyes.

“Or, I can go ahead and shoot you and take those things, anyways.  Your choice.”

He paused and she could see him weighing his options.  He could fire at her, but he’d probably die as well.  She didn’t have to know anything about him to know he was a coward.  It took about ten seconds before the gun dropped and he followed her directives.

“Now, start walking.  Don’t come back.”

She hoped this was enough to keep him from coming back to the bar.  People who got in too deep didn’t get this kind of opportunity.  A couple thousand in loans would turn into hundreds of thousands and nothing solved that but a body in the dirt.  

Lilah watched him wander off for a moment before leaning over to Chewie, “You think he learned his lesson?”

He shrugged, “I doubt it. Looks like a trust fund baby to me.”

“Yeah,” Lilah agreed with a nod, “They never learn.”

And they didn’t.  No matter how many times someone like Chewie beat the shit out of them, they just kept coming back.  She didn’t understand why.  They could get tits and ass anywhere.  What was it about this place that made them make such shit-tastic decisions?  

Lilah leaned into the car, looking for anything of worth.  They’d have to drive it back to Chewie’s parts shop.  His cousin did most of the work, but Chewie kept people from looking to closely at the books.  He’d been laundering money since age twelve, when he’d first started brokering in stolen merchandise.   Lilah had him do her, admittedly fake, taxes every year.

“Hey, Chewie?” She called out, looking over the open door of the coupe.  

He turned and gave a little shrug that meant ‘what?’

“You know how to drive stick?”

Later, after pulling into the garage to trade in her rental, Lilah stabbed the elevator button and turned to survey the empty lot.  She hoisted her backpack higher on her shoulders while she waited.  The evening was hot and dry.  She wanted a shower and a drink, possibly at the same time.  It had taken little to no effort to get the day’s haul completed, but she was tired.  

It was easy money, guaranteed to her bank account.  Her handler had given her at least a dozen or so of these a month for several years.  Still, she didn’t really know who was financing her.  Her brain automatically cautioned her against this line of thought.  It didn’t matter where the money came from. What mattered was that she got paid.

Movement caught her peripheral and she turned her head.  Had the lights dimmed?  It felt like the area to her right was somehow...darker.  Without taking her eyes off the shadows, Lilah reached out and pressed the elevator button again. She squinted, trying to parse the objects in the shadows.

More movement.  This time closer. She flicked her gaze to the stairs, wondering if she needed to run. Perhaps Mr. Schmuck had gotten pissed and followed her.  Wouldn’t be the first time.  Warily, she unzipped the side pocket of her pack and palmed the small pistol she kept on her for just such an occasion.

It was as if a dark fog had cleared, her vision focused on a figure standing in profile maybe twenty feet away.  He was dressed head to toe in black.  A dark leather coat hung over the broadest set of shoulders she ever seen on a man of his build.  Her heart began to beat wildly in her chest, and she suddenly felt herself transport to a dream she’d deemed the result of too much late night snacking.

As if he could hear her panic, he turned.  He was wearing a pair of gold rimmed aviators despite the fact that the sun had already set.  She took a step back, nearly falling into the open carriage of the elevator.  The doors closed and she desperately pressed the button for her floor.  From outside, a roar built, shaking the metal beneath her palms.  

Lilah alternated between watching the floors light up above her and the doors, half thinking that she’d see fingers wiggle through the tiny opening and pull them apart.  The elevator moved without preamble, jerking upwards.  She stepped back and gripped the handrail, metal biting into the meat of her palm.

When she reached her floor, she ran.  Full sprint.  Pulling her keys from her pocket, she headed for her car.  Once inside, she sped it all the way back to the hotel. Every few miles, she looked behind her, as if he might be following her.  It took until the moment when she was slamming the extra sliding lock of her room into place for her shoulders to relax just a bit.  Still, she stared at the door, half thinking he’d slam through it.

It was quiet, only the sound of the air conditioning keeping her company.  She let out the breath she was holding and pressed her hand to her forehead in relief.  It wasn’t real.  She was seeing things.  Too much stress.

Sitting on the bed, Lilah ran her hands through her hair and tried to calm herself.  It was the same man, though.  She knew it without a shadow of a doubt.  Even though the last time she’d seen him,  he’d been covered in blood, she could recognize that proud posture, the sharp nose, anywhere.  

“Get it together, McNamara,” she gritted through clenched teeth.  “You’re tired.  You’re just tired.”

Sliding to her knees, she opened the tiny fridge and pulled out a bottle of bourbon, yanking out the stopper and drinking from it.  For a long time, she just stared at the blue patterned carpet, drinking periodically.  Then, when her heart finally slowed, she picked herself up and headed for the bathroom.  

Setting the bottle on the counter, Lilah pulled off her shoes and socks, leaving them on the floor and starting the water.  While she waited for the shower to heat up, she looked at herself in the mirror.  Her makeup was a little smeared from tears she hadn’t known she had cried, her cheeks dry with them.  Irritably, she wiped away the smudges, taking another swig.  

For a moment, she continued to look at herself, her stick straight hair falling limply to her shoulders.  A bad bleach job had made her cut it short, a look she didn’t know if she liked.  She was glad it wasn’t orange, anymore—now a box brown that was a little green in certain lights.

With a huff, she pushed that strands back and started to pull at her t-shirt.  

“Querida.”

Lilah screamed and flung her body towards the closed door, another little whimper bursting forth when she was bodily pressed against it.  

He was looking at her in disbelief again, gloved hands holding her hips.  Her face was reflected clearly in the lenses of his glasses.  She looked terrified.  She felt terrified.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Before she got an answer, the lights flickered and he was gone.

[adrenalineguide]

2019’s Top Rides: Part 3/Buick Regal GS, Subaru Ascent and Golf R

By Michael Hozjan

Buick Regal GS AWD: Buick gets it right

At 12, I wanted to be a car designer. Fate however had different plans for me. With an eye for automotive design, I grew up loving Buicks; from the ’57 Special to the ’59 Invicta, with the ’64 Wildcat stealing my heart time and again. Cadillacs took a close second, Fords were ok but I found Chevs too feminine. Buicks, were masculine with broad shouldered front fenders and creased lines, personifying the designing cues of GM greats, Harley Earl and Bill Mitchell.

Then came the Riviera. One snowy December afternoon as I headed to my post office, there on St. Lawrence Boulevard, with six inches of snow on the ground sat a ’65 Riviera. My heart skipped several beats and I must have studied its lines for what seemed like an eternity.

Well into the ‘70s there were some noteworthy designs that came out of Buick’s design studios however, the last four decades have been anything but exciting. That has all changed with the launch of the Regal GS – the sexiest Buick to come out of Detroit in, well the last four decades.    

The Grand Sport designation is nothing new to the Buick line up, having been associated with ‘70s era muscle cars but this is the first time that it has been used in a European sports sedan context. The stylish GS goes up against some well established rivals like the Acura TLX, Lexus ES, BMW 3 series and the like, a tough field to say the least. The Regal GS is more than just good looks, it’s a bona fide sports sedan. In fact a rebadged, German built, Opel Insignia, so the GS starts with the right genes. European engineered handling makes it the best tarmac gripping Buick ever.

Red Brembo brake calipers immediately tell everyone that this is not your typical Buick.

While different drive options/trim levels are available elsewhere around the globe, we Canucks get only one trim/drive option- also the most desirable one - the all-wheel-drive version motivated by the 310 horsepower DOHC, 3.6L V6 with variable valve timing punching out 282 lb-ft of torque through a 9-speed automatic.  

Entry price is $44,045, my tester came with the Buick Experience Package ($3,495) that included the moonroof, a Bose premium 8-speaker sound system, wireless charging, an 8” touch screen, HD radio, LED leveling headlights, The Driver Confidence Package (yes you read that right) at $1,995 includes adaptive cruise, forward collision alert with automatic braking, lane keep assist, front pedestrian braking and heads up display. The Ebony Twilight Metallic paint was a premium option at $495.

The all-wheel-drive gets a torque vectoring rear axle, which only improves traction in slippery conditions and makes the Buick eat up the corners. Buick has also given us three driving modes to choose from, Touring, Sport and GS 

Inside you’ve got one color choice, black. The supportive Recaros have a massage feature as well as being heated/cooled. Both driver’s and passenger seats have 14 adjustments to suit your body, including adjustable bolsters. Following with the German sport sedan traits, it includes a flat-bottomed steering wheel.

Rear seat passengers get ample legroom, but headroom is tight for taller occupants. With 30.cu.ft of space under the hatch with the rear seats up, with over 60 cu.ft with the rear seats folded, it betters many compact crossovers!

Is it perfect?

Non-functional air intakes in the front valance are mickey-mouse and a step backwards. Why not leave them open and help cool the brakes? No spare tire but a useless tire fix kit –that’ll help when you have a blow out or bend a wheel on Quebec’s pot holes. On the comical side, the audio system had mixed up the Cirius station numbers it’s 60s on 6 and not 660s on six….and the same could be said for 50s on 5 not 550s on 5, as well as 70s, 80s and 90s.

You can go through the gears manually with the console mounted shifter but paddle shifters would have been a nice touch to compliment the smooth 9-speed automatic.

Will the GS steal buyers away from BMW? I hardly doubt it but it does give of us a formidable option to keep our performance dollars with domestic manufacturers, and the GS buyer has nothing to be apologetic for. 

 Price as tested: $52,050*

*Includes destination charges and a/c excise tax

 Subaru Ascent: If at first you don’t succeed…

If you thought that Subaru already had a large SUV you’re right. The magic word here being had. The B9 Tribeca, later shortened to just Tribeca debuted in 2005 to, lets just say a less than stellar sales, and by 2014 had moved into the automotive history books of what once was.

It takes guts to admit that you were wrong, and it takes even big cojones to come back with a similar sized vehicle. Truth be told the SUV market has also changed over the last decade with SUVs growing increasingly larger, just like the population. Subaru appears to have been ahead of its time back in 2005 when 3-row SUV’s didn’t proliferate our roads, and minivans still reigned supreme for getting the platoon to school. But times have changed and so the new Ascent is the company’s answer to the latest trend.

The Ascent is also Subaru’s largest vehicle to date, with 142 mm longer wheelbase and 134 mm longer in length than the Tribeca, so yes passenger comfort has been greatly increased. The midsize SUV is built on the company’s Global Platform, a chassis that is easily adaptable; serving as the basis for everything from their Impreza and Crosstrek to the Ascent.

Available in four trim levels – Convenience, Touring, Limited and Premier - with the entry level 8-passenger Convenience starting at a meager $36,695. Regardless of trim, there’s a new 2.4L direct-injected, turbocharged boxer four cylinder dolling out 260 horses and 277 lb-ft of torque through the High-torque Lineartronic CVT (continuously variable transmission).   

Talk to anyone who’s ever driven a Subie in less than ideal conditions and they’ll swear by the symmetrical full-time all-wheel-drive system. A new feature, X-Mode, pushes the traction envelope even further; at the push of a button, it monitors and controls four different vehicle dynamics, including engine, transmission, torque splitting and braking.

There’s a lot of standard driver-assistance technology in each Ascent without having to step up to trim levels, Items like automated emergency braking and lane-keeping assist through the company’s EyeSight system. The base model gets a 6.5 inch infotainment screen while upper trim buyers will see an 8 inch screen. GPS however is only available in the two higher end trims (Limited and Premier). Both Touring and Limited are available in either seven or eight passenger configurations with captain’s chairs taking up the second row. My tester, the Premier trim comes only with the second row captains chairs. While all trims get heated front buckets it’s only the two higher trims that pamper their second row passengers with heated outboard seats. The third row looks a lot more inviting than some of it’s competitors but it’s still on the tight side with limited leg room. Still bear in mind this is a mid-size seven passenger and the seats are padded and comfortable to keep the small fry happy for longer drives. Oh and a pair of third-row USB charging ports become available in the Limited trim and are in addition to the standard two you’ll find in the front and second rows.

Rear cover blind and tow loop are stowed neatly under the cargo bay’s floor, the latter an option on some pricier suvs

.

Whether you’re out in the boonies or negotiating city streets, the Ascent doesn’t feel like a large bulky SUV. With above average handling and a minimum of body roll for a three-row SUV, Subaru’s use of the boxer engine and its advantageous low center of gravity immediately become apparent. It’s stable, with a soft luxurious ride and is generally quiet during normal highway cruising. But it does get loud when pushed hard.

Is it perfect?

The drone of the CVT does get annoying but once you get passed that, the Ascent is typically Subaru; it does everything what it’s supposed to and does it well. I averaged 9.8L/100 km which is unprecedented in a 7-passenger sport ute. It may not be overly luxurious but you get what you pay for. I know my Subaru driving friends will all be looking at the Ascent when the time comes to turn in their current drives, and that alone will keep this big Subaru around for a long time to come.

Price as tested: $52,795*

* Includes destination charges

Volkswagen Golf R: You’ll want one

If you’ve missed my installment of the Rabbit GTI, I urge you to scroll down the page and have a read.

Now take the GTI and turn it up a notch, or three. The formula for the Golf R is very simple; take one German built spacious hatchback that already has solid, tight handling, and add gobbs of turbocharged horses to a 2.0L inline four cylinder. How many ponies? Two eighty-eight to be exact – enough to propel you well past the posted speed limit in less time than it takes you to say posted speed limit. Now stir in all-wheel drive to put all that power to the ground. Slam it to the ground for added handling. Dress it up with killer 19” wheels.

Choose between the 6-speed manual available for $42,495 or the 7-speed dual clutch automatic with Tiptronic for $43,895. Now go have the most fun you can with your clothes on.

Doesn’t look like it but there’s nearly 300 horses in there

Quad exhaust tips tell you this is no ordinary Golf

The Golf R is everything you want in a performance sedan and then some. It makes no sense in a country with posted speed limits, but then neither do Porches, Ferraris and the like.   

Price as tested: $49, 290*

*Includes destination charges and a/c excise tax

[rmjagonshi]

Whole Again Chapter 23

Whole Again on AO3

The violent tension between them eased. Stan went back to sleep for the remainder of Christmas Eve, Stanford following soon after, choosing to nap on the floor of the cabin. They did not discuss Ford’s actions, nor attempted to deal with the emotional fallout. Ford himself couldn’t fathom why he did what he did. The shame compounded when he informs Mason of what happened when the boy texts him on Christmas Day. Unable to talk to the boy face to face, instead he texts a more coherent story to him than he had told Mabel. He didn’t leave anything out, even if he desperately wanted to.

He had typed out the whole story in several paragraphs, and sending each text out in rapid succession. He didn’t want to give the boy a moment to respond. Once the last text was sent, he flipped the screen over on the work table in front of him.

He was sixty years old. He had traveled the multiverse for thirty years. Very little scared him anymore, but this…

He was terrified of what Mason would think. Logically, he knew Mabel had told him something. Really, Stanford wasn’t telling the boy anything he didn’t already know. But it still scared him to admit it fully.

He sat waiting for several hours. Or was it minutes? Was it minutes? It felt like ages just staring at the back of his phone case. It was clear so he could place a photograph behind it. He hadn’t yet. He really should, but the only photographs they had were tacked up on the walls.

Stanford sat in his chair, elbows braced on his knees and hands folded in front of his mouth. He watched his mobile pone with an intensity reserved for things with a particular degree of danger. He tried to focus, but his mind spun off in several different directions. Sure, Mabel seemed to handle it well enough, but Mason may not. He wouldn’t blame him. Couldn’t blame him. Stanford couldn’t defend this. It wasn’t rational.

But he’d given up trying to explain it. It didn’t matter. No explanation was really necessary. What he needed to do now was stop. Just let Bill go. Let the happy memories fade and be crusted over with bitterness and hatred.

Hadn’t he tried to do that with Stan all those years ago? Cover up nostalgia and longing with anger? It hadn’t worked then either.

He felt like crying again. He had cried more in the last six months than he had in the past thirty years. His eyes were itchy. The skin around his orbits was dry and red and bruised. The skin around his fingernails nibbled to the point of bleeding. He hadn’t shaved in days. Neither one had. Wasn’t much point out here, and there were far more important things to worry about.

Like whether or not his grandson would ever talk to him again. Nephew! Grandnephew. Mason is Sherman’s grandson. Not mine.

He jolted when his phone buzzed. His first instinct was to tear open the window and chuck the thing into the water so he wouldn’t have to respond. It buzzed twice more, vibrating on the smooth surface. The glow from the screen faintly shining along the edges.

He didn’t want to answer it. Instead, he stood up, and paced the small length of the cabin. There wasn’t much room, little less than ten feet or so. He passed by the window where Herman sat. The little tree peered up at him with concern. They hadn’t been paying any attention to him the past few days. The tree waved its tiny branches at him; a child reaching for its parent.

Stanford patted Herman’s green and leafy head, twiddling his fingers as Herman made attempts to grab them. His tiny mouth soundlessly opened and closed. When Stanford didn’t react, Herman grasped his second pinky, the only one small enough for him to hold onto, and shook it. Stanford blinked, unsure of the tree’s meaning, until he noticed that Herman was trying to pull his hand down. The soil was dry. How had he been so neglectful? He picked up the watering can sitting beside the tree on the windowsill. The water tipped out in several divided streams and Herman squeaked in delight, dancing back and forth in the rain.

Stanford smiled at the little thing. “Look at you. All you want is attention, water and sunlight. You have no worries. You don’t care what anyone thinks of you.” He placed the can back on the windowsill and watched as the excess water seeped into the soil, passed Herman’s interlocking roots and through the hole in the bottom of the pot. The now slightly brown water beaded at the edge of the pot and the chipped plate it was balanced on.

A tiny squawk pulled his attention back to the tree. It waved its branches towards his face, flicking water droplets on his cheeks and glasses. Stanford stepped back, wiping his glasses on his shirt before looking down at the still squawking tree. It seemed to be gesturing in his direction, then to an area behind him.

He turned, expecting Bill, but he was alone in the cabin. If he listened closely, he could still hear Stan’s snores from down below. A buzz echoed through the silent cabin. His phone…again. He should answer it. He turned back to Herman and the tree squawked loudly, waving his branches angrily at Stanford, then towards the table.

Stanford sighed.

“I know, ok? I know. I need to respond. But what if he doesn’t want to speak to me again? This is Bill, we’re talking about. I…” His hands came up to rake through his already disheveled hair. “I don’t want him to hate me.”

Herman just gave him a somber look and cooed. His phone buzzed again.

That was five. He had to respond now. He walked the ten or so feet from the window to the side work table like a man marching to his death. His pace was hesitant and uneven. Then, all at once, he was standing beside the table with little memory of how he got there. And little desire to pick up his phone.

It’s fine. It’s going to be ok. No matter how he feels, no matter what he says. I have no idea what he’s going to say. What is he going to say? No! No. It doesn’t matter. It’s out now. No more secrets. I’ve kept too many secrets already.

Stanford sat back down in the worn chair and waited. Come on! It’s not going to bite you. Words might…hurt, but they won’t actually cause physical harm.

He took a steadying breath and reached for his phone. The cool plastic bit into his fingertips as he flipped it over to read the screen.

It was dark.

He took a second breath and pressed the side button, drawing in his passcode pattern before Mason’s texts appeared on the screen.

He held his breath as he read the first message.  

Ok, first, it’s gonna be ok. Mabel and I are here for you. So is Mom and Dad and everyone else. We still love you.

A gasped sob forced its way from his lips. He couldn’t even finish reading before his sight grew blurry with ever more tears.

DAMNIT! Pull yourself together! You are too old to be weeping at the drop of a hat anymore!

He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket so he could keep reading.

But you have got absolutely ship taste in…boyfriends? Is that the right word for this? What is Bill anyway?

Stanford chuckled at the auto-censored profanity. He’d usually call Mason out on it; there was no reason to use profanity when other, more colorful and accurate descriptors were available, however he doubted there was a better descriptor in this instance.

As to Mason’s question, Stanford himself wasn't sure what his relationship with Bill could be called. Though he was certain it wouldn’t be something so juvenile.

He scrolled to the next text.  

Second. I would ask why? But this is Bill. I think I can get an idea, and frankly, I don’t really want to know the details. You told me enough already. And Mabel won’t shut up about what you told her.  

He grimaced. He would have to apologize to the boy. He had promised both of them and himself that he wouldn’t keep any secrets from them. Mason had asked and Stanford had told him. In age appropriate terms, but still. He supposed it was akin to hearing about your parent’s or grandfather’s relationships. Kind gross when you looked too closely at it.

He read further.  

Third, and yes Mabel told me, how are you doing with this…whole new…’thing’…now that Bill and Stan are…well…Bill and Stan? I mean, we’ve been trying to figure it out for a month now, and it seems to be the best theory we have so far.

He felt phantom bile build up in his throat. Yes. Mabel’s theory. It was a good one. And one he hadn’t bothered considering until she had told him. It was still one he wasn't willing to contemplate for any significant time. He wasn’t ready for that yet. He may never be ready, but he needed time to collect evidence before he made any decisions of faith. And if he was going to have a breakdown, he really wanted to do it where he felt safe.

He didn’t know how to answer Mason’s question. So instead, he ignored it and continued reading.

Btw, I think there might be something we need to talk to you about. I don’t really know what’s going on, but we told Mom and Dad about what happened. You know that part. Well she called Soos to confirm and he sent over some pictures and scans of your journals. Not many pages, just some. But my point is that everyone knows what happened. But when we told Mom and Dad, they

The text had reached its character limit and had been split.

Thought that you and Stan had done…’things’. I don’t know how to put this. Mom said that Great Grandma Caryn had told her something. But she won’t tell us.

Stanford frowned. He hadn’t spoken to his mother since mid-September. He and Stan both had sent her postcards as often as they sent them to the kids, but they never scheduled calls. Something his mother had told his niece? Something his mom had told Diane that had gotten her concerned enough to question the safety and health of her children? There was something he was missing.

Mason, I don’t think I understand what you’re getting at. I know it might be difficult, but I need you to be clear.

He could address Mason’s previous questions later. The reply came almost immediately.

Mom thought Stan molested Mabel and me.

His cell phone hit the table with a clatter as his hands went slack. He blinked several times to clear his vision and leaned over the table to re-read the text. It didn’t change. He swallowed to clear his suddenly dry throat and tried to formulate a response. But his mind was blank. He just stared to the phone on the table, the glaring words from Mason’s text boring holes into his brain. The boy was only thirteen! Why did he know about thigs like that? What possessed her? How could she think?

The insanity of it whipped up a torrent in his mind. He tamped it down enough to reply.  

What? How? What on Earth gave her that impression?

Well, Weirdmaggedon was kinda traumatic. For all of us. Mabel still has nightmares sometimes and…and I get them too. Mom took us to see a therapist and we were being screened for PTSD. I was supposed to be taking anti-psychotics and Mabel was being treated for depression.

What in the hell had been happening in Piedmont!? Why hadn’t the kids told them? Sure, they had written and talked about doctor’s appointments, but nothing of the context. The next text shook Stanford out of his thoughts.

When we told them about summer, that all stopped. But Mom said something she heard from Grandma Caryn made her think that. Do you have any idea what she means?

Not even the faintest.

I may have a few ideas. But none of them substantial. Influenced by the news? Stan’s sordid past maybe? Your guess is as good as mine.

But it was something your Mom said.

And that was what confused him the most.

I really have no idea. There’s something nagging, like I should know. But I can’t bring it to mind. Mason, this is a serious accusation. I think I may have to sit down with both of them and figure out where this is coming from. But it will have to wait for now. Stan is still healing and…

And there were more important things to consider. This speculative nonsense could wait until he talked to them.

And I don’t know how I’m feeling. This ‘whole new thing’ as you put it. I still need to collect more data.

He paused a moment before continuing.

And you have no idea how good it is to hear you give your support. I know I don’t deserve it. But all the same, Thank you. I know my…’feelings’ towards Bill are asinine. But unfortunately, they are real. Bill wearing Stan’s face, or whatever this is now is

The text auto-sent when it reached the character limit. He was rambling now anyway.  

I don’t know where to go from here. I don’t know what I’m doing.

It was the honest truth. He really didn’t.

You can’t stay out there forever.

Technically, yes, we could have.

Could have?

Bi  Stan’s been sealed. He agreed to create or magic up some unicorn hair. Just enough for a proper seal. I had the moonstone and mercury already. It’s still in the early stages, and he’s sleeping off the stress from the past few days, but it seems to be holding.

He didn’t bother to correct his typing mistake. What was the point now?

Does this mean you guys are coming back?

He didn’t want to crush the boy’s hope. Even if Mabel’s theory was correct, even if Stan and Bill were the same person and even if he was sealed, he still had Bill’s memories. Bills personality. It was too dangerous to take them anywhere near their family. But it was quickly becoming clear that they would have to find a port to restock.  

I don’t know. No more magic means our supplies will dwindle. We will need to make port eventually. If the seal holds, and he can’t take it off…

He didn’t really want to think about it just now. Too many steps ahead.

I don’t want to tell you what to do Grunkle Ford, but COMEHOME!

He wanted to. At this point, he wanted to. But there were still far too many unknowns, far too many variables to account for.

And Call your mom!

That on the other hand he could do. And really probably should do sooner rather than later.

Even if it we are wrong. I will risk fighting Bill again to make sure you come home safe.

Mason’s final text left his head spinning and his heart full.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*    

Christmas Day was spent in quiet contemplation. Stanford with a phone in his hand chatting with and reassuring the kids - abandoned book on seismic activity in the Atlantic on the bed beside him - and Stan propped up with a makeshift puzzle to test his finer motor control now that his natural depth perception was gone. Stanford hoped that, given enough time to recover, Stan's previously documented healing magic would set in again and would repair the damage.

He could only wait and see what happened.

Stan, despite still being disoriented in the mornings and a little clumsily when it came to judging far distances, was recovering uncannily quickly. Like it was his natural condition, and having binocular vision was foreign. He struggled for less than a few hours adapting to everything being skewed left, but it seemed as though his brain and body adjusted easily.

Stanford was still taking notes on his condition. Vitals, rate of adaptation, how quickly Stan completed the puzzle each time, what sort of music Herman liked to listen to, Mabel's recovery from another bout with Smile Dip, memories of Bill…memories of Stan.

He’d called his Mom at Mason’s behest. Christmas evening. He’d been too scared to try a skype call, so he’d opted for a standard phone call. It was somehow more intimidating than talking with his grandson. NEPHEW!

“The little ones filled us all in on what’s been happening out there. But I want to hear it from you. An’ don’t try and lie to me, or hold anything back, Stanferd Pines, ‘cuz I’m yer mama. You can’t hide anything from me.”

Hearing her voice, her real honest to god voice was still soothing in ways he didn’t even know he was hurt. He’d neglected to call home much after college, and with Bill and the portal and spending thirty years…well, he never expected to hear her voice again. It was a relief to know he could apologize to her. To make peace. To her her say that she loved him.

He’d spoken at length. Telling her as much as he was able about his research, the portal, Fiddleford and Bill. About what happened to him for the thirty years he was in the multiverse. About his feelings for Bill. About their relationship. And about what had happened since the end of summer. Much of it repeated from his last call to her, but she listened silently, only interjecting with the occasional question or asking for clarification. She made no comment about his relationship with Bill. She didn’t ask him to explain, even though he did. She just listened.

“And I just don’t know what to do now. I don’t have a plan anymore. I’m out of my depth.” It felt so strange to say. Stanford had always had a plan of action. Even in the most dire of situations, he had something.

Caryn’s Jersey accent cracked over the speaker.  

“Where’s Stanley now?”

“Sitting in the galley. He’s doing a puzzle. His depth perception should be gone, but he’s recovering alarmingly fast.”

“Can I talk to him?”

NO! Stanford’s ears rang with the force of the mental shout. He stepped close to the stairs to see Bill, but Stan had pulled himself into the corner of the booth, hidden from Stanford’s angle.

“I…I don’t…” He stuttered, hesitating at the top of the stairs.

“Stanford?” His mother’s voice was growing concerned.

I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t. Not her. Stan’s voice rang out in his head, so full of fear that it was staring to seep into his own thoughts. He gulped, clenching his free hand to steady his nerves.

“Mom…you have been listening, right? I mean…about Bill and…everything. Stan isn’t…he’s not…” He had explained it right? Stan wasn’t himself.

“Stanford Pines, he is my son and I want to know that he’s ok.” There was urgency on her voice. He couldn’t refuse her that.

“He is. As much as he can be. I’m doing my best to make sure he is.”

“You’d better. And what about you? Are you ok?”

Well, she had told him to be honest. He pulled away from the steps to the cabin door, pushing it open and standing on deck.

“Stanford?”

He took a breath, but it came out as a sob anyway.

“…..No.”

“Stanford, honey…?”

“I still love him, Mom. He hurt me so much. But I still love him.”

“Who’re you talkin’ about? Stanley, or this Bill fellow?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, and that’s part of the problem. They’re so much alike. I never noticed it before, but they are. And I can’t tell the difference anymore.” He didn’t think there were any tears left, but sure enough, his voice cracked and his eyes stung.

There was a sight on the other end of the line.

“Stanford, sweetie. Maybe it’s time you stopped tryin’ ta figure this out on your own. Let us help. Let your family help you.”

“I can’t! What if he hurts you? What if Mabel’s wrong? What if something bad happens?!”  

“Just…we’ll think of something, ok? We can figure this out together. Just come home. Please.”

Twice. That was twice now his family asked him to come home. He didn’t want to give up this opportunity, but wasn’t it lost anyway? They weren’t sailing around the world looking for anomalies anymore. If they did, he would be putting his entre family in danger. Again. He couldn’t do that.

But there was nothing else he could do here. They were going to run out of supplies soon. He was out of ideas and Stan needed real medical care if his magic was truly sealed. He needed help. His family was willing to help.

Maybe it was time.

“I think…I think we are. Just a few more days to see if the unicorn necklace works. I won’t leave until I know for sure. And I can’t sail by myself. I need to know Bill can maneuver well enough with….with one eye.”

“Thank you.” The relief in her voice was palpable.

“I love you, Mom.”

“And I love you. Just get back here so I can say it to your face.”

He hung up without thinking to ask about Mason’s question. He shook his head. It didn’t matter. That was a conversation he wasn't ready to have just yet.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  

Three days passed in relative calm. He kept everyone updated. Stan was recovering. His color returned and his balance was as steady as ever. Depth perception gone, but you wouldn’t know it from the way he handled things. His appetite returned with vigor and they were alarmingly low on food. Stan had tried fishing again, but nothing was biting. They were in an ecological dead zone.

Preliminary tests yielded much needed relief. Stan was unable to use magic. His fingers flickered with tiny blue flames, but the unicorn seal was effective. He was unable to manipulate objects or pull things from the ether. Stan’s previously documented healing ability was muted. He was unable to actively use magic to heal, but his natural healing process was decidedly unnatural. Stanford was still uneasy about Bill still being able to invade his mind, but he supposed mindreading and thought projection was preferable to out right possession.

Stan had told him that their connection was instinctual rather than something actively sought out. Stan didn’t utilize magic when he read Stanford’s mind or projected his thoughts.

The implications were unsettling.

It was mid afternoon on the twenty-ninth when Stanford returned Stan’s phone.

Stan had been sitting on deck with a pole, hoping in vain that he’d be able to catch something for dinner that wasn’t rice and beans. But there was nothing. Stan still wore the bandage covering his eye and hands, but the wounds were mostly closed now. He sat in the fold out chair beside the railing, eye focused on the listless bobber.

Stanford stood, arms crossed, and leaning in the doorway of the cabin, watching him. The face was the same grizzled and scruffy profile of his brother. Stan had grown a nice beard in the time they had been out there. The grey surprisingly dark despite the shade of his hair. The balding spot at the back of his head less noticeable.

Stanford could almost imagine that everything was normal. The calm ocean breeze, Stan fishing for their dinner. His hand clenched around the smart phone tucked under his arm. He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but it felt…earned. Stan had earned it.

Stanford’s history with Bill made him wary, but Bill as Stan…it was hard to say.

Stanford told himself that this was a test. What would Bill do with access to the kids? At least communication. Both Mason and Mabel had expressed their desires (and trepidations) to speak with Stan. And they were prepared to deal with the fallout of Bill chose to speak instead.

Mabel had assured him that his fears were groundless.

Stanford crossed the deck quietly, steps muffled by the pink bunny slippers on his feet. He stood at Stan’s left side, eyes on the horizon for a moment, or six, before he held the charged phone under Stan’s nose.

When nothing happened, he turned to see Stan had leaned back in his chair, eye trained on the phone in Stanford’s palm like it was going to bite him.

Stanford’s voice lodged in his throat. They should talk. They needed to talk. But he couldn’t. He he had gathered enough from the little Bill let leak from his mind that Stan wasn’t ready either.

Baby steps.

This was his peace offering.

Stan had turned to look Stanford in the eye. Stanford felt the hesitant probe into his mind. It was like a cooling effect starting at his temples and radiating over his scalp. Bill was trying to see if he was serious. The fishing pole sat tucked into the arm of the folding chair, forgotten, as Stan reached for the phone. Fingers brushing against Stanford’s palm as he took it.

Stan cradled the phone to his chest, hand covering the entirety of it as if Stanford would take it back. Stanford, instead, nodded, dropping his hand and turning to head back into the cabin. A firm hand wrapped around his wrist stopped him.

Stan’s fingers traced over the leather band of Vegvisir, dipping under the band to trace his wrist. He hadn’t taken it off much since they left Iceland. It was supposed to guide lost souls, and he needed any guidance any Gods were willing to offer.

Stan’s fingers trailed up and of the heel of his palm and across his fingers. He offered Stanford a soft smile, turning away abruptly and blinking back tears.

Damnit, Sixer! Keep makin’ me cry like this an I’m gonna get an infection.

Stanford smirked at Stan’s mental words, pulling his hand free and walking back to the cabin.

“As long as you let me change the bandages, it’ll be fine.” Funny how he could find his voice only when he was walking away.

“Huh? What did you…?” The fuck was that!? Was I that loud? Fuck. Need to control it better. Freaks him out.

“Yes, you are that loud. And…I’m used to it. That doesn’t give you permission to do it all the time, but, I’m fine with it.” Stanford entered the cabin and made his way down stairs to start making their meager meal of rice and beans.

“Sixer, I wasn’t talking.” Okay. Small thoughts. Private thoughts. Breathe.

Stanford felt a distinct change in the cool feeling over his scalp. Like it was pulling back, taking part of his mind with it. He frowned, rolling his eyes at Bill’s pathetic attempts to quiet his thoughts.

“Can still hear you!” He called, rooting around in the cupboards for a clean pot to boil rice. He heard a clatter from upstairs and the rapid pounding of steps coming nearer. He really didn’t want to fight. They had spent the last few days in relative calm. He had hoped that it might last a bit longer.

What does it mean? What does it Mean?!

“It means you’re loud. Now stop. I need to cook dinn…” But he was interrupted by a hand on his shoulder. Stanford whorled around, fist at the ready, despite logically knowing it was Bill. His instincts were still in top form.

But his fist was caught, Stan’s face fearful.

“Sixer, I ain’t talkin’. With my mouth or my mind. How’re you hearin’ me?”

Stanford glared, yanking his hand free to turn back to the counter, but Stan grabbed his arm, intent on having this conversation.

Same way I always hear you. How else?

But Stan’s eye widened. His thoughts louder still and woven with fear and confusion. What the hell is that?! Why’s my head feel hot? Why’re you so loud? How can he hear me?

“What on Earth are you talking about now? What…”              

The ship shuddered. Hard. Stan instinctively wrapped his arms around Ford, tugging his brother close. His first instinct to shield Ford with his own body. Ford had made an effort to push Stan away, arms coming up to bunch in his shirt before he realized the greater danger. They stood silent for a moment before the ship shook again, this time, nearly throwing the twins off balance.

“Look, we can fight later. We got bigger problems.” Stanford pulled away from Stan and darted up the stairs again, Stan a step behind him.

The cabin door slammed open, handle digging into the paint on the wall behind it. Stan leaned over the railing beside his toppled chair and fishing pole, Stanford skidding to the rail on the other side of the deck.

The water was choppy, waves slapping against the side of the ship well past the name plate. Moments before it had been dead calm. There was no wind, lest none strong enough to cause wavs like this.

“Something’s out there.” Stanford’s voice floated just above the sound of the waves.

Stan strained his sight as far as it would go, but the unicorn necklace held firm. The water was too dark to see much below its surface. But whatever hit them had to be at least the same size as their ship. Which meant either they needed to get the fuck outta dodge, or grow wings.

Sub maybe? But then why aren’t we sinking? Got to be living. What the hell is that big?

“PORT!”

Stan was sliding into the port side railing beside Stanford in four strides. There was a rapid churning in the water some hundred yards from their ship. The water was noticeably lighter with tiny whitecaps and it was growing bigger, all coalescing into…oh fuck.

“Maelstrom!”

“How the Hell?!” There isn’t anything here. It was all a joke!

“The Bermuda triangle has been a hotspot for paranormal activity for centuries. What’s surprising is we haven’t run into anything yet.”

“No, it isn’t, and I would know.” He would know. There’s nothing here. There wasn’t supposed to be anything here. It was just an arbitrary patch of ocean that didn’t even have anything interesting at the bottom. It was just the Hatteras Abyssal Plain. It was called an abyss because there was nothing there!

Although the whirlpool virulently forming on their port side begged to differ. Stan wracked his mind to explain why a fucking maelstrom was forming in the middle of a mono-directional current. Whirlpools formed near shores, hell some of the biggest were tourist locations. So why here?  

“Then what is this?” Ford’s questions were not helping him find the answers.

Stan just spread his arms, palms raised and face looking shocked and baffled. “Fuck if I know!”

“I thought you knew everything?”

“Yeah, well, it takes time to find things. And I never said I knew…”

The ship lurched violently again, knocking both men off balance.

Ford raced to the starboard side and peered over the edge. The water was too dark and to choppy to see anything beneath the surface. Stan could feel that they were being watched. It crept up his spine and pinched at the back of his neck. There was something in the water. Something that was not supposed to be there. Many somethings. Stan’s palms grew cold, and his throat seized.    

“We aren’t caught on the main pull, just the feedback. Turn the engines on and get us out of here!” Ford bellowed, climbing on the roof of the cabin to grab the stabilizing rope for the antenna.

“On it!”

The ship lurched again, sending Stan careening sideways into the wheel. A dorsal fin came into sight over the railing. It was dark, and grey and the lack of a visible tail fin told Stan all he needed to know. He hoped they were hunting something else.  

“That’s not just a whirlpool, Sixer!”

“I see that!” Ford’s response was muted by the water slapping against the side of the boat. Stan hadn’t turned the engines on yet. Had they been bumped, or just jerked around by the currents? He could hear Ford’s phone clicking as the dorsal fin slipped below the water.

“But they’re extinct! They’ve been extinct since the Pliocene. There’s…is there enough food to support such an apex predator?  They shouldn’t exist.” Now was not the time to be a scientist Poindexter! They really should have installed a hull cam for instances like this.

“You gonna be the one to tell him that?” Go ahead, Sixer, tell it that it was in the wrong time period. The disappearance of the dorsal fin indicated a dive. Which meant they really needed to move. But they were cold, they had virtually no heat signature. Wait no, the engine was hot. And they gave off an electrical current. But if he started the engines, they would be noticed if by some miracle they hadn’t been already. Shit. Shit shit shit!

The whirlpool sputtered, like something enormous had passed through it.

“Just go!” Stan slammed the ignition and turned the wheel hard to starboard. The Stan O’War II jerked to life and sliced through the water at a top speed of 14 knots. It wasn’t fast, not really, but it was the fastest they could go with their craft. Stan crossed his fingers and hoped they would go unnoticed.

He knew that the universe hated him when he risked a look back and saw the dorsal fin re-appear and give chase.    

“GO!” Ford roared, swinging down off the roof, and pulling the stern antenna guide rope to the railing. The bow guide rope already secure.  

“We can’t out run a Meg!” His brother was crazy. Top speed of a Great White was nearly 20 knots, Megalodon was at least that fast. They would be overtaken within minutes.  

“We’re gonna try,” was Ford’s only response.

The only way they were going to out run this thing was to outmaneuver it. Time to utilize those shitty driving skills. Stan cracked his proverbial knuckles and spun the wheel hard to port. They cut right in front of where the snout would be and Stan felt the ship spin 30 degrees as the beast grazed the bottom of their hull.

Stan pushed the throttle as far as it would go and gunned it back in the direction of the whirlpool.

��What are you doing?!” Ford was at his side now, braced against the cabin door frame. His eyes stretched wide and mouth hung agape.

“The only thing I know how.” Stan barked, spinning the wheel back to starboard. Ford jerked and leaned into the turn as they banked just shy of the whirlpool. It wasn’t enough to tip the boat at this speed, but the splash of water on his right side was unnerving. He’d have to be more careful.

Ford charged from the cabin door to the railing and aimed a sniper rifle in the distance. He held his breath for one, two three, seconds and takes the shot. Stan wants to tell him that it’s a waste of time to try, and a sniper round isn’t going to do anything against that hide. But he doesn’t, he just turns the wheel to ride with a rogue wave.

Ford shoulders the rifle and pulls back the sleeve of his jacket, the anomaly tracker strapped to his wrist. He clicks the button twice and a tracking beacon blip appears on the hologram.

“You really think you hit it?” Stan asked because he really doesn’t know if Ford could have made the shot. Ford shows him the beacon momentarily before heading in the cabin and hooking it to the main sonar beacon and slips on the heavy and oversized set of headphones. Herman cowers close to his pot. Ford spares a moment to pat the little tree before turning his attention back to the sonar.

Stan can hear the faint blips of a few larger-than-they-should-be things in the water around them. They hadn’t used the sonar much since leaving Iceland. Ford’s main focus was making it to a safe area to contain Bill, to contain him. They used it briefly in the Baffin Bay up near Greenland but that was to avoid icebergs or any other ships in the area. They hadn’t needed it much. It was limited, but it was far better than sailing blind.

Stanford’s voice crackled over the speaker mounted on the wheel console. Stan flicked the two way switch on the mic so he could reply.  

“Got her locked, It’s a big one. Damn near eighty feet!” Stan heard a few more clicks and pings from the sonar. “And it’s small compared to whatever else caused that maelstrom.”

Eighty Feet!? Jesus Christ, what does it eat?!  

“Coming up on your 5 o’clock.” It was eerie how calm Ford sounded, like he’d done this before. They really needed to have that talk about Ford’s adventures. But later, they had a monster to run from.

Stan yanked down on the throttle and leaned into the wheel, steering them to port and gunning it again. Stan yelled over the buzz of the engine, “How many we got?”

“It’s fuzzy, but I’ve got four distinct pings, we only got one on our tail. And she’s closing fast!”

Damnit! Give UP!

“4 o’clock!”

DAMNIT! God, I hope this works.

Stan slammed the throttle to zero. They listed for about 100 yards, losing speed fast. The ping darted past, not expecting its prey to stop. Stan engaged the engines and wrenched the wheel with all his strength sixty degrees. It was a hard turn, one that splashed his side again, but they were clear.

“Jesus!” Ford’s veneer of calm was finally cracking. Stan whooped and pounded the wheel with his fist.

“At current speeds and trajectory, it will be at our 1 o’clock in 2100 feet. You got a minute-thirty!”

Shit. This was gonna be hard. He couldn’t slow down. If the thing was aiming for their 1 o’clock, then it was gonna be leaning right when it met them. Best case, they graze the starboard bow, worst…well, he didn’t fancy their chances with their entire bow gone. Time to pull off a miracle.  

Stan kept course. If he changed direction now, it would notice and readjust its own trajectory. He’d have to rely on the turning radius of the ol’ girl. No magic to help this time.

The seconds ticked by in a surreal state of taking forever and slipping passed at unnervingly fast.

“900 feet.”

“I KNOW!” Stan gripped the wheel, willing his heart to stop beating hard enough to bruise him from the inside out. A niggling voice told him to have Stanford take off the unicorn necklace. Stan couldn’t. He couldn’t even touch the thing with his hands. But no. He couldn’t control it. He was more likely to put them in more danger than they were already in. They were just going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.

Stan jerked the wheel to keep on course.

We’re gonna make it. We’re gonna make it. We’re…      

“It’s changed course! 3 O’CLOCK!”

FUCK!

“Starboard!”

“You’re fuckin’ crazy!” Stan shouted over the wind. What the Hell was Stanford on? If it was coming in on their 3, then they were going to hit it head on if they turned now.

“Starboard, NOW!”

“Damn you!” With his magic bound, he wasn't able to see what Stanford could. It was a moment of trust. Did he trust Stanford?

The answer was obvious.

Stan spun the wheel hard to starboard, right into the jaws of a creature of legend. He braced against the wheel, waiting to heat the crunch of steel and fiberglass. But nothing came. He opened his eyes in time to see a dorsal fin taller than he was pass by their boat close enough to touch. A thump from below told him they had slipped over the head of the monster.

It was over in a moment and he slammed the throttle as hard as he could and leaned further into the turn. Protective symbols faded in an out around his hands and neck as he pushed harder. He strained against the seal to get eh ship to move faster. Just a little faster.  

“It’s not acting right! Megs are ambush hunters, its chasing.” Stanford’s voice was shaky over the speaker.

“I know! Sixer, I know!” He didn’t care if it was acting like it should. Hell, it could be typically an herbivore and he wouldn’t care because it was chasing them right now!

Several pings and sonar feedback reverberations spat out of the speaker. The pings were faint and spaced. Did they lose it?

Stan heard a lever switch on, a few buttons press and his ears were ringing with the magnified sonar. Stanford had cranked it up to eleven.

“It’s headed back!”

Stan felt a wave of exhaustion as much of the adrenaline left him. He leaned on the wheel console as he slowed the ship down to a stop. He could hear the sonar. There was nothing after them, but he was still on edge. Something wasn't right.

After a few more moments and close monitoring of the sonar, Stanford stepped out on to the deck, binoculars in hand. He raised them to his face and leaned against the railing.

“Jesus! I think it finally got tired.” It came out as a gasp. Stanford’s shoulders shuddering with each panted breath. Stan’s mind slammed against the inside of his skull hard enough to blur his vision as magical symbols wrapped around his head.

“Nope, found better prey” How the hell did we miss that?

“What?” Stanford had dropped the binoculars to tun back, but Stan just nodded at the water.

There was an eruption of water 600 yards off their ship. A juvenile whale rose up out of the water, twisting and writhing. As the water fell back, they could see the form of the giant shark that had been chasing them. Pale underbelly rippling with the effort to stay upright. Teeth sunk into the flesh of the whale easily bigger than their ship. The snout jerked back and forth sending frothy spurts of blood and tissue.  

“Holy mother of…yeah ok.” Stanford pats frantically at his pockets searching for his phone to snap pictures.

Stan pats his on the shoulder and turns to head back inside. “I’m gonna get a beer, you want one?”

Stanford grunts and nods distractedly, giving up on his search for his phone and instead bracing against the railing and watching the monstrosity slip beneath the surface of the water with its victim.    

Stan heads down the steps to the galley, pulling out the last two beers they had. Well, Stan had a bottle of rum tucked away behind his mattress, but he didn’t suppose either of them were intending to get drunk. He cracked the tab and took a sip. The chilled liquid doing its job at cooling his over heated insides. The galley was in disarray. Paper and tools and books all strewn about the floor and bench. The cupboards were locked closed, but he was sure that the plates and silverware were a mess behind those closed wood panels. They’d deal with it later. First, they needed to figure out where the hell they were. They were probably still in the Bermuda Triangle, but there was no way in Hell they were staying around with one Meg around, let alone however many came through.

Stan grabbed the second beer, taking another sip from his own and making his way back up to the cabin. He met Stanford at the door and passed him the can.

“You were saying something about the Bermuda Triangle not being a hotspot of paranormal activity?” Stanford raised an eyebrow, popping the tab and taking his own sip, grimacing at the taste.

“But it’s NOT! I made it up. Why do you think it’s a triangle?”

“You made it up?” Stanford stared at him incredulously, beer held slack.  

“I thought it was funny!” Stan rests the can against his forehead, hoping the cool liquid will cool his aching head. “Jesus, where the hell did those things come from? They sure as shit ain’t from this dimension, that’s for damn sure.”

Stanford hummed, leaving his can on the table and waling over to the main computers. A few switch flicks and the sonar display is off and their main computer display takes its place. Stan ignores it, choosing instead to gulp down the wheaty swill Iceland claimed was beer. Maybe he would pull out that bottle of rum. It was either that, or water. They really needed to decide when they were going to make port.

“I’m hacking into the satellite array over the area. The whirlpool seems to be gone now. Either that or the re-fresh rate on these USNCEC arrays are garbage.” Stan wandered over to the computers, leaning over Stanford’s shoulder to get a better look at the screen.

Sixer was right, the resolution was crap, but that maelstrom had been near sixty feet across and was sure to pop up on any satellite image, but there was nothing. And it had been just a few minutes since they stopped.

Stan rubbed at his chin, beer hanging loosely and forgotten in his left hand. He tapped his foot intermittently as he thought. A whirlpool pops up out of nowhere and comes with four fucking leviathans easily big enough to swallow our boat whole. Fuckin’ Christ, this is stupid. Had the whirlpool been caused by previously unknown creatures lurking in the ocean or had the vortex brought the beasts from somewhere else? That wasn’t a typical whirlpool. He was sure of it now. It was a crack. He just didn’t know where from.

Stan paused, he really didn’t want to think about this. Sure, it was the theory that he’d pushed Sixer to back when Ford was studying the strange things in Gravity Falls, but it wasn’t true. The weird things that existed in this world had been always been here, they didn’t slip over in some crack between dimensions. And cracks were notoriously unstable, they didn’t last long. Maybe a few days at most. Hell, the only reason the one between here and the Nightmare Realm had lasted as long as it did was because some outside force was keeping it open, namely the portal Ford had built. The rift had then been kept open with his own magic, though, it would have closed by the week’s end. Even he had his limits.

But this, this was unprecedented. Cracks don’t form on their own. They were side effects of something much bigger. And those leviathans weren’t from his dimension, so Weirdmageddon had not caused this. Stan pressed his fingers into his eyes and took a calming breath before speaking. But Ford beat him to the punch.

“Those weren’t from you and yours, I’ve seen them before. In my travels I came across a dimension where sixty percent of the planets were primarily aquatic environments. I was…marooned on Tifus 8, ocean planet, for three weeks when trying to gain access to a sanctioned portal.”

Stan didn’t bother responding. Instead leaning over Ford’s body to stare at the satellite images on the screen. He pressed a few keys, expanding the image and waving off Ford’s indignant scoffing. The whirlpool was gone, but the after effects were just starting. The energy needed to open a portal, even a small one, was immense. That excess energy needed to go somewhere. In Gravity Falls, the energy had emitted as gravitational anomalies and power surges. Here, it seemed, the energy was radiating out into the water and air. The image was fairly clear, a few scatted clouds here and there. He refreshed the image. More clouds. So many they almost completely obscured the image. And it was at least four minutes old.

Stan’s eye flicked up to the window to confirm. The sky was dark and the wind was continuing to steer waves into their hull.

They were in for one hell of a storm.

“The closest port is either Puerto Rico or the Dominican Republic. Got a preference?” Ford was already a step ahead of him it seemed. Not a big step, but still. Stan smirked.

“Puerto Rico is probably not the safest place, but I doubt we’ll get better supplies elsewhere. Set the course. I’ll take first shift. You get sleep. We ain’t stoppin’ till we hit land. And this is gonna get bumpy real quick.”

*~*~*~*

Stan was wrong. Quick implied that there was a window of time before something was to happen. A few moments to a few hours depending on the circumstance. However, Stan’s definition of quick was not applicable. Immediate was a better fit, as fat rain drops splatted on the deck the moment he stepped out to ready the engines again.

With the GPS set, all he had to do was keep following the path highlighted on the hologram mounted on the wheel. Which became a blessing forty minutes later when the sky got darker and the rain came down in sheets. He could hear the distant sounds of rumbling and took a moment every now and again to glance at the sky.

From their current location, they were about two days from Puerto Rico. Just shy of 48 hours. He’d sail until dawn (or at least until morning if the storm hadn’t let up enough to actually see dawn) before going down to trade off. Ford had come out to wrap a blanket and raincoat around him before going to sleep, with the promise that Stan would wake him if anything happened. Stan had wrapped him in a brief one-armed hug without thinking. Ford hadn’t hugged back. They stood there for an awkward moment, Ford’s arms hanging limp at his sides before Stan let out an embarrassed cough and pulled back to steer.

Hours passed quicker sitting in a hospital waiting room than they did for Stan bundled at the helm of the Stan O’ War II. The rain dumping buckets as the crack’s energy dissipated. He followed the hologram’s map, hoping that their satellite connection would hold. He didn’t fancy trying to navigate the old-fashioned way in the storm.

His mind wandered with the hours. Memories overlapping and merging together. They were, not ok exactly, but they were amiable. If strained. The last few days had really helped to ease the tension from before. But their ‘encounter’ had taught him that he was not going to lose control again. He had gotten too wrapped up in his own emotions and wasn't thinking rationally. And he didn’t have the best record even when he was rational.

His hands shook when his now eidetic memory thoughtfully provided the images of said ‘encounter’. Not even the deafening storm could drown out Ford’s cries. Stan kicked at the metal console hard enough to bruise his toes. It hurt like a bitch, but it cleared his mind. The memories not so vivid.

Never again. He promised himself. Never again would it come to that. He would shoot himself before he lost control like that again. Even if Ford had wanted it in the end.

Nothing would happen between them. Not while he was still trying to figure out who the hell he was. Because as much as he wanted to be Stan…he wasn’t. He wasn’t Stan anymore just like he wasn’t Bill anymore. Though it was almost sick how much better he felt now. His eye was gone. Not just incapacitated, or blinded. No, it was gone. He’d torn out the leftover tissue himself. Ford had severed and cauterized the nerves and blood vessels. It should be disturbing. Violently horrific. But he just felt calm. It was like having slowly deteriorating eyesight for years and then finally putting on glasses. The world shifted right, and became clear again. He’d done Poindexter’s like puzzles to appease him, but on the whole, Stan felt great! The skin around it still ached and the wounds itched, but otherwise, everything was right. He had decided not to tell Ford that. Sixer had too much on his plate already.

Stan tested the unicorn seal periodically through the night. Attempts to create a bubble around himself to keep him dry only made his headache worse and his fingers tingle. Trying to steer the wheel without touching it resulted in it smacking him in the face when he let go. It was holding. He could still heal himself, more an amplified version of his body’s natural healing, but nothing else. He wasn't even able to heal the paper cut Ford had gotten while taking notes.

Stan couldn’t remove it. That was the first thing they had tested. His fingertips got within half and inch and were repelled. Of course, that meant he couldn’t scratch his own neck anymore, but he’d pick himself up a back scratcher when they landed. He could always get Ford to do it, but that was headed back down the road with a large yellow “Dead End” sign.      

When the storm hadn’t let up at 7 a.m., he knew the crack had been much large then they saw. What else had come through? What caused it? Had it happened elsewhere? Stan could swear he’d seen a movie like this somewhere. Portals opening up in the middle of the ocean for monsters to come through. But nothing came immediately to mind.

He was soaked everywhere the raincoat didn’t cover. The insulated blanket the only thing keeping him from becoming numb. He slowed the ship to a crawl, checking the satellite connection again, before wandering into the cabin. He shucked his clothes in the engine room to keep the water from tacking everywhere before he went to wake Ford. He stalled in the doorway, acutely aware that he was naked and how uncomfortably familiar this was.

“Ford. I got the boat listing. I’m gonna shower and make food. I’ll bring it up to ya when I get out.” Stan heard a questioning grunt but no other response. He sighed, white knuckled grip on the door frame.

“It’s morning. I’m freezing. I’m showering. You go up and man the boat. I’ll bring food.” Stan risked tossing his pillow at the dark form before backpedaling to the bathroom. A faint, “Alright, I’m up” followed him, but he was already closing the door.

He flipped the shower on as hot as it would go and waited a moment before stepping under the spray. The bathroom didn’t have a separate area for the shower, no shower curtain. Not enough room on the cramped space. If you had to shower, everything was gonna get wet. On the plus side, if you had to take a shit, all you had to do was turn around. They kept the paper in a plastic box and a towel hung on the door out of the spray.

Stan had only a few blessed moments under the hot water before the door swung open and his brother wobbled in, still sluggish from sleep.

“The FUCK, man!” Ford had already snaked a hand out to lower the pressure of the shower so it didn’t reach the toilet.

“I have to pee.”

“Pee off the side of the boat!” But Ford was already undoing his zip and Stan stepped as close to the wall as he could. Jesus, couldn’t it wait ten minutes?

“No. Besides, I’m already done.” Stan didn’t turn around to confirm, but he could hear the sink turn on. The hot feeling in his head was back again. And he was sure he hadn’t said anything. Did he say something? Sixer heard it, so he must have. Or he was projecting his thoughts without realizing it. He was going to have to work on that. Stan squeezed his eye closed, keeping his head down to stop water from running into his empty eye socket. He really should have kept it covered, but any damage would just heal by morning anyway. A hand patted his shoulder before flipping the water pressure back up.

Stan would deny the high-pitched squeak that echoed off the bathroom walls to his (probably) dying day.

*~*~*~*~*

They took turns piloting the ship for the next 12 hours, but neither one was really able to sleep. Stan took the helm and followed the GPS hologram without much complaint, but Ford kept checking and rechecking the signal. He was agitated about something, but Stan wasn't about to try and bait him to explaining what. Just follow the signal and they would be in Puerto Rico by late evening the next day.

That was until they passed under the worst of the lightning.

It seemed to grow stronger the further south they sailed. Ford had made attempts to change their course to go around it, but it seemed to follow them. The sky lit up with a web of light, visible even through the thick rain. It wasn't a matter of if they would be struck, but when.

The bow and stern guide wires for the antenna were secure. Ford wanted to tie the side wires, but Stan wasn't about to let him climb up next to a metal pole in the middle of an electrical storm. That metal plate in Sixer’s head the least of his reasons. The engine was insulated against electrical surges and would be fine. Unfortunately, their engine was all that would be fine. They would lose their GPS, Sonar, water pump and stove, computer and radio connection. Heck, they might even lose power in their phones if it was bad enough. That was the trade off with a fully electric (or in their case, nuclear) engine over sails.    

Stan knew it was going to happen soon. Despite the rain, the air felt tight. His hair stood on end and he swore he could taste metal. Ford had tried everything he could to adjust their course. To signal out. Something. But the storm was interfering with their radio. Stan had caught a snippet of a radio conversation with a passing shipping freighter, but the call kept cutting out, and Ford’s Spanish was rusty. Stan didn’t bother trying to look for it. Even if it was close enough to see, he wasn’t going to through the rain.

Ford pushed out of the cabin, cursing in some alien language Stan wasn't going to take the time to identify. Stan ignored him and checked the GPS hologram again, adjusting for the pull of the current. A tingling sensation clawed down his spine, growing stronger and radiating over his shoulders, scalp and legs. His hands grew slack on the wheel. The metal taste was back, filling his mouth and dripping down his throat.

He heard a scream. Felt the pull of something at his jacket, and he was on the deck, Ford’s arms around his middle. Stan’s arms wrapped around Ford’s head as the bolt struck the antenna. White light blinding them both and ringing filling their ears.  

Nothing to do but ride it out.

*~*

Everything was gone. They could still move, (thank God they had the foresight to insulate their engine), but everything else was gone. Stan once again at the helm with a compass and a map in a plastic folder taped to the window. They had been sailing for almost two days now, but something wasn't right. They should be nearing Puerto Rico but they weren’t. Ford had been searching the horizon with the binoculars and telescope for hours. The storm had let up some, but the rain hadn’t stopped. It was approaching evening on the second day. Ford had triple checked their course but it didn’t add up. Maybe they had missed it? They both agreed to adjust southwest in the hopes that they had just been blown off course by the storm after their GPS went down.

Two hours after sunset, they spotted land. Stan whooped and even Ford let out an elated yell. Another hour and they were ready to dock and get a hotel, or a hostel or fuck anything warm and dry. Ford had their passports ready and waiting to be stamped. Stan, who had a much better grasp on the Spanish Language, collected their paperwork and what was left of their American cash to pay the harbor master a docking fee. The pier was dark, no one around in the late hours. He hopped off the ship as soon as Ford had it tied down and made his way to the main building. He got within ten feet of it when he stopped dead.

The sign on the office read in big, bold letters:

Barranquilla, Colombia.        

-End Chapter 23-

Chapter One

Previous

Next

[elizabeth-marston-roberts]

I Intended to Bone

Okay so this is something different I wanted to try and then somehow it spiraled to nearly 3,000 words of tidbits of smut and fluff. No regrets.

So what the goal of this was is to show your separate moments between the throuple where they end up naked cuddling. I truly intended for this to be short but I am uncontrollable.

Pairings: John Marston x Reader, John Marston x Abigail Marston, Abigail Marston x Reader, John Marston x Abigail Marston x Reader

Rating: M. 18+ Only

Words: 2808

Tagging @redeadepression because I said I would. <3

xx

(John/Reader)

"I'm out!" Abigail calls as she heads for the front door, keys in hand. "Mama needs a pedicure!"

You and John lock eyes across the living room, smirks forming on your lips. You turn to Abigail's retreating form. "Get something cute done, baby!"

"Oh, you already know it."

"Bye Abi!" John manages just before she closes the door.

In an instant the two of you are up and undoing buttons, sliding down zippers and nearly tearing fabrics. John, eager as always, leans forward and kisses you roughly. His shirt is only partially unbuttoned, so as you kiss him back you're stripping him the rest of the way.

It isn't long until you're both naked and against each other on the couch. You're on top of him, his hands caressing your breasts as you moan at his strong fingers working your nipples while you fist his dick slowly. He's dribbling pre-cum already and you watch as the clear beads pour out from his tip, spilling over onto your hand and down his lengthy shaft.

His guttural moan draws a proud smirk from you and brings a nice tingle between your legs. It was so sexy watching him feel pleasure. You'd have to be a voyeur to him masturbating sometime.

Glancing out of the window behind the couch as you move to shut the curtains, a gasp tears out of your throat. John flinches at the sound, as it's about half an inch from his ear.

"What is it?!" John shouts, three seconds from a heart attack.

"A kitty!" You coo.

He laughs softly, exhaling in relief. "You're so dramatic for no reason." His lips smooch your shoulder sweetly. "You're gonna kill me one day."

You grin and cup his face, thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "Sorry. Just got excited. They're so cute!"

John's arms wrap around your waist and he hugs you. "You want one?"

"Can we?" You relax against him, your arms moving around his neck.

He rubs your back. "We'd have to ask Abi, but if she says no, I'll just be the biggest brat I can be until she gives in."

"I love you, John Marston." You coo, giving him the sweetest kiss imaginable.

"I love you too." He grins. He lays his head in the crook of your neck and you lean yours against his, playing with his hair.

"Don't know what I did to deserve you and Abi both." He murmurs. "But I'm glad I did it."

"Awww, you sweetheart... That's why, right there.

You can't see, but you just know his cheeks are dusted that adorable pink color. John snuggles you closer to him, your breasts swelling against his chest with every breath.

Abigail comes home an hour later, perking a brow at the sight of you and John on the couch, cuddling while still very naked. "You two dorks are pathetic."

You shrug simply and give John another sweet kiss.

xx

(John/Abigail)

"You and me tonight, Marston." Abigail says over her glass of her favorite red wine, giving John her best bedroom eyes. You'd left early that morning for a work-related convention and wouldn't be back for three days, so John and Abigail decided to go out to the restaurant they loved and you hated.

"Yes ma'am." John winks and pops a bite of steak in his mouth.

Abigail smirks and puts her hand in the center of the table. John picks up her hint and takes her hand, dragging his thumb across her knuckles. "You look beautiful, you know."

Abi snorts. "You're already getting laid tonight, John. You don't need to butter me up."

"'M not 'buttering you up', I'm complimentin' my woman."

She smiles then. God, her smiles are the most precious thing John has ever seen. "Well thank you."

"You're very welcome, my love." John kisses her knuckles, and then the waitress brings over the bill. He picks it up and slips the cash into the sleeve, along with a nice tip, setting it onto the end of the table. "Now, me payin' for dinner is buttering you up." He laughs.

"John Marston, you-"

"I'm such a pig, I know." He waves his hand.

Abigail just laughs and shakes her head fondly. "You drive me crazy, but I can't live without you, leech."

"I am the best-lookin' leech you've ever seen."

"I can say, with certainty, you are absolutely, one-hundred percent correct, John."

John grins and stands, going to pull Abigail's chair out and offer his hand to her. She drapes her shawl over her shoulders and puts her hand in his, allowing him to lead her out. He kisses her temple and transfers his hand to her waist, rubbing affectionately as they walk to his truck.

When they're seated and John's got the old Ford in motion, Abigail pulls off her shawl and folds it onto her lap. "You want me to fuck you tonight, baby?"

"Mmm, make a case for it and we'll see."

A smirk beholds her red lips. Her hand inches over to his thigh, rubbing lightly. "I'll go real fast, just how you like it."

"Gonna bite me?" He murmurs.

"So hard." Abigail croons. She palms him through his jeans, grasping carefully. "Might put that cock ring on you."

"Don't make me crash." John whines.

She chuckles darkly, squeezing his cock a little harder. "You gonna take my strap tonight?"

"Yes ma'am."

She removes her hand and when they get home, they make a beeline to the bedroom. At the foot of the bed, they're kissing. John pulls Abigail close, his hands roaming her body as he puts his all into it, leaning her down towards the bed as he does.

The zipper of her dress is pulled down and on the floor as she kicks off her heels. His shirt is yanked off and then his jeans, and then he's got Abigail caged beneath him on the bed.

John starts to kiss her from head to toe, his lips lingering at each one. Abigail runs her fingers through his hair, and John settles on top of her, his head on her breasts.

"Thank you for dinner." She murmurs to him.

He presses a smooch to her collarbone. "'Course, Abi."

She smiles, closing her eyes. "You love me, John?"

"More than I can say." He caresses her jaw with the backs of his fingers. "Wish I had a way to tell you how much."

Her nails gently scratch his scalp. "Sometimes I'm scared I'm too hard on you. That you're gonna hate me, and leave us."

"Abi, I could never." John promises. He lays beside her and puts his arms around her, pressing his lips to hers in a brief exchange. "I'm in deep with both of you. I'm in love, and I don't plan on changin' that. I like when you boss me around. Yeah, I complain about it, but I still like it. It... Reminds me that you really care about me. That you love me, and want me to be squared away."

"Of course I do." She murmurs and wraps her arms around his neck. "I love you so much..." Her voice takes a turn, and John can only smile and kiss her dark hair.

"You don't need to cry, darlin'." His large hand rubs the smooth skin of her back.

Abigail sniffles and buries her head in the crook of John's neck. "Can't help it."

He laughs softly and holds her tight, their bodies pressed together as closely as possible. And even as his arm begins to fall asleep, he ignores it in favor of holding her long after she's fallen asleep, his brown eyes soft as he watches her.

xx

(Abigail/Reader)

You and Abigail stumble out of the club, smelling like booze and giggling like little girls as you wait for your Lyft to arrive. You lean over and kiss her ear, your hand rubbing her rear end fondly. "I... Loooooove youuuuuu."

"Hush uuuuuup." Abigail laughs, pushing your face away.

"'M gonna make you feel so niiiiice..." You grab a nice fistful of that bubble butt. "Soon as we get home."

"You better not come up for air 'til I've come three times." She croons.

When a car rolls up, she raps on the window until it's rolled down. "What's my name, hm?"

The driver relays her name and then Abigail opens the door to the back of the car. "Get in there, sexy."

"Yes ma'am!" You giggle and climb into the backseat, Abigail right behind you. Immediately her lips are on yours and her hands are on your hips, holding you tightly in place.

Your own hands wander underneath her dress, snapping at the waistband of her thong. She nips your lip roughly at that and you whine, pulling your hand back out.

"Behave." She murmurs and presses a kiss to your offended lip. "Don't want no brat tonight."

"Good thing John's on that huntin' trip with Arthur..." You rest your head in the crook of her neck and sigh forlornly. "When's he comin' hooooome?" You whine pathetically. You and Abigail went your entire five year relationship without John, but after a single year of having him, being without the man for even a week was miserable.

Abi rests her head against yours, rubbing your back. "Tomorrow mornin', my sweet girl."

"Okay..." You lean up and capture her perfect lips with your own while your hand rubs her knee. It's a secret spot of hers that John has yet to discover, but you've had it mastered for six years. It's the little things like that that keep you and Abigail in your own little world.

Your hand glides up her inner thigh and kneads her soft, sensitive flesh there. Your lips swallow her soft moan while you rub the fabric of her thong. God, you loved a woman in a thong way before you met Abi, but you were lucky enough to find a woman that wears one every day of her life and looks good doing it.

"Gonna finger you so good..." You mumble into her mouth. She tastes little of the cherry chapstick she wore at the start of the night out and more like the many cocktails she consumed during.

A gorgeous red blush spreads across her lightly freckled cheekbones. She shushes you, as she still has half a brain to remember you're in the backseat of a stranger's car. She'll have to tip well, though judging by the way they're biting their lip in the rearview mirror, the masturbation material alone from this will suffice.

You kiss Abigail's neck and spread her legs some more, reaching into her sexy little thong and easily slipping a finger inside of her wet hole, thrusting it shallowly. You're both quiet now, as you focus on the slow in-and-out movement and Abigail just tries not to start begging for more.

Thankfully, you're home sooner rather than later. Abigail tips the driver while you walk up the porch, sucking on the finger that had previously been flicking your girlfriend's clit whilst fumbling with your keys to get inside. When Abi joins you, she lifts your dress over your rear and gives you a good smack.

"Are you crazy?" She hisses, holding her hand firmly where she's just spanked you. "Ya can't just put a finger inside me while we're in a damn Lyft!"

"Not sorry." You say around your finger. Abigail spanks you again, but all you can do is moan about it while you unlock the front door.

Immediately, shoes are discarded once you're in and the door is locked again. Clothes are shed on the way to the bedroom; something John will surely love to see in the morning when he comes home.

Abi climbs into bed first, on her side and watching you take your favorite diamond earrings off. John had gotten them for your birthday and you'd worn them at every possible opportunity since. You crawl over to her and flop down onto your pillow, snatching John's with a whine. Abi rolls her eyes, though due to her drunkenness she moves her entire head with the movement. Dizzy, she watches you curl up with it.

"I hope you're this bad with me when I'm outta town." She pouts deeply.

"Yes." You mumble pitifully, stuffing your face in the pillow.

"Aww... So clingy." She coos and wraps herself behind you as the big spoon.

"Not clingy! Jus'... Jus' love you guys..."

"Love you so much too." She kisses your hair and buries her face in it. Underneath the smell of the club, she can still smell your shampoo.

"Nigh'-night, Abi." Your eyelids close and you drift off after she wishes you a good night's sleep and presses her lips against the back of your neck.

xx

(John/Abigail/Reader)

The three of you are like zombies as you come into the house. Abigail kicks her shoes off at the door, which John moves aside with his foot so nobody trips on them. You put the keys to the car in the little glass bowl and follow your lovers.

"I call first shower." You mutter. The gang had gotten together for a fun day at the amusement park, but now that it's ten at night and you've been up since six, it was time to shower and unwind.

"Then you shower downstairs and John and I'll use the master bath." Abi snaps. She always gets cranky after a long day of sweating.

"Don't be rude." You set your jaw, narrowing your eyes at her. "I didn't say I was gonna take that bathroom."

"Then why did you say you call first shower?"

"Stop." John says, his voice louder than either of yours. "Abigail, go start the damn shower."

"Hmph." Abi stomps upstairs. You roll your eyes and look at John.

"You're just gonna let her be a brat?"

"I'm not her dad, and I'm not yours either." John frowns. "I been listenin' to the bullshit all day and I'm tired. Get over it; it ain't gonna kill ya." He turns and stalks upstairs, and while he can't see it, he can surely feel the middle finger you've raised at his backside.

You wait until you're in the shower to start to cry. Today was just a long day that turned sour sometime after lunch. Abigail was grumpy that everyone wanted to do the coasters she couldn't get on, and that's when it all started going downhill. You offered to stay behind for her sake so she wasn't alone, but she knew what you really wanted was to get in line and ride like everyone else did, so she snapped at you and told you to join them. John had attempted to ease her mood once they were done by winning her prizes in the rigged, overpriced games, but she wasn't having it. It didn't help that the sun seemed to shine its hardest and burn its hottest either, because the entire crew of people you brought along- Javier, Karen, Arthur, Sean, and Lenny, to name a few- had started getting irritated themselves. And it was like every person at the park had to be exactly where you all were, which made it all worse. And when you all went to dinner afterwards, it was tense and quiet and you couldn't wait to leave.

When you've had your fill, you start washing up. It doesn't take you long to finish up, the sweat and overall atmosphere of the day banished from your body. Wiping your face free of any remaining tears, you step out onto the bathmat and reach into the linen closet for a towel. You dry yourself and give your cheeks a few pats to wake yourself up enough to make it upstairs and into bed.

John and Abigail are still in the shower when you come in the bedroom, so you discard your towel onto a hook behind the bedroom door and flop on the bed. You curl on your front, your face tucked into the soft pillow. They come out a few moments later and join you in bed, John in the middle this time.

"Can we get along now?" He mumbles, pulling you and Abi close to him. You each throw a leg over him and you drape your arm across him, hand on his heart and Abigail's on yours.

"Yeah." She mumbles and squeezes your hand. "'M sorry."

"Me too." You push yourself up enough to meet her halfway for a sweet, yet brief, kiss.

She puts her head back down while you kiss John, and then you watch as he kisses her. You get settled back in, John's fingertips running side to side just underneath the nape of your neck.

"Love you." You murmur.

"I love you too." John promises.

Abigail's snoring softly, but you're sure she feels the same.

[nataliedanovelist]

(I did not draw this, my friend, @missinspi, drew this for me) (https://www.deviantart.com/missinspi)

Wanna read fics with this OC in it?

For a fic close to canon Gravity Falls (season 3?), read this.

For an AU about Stan and Ford getting a new neighbor at seven-years-old, read this.

Miscellaneous Oc Asks

@cityandking created a (relatively short) list of random, weird, hopefully interesting OC asks. Feel free to specify a character or just send a couple of questions, and then share it around!

What six CD’s would your OC keep in their car? Is it just a taste/preference thing, or do any of them have particular significance? I can’t think of any particular CDs, but as far as artists go... Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder, Queen (or in the Gravity Falls world, the band called King), ACDC, a disk full of instrumental piano music, and a Dolly Parton CD her friend Madeline Ingrid probably gave her.

What does your OC smell like? What does your OC wish they smelled like? Coconut butter, japanese cherry-blossom perfume, and occasionally disinfectant (she works at a hospital). She tried every hard to smell nice, as most women do, and if she feels like work is ruining that, she might use her favorite “stress relief” lotion to help overpower the smells of rubber gloves and baby spit up.

How aesthetically-oriented is your OC in their clothing? Their living space? Their general presentation? If their look™ is mismatched, is that on purpose? Hephzie has a plain, easy-to-follow fashion sense: blue-jeans with t-shirts for casual events, jeans with blouses for nicer days, and occasionally a sweater for the winter. She also has a small love for boys’ clothes; she won’t shy away from mens’ t-shirts or button-ups if they feel nice and look OK. Her living space is relatively tidy (having grown up with grandparents who needed clean floors to avoid falling) but she’s not a clean freak. Her living space is very artsy and mitch-match, having friends all over the world and she loves learning about different cultures. She might have a rug from India by her bed, but a quilt from Ireland on her bed and a small statue from Hawaii on her dresser. With a bunch of hand-me-downs and mis-match tastes, her overall aesthetic is old and comfort.

What one word would you use to describe your OC’s vibe? Chill.

What’s one mundane thing that would throw them off-kilter? Why? Nuclear families. She grew up with her Grandma and Grandpa on her mother’s side. She never knew her father and her mother abandoned her at a hospital, not even waiting to see what would happen to Hephzie. So Hephzie values family very much, but she sees no reason why blood should be the most important factor in the definition in “family”. The idea of a “normal” family, one with two parents who are married and in love, siblings, and occasionally cousins and aunts and uncles, is like a dream to her. It’s nice, but not for her.

What kind of AU is your OC best suited to? What kind of AU would be the worst? Is there any AU that would be, objectively, just really funny? Hephzie is in 2 AUs: one pretty close to canon Gravity Falls, and one in which she grows up as neighbors to Stan and Ford. Both AUs are very interesting and I love seeing how she responds to each scenario, but I think the more “tragic” of the two is the canon-like one. I’ve toyed with an AU of her becoming a singer and I can see it going either two ways: either she crumbles under the pressure and gets into drugs and overdoses, or she flourishes and uses her money and power for good, like feeding the hungry and helping the homeless find homes.

If your OC could pick a different name, title, or pseudonym for themself, what would they pick? Why? Have they ever been given an alternate name/title, and how do they feel about it? Well, her birth name is Alicia-Sarah Hephzibah Fisher Cece, but she HATES the name Alicia-Sarah and only goes by Hephzibah/Hephzie. In one AU, she legally “fixes” her name.

If your OC were playing D&D, what would their race and class be? What backstory tragedy™ would they give their character? Does that reflect their own life in any way? Be honest. Okay, because a certain extra-special person in her life loves D,D, & More D, she plays, too. She’s an woodland elf, a healer, and has very little interest in her character, but she likes the storytelling and the praise she gets if she manages to heal a wizard with pointy-ears and fluffy brown hair named Rokuro the Righteous.

Star Wars or Star Trek? A certain boyfriend of hers likes Star Trek better, but she likes Star Wars better. It’s been a bitter rival since the beginning of time.

If your OC is from a fantasy world, where in the real world would they come from? If your OC is from our world, which fantasy world would they most want to live in? Bonus: Would you ever write/RP them in that world? Hephzie grew up on Irish folktales (her grandmother’s family is from there), so she would love to meet færies and see magic and meet a selkie. Screw being a mermaid, she wanted to be a selkie! And... no, don’t expect a fic about this.

What plant, animal, and color does your OC feel like today? A Venus Flytrap, a mongoose, and the color dark-green. It’s been a rough day but she’s keeping a level head.

If your OC were a superhero, how flashy would their costume be? Also, what would their superpower be? Does this go with their costume at all, or are they all about fashion? #Can’tFightCrimeIfYouAin’tCute Well... in the canon-like AU, she’s kinda a superhero already, so... think something like a knight’s armor on the arms and legs with a maroon cape. Power would be healing, but she can also fight hella well with a sword and bow-and-arrows. And she’s never cared about looking good, she just wants to survive the war...

Does your OC thrift? Buy designer? Where would they shop irl? GOODWILL FOR THE WIN!!! She and her friends called it “treasure hunting” in high-school and it stuck. She loves it, and when a certain somebody came out with a song about it, she was livid (even if she was fifty-something years old).

Is your OC superstitious? If so, what superstitions do they believe? If not, what do they think of superstitious people? She’s constantly around the supernatural and abnormal... and loves it. She thrives off of what is different. So, superstitious?... Hm, she isn’t paranoid or afraid; she welcomes it with open arms.

Is your OC religious? Do they want to be? Have they ever been at some time in the past? How complicated is their relationships with worship/the gods/the church/etc? Her grandparents took her to church growing up and she loved the music. Her grandmother was the choir director and her grandfather played the piano, and she had “the voice of an angel”, so she happily sang in church, but she kinda stopped going to church when she went to college, but if you ask her she’ll tell you she’s a Christian. She says it just makes sense to believe in a god; there’s too much that science can’t explain. She also likes studying Buddhism, Islam, and Judaism to learn more about other people and cultures.

Hardwood, tile, or carpet? Hardwood. But she will NEVER say no to a fluffy rug.

What’s their go-to parlor trick? Are they actually that good at it, or do they just enjoy it? Do people tell them they’re good, even if they aren’t? How do they handle criticism? I can’t really think of a good parlor trick. She has a lot of talents she keeps on the down, like singing and stand-up comedy (don’t ask). On another note, she takes criticism overall pretty well.

If your OC could request one boon from a god, what would it be? The extermination of a certain three-sided demon.

Favorite comfort food? Do they enjoy junk food or are they more of a foodie? Can they cook? What’s their favorite thing to cook? OREOS are HERS! DON’T TOUCH THEM UNLESS YOU WANNA LOSE A HAND! She also secretly loves watermelon (doesn’t like to tell people this) and her comfort food is either hot tea or hot chocolate. Something to warm her hands. And no, she can’t cook; she burns everything. EXCEPT, she can brew coffee and she’s a pretty good barista (was one during college).

Any major theme(s) or conflict(s) in your OC’s life? How have they dealt with that? Are they aware of it, or do they ignore it? Did you design them with such theme(s)/conflict(s) in mind, or did they evolve naturally? Loyalty is a huge one for her. I think so many people have forgotten what it means to be a true friend and what real loyalty looks like. You’re willing to go far and wide for the people you care about because you want to, because you get fulfillment out of doing the right thing. Hephzie will have your back, no matter what. She doesn’t care what race, background, gender, sexuality, religion, she doesn’t give a shit. If you’ve got her, you’ve got a loyal friend. IOne thing she struggled with - and is only semi-aware of it - is loneliness. She finds it suffocating. It’s slight PTSD from losing so much in her life, and she’s not terribly clingy, but she’ll wallow about it and sink into depression if she feels abandoned or alone. She NEEDS that reassurance that she is not a freak and not alone and that SOMEONE would care if one day she was gone. This evolved naturally when shaping her backstory and realising it needed to have realistic consequences.

If they could steal one major piece of art with no consequences, what would it be and why? Bonus: how would they pull off the heist? Anything Bob Ross. Loves that guy. And she’d probably just recrute Stan to help her with either blackmail or her “Please, for me?” line.

Now it’s YOUR turn!

[carmenlire]

Higher than the Big Trees Ch. 20

read on ao3

Alec slips the cufflinks through his jacket, giving his sleeves a brief tug. Looking in the mirror, he likes what he sees.

It’s not an unusual sight-- fuck knows that Alec has an entire section dedicated to formal wear. Everything from tuxedos and more adventurous suits to slacks, blazers, and a dozen classic suits in black and similarly neutral colors.

His look today wouldn’t be amiss on Wall Street. His modern fit suit is hand tailored to perfection. His silk button down is in a snowy white, offering a beautiful contrast between the pitch black of the jacket and pants. His Tom Ford belt gleams subtly and his oxfords shine.

As Alec goes back into his walk in closet, he flips his collar up. He has a business meeting with one of his sponsors today, hence the extra effort, and truth be told he doesn’t really mind. There’s something to be said for his sweaters and jeans but Alec enjoys dressing up on occasion.

How fortunate for him that he picked a career where there’s always a gala or awards show or party.

His tie rack is teeming with bow ties and ties in a hundred different colors and patterns. Alec forgoes the more adventurous options-- there’s a light blue one with penguins on it that he usually wears at least once during the winter-- choosing instead a dark maroon tie.

He starts tying a Half Windsor Knot on autopilot as he moves out of his closet and back into his bedroom. His meeting is slated to start at nine and it’s half seven now.

With one last look in the mirror and a half-assed effort to tame his already messy hair, he grabs his phone, wallet, and keys and heads out into the penthouse. He takes the leather portfolio that has some reports and information his lawyer had put together with him.

He has the place to himself-- Jace is at work and Izzy wanted to spend the morning at Uptown Java, something about wanting to read one of her medical books.

As he walks to the elevator, he checks his phone. He sees a text message from Magnus and unconsciously starts to smile. It’s Wednesday morning and this will be the third day that Magnus is out of the country. While Alec had thought that things might fizzle out a little this week as the physical distance between them grew, he was pleasantly surprised to see that they talk just as much, if not more, than when they’re both in the same city.

While there are long periods between texts, they’ve kept up the same thread since yesterday afternoon. It’s something about the merits and pitfalls of public transportation and Alec chuckles in the elevator as he reads Magnus’s tale about accidentally shutting his jacket in a taxi door as he was being dropped off from a night out-- and not realizing until the driver started leaving.

Dave isn’t due to arrive for another half an hour and with that in mind, Alec walks a few blocks over to the closest Starbucks. The line is almost to the door and he messes around on his phone while he waits, unobtrusive.

It never fails to surprise him. Alec’s been in secluded boutiques and been mobbed but New York barely bats an eye most of the time. Oh, he still meets fans regularly wherever he goes, but he can also do normal things. He can stand in line at Starbucks and not worry that he’ll cause a scene.

As he thinks about how lucky he is to live in the city, he guiltily thinks about the internet snafu with Magnus a couple of days ago.

He didn’t have an excuse. While it was early as shit-- not even six in the morning yet-- Alec had been awake, training with Jace. They’d just finished their five mile race, Alec winning, when he’d walked over to his bag. Taking a few gulps of water, he’d heard his phone start vibrating. It’d been far too early for anyone to be calling him and as he’d seen Magnus’s name come up on the screen, he’d been curious. He knew that Magnus was flying out today but he hadn’t thought it was so early.

Jace had sent him a quizzical look as he’d picked up the phone, swiping to accept the call. Alec had mouthed Magnus and Jace had raised his brows, smirking.

Rolling his eyes, he’d turned away and talked to Magnus as he waited to board his flight. They'd talked for almost forty minutes and it had been chill. There’d been a few silent stretches where neither one had anything to say and hadn’t thought of a new topic yet and it hadn’t felt awkward.

Really, it made Alec content. They were both just happy to relax on the line with each other. Halfway through the phone call, though, Alec had been a little stunned to realize that he wasn’t following Magnus on anything. Especially since Magnus followed him, apparently.

He’d thrown the phone on speaker and Jace had been all ears at being the first to know what Alec’s new friend sounded like. Thankfully, Magnus had realized he was on speaker pretty quick and there hadn’t been any potential blackmail on the phone call for Jace to commit to memory.

Alec had went to Twitter first, following and liking a few tweets. His profile picture looked like it was taken in an office, dark wood walls serving as the background. He had a few thousand followers and Alec liked the mix of trivia, mundane observations, and photos.

Instagram was the same, though Alec couldn’t resist commenting on a few posts. When Magnus had told him that he regularly practiced yoga and was actually a certified instructor, Alec had almost swallowed his tongue. It was one thing just to be told that, however, and quite something else to see Magnus doing a One Handed Tree Pose (he looked it up) in nothing but form fitting black boxer briefs.

It was obvious that Magnus kept in shape but seeing him post a few workout videos not only got Alec a little hot under the collar, but genuinely made him interested in working out together. While he liked to work out alone, he also enjoyed having a partner. Alec thinks that there could be a little friendly competition going on between them and it’d be fun to see just how evenly matched they were.

Alec orders and pays with little fanfare, still marveling at how stupid he’d been. Or, not even stupid-- he’d just been oblivious for the first time in years.

Alec knows that his life is under a microscope, that the daily minutiae that is deeply uninteresting about everyone else is fascinating when it’s about him. He should’ve foreseen that his fans-- smart as hell and twice as tenacious-- would immediately noticed that he followed someone on not only one, but two platforms.

Alec might dedicate a lot of time to his fans but he’s also intensely private when it counts. He follows less than a thousand people and rarely adds to the number. His fans hadn’t wasted a minute.

After hanging up with Magnus, Alec had gone right back to working out with Jace who had mock scowled at him for taking so long. He’d just shrugged, a little helpless, and Jace had just shaken his head, clapping him on the back as they took their positions to spar a little.

When Jace had finally finished with him, he’d flopped down next to the mats and asked Jace to toss his phone over to him. Jace had gone over to their shit and in true brother fashion had unlocked his phone, scrolling through his notifications. He always acted like a kid, as if Alec wasn’t perfectly aware of what he signed up for when he asked Jace the favor but he just laid on the floor, catching his breath while Jace invaded his privacy.

After a minute or two Jace had handed the phone over, merely saying, “I never get used to how many notifications you have.”

Alec wasn’t in the mood to deal with it, so he’d just opened his messages, confirming lunch plans with Izzy and getting caught up on a few emails and calls.

He’d finally checked his phone in the early afternoon after lunch and had been surprised at the number of engagements. Even for him, it was high. When he’d tapped into the apps and seen the root of the damage, though, he’d wanted to kick himself.

He should’ve known.

He’d texted Magnus as soon as he put the pieces together, hoping that his few moments messing around on social media wouldn’t be the end of things between them. Alec’s very cognizant of the fact that his life isn’t for anyone and he’d promised Magnus discretion two weeks ago. This was the very definition of indiscreet.

He’d sweated it out, knowing that Magnus was still flying. He’d spent a couple of hours preoccupied, distracting himself with fine tuning the song he and Catarina had worked on. Thankfully, Magnus had understood and he’d ended up abandoning his song for almost an hour as he texted Magnus in a flurry.

Alec had taken the rest of the afternoon afterwards, messing around on his piano until the sun started fading and he was playing more by feel than sight. He’d finished the day cooking dinner for the three of them and Clary, retiring back to his bedroom by eight and falling asleep reading.

Alec’s pleased to realize that his writer’s block is officially over. All of those months of trying to string two sentences together, not finding the right chords or note runs and it seems to be a thing of the past. He’s not churning them out but he’s making steady progress. In addition to the collab with Cat and his song tentatively titled Angel, he has two or three others that are brewing in the back of his mind.

He’d really just been fucking around on his piano, a Steinway & Sons K-132. It had been one of his first large purchases and it’d been ages since he’d had time to play for fun, trying out chords and arrangements or playing some of his favorite pieces for pure, simple enjoyment.

The past few days had been quiet, especially without Magnus to potentially see. He’s spent that time writing half a dozen songs. While he wasn’t concentrating too much on the content-- really he was just writing whatever came to mind-- the tone was undeniable.

His last album had racked up the awards for being gritty, dark. He’d written about the price of fame, about one night stands and one city lovers and jaded ennui. There’d been one or two softer songs-- one he’d collaborated with another artist for, another that he’d written with Jace and Clary in mind-- but overall, An Arrow in the Dark had been cynical and cutting with an overlay of sensuality that the public had loved.

So far, this album looked to be forming as the total opposite. The songs were softer, sweeter, and Alec couldn’t help but notice that he was drawing on these burgeoning feelings inside him for source material. He thought of how easy things were with Magnus, how much he was enjoying making a new friend and learning about an incredibly interesting man. Then there were those fucking butterflies that wouldn’t leave him alone when they touched accidentally or he learned something else entirely endearing about Magnus.

He’d say Magnus was his muse but their arrangement was too platonic for that. You couldn’t write an entire album about a friend, after all. He refuses to look too closely at the fact that the only real thing that's changed to break his block is meeting Magnus. He doesn't think he could handle it-- not with everything else the man brings out in him.

As Alec walks back to the front of his building, he sees Dave pull up right on time. Dave gets out and heads to the rear door of the Lincoln town car, nodding as Alec approaches.

“Right on time, Alec. That’s what I like to see.”

Mock affronted, Alec holds out one of his coffee cups as he asks, “When am I ever not on time?”

Dave doesn’t respond, just hums as he accepts the drink and takes an appreciative sniff.

“Vanilla latte, my favorite.”

“You’ve been my driver for almost eight years. I would hope I’d have your order memorized by now,” he says, grinning.

Alec climbs into the back seat and spends a few minutes relaxing. The upcoming meeting wasn’t anything intense but his lawyer, Underhill, wanted to pin some numbers down and Alec wanted to brush up on the details before they walked into the boardroom.

He opens the portfolio, taking out a few handouts and skimming them as a refresher. He’d gone over everything when it was first sent but it never hurts to review things one more time.

Alec had a healthy relationship with sponsors. There were those for his tours but also a handful of companies that wanted his name and his face on their products. This morning’s meeting was to discuss a renewal of his Nike contract and Alec was looking forward to it. While the company might be sweating a little, Alec and Underhill had already talked things through and knew that they’d be walking out of the room partners for another two years regardless of Nike's offer today.

Traffic is brutal as ever in the early morning rush hour and Alec almost spills his coffee twelve times, taking ill-timed sips just when traffic slows to a stop. Still, Dave knows what he’s doing and they make it to the corporate offices with ten minutes to spare.

He gets out, without assistance, and waves Dave off with a mutual confirmation to return at two.

As he walks towards the glass and steel doors, he sees a familiar figure walking towards him.

“Hey, Alec,” Underhill says as he nears. His five thousand dollar suit looks impeccable and he look ready to do business.

“Morning, man. How’s Adrian,” Alec asks as the two move in for a handshake.

Underhill turns towards the doors, smiling and opening the one closest to him, gesturing for Alec to go through first as he answers.

“Adrian’s great. We have a vacation planned for next month in Aspen. He’s already got a dozen trails mapped out for us to try.”

“Yeah? Are you still going through with it?”

The two of them share a knowing look as the secretary calls for her boss.

Looking both giddy and unnerved, Underhill smiles. “Of course. I’ve had the ring for six damn months. I think it’s time that I actually used it.”

Alec claps him on the back just as one of Nike’s lawyers meets them in the reception area. There are a round of handshakes before they’re being guided to one of the conference rooms.

The room is utilitarian. Four walls of glass show a large conference table where six people are already sitting.

Underhill has shed his easy going demeanor. Instead, he looks serious, ready to do business and get Alec the best deal possible.

There are no pleasantries and as the three of them take their seats, Alec opens his notes up, face impassive.

He may not have gone to college, but he’s no slouch. He knows that Underhill has his best interests at heart-- has for four years now-- but you don’t get to be in Alec’s position without being screwed over a time or two, in both his personal and professional life. Alec spends not an inconsiderable time reading up on a variety of topics on a routine basis. Among those are music, business, and law. He may not be ready for his LSATS but he’s read through every piece of business that crosses him. The terms they’ve offered are a fair counterpoint to what Nike had initially given them and the next few hours promise to be lively if nothing else.

Underhill remains cool under pressure, no less intimidating for being one against six. While Underhill had his own firm with a range of junior partners, interns, and paralegals, he was always Alec's representative.

The room breaks after a few hours, reaching a bit of a stalemate. The opposing team offers it as an excuse for a quick bite to eat but when Alec’s and Underhill’s eyes meet, they know the truth.

They're going to the other partners to see if they can accept the new deal.

The two of them go to a close cafe where they each get a smoothie, drinking them as they walk around a park across the street. They return to the room when the thirty minutes are up.

Everyone sits down and it’s quiet for a minute before the partner in charge of this deal stands, buttoning his suit jacket, before reaching a hand out first to Alec and then Underhill.

“I’m pleased to say that the other partners agreed that the proffered terms are acceptable. We’ve reached an agreement and are pleased to announce that you’ll be partnered with our company for the next two years, continuing our contract without issue."

As he hears the words, Alec stands and there’s a few minutes as he and Underhill shake everyone’s hands. Alec is given a Montblanc pen and scrawls his signature a dozen times on a contract as thick as a book.

Just a few minutes later, they’re leaving. They wait until they reach the sidewalk before looking at each other and laughing, half relief and half pure amusement.

“Our terms were hard and I have to say that I’m a little surprised that Nike accepted them. You’re getting eighteen percent more up front with a two percent rise in your kickbacks. They must really like you.”

Alec shrugs, playing coy. Though really, he’s surprised at their luck, too.

“You know how much buzz they got for signing an openly gay man to represent their company. Those commercials went viral as soon as they were released. I am proud of you, though! They definitely thought we were going to back down first.”

Underhill shakes his head. “If only they knew that we would have accepted what they offered last week.”

Laughing, Alec says, “Another win for us.”

He takes a step back and looks at his watch, sees Underhill do the same.

Underhill waves his briefcase a little, saying, “I’ve got to head back to the office and file these. Plus, I think I’m going to try to meet Adrian for a late lunch. I’ll talk to you later but you should be good for the next few weeks on everything from my end.”

Alec nods, taking out his phone. “Sounds great man. Thanks for today-- you crushed it.”

The two of them smile at each other before heading off in opposite directions. Looking down at his phone, Alec sees that they let out about forty minutes early and he calls Dave to let him know that he’s not needed.

Alec takes the opportunity to do a little shopping. He’s not the most avid shopper but once in a while when he has some free time, he likes to kill some by poking into stores. He usually just ends up buying stuff for everyone else but it’s a nice way to spend an afternoon every six months.

He ends up buying a necklace for Izzy and phone case for Jace who insists on never using one despite the fact that he’s had to replace his iphone at least twice this year alone.

It’s calming, really. Alec spends most of his time with people, though he gets his fair share of time solo. There’s just something about walking around a city alone-- even his hometown-- that makes him feel like just Alec, anonymous. A free agent.

He’s walking down the street, heading towards the subway station, when he sees a cameraman headed his way. Sighing internally, he resolutely keeps walking.

“Hey man, it’s TMZ. How are you doing today?"

Alec smiles but it’s his public smile. Which isn’t to say that he doesn’t genuinely enjoy some interviews and promo. But sometimes there are certain reporters, or companies, that he’s not a fan of and so he has to use his public persona a bit more.

“I’m good, man. What about you,” he responds easily.

“Can’t complain. What do you have there?” He aims his camera at the few bags in Alec’s hand. There’s one from a jeweler’s, another from a small boutique, and a last bag from an independent bookstore around the corner.

Shrugging, Alec says, “Nothing much, just doing a little shopping.”

“Who are you shopping for, Lightwood? Do you have a special someone that you’re buying gifts for?”

Alec looks at him drolly. “My sister.”

TMZ guy nods along, still looking like he’s going to get the scoop. “We heard you followed someone on Instagram this week. What about him?”

Inside, Alec seethes but he keeps the bland expression pasted on his face as he continues walking. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think his name is Magnus? He’s a professor?”

Hoping the camera doesn’t pick up on his clenching jaw, Alec returns, “He’s a friend I met a few weeks ago.”

“Oh? Is that all there is or should we be worried that the music scene’s most eligible bachelor is finally taken?”

Alec smiles, though it feels more like a grimace. “No, I’m still single and unattached. There’s nothing going on there except friendship.” No matter how much I might want that to change.

The reporter looks at him like he’s digging for more information before turning to another topic. “What about your music? With your tour wrapping up, do you already have plans for your next album?”

Here, Alec can relax. The tension eases out of him at the familiar question. This, he knows. He grins a little but still remains facing forward as he approaches a crosswalk.

“I’m just in the studio seeing what we have. Every album has a different vibe and I’m having fun coming up with the concept for number seven.”

“Can you tease anything?”

Alec thinks for a minute. The words are on the tip of his tongue but he bites them back as he thinks about possible repercussions. In the end though, he decides to go for it. Even if he ends up completely scrapping what he has so far, this is where he’s at right now. Plus, it’s never too early to start building buzz.

“I think this album will be the best I’ve ever written.”

“Yeah? Why is that?”

“I’m experiencing something new for the first time in ages and I can’t help but write about what I’m going through. I think this album will explore a source bank I’ve never tapped into before.”

“What’s new with you?”

Alec declines to answer as the reporter asks a few more leading questions. After a minute, the TMZ guy backs off, throwing out a goodbye.

Alec returns it and continues on his way home.

He makes it back to his apartment twenty minutes later. The sun is starting to dip in the sky and the penthouse is washed in golden light. He sees Izzy on her phone in the living room. She looks up as he enters.

“Hey, hermano.”

“Hey, Iz.”

He tosses one of the bags at her and she stills for a moment before sitting up and opening it. When she takes out the necklace, she studies it for a few minutes. It’s a double tiered piece. The top is a choker but the second layer falls down, several inches longer. It’s gold with different colored stones every few centimeters. It’s colorful and unique and perfectly his sister.

Izzy must agree because she’s grinning. As Alec nears her, she leans over and hugs his middle.

“Thanks, Alec. I love it and can’t wait to show it off. You didn’t have to, though, you know that right?”

Alec just looks at her. “That’s half the fun of shopping for me. You know that. I saw this in the storefront and felt like spending money. It works out for both of us.”

Alec sits on the other end of the couch and the two of them relax in the quiet for a little while, both on their phones. It’s a companionable silence and one that Alec misses when he’s on the road.

After a while, though, Izzy looks up, excited. “You know what we should do?”

Alec doesn’t answer, remaining engrossed on a game on his phone.

Izzy kicks him and he groans before asking, “What.”

“We should go out tonight!”

lec must not look enthused with the idea because she glares at him. “What? It’s been a month since you last went out-- when’s the last time that happened?”

Alec opens his mouth to argue but abruptly closes it, realizing that she’s right. Alec might like to stay home with his book or piano but he also likes having a good time and usually goes out at least once a week. There are periods when he’s parties for days on end, passing out just to go out again a few hours later. Huh. This is different.

As he thinks, Alec just pictures Magnus. They’d only hung out a few times but any time spent with him was valuable and there was no contest between talking to Magnus or going out to the latest club.

A friend shouldn’t affect him like this. A friend shouldn’t change his patterns so thoroughly and so gently that Alec doesn’t even notice-- doesn’t even care.

Decision made, Alec looks over at Izzy and nods. “Alright, then. We’ll go out. Is everyone going?”

Rolling her eyes, Izzy stands up. “What do you think I was doing on my phone? Clary has an art class that runs late tonight but Jace can go.” She smiles as she starts walking toward her bedroom. “It’ll just be the three of us, like old times. Now I have to go get ready. We’ll head out at ten?”

She doesn’t wait for confirmation, just goes to her room, shutting the door with a resounding click.

Alec finishes the text he was writing to Magnus, relaxing against the couch as he presses send.

It had been ages since just the three of them went out. There was always a date or Clary or friends or it was for a special occasion. While Alec hadn’t planned on going out tonight, the idea doesn’t sound hideous. He’ll go, have a few drinks, dance with a few people.

Maybe this is what he needs. He needs to shake Magnus. Maybe if he meets someone else, he won’t be so hung up on Magnus’s eyes and his intelligence and his everything. He needs a distraction.

Maybe if he gets laid Magnus won’t get under his skin so damn much.

Alec stands up, stretching his back.

If Magnus is just his friend then by God Alec will get this thing out of his system one way or another. Something's gotta give and Alec is a master at distraction when he needs to be.

That thought in mind, he heads to his room.

He needs to get ready.

[islareeveswriting]

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INSTAS

Harry felt numb.

It wasn’t from the bitter cold he was surrounded by as he stood outside the club, restless on his legs as he waited for the taxi he’d called, but rather from the sudden depreciation in adrenaline coursing through his veins alongside, and seemingly in just as larger quantity, as his blood. Normally, such low levels of adrenaline would go unnoticed. They were standard, commonplace, Harry was back to equilibrium. But his hands were still shaking with the rush that had burned through him as hot as lava as he sunk into a low. It was the worst comedown Harry knew, and it was only made worse by the look that had been on Molly’s face as she’d dragged Ryan away from Harry and out of the bar.

In the heat of the moment, as Harry saw red and zoned in only on the way Ryan was talking to Molly and the look on his face, Harry didn’t know how he’d gone from a few warning words to having Ryan pinned against the wall. However, as he looked back, Harry could remember every second of it, from the tone of Ryan’s voice, to the way Molly’s face fell with it, to Ryan shrugging Harry’s hand away and the disgusted look that had registered over his face. It had been fifteen minutes, maybe more, maybe less, Harry couldn’t be sure, but stood outside, the early October night chilling his extremities, Harry could see every second of what had gone before perfectly.

Even if Harry had wanted to stop and think about what he was saying when he called Ryan out on the way he spoke to Molly, he didn’t think he’d have been able to. It was instinct, it came as naturally as scratching an itch, or running from something dangerous. Harry couldn’t help himself, and he couldn’t bite his tongue as easily when Ryan’s cruel words were aimed at Molly rather than himself. The six or so southern comfort’s Harry had sunk surely hadn’t helped, but then Harry wasn’t entirely sure they’d made a difference either. Before Harry really knew it, he’d had Ryan against the wall, holding him there with ease, focused only on his smug face, completely ignorant to the commotion he’d left behind him. Harry seethed, and just thinking about it again made him feel no different.

Regret wasn’t the right word, it was too strong. However, there was something niggling away at Harry as he stood alone, waiting for a taxi and wishing Molly would answer his call, or at least a text, and he knew he only found himself in that situation because of how he’d reacted. Yet still, he didn’t regret it.

Sorry felt more like it. Not for what he’d done or what he’d said, but for how it so clearly made Molly feel, the position it put them in, the wedge it would surely drive, and how it had forced her away to lick Ryan’s wounds when he was the one who had been putting her down. When it came to Ryan, and what he’d hissed at him, how forcefully he’d held him back, Harry was about as far from sorry as he could possibly be. There wasn’t an ounce of regret in Harry for what he’d done to Ryan, as far as Harry could see, he deserved it all.

It didn’t make sense to Harry at all, how head over heels Molly was for Ryan, when all Harry saw all night was an immature man who wanted to show Molly off for all the wrong reasons, and put her down every chance he got. How he didn’t lose himself when Molly spoke about her new project and made her ideas sound as alive and tangible as she was, Harry couldn’t fathom. Molly was electric with it, magnetic, and when she laughed Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her, but he saw the way Ryan seemed to be finding anything else to look at and talk about. Maybe it was jealousy, but Harry didn’t like the way they looked together, they looked as disjointed as they seemed, and Harry knew Molly deserved so much better.

“Alright mate?” Harry turned to the slightly slurred voice, not at all surprised to see Jimmy waltzing towards him out of the club. There was a cigarette behind his ear that Jimmy reached for and lit eagerly with a lighter that seemed to appear from nowhere in his hand. Jimmy stopped walking to Harry to light his smoke, and Harry wondered, as he watched Jimmy sway from side to side a little, how on earth the intoxicated, bean pole of a man, had managed to hold Harry back as Ryan was pulled from the bar by the person Harry wanted to run after, who he couldn’t take his eyes off.

“Yeah all good.” Harry half smiled, as Jimmy joined him at last, the cigarette plumeing smoke around the pair of them as Jimmy inhaled deeply. “Sorry about that back there.” Harry uttered, pressing the button on his phone once more just in case he’d not heard it go off amongst Jimmy’s arrival on the pavement. Still nothing though, and Harry’s heart sunk a little more, yet again.

“Oh don’t worry about it, about time someone gave him what he’s been asking for.” Jimmy shrugged, talking through mouthfuls of smoke that fell past his lips as easily as the alcohol affected words. Harry wondered if Jimmy hadn’t partaken in a few choice substances, and the vodka red bulls he stunk of, if he’d be as open about his feelings towards Ryan. It didn’t seem like he was saying things he hadn’t at least been thinking along time, but Harry didn’t get the feeling he’d ever said anything of the sort out loud.

“He’s a complete dick all the time then?” Harry asked, though it felt rhetorical, sure he knew the answer before Jimmy nodded silently as he inhaled another drag simultaneously.

“I think so, but she doesn’t so I guess that’s all that matters, I guess.” Harry chuckled at the repetition, though he wasn’t entirely sure it didn’t happen purely because Jimmy was trying to convince himself that if Molly was happy, that was all that mattered. Harry had been trying to do the same, all night, and the smile Molly shot Ryan’s way every so often nearly did it for Harry. But then he noticed how hollow it was, and how the Molly he was getting to know seemed a million miles away from the one he was seeing with Ryan around. It was far easier for Harry to see that Molly wasn’t as happy as she was hoping people thought she was, perhaps it was even easier for him to see it than it was for Molly to admit. It was the only rational answer Harry could come to.

“Do you think she got home ok?” Harry thought out loud, because he needed to know, and it was all he needed to know. It was the only reason he was so desperate for Molly to answer his calls, or respond to his messages. He didn’t need to say sorry yet, he didn’t need to talk or for anyone to explain anything, he just needed to know Molly was home safe. Even if that meant she was tucked up in bed with Ryan.

“Molly?” Jimmy asked with one raised eyebrow. Harry just nodded quietly. “Definitely, you don’t need to worry about her.” Jimmy smiled, and Harry got the impression there was a story there, like Jimmy knew all too well Molly could get herself home safely. He probably did know that, and Molly more than likely could get home safely, but still Harry wanted to know for certain. He couldn’t help it and it wasn’t special treatment. No one of significance in Harry’s life got away without letting him know they’d got where they were going, where they leaving him behind, safely.

A shiny black Ford Mondeo pulled up at the kerb in front of Harry and Jimmy, distracting Harry from his concern over Molly for a few seconds as he checked it was the taxi he’d called. It was, and Harry was relieved, at least he’d be in his bed soon, even if he was sure it would be a rather sleepless night, all things considered. Harry turned back for Jimmy who was finishing up his cigarette, taking the final few drags in quick succession.

“Wanna share this?” Harry offered, standing up from the open window.

“Nah don’t worry I’ll walk.” Jimmy told Harry, after taking the final puff of his cigarette and dropping it to the floor to stomp it out. Harry didn’t know Jimmy very well, and vice versa, so Jimmy had no grounds to know that there was no way Harry was going to be leaving Jimmy to walk home alone. Not knowing if Molly had gotten home ok was already one too many people for Harry to lie in bed worrying about. He didn’t need to add Jimmy to that list.

“Come on, I’ve got to go past yours anyway, you may as well get in.” Harry half lied. It was a roundabout way to get to Harry’s place, via the tall townhouse Harry remembered well from the door-fixing. It was certainly the long way home, but Harry wouldn’t say it was out of his way either. For Harry the ten minute detour was the better option when next to leaving Jimmy on his own.

“You sure?” Jimmy questioned for good measure, though Harry could see the thought of getting in a taxi and being home in ten minutes, was vastly favourable to what had to be at least a twenty minute walk. Harry just nodded to answer Jimmy’s question before he opened the passenger door of the car and slid into the seat, glancing over his shoulder as Jimmy got into the seat behind him.

There wasn’t a lot of chat between any of them as they drove. The driver was about as grumpy as Harry could imagine, just on the greyer side of middle aged and stinking of cigarettes. If Harry hadn’t been so caught up in his own thoughts he might have engaged conversation to try and cheer the man up, asked about a wife, children, maybe even grandchildren, if he’d had a good night, maybe found out why he was so miserable. But Harry was too occupied by his own thoughts, and so the drivers mood and any interest in his life was far from the front of Harry’s mind.

The roads were dead, but that was no surprise considering the hour, and it took them no longer than the five minutes Harry had anticipated to get Jimmy to the house. In the dark it looked different, not quite as elegant or regal, just another brick building on another narrow street, lined by cars that only made it tighter. There was a single light on, the front bedroom letting out an orange glow bright enough to make the little garden out front shine as well. The curtains were shut, closing off the outside world, but Harry had a good guess at who’s room it was and the sort of thing that might be happening behind the curtains.

“Harry.” Jimmy’s voice was snappy enough to clap Harry out of his thoughts and how they made his jaw tighten. “Some cash.”

“Oh no, it’s fine mate, you can buy me a drink next time.” Harry insisted, nudging Jimmy’s hand away with the five pound note clutched in it.

“Fine by me.” Jimmy chuckled, shoving the note back in his pocket and tapping Harry on his shoulder. Harry just smiled as Jimmy thanked the driver and got out the car. The driver waited for Jimmy to get through the front door, which Harry was more than grateful for as once Jimmy had disappeared Harry unclipped his seatbelt.

“I’m gonna walk mate, thanks though.” Harry announced, rifling for some money in his pocket. The metre read six pound forty, but the closest Harry could find was a twenty. “Keep the change, thanks mate.” Harry rushed from the car before the driver could even thank him, dying for fresh air.

One last time Harry checked his phone before putting it on silent, hoping that if he couldn’t hear it, irony would come into play and it would ring and she’d leave a voicemail to let him know she was ok, and she was home, and she’d talk later. Harry hoped, because suddenly regret was sinking in and it made him feel ill.

_____________

Thoughts? Theories? Hit me up. I love hearing them and I’m so grateful for all the love you guys have been showing this. 

We’re nearly back where we left off so get excited for new things!

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Destiny: Part 3

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, Fluff.

Word Count: 3,891

A/N: Series continuation of Fate.

Catch up on Fate here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And I was concerned that we wouldn’t have enough room.” You said as you pushed your massive stroller with your eight sleeping pups in it into Charles’ unused ‘summer home’. You looked up at the stunning vaulted ceilings of the late 1600’s mansion as Wanda stopped with her stroller, beside you.

“We have eleven, soon to be twelve kids here, Ms. Barnes. It’s gunna be crazy.” You glanced over at her with a smile at the use of your new last name. While it was probably one of the most unromantic weddings of all time, after four years of being together, you and Bucky had tied the knot that morning between you packing your bedroom and trying to keep your pups out of their rooms and your new husband breaking down eight different kids beds with Sam and Steve to put in one of the many Quinjets that SHIELD owned while Natasha, Pepper and Tony packed bags upon bags of clothes, toys and necessities.

“And I though we were living fancy at the facility.” Aaron teased as he pushed his stroller into the foyer as your three Alpha’s and the rest of the Avengers began unloading the three jets it took to get you all here.

“Ms. Barnes?” You glanced over and nodded as a young man in a wheel chair and a younger man came down the hallway toward you. You nodded at him as a smile spread across his face. “These must be the gifted youngsters we’re protecting.” You smiled as you looked at your adorable pups.

“These would be them. Thank you so much for helping us.” The Beta paused at your side and took your offered hand.

“Oh, it most certainly is my pleasure. This is Hank.” You smiled at the other man, another beta that had a slight hint of Alpha to him, who looked to be about your age and shook his hand. “Now. The house should have more than enough rooms for all of you. Six rooms up stairs, seven down. Three bathrooms up and five down. It was all modernized about five years ago when I needed to hide myself and a friend of mine here. Follow me.” You nodded and pushed your massive stroller after him. “You have a lift down here. And at the ends of all the hallways, you’ll see a small silver door. It’s for the laundry, which is in the basement.” He said as the three Omega’s (not including Steve who was helping your husband carry in bags of clothes) in your group followed him.

“Also in the basement, there is a screen room, a small weight room, a heated pool that is behind a lockable door, and a garage with a collection of vehicles ranging from a 1932 Ford Sedan to a 2012 Chevy pick up truck. You’re more than welcome to use any of them; however, please remember to drive on the left side of the road.” He paused at the end of the hall and turned toward you with a smile. “We don’t need to have you getting into accidents, now. There’s also a bowling alley. My great, great, great grandfather was a fan though I never saw the appeal.

There are three master bedrooms; the fourth was partially turned into the elevator and the rest was closed off but we kept the bathroom. You’ll find one master here, one directly above it and the third down that hallway and to the left.” You turned around to look past the growing pile of stuff in the entry toward the hall he was pointing down.

“There is a kitchen half way down that hall on the left and a dining room if you continue through the kitchen. I’ve taken it upon myself to remove any important heirlooms and stored them in the attic so don’t worry about breaking anything that’s still out. It can all be replaced.” You glanced back at him and nodded as he gestured for you to head back toward the foyer.

“If you go past the main staircase, there is a living room that is big enough for all twelve of your pups to run around and be children. And the stairs to the basement are behind the main staircase.” He glanced up at you with a smile as he paused at the foot of the stairs.

“There is also a house in the garden where the staff live; two maids, three gardeners and a butler that is frankly older than dirt but has been with my family nearly as long as I’ve been around. But fear not, his niece, Karen, covers the slack he misses. If you need anything at all, let her know. She’ll also take care of shopping temporarily so we don’t draw too much attention to the fact that you’re here while we figure everything out. And if you have any questions, please do not hesitate to call me, day or night.”

“Thank you, Charles.” You said as you reached out and took his hand. You squeezed it gently as your eyes teared up the slightest bit. “I don’t know how we could ever repay you.” He squeezed your hand back and shook his head.

“You enjoy your life with your pups. That’s how you can repay me.” You huffed a laugh and nodded at him as a lone tear slipped from your eyes. “Now, go get settled in. Getting your pups used to the time zone change is going to wear you out since the sun rises in a little over an hour.” You nodded at him and glanced back at Wanda and Aaron.

“How should we split up the…”

“Well you’re obviously taking up stairs with your massive family.” Aaron said with a yawn as he leaned on his stroller handle. He looked up at Wanda through his lashes and shrugged. “Which hallway do you want?” She shrugged and looked at the two options.

“I guess that one.” She said as she pointed to the hall with the kitchen in it. “Contain the sound of a newborn.”

“Works for me.” Aaron said as he stood up a little straighter. “I’m going to put these two in bed and start unpacking.” You groaned and looked back at the ever growing pile of stuff in the front hall as Bucky and Steve came in the Mason and Faith's toddler beds.

“Where are we putting these, ‘mega mine?” Bucky asked you. You sighed and pointed down the hall after Aaron. “Buck, you’re coming upstairs with me and Steve, you follow Aaron.” The two of them nodded as you turned away from Charles and Hank and headed down the hall to the elevator. “We have six rooms available to us upstairs. Wanda and Aaron have seven to split.” You paused at the elevator and looked back at him as you pressed the button. “How do we split up the pups?” Bucky sighed and put his arm out into the door as you pushed the stroller into the surprisingly large metal box.

“Well Emma and David aren’t gunna like being split up. And neither are Grace and Tessa.” You nodded at him as he pulled the parts to Mason’s bed into the elevator beside you and pushed the second floor button.

“Mason, Ryan and Allie are old enough to get their own rooms.” You said as you glanced at your sleeping pups.

“Put Caleb in with Mason?” You nodded as the doors opened on your floor.

“We’re right across the hall.” You said as he stepped out of the elevator. You followed him out and put the stroller in the middle of the hall. “So lets do the twins here.” You said as you pointed to the room right next to the elevator. “Grace and Tessa next to them. We’re gunna need to get gates up here.” You said as you both walked past the stairs and down the rest of the hallway. You glanced in the three remaining rooms and pointed at the one on the left. “Put Mason and Caleb in here. They are both heavy sleepers and the baby is gunna be under them. Put Allie across the hall and this one will be Ryan.” Bucky nodded at you and stepped into Mason’s room to put his bed down.

“I’ll bring all our stuff upstairs. Get the pups to bed, Omega.” You nodded at him as he came over and kissed your forehead. You felt his lips pull into a smile as he pulled back to look at you. “Get some sleep, Mrs. Barnes.” You smiled and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Be quick, Mr. Barnes.” He nodded and gave you a chaste kiss.

“I will, ‘mega mine.” With a nod, you both headed back toward the stairs but where you kept going, he headed back down to finish unpacking the jet. You heard Caleb start to fuss with a bad dream and you headed over to get the stroller into your room.

Your nose curled at the unfamiliar and thankfully faint smell of another Alpha as you turned to get Caleb from the stroller. You ripped the blankets from the bed laid him in the middle and immediately grabbed Mason to calm the first pup down. One by one, you laid the pups down in the order they always found themselves in on your bed as Bucky and the team carried bed after bed after bed and bag after bag of stuff to their respective rooms.

With a sigh, you looked around the massive master bedroom. It was at least twice the size of your one in the facility and you were pleasantly surprised with the fireplace along the wall. The pile of blankets caught your eye and you headed over and scooped it up to wash when the pups woke up.

“Guess we’re living the high life, aren’t we babies?” You asked softly as you headed out into the hall to find the laundry chute. With a little pushing, you shoved the blankets down the chute and headed to the stairs to see if you could find your blankets from home for your pups.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alpha, have you seen the pool floats? No, David. Come here, baby boy.” You laughed as you tried to get your last pup into his swim diaper. They didn’t have the opportunity to go swimming much back at the facility since there were usually some of the staff that lived on the property there and you never wanted to disturb them with eight, rambunctious pups.

“They’re already down stairs. I got the towels down there, too.” You glanced up at him with a smile as you pulled the last diaper into place. With a nod, you got up and smiled at Bucky.

“Such a good husband.” He smirked at you and gave you a chaste kiss.

“Come on, ‘mega. Let’s go swimming. Let’s go kids!” You heard screeches come from the rooms down the hall and the sounds of awkward, kids footsteps running toward the elevator. You ushered David out of the room and toward the elevator since you were absolutely not taking your pups down the stairs. You held the elevator door open as you counted children while they started in on the chorus of ‘I wanna push the button’.

“Daddy is pushing the button.” You said as Bucky picked up Grace and carried her into the elevator. He quickly hit the button as you stepped into the metal box with a sigh.

“Are you having fun with eight of them yet?” He teased as he set Grace down on the floor. You rolled your eyes as the elevator stopped on the first floor.

“Guys, scoot back for Uncle Aaron and Uncle Max.” You said as you and Bucky corralled your kids as far back as they could go.

“Who’s ready to go swimming?” Aaron cooed as he headed into the elevator with Hope on his hip. You smirked at him as your pups all cheered and jumped in the elevator.

“No jumping!” The four adults said as Max set Faith down on the ground.

“Floats down there?” He asked as he leaned against the wall by the door. Bucky nodded as he gestured to the square bag you didn’t realize Max had.

“What’s in the bag?” Max smirked as he pulled open the top. You glanced down and rolled your eyes at the bottles of beers that were next to the kids juice boxes and your wine coolers.

“Great parenting.” You joked as the elevator came to a stop in the basement. You and Aaron both instinctively put your arms out and looked at your suddenly silent, attentive pups.

“No running.” Aaron said as he looked pointedly at Caleb.

“We walk to the pool or we sit in time out, OK?” All ten pups nodded as Max and Bucky slipped out of the elevator and held the door open. With a collective nod, you stepped out of the elevator. Your pups all power walked like the floor was on fire to the open pool door, where you could already hear Vision and Pietro playing in the water.

“Walking!” Bucky called out as he and Max took wide strides to get in front of the herd. You and Aaron both sped up to help get the kids into their rafts and life vests, which was always a process. As you rounded the corner, choruses of ‘plane’, ‘duck’, ‘horse’ and ‘doggie’. Echoed off the tile walls.

“Alright. Have some patience.” Bucky laughed as he grabbed the giant basket that you had thankfully insisted on bringing. You moved around your pack to the pool’s stairs as Bucky started passing you the life vests for your older three; Allie got a pink princess one, Ryan was green frogs, and Mason was blue boats. As those three swam off, Bucky passed you David’s plane, while he put Emma in her duck in the pool. Tessa was next in her doggie, Grace was after that in her unicorn ‘horse’ and lastly, Caleb in his car.

“Now frolic and be free.” You said as you pushed Caleb a little deeper into the water so he didn’t splash Wanda on the stairs.

“How do you keep them all straight?” She asked as you pulled off Bucky’s shirt you had on as a cover-up and stepped into the warm water. You smiled at her as you pulled Emma back over to you since, for what ever reason, she was afraid of the pool but not water in general. You assumed it was because she couldn’t touch the bottom.

“Three years of practice.” She smirked at you as you gave your daughter your finger to hold so she felt safe. “It’s not that hard, honestly. I mean, you know what Pietro’s favorite toys are, right?” She nodded you and you both cringed away from the splash when Faith jumped in right beside you. Max scolded her and said he was sorry as he walked into the pool with his beer held above his head.

“Well, it’s the same thing. Trial and error when it comes to multiples. You buy a boat load of rafts and let them pick. If two of them pick the same one, instead of causing a fight, you put that one aside and have them both pick again.” She shook her head and laughed as Bucky came in the pool with a wine cooler for you.

“It’s chaotic as shit.” He chimed in as he handed you your drink. “I was unbelievably lost after the pups were born. I didn’t know what to do with myself. Shit, I spent seventy years completely alone and suddenly I was responsible for three, then five, then eight other lives? And one pup likes dogs but is terrified of the unicorn and the one that looks identical to her is the exact opposite and another pup wants to fly a plane but if you put him in the car he screams for hours. Like my wife said, it’s all trial and error and learning your kids.” You smiled up at him and giggled.

“You like saying that, don’t you?” He nodded at you and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“And you’ll hear it every day of your life, too.”

“Daddy, jump!” With cat like reflexes, you snagged Bucky’s beer and moved Emma behind you with your elbow as he turned to grab Grace just above the water so she didn’t get her face wet to avoid a melt down. You shook your head and told him to move it down the pool as you set his beer down on the side of the pool and pulled Emma back in front of you.

“You just get used to your spawn.” You said as you moved over to sit on the stairs to keep an eye on your pups. “No matter how many of them there are.” Wanda nodded at you and laughed as you both watched Max help your and his kids out of their rafts and on to the side of the pool so they could jump to Bucky.

“Do you want any more?” She asked as she rubbed her hand over her bump. You and Bucky both quickly said ‘no’ as you held on to the far edge of Emma’s duck float so she didn’t fall into the pool while she played with the water.

“Eight pups and two nieces are plenty. Besides that, we’re not entirely sure I can have more.” She looked over at you as Bucky glanced over in your direction while putting Tessa in her dog raft so she could wait in line in the pool to jump again. It was actually something you were both slightly concerned with but tried not to focus on too much.

“What do you mean?” You shook your head and glanced at Emma before looking at Wanda.

“I was supposed to get my tubes tied when I had the last litter.” You said softly. “But we decided not to. If we’re supposed to have a big family than that’s what we’re gunna do, ya know?” She nodded at you as Aaron came over to join in the conversation. Since he was basically your brother, he was the only person other than Bucky and Bruce that knew about your medical issue. “Well, for some reason, my heats never came back like they did with the first two litters. And neither did Bucky’s ruts.”

“Oh, my God.” Wanda gasped softly as her hand flew up to her mouth.

“We have faith though.” Aaron said as he reached out and touched your arm as you took a long swig of your drink. “It’s all going to work out, right boo?” You smiled at him and nodded as Emma slapped her hands on the water and burst into a peel of giggles.

“Good timing, pumpkin head.” You said as you tickled her side. She laughed even harder and splashed at the water some more. You let her play as you stood up from the stairs and moved her deeper into the pool, forcing yourself to push your worries away and enjoy being mommy to the pups you were blessed with already.

——

“Do you think something’s wrong with me?” You asked softly as you and Bucky got ready for bed. You had gone so long without thinking about your problem but since Wanda brought it up that morning, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Bucky quickly turned around in the closet to look at you and shook his head.

“No, ‘mega mine. There is not a single thing wrong with you.” You tried to hold it back but tears welled in your eyes and your bottom lip began to quiver. He dropped the shirt he was putting on and came over to where you were sitting on the end of the bed. His hands slipped under your arms and he lifted you up off the bed. He shushed you softly as you wrapped your arms and legs around him.

“I’m a bad Omega.” You sobbed as you buried your face in his throat. Tears welled in your Alpha’s eyes as he brushed his nose over your bond mark.

“You are not a bad Omega, (Y/N).” He said as he tried to calm you down. He sat down on the bed and held you close as his heart broke for you. “You, are the best Omega I have ever seen. You are strong… so damn strong, doll. You’re a mommy to eight pups, sweetheart. Not all Omega’s can do that.”

“I know.” You sobbed as you reached up and curled your fingers in his hair.

“And now you’re a wife. And I am so, so proud that I get to be the Alpha to call you mine for the rest of my life.” You nodded against his throat as he placed gentle kisses across your shoulder. “You know what we need?” You shook your head as he slid his hands up your spine and pulled you back by your shoulders so you would look at him. He smiled weakly and reached up to brush your tears off your cheeks. “We need to go on a honeymoon. Just you and me.” Your face dropped at the suggestion but Bucky keep talking.

“We can call Natasha and Steve. Have them come stay with the pups just for a couple days. They’ll have Max and Aaron here to help them and they’ve watched the pups for date night in the past.” He cupped your jaw in his warm hand and smiled. “We have a lot on our plates every day, baby. And with this move and the registration thing happening… maybe what we both need is to just relax as a couple where we don’t have to worry about our pups every second of every day. Where we can sleep for more than four hours a night and take a shower that lasts longer than two minutes.” He chuckled as he brushed his thumb across your cheek. “Where we can actually sit down while we eat our meals and be able fall asleep in each others arms without one or all eight pups between us.”

“Mommy?” You huffed a laugh as you and Bucky both turned to look at Caleb and Mason standing in your door. “Caleb had a nightmare.”

“Come on, babies.” You said as Bucky helped you off his lap and onto the floor. You wiped your tears away as you both helped a pup up onto your bed. As you snuggled them under the blankets, you glanced over at your husband and nodded. “Two days.” He smiled and nodded as he turned off the bedroom light, climbed into bed and reached for your hand. You laid them comfortably on your pups stomach as the two boys curled up against each of your chests.

“I’ll call Steve tomorrow.”

[rum-and-shattered-dreams]

Chapter 11: Novel Ideas Summary: Exhausted, Stan is finally set free and rushes the surgery center. Ford struggles to come to terms with the reality he's been avoiding. Stan employs a solid coping mechanism in an attempt to help.

Notes: Warnings: emotional breakdown, restraints, arguing, nightmares

Thanks to everyone for your comments, questions, and input. It's all an inspiration and a huge help in building this AU. :D

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven (with illustration) Part Eight Part Nine (With link to more art!) Part Ten More fics An illustration (from part one) Stan wanted to wrap Dipper and Mabel in a crushing hug when they released him from public imprisonment.  But, he held back, mostly, because he figured they wouldn't want to be smothered in bits of tomato and old man sweat, but partly, because his back teeth had been floating for the past few hours and the slightest squeeze could be disastrous.  He jogged to the nearest bathroom as fast as his simultaneously numb and aching legs would carry him.  Every step sent a jolt through his sore soles but he made it to an outhouse and not a moment too soon. Once relieved, he pumped a bucket of water from a Pioneer Day prop and dumped it over his head, half amazed that the pump functioned and half unsurprised, given the town's obsession with the event.  He pumped and poured another bucketful, despite his rubbery arms, scrubbing dried tomato from his hair, brows, and stubble.  He mentally thanked Soos for stopping by that afternoon and cleaning the bulk of the tomato mess off before it could bake in the sun (and, he had to admit, for keeping him company for a while).  After drying his glasses with a cloth from his pocket, he rushed back to the car and kids. "We gotta get out of here!" he said, both out of sheer desperation to leave and because, by this point, he'd broken his promise to Ford.  Visit in the morning?  It's going to be night by the time I get there at this rate.  Once buckled in the driver's seat, he cranked up the heat, shivering as cold water dripped from his hair and soaked through his coat. On the way home, he spun a story about how he had been planning to take photos of creepy looking things in the woods for a new exhibit in the shack and how he'd have to go out tonight to do it since this was their only day off for the rest of the week.  "Heh, might be better anyway," he embellished his lie, "Things look a lot spookier at night." "Oh can I come with you?!" Dipper asked, his seatbelt stretching as he leaned forward in his seat.  "There are so many weird things out there, and I have this book that can probably help us find some of them!" "Thanks, kid, but no thanks.  I-uh..." Stan pondered a minute, knowing very well that if these kids were anything like he and his brother were, giving them a flat no would only make them more determined to follow him.  "Hey, maybe next time," he reasoned, "but this time I could really use your help making banners and decorations for the shack's fair this weekend.  Mabel, you think you're up for that?" "Are you kidding?!  I have buckets of paint just waiting for a project like this!  Dipper, can we?!" she begged, grabbing Dipper's vest and shaking him.  "Please please pleeeeaaaase?!" "Yeah.  Alright, I guess," he answered, tipping his hat back into place only to have it knocked off when she stretched over to hug him. "Great," Stan said with a relieved sigh, "Give Soos a call when I drop you off.  He's got the plans for everything.  Tell him I'll let him rig up the dunk machine if he comes over to help you." ****   With the kids safely back at the shack, Stan careened through the wooded roads.  Shit shit shit shit shit, his mind chanted, his heart thumping in double-time to the rhythm.  His eyes squinted in the setting sun's glare but he plowed forward, the Stanmobile practically flying off the peaks of hills as he left Gravity Falls and the valley behind.  He sped around corners, nearly tipping up on two wheels, his hands crushing the steering wheel in his grip. The sky shifted from hues of orange and pink to electric blue while buildings replaced towering trees along the roadside.  Ten minutes into the city, Stan searched for 5th street and the distinct, domed roof of the surgery center.  He cursed as he passed the turn anyway.  I like this doctor's style, though, he thought, hiding in plain sight.  He pulled an illegal u-turn in front of a honking pickup truck that he swore wasn't there a second ago.  As he swerved into the parking lot, the surgery center's neon sign lit up against the darkening sky.  He spun the wheel, parking haphazardly next to one of two other cars in the lot, Dr, Braum's SUV. "Ugh.  Ow!  Son of a-"  He moaned as he climbed out of the car.  His back cracked as he straightened it, muscles protesting from his shoulders straight down through his to thighs and calves.  It felt like the soles of his feet were bruised and bleeding from being stuck on them all day.  In the car's heat, it seemed like his hair and coat had nearly dried but the evening breeze cut through him as if he'd just dumped a pitcher of ice water over himself. In a series of grunts and groans, he hobbled to the sliding glass door.  When it refused to open, he pounded on the glass, hoping someone would hear him.  The janitor looked up from cleaning behind the reception desk and nodded.  She hurried to the door and unlocked it, sliding it open manually.  Stan sped through the moment he could fit. "Dr. Braum told me you might show up tonight," She said, closing and locking the doors. Stan pushed, pulled, and tried to slide open the double doors leading back to the surgery and recovery rooms but they refused to move. "Hold on and I'll let her know you're here." The janitor said, stepping behind the reception desk.  She picked up the phone's headset, her gloved fingers prodding at the phone's buttons. Dr. Braum picked up on the first ring. "He's here," the janitor explained, "Yeah, the old guy in a suit and fez.  Yeah.  Alright.  I'll buzz him through."  She pulled off the headset and pressed a button behind the desk.  "You can go on through now," she instructed.   Stan rushed into the back hall, past dark and empty rooms, prepped for surgery the next morning.  He nearly ran into the door that opened on the hall's left side, his shoes' soles squeaking against the hardwood floor as he stopped.  The door closed revealing a woman nearly larger than it with rainbow streaked hair pulled into a bun. "Oh, Dr. Braum.  I-" "Where the HELL have you been?" she reprimanded, her arms perched on her hips as she towered above him.  "You said you'd be here as soon as you could!" "This IS as soon as I could!"  He retorted, looking up to her with bloodshot eyes. "When you told my assistant that this morning, we assumed it meant less than thirteen hours later." "It did-" "We called you twelve times today and couldn't get a hold of you." "Why?  What's going on?  Is Ford alright?" Stan blurted, shifting his body to peek down the hall past Dr. Braum.  "Did he do something?" "Your brother's been having some nightmares that are affecting his heart rate and blood pressure," Dr. Braum explained, her hands lowering from her hips, one settling in her lab coat's pocket.  "The few times one of our nurses caught him awake and tried to talk to him, he told us to go away and, to be honest, she doesn't know him well enough to determine if it was him saying that or...  the other him." Nightmares were normal for both Ford and Stan, himself.  That was no surprise, though, he figured, it might be alarming to someone who's not used to it...  And even more alarming to him as he realized that he and Ford were used to it.  How had things gotten to the point where nightly nightmares were just a part of life?  Stan sighed and said, "Look, this has been one of the worst days of my life," he exaggerated, though not by much, "and, believe me, that's saying something, so can you let me by so I can see my brother, already?"  With a determined wrinkling of his nose, he bumped past the doctor, unsure of where he was going but willing to find out. "Wait, there's something I need to tell-" Before she could finish her sentence, Stan spotted a door on the right marked "maintenance" and grabbed the latch, rattling it when it wouldn't budge. Dr. Braum sighed and said, "Hold on.  I have to unlock it from the nurses station."  Her lab coat billowed behind her as she stepped around the desk and pressed a button.  The door buzzed and Stan was inside before she could say another word. The room was notably smaller than the others and smelled of disinfectant.  Darkness set in as the door closed behind him, the room lit solely by the strip of light under the door and illuminated numbers on a screen to the right.  From what Stan could tell, there were cabinets, a wash station, and a door standing ajar to his left.  To his right was Ford's bed, a rolling table, and various machines and monitors.  Beside the bed was a blocky chair.  As his eyes adjusted to the dark, Stan stepped forward, reaching for the nearest arm of the chair. "Ford," he said in a husky whisper, using the chair to guide him to the bed.  "Stanford?" No answer came aside from the rise and fall of breaths.  The back of the bed was raised about halfway and a blanket covered his brother's body up to his shoulders.  As Stan's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see Ford's head was turned away, his unbandaged eye clenched closed. "Ford.  I can tell you're not asleep," Stan said, with a muffled moan as he eased himself into the chair.  "I got here as soon as I could.  What happened?  How are you?" "Nothing.  I'm fine," he answered flatly.  "Are you alright?" he muttered in a detached tone, "And the kids?" "The kids are fine but it's been a Hell of a day for me.  I'm a bit sore but otherwise alright." "Good.  That's good." "Ford.  What's wrong?"  Stan asked, the wooden legs of his chair scraping as he angled it closer to the bed. "Nothing.  I was just worried about you when you didn't...  Nevermind." "Ford, I can explain-" "I said it's nothing!" He snapped, his limbs tensing against the restraints beneath his blanket.  "Just go away.  Please." Stan sighed, placing a hand on the bedside bar.  "No.  I'm not leaving until you talk to me.  What happened during surgery?  They said Bill didn't make it easy for them.  What did he do?  Has he been bothering you today?" Stan rattled off questions, his tone becoming more on edge as he spoke until a grim chuckle silenced him. "Oh sure," Ford said, "You're fine not being here all day and now you won't leave." "That wasn't my fault!  I-" "Get out," he demanded.  "Leave me alone!" "Bill...?  Or me?" "Both of you!" "Ford..." "Where were you all day?!" he shouted, his eye closed tight as if to prevent the flood of emotions.  "You promised...  And I TRUSTED you!  And you just left me here alone.  With him!" "Ford, I'm sorry!" Stan shouted, bolting up from his chair.  "I tried to get here but I got arrested!" "Arrested?" Ford, asked, concern woven into his inflection, as he turned to face Stan.  His hand reached for the light switch on the bedside rail and he pressed it once for its dimmest setting.  "For what?" he asked, the machine beside him registering his quickening pulse as he dreaded the answer.  Did Rico turn him in?  Did one of his aliases catch up with him?  I never even considered- "Ironically, for trying to get here faster," Stan explained. "What?"  Ford asked, his shoulders relaxing and pulse slowing.  His head lulled back against the pillow, nausea and sleepiness draining him. "I tried to drop the kids off in town but it was Pioneer day.  My car got stuck in the mud and when the mechanic wouldn't help me, I got angry and the cops thought it would be cute to lock me in the stocks all day." In a groggy half-yawn, his inhibitions obliterated, Ford corrected, "Pillories." "Huh?" "Stocks are for your ankles.  Unless it's changed over the years, the ones they use on Pioneer Day are-"  Ford's slurred words trailed off into another yawn. "And here I was worried about you all day, you pretentious-!"  Stan paused as his brother's eye slipped shut, his breaths deep and rhythmic.  "Did you seriously just fall sleep?"  Stan whispered in annoyance.  Exasperated, he flopped back into his chair, massaging his eyelids as he listened to the beeps of the monitor behind him.  In less than a minute their pace quickened again, nearly blurring together.  Stan leapt up, turning to look- "Wait..."  Ford mumbled, drawing Stan's attention back to him, "Why can't I...?  I can't...  I can't move!"  He jolted awake, his breath coming in heavy pants, sweat drenching his face. "It's alright," Stan said, using the bed rail to lift himself out of the chair.  "Ford, it's alright.  It was another nightmare.  It's alright," he reassured him in as calm a tone as he could muster, his hands reaching over the bedside bar to wrap around Ford's. The door slammed open and Dr. Braum rushed in.  "Dr. Pines?!"  She blurted, jogging to his bedside. "Another nightmare," Stan explained, the dark circles under his eyes more pronounced in the dim light as he looked up to her. "It's him," Ford panted, "He won't let me sleep.  He keeps-.  Every time I fall asleep, he-." "Wait," said Dr. Braum, leaning over the bed, "How can that be?  Lottie and the nurses said you were mostly sleeping today." She flinched back as Ford opened his eye, yellow and slit down the center by black.  "He's almost as good of an actor as the con man, here," Bill answered, nodding to Stan.  "Funny.  This whole set-up is too good to be true!  All I had to do was make sure he was awake for it all." Stan's eyes widened at the implication.  "All?  What do you mean, all?" "That surgery thing was an interesting experience," Bill said with a laugh, "Pretty great, I thought.  But I didn't want to hog all the fun so I just dropped in from time to time to make sure Fordsy, here, didn't miss anything." "I had a feeling," Dr. Braum whispered, shaking her head.  "We warned him there was a possibility he could wake up, especially under his circumstances, but he still said to go through with it. "Wait.  You're telling me he was awake during surgery?!" Stan barked.  As Ford's eye dimmed and closed, his head tipping to the side in slumber, Stan hushed himself to an angry hiss, "And you didn't know it?!" "We could tell when that demon showed up for a split second every so often and accommodated it the best we could but otherwise, it's nearly impossible to tell in any patient.  The paralytic in the anesthesia immobilizes the body and maintains a lower heart rate and blood pressure." "That's what your assistant meant when she said he didn't make it easy, then?"  Stan asked, pinching his nose. "Yes.  We didn't want to mention it to you over the phone since we weren't actually sure.  It made no sense to worry you since we thought you were pretty much on your way."  She paused, finally taking in the sorry sight of the man standing before her.  "What happened to you, anyway.  You look like you need a few stiff drinks and about a week's worth of sleep." "A cuppa coffee would be a life saver right n-" "No..." Ford croaked.  "No.  Please!  Stanley, I'm sorry!"  He thrashed under his blanket, bucking against his bonds.  His eye peeled open, his breath coming in short bursts. "Ford, it's alright.  I'm alright," Stan assured him, "I'm safe."  He looked up to Dr. Braum and requested, "Can you give us a minute?" "Of course," she said, her steps nearly silent as she approached the door.  "I'll be in my office finishing up some dictation if you need me." The door clicked against it's frame, its motorized lock latching behind her. "I can't do this anymore," Ford croaked,  looking up to him with dampness welling in the corner of his eye, "I'm tired.  I'm so tired." "Yeah.  You've been through Hell," Stan empathized. "More than that," he said, turning his head away, "I'm tired of all of this.  It's gone, Stanley.  My eye is gone.  It's GONE!  I'm tied to a bed because a demon might make me hurt myself or someone else.  I've destroyed thirty years of both of our lives!  Probably forty of yours-" "Ford, you can't blame yourself for that," Stan's words went unheard as Ford continued. "And now, I finally get to be someplace other than the house for the first time in twenty of those years and all I want to do is go back to the basement.  And to top it all off, I don't want to do this because I can't even wipe my own damn nose!"  His breath hitched, coming in ragged gasps.  He sniffled, his face burning as he fought the impending flood.  "I just want to sleep." "I wish I knew what would help you get some rest," Stan mumbled, uncertain of what else to say. Ford turned his head to face his twin, his cheeks flushed and eye bloodshot.  His voice trembled as he asked, "Stanley, do...  Do we look anything like each other anymore?" Stan thought for a moment.  Their ears were the same size and shape, but Ford's left ear now had two notches cut into its helix thanks to an unexpected nap more than twenty-five years ago.  At one time, their noses were identical, now they'd both been misshapen by breaks, scars, and old age.  As for everything else, well...  There were few similarities anymore.  Ford's hair had turned a darker shade of gray, streaked with the near-white of Stan's.  Stan's arms grew muscular and his tummy, round, but Ford's legs retained muscle while the rest of him thinned. After considering it all, he answered, "We're still the same height, I guess.  But, no amount of differences is gonna change that we're still family.  If it bugs you, though, do you want to try the shave and hair cut idea?" "Maybe..." Ford debated aloud, sniffling and stifling his outburst.  "Yes.  Probably." "Ford," Stan said, resting his hands over his brother's, "I'm sorry I wasn't here for you today." "I'm sorry you had such a terrible day." "Says the man still going through Hell." "It's not like it's a shitty day contest," Ford said, forcing a crocked smile. "I guess," Stan said with a shrug. "Well, you know about my day," Ford said, leaning his head back in the search for comfort and prying for the distractions he'd sorely missed all day, "Tell me about yours?" "Sure," Stan said, his aching back forcing him down into the chair with a grunt.  He animated the story of his day through exaggerated hand motions and expressions in true showmanship style.  Ford sneered at the mention of Gideon, mentioning that the kid still creeped him out.  He gasped over the first tomato pelting and almost laughed when Stan revealed he kept a bobby pin under his fez for emergencies. His eyes widened as Stan spun the tale of nearly picking the lock and losing the pin, and he gasped audibly, "Oh no!" "Yup.  Tumbled right to the ground.  And of all people, Preston's kid, Pacifica, happened to be standing right there to see the whole thing.  She offered me a deal to get the pin back; said I had to say her family is the best." "Stanley, you didn't.  Not after how she treated Mabel at the party." "Hell no!" He bellowed, his hands slapping his knees, "I asked if she wanted it in writing and wrote 'You stink' with a pen stuck in my mouth!" Ford managed a laugh, "Excellent.  I'm proud of you, holding your ground like that.  But, I'm not surprised.  You've always been-" "A stubborn old fool?" "Stubborn.  Yes.  But that's not a bad thing.  I have your stubbornness to thank for you sticking around, after all." "Heh.  Yeah.  I guess.  Anyway, I'd say it was worth the extra tomato pelting." "Oh, Stanley..." he said with a sympathetic lilt. "Eh, it's alright.  Soos came by and kept me company for a bit then the kids showed up later and broke me out with some magical key they found during the day.  Mabel, heh, her and her imagination, I tell ya.  She had on this top hat and said it was 'cause she's a senator now.  But, hey, she 'pardoned' me and the town didn't object so, whatever, I guess." "She sounds like quite a pistol, alright." "Sure is.  I think you two will get along well," Stan added, his tone showing nothing but absolute certainty that they'd meet someday. Ford's answer, however, was not so certain.  "I hope so." "Well, enough about me, how about you?  With all this time stuck alone like this, you got any new ideas for that novel of yours for me to write down?" he asked, digging in his coat pocket for a battered notepad with a dripping, black question mark on the cover and a What is the Mystery Shack? pen. "... Yes.  Actually." "Alright," Stan said, clicking the pen and holding it above an empty page, "ready whenever you are." Ford cleared his throat, thankful that the smolder of his cheeks had dulled to an awkward stiffness but annoyed at the headache setting in.  Even so, he breathed deeply and began, picking up at a seemingly random point in a story inspired by nearly being dragged into the portal all those years ago, by his own fears, and by imagination; the story of a man traveling between dimensions. "In his journey, he stumbled upon a world of two dimensional beings.  He found himself stuck in an uncomfortable position, his eyes above their dimensional plane but his mouth below, rendering him unable to explain his circumstances and barely able to perceive the edges of the startled shapes surrounding him.  Fearing his presence, the residents attacked.   Their razor sharp edges sliced into his flesh repeatedly, but he was trapped, utterly helpless, his pleas for mercy bellowing outside of their frame of existence until his vision darkened and he lost consciousness. He awoke seemingly moments later laying among plush pillows and soft blankets, his wounds cleaned and bandaged.  An unearthly woman towered above him, her seven stunning eyes filled with concern as they gazed down to him.  Though his experiences had left him on edge, something about her set his mind at ease.  Perhaps it was her posture, proper but not too stiff, the way her hands folded gently over her lap as she sat beside him, or the kindness in her voice as she welcomed him to her mountaintop shrine.  She introduced herself as an oracle and claimed he would be safe by her side.  His instincts screamed for him to get up and run, that no one could be trusted, yet, he remained a resident in the shrine as he recovered."  Ford yawned, his eyelid drooping as his words trailed off, "Eventually, he realized, the oracle had earned his trust... Stan looked up from his scrawled writing, leaning forward to the edge of his seat as he awaited the rapid beeps and panicked pleas of the next nightmare. Several minutes passed and nothing happened.   He stood, his own heart picking up tempo in place of Ford's as he leaned over the bed.  "Gah!"  He jumped back as Ford's eye flew open, yellow glare piercing through.  His head and limbs thrashed against the restraints, blanket flapping over his body. Bill growled and huffed, "Guess I tired him out too much.  Human bodies have so little endurance.  Yeesh.  A bit of trauma and a night or two without sleep and they're useless." Stan gave a deep sigh, falling back into his chair.  His hands draped over his knees, barely keeping hold of the notepad and pen.  Embittered, he asked, "Don't you have anything better to do, Bill?" "Thanks you you two, no.  Not at the moment.  You really have no idea how boring it can get being immortal and stuck in only one dimension, do you?  But, I've got my eye on some new prospects.  Aw, don't think that means I'll neglect you two.  But for now, Sweet dreams!  Hope those restraints hold up.  Wouldn't want anything bad happening, now would you?" With that, Ford's eye dimmed, the lid slipping closed as he slept.  Stan breathed deeply, leaning back in his chair.  "Hope you get some rest, Ford," he whispered. In his own exhaustion, Stan fell asleep before his head hit the chair's padded back, the notebook resting on his chest and pen clattering to the floor.

Notes:

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Don't worry, Ford isn't holding anything against Dr. Braum. If anything, she was a kind and comforting presence to him during the whole ordeal.

Personal note: Apparently I'm such an insomniac that I woke up under general anesthesia once. The incredibly vivid memories I have of it are partly what inspired this. Thing is, I didn't realize it was something that can profoundly affect your life until reading up more on it for research for this. I never even told anyone about it because I didn't realize it was something I should tell. So yeah, my doctors didn't even know about it. Reading up on it is already explaining a lot but I probably haven't even scratched the surface yet. I just never related anything to it before, possibly because the one effect I don't have is nightmares (about that in particular). (Also, sorry, but I don't want to go into detail at the moment because even that is an issue wrapped up in it that I haven't solved yet. It wasn't a serious procedure or surgery, though, so no worries. Anyway, I just wanted to mention where the inspiration came from and show that writing like this actually *is* therapeutic and can uncover real life issues.)

[likeshipsonthesea]

The One With The Lesbian Wedding

First off, I’m sorry this is a year late, I am an asshole and apparently am procrastinating even things I like at this point, so that’s a thing. Secondly, I’m not sure if I’m meant to write the episode but with Samwell characters or if I can write anything that would fit with that title, but I’m doing the latter so I hope you enjoy. Thanks for the prompt!

This prompt is from this thing I reblogged, just so you know.

Also warnings for mild (REALLY MILD like almost imaginary) homophobia.

*~*~*

         In mid-June the summer after Nursey’s softie year, Ransompicks him up from a train station in Massachusetts and they drive up to Mainein Ransom’s minivan with Holster, Lardo, Jack, and Shitty. Ransom drives, as noone knows how to touch his baby like he does (he says, to which Holster gagsat), and Lardo sits in the passenger seat, barking directions in a way that hasNursey nostalgic for mornings after away games when Lardo tried to get themaway from the waffle-maker at whatever hotel they’d stayed at before the busleft without them.

        Jacksits next to Shitty in the middle and promptly falls asleep because he stayedup the entire night before coordinating his outfit with Bitty on Skype and only justmanaged to pack in time for take-off this morning. Shitty sits next to him, loudas all hell because he’s excited to have so many people he loves in the samecar with him, and Jack doesn’t even shift in his sleep because he has beenthrough war (i.e. owning a room next to Shitty’s) and won’t wake up foranything. Holster sits in the back with Nursey and the suits in their blackbags, hung up to keep from wrinkling. He alternates between yelling at Ransomto turn up the radio because the back speakers are shit and asking Nursey abouthis summer, to which Nursey gushes about being home with his moms and also hisburgeoning novel.

         The drive to Maine is a little over six hours, and they’restuck in traffic for a bit until they get passed the Mass border and thenthere’s nothing except for shacks in the wilderness and the occasional maplesyrup shop until they reach the coast. Shitty manages to get one of thepassenger side windows down- which had been stuck for over a decade ever sinceRansom’s sister lost a lollipop stick down the side of it back when she waseight and Ransom’s mom owned the car- so the car is flooded with the scent ofsaltwater and warm sand, and it makes Nursey remember when Dex came home fromSpring Break and fell asleep on the Haus couch, and Nursey used him as apillow. He smelled like the sea then, and Nursey hopes that all of Maine smellsthat sweet.

         “Bitty landed,” Jack says, sleepy, when they get across theborder into Maine. He’s blinking blearily, smiling, at his phone, and it’s theexact same look Bitty’s been giving his phone all year. Nursey wants to chirp himfor it, but Holster beats him to it, and anyway, Nursey’s moms have beenchirping him all summer for staring mushy-eyed at his phone whenever Dex textshim, and he tries not to be a hypocrite if he can help it.

         “Whiskey and Tango are coming up together right?” Lardoasks from the front, painting her toes up against the dashboard. She didn’thave time before they left, but if she can paint on Shitty’s back as he giggledat the feel of the brushes she can damn well paint under any conditions.

         “Yeah, their train comes in at three, so they’ll be there alittle after us,” Nursey says, as Tango texted him half an hour ago expoundingthe many wonders of an overnight train car. “Chowder and Farmer are sleepingoff jet lag at the hotel, and Ollie and Wicks are already there, too. They allsay the hotel rooms are sweet.”

         “Ford got in last night,” Holster says, checking his phone.“Her mom was pestering her about meeting a cute bridesmaid at the wedding soshe moved her flight up.”

         Nursey snorts. “Don’t think Poindexter’s relatives aregonna be down for that,” he says, which is mostly a joke but, well. He washesitant when Dex invited them all for his aunt’s wedding back in April,because he loves Dex and all (like, way too much, actually) but he knows Dex’sfamily probably isn’t the most… open minded? Like, he knows his queerness isn’timmediately known when he introduces himself, but his blackness is and hedoesn’t know what kind of bigoted Dex’s family is as of yet and he’s going withworst-case scenario of the buffet assortment of –isms, -ists, and phobias.

         “I think she’s still doing long-distance with Cosette from LesMis, anyway,” Ransom pipes up.

         Nursey grimaces. “Wasn’t that the girl who called the tubjuice “delightfully middle-class”?”

         “Nah, that was Fastrada from Pippin.”

         “She has got to stop dating those drama girls.” Lardosighs. She squints at her toes, now a delightful lilac color. She closes upher bottle and reaches for the top coat in the cup holder. “The Poindexterscan’t be too bad,” she says as she unscrews the top, “if Dex invited us all.”

         “He said he invited us ‘cause his aunt wanted a biggerwedding than her sister,” Shitty says, a ranting look on his face.

         Jack, thankfully, goes full-captain to cut Shitty off andsay, “It doesn’t matter. We’re guests and we have to be civil.” He says this asif he didn’t spend that whole fundraiser dinner Nursey’s frog year makingsubtle gay comments to one of the drunk donators who didn’t understand how a“gay school even had hockey”.

         “Aye, aye, Captain,” Holster says, saluting lazily, andeveryone laughs amicably.

         It’s only half an hour later when Siri announces, “Turn infive hundred feet, and the destination is on your right.” She brought them tothe hotel they’ll all be staying at. The service is at four and the receptionis in the same place, some fancy country club that Dex rolled his eyes aboutwhen he mentioned, so they have time before they have to leave. Nursey rentedhis own room, as everyone else had paired off (except for Ford who has insomniaand tends to like to have her own room) , so after they all check in they partways in the hallway and he enters his own room alone.

         He takes a shower to wash off the ride up, and when he getsout of the shower he stops in front of the big mirror and wipes away the steam.He stares at himself in the mirror, the towel slung around his waist and hishair wet and dripping on his forehead. He channels Shitty. “You,” he says,pointing at his reflection, “are a sexy motherfucker. You will charm thePoindexters down to the tiniest old grandma, you will make Dex swoon, and you won’t get drunk on champagne and tellDex his face keeps you up at night.” He grimaces as he remembers that lastkegster before summer break. He doesn’t know what Ransom put in the tub juice,he only knows that that entire night was nothis fault.

         He exits the bathroom and unzips his suit from itsencasing. He chose a simple dark grey one, nothing too expensive, with a lilacbutton down under it and a beautiful dark blue and silver patterned tie. Hethinks he looks damn good in in, if he does say so himself, and he dressescarefully, paying attention to all the little things his dad taught him aboutback in sixth grade when he had his first-ever dance and had to look good forMandy Scheckel, his little sixth-grade date. He does the fanciest tie-knot heknows, then undoes it and goes for casual, and then changes it two more timesbefore going back to the first one. He does his cufflinks, makes sure his beltis buckled nicely, even fiddles with his socks a little before he curses athimself and goes to do his hair.

         After another half-hour in front of the mirror, he wondersabout putting on some makeup, nothing major just some highlighter and maybesome mascara, but decides against it ultimately. Dex is sure to have somecousins interested in makeup and he doesn’t want any of them ratting him out as“one of them queers” to the rest of the family.

         He takes a few deep breaths and gives himself anotherpep-talk, this one more about how he can come home and cry later if he fucksthings up, but it isn’t as uplifting as the first for some reason. He leavessoon after that, taking his wallet and phone, seeing messages in the group chatabout meeting downstairs. Everyone has arrived and is ready, apparently, soNursey leaves his hotel room, meeting Shitty and Lardo in the hallway on theway to the elevator. Lardo is dressed in a pretty soft yellow dress, perfectfor summer, and in her heels she reaches just about Shitty’s chin. Shittyalways cleans up nice, even with his hair just a bit too long to be posh orrugged, and Nursey compliments him as they press the button for the lobby.

         “That’s means a shitton of a lot coming from the fuckingsupermodel,” Shitty says, elbowing Nursey lightly in the side. “You lookfucking sw’awesome man, I can’t even with that shit.”

         “Chill, Shits,” Nursey says, fidgeting a bit insheepishness. “You’ll make Lardo jealous.”

         Lardo meets his eyes, dead serious, and says, “I’d leavehim for you in a heartbeat,” which means they’re all laughing as the elevatordoors open.

         Everyone except Farmer and Chowder are in the lobbyalready, Bitty fretting at Jack’s tie and hair, Ollie and Wicks playing somegame on Wicks’ phone, and everybody else milling around talking. Tango perks upwhen he sees Nursey, getting up and coming over to give him a hug. “It’s greatto see you,” Tango says, eager like a puppy, and Nursey realizes how much he’smissed Tango’s energy.

         “Same, bro,” he says, smiling, and he offers a fist-bump toWhiskey, who follows Tango around mostly like a guard dog, but the unassuming,probably not harmful kind. Whiskey accepts the bump and nods back.

         “Nursey, you look wonderful,” Bitty says as he comes over.Nursey bends down to receive his hug.

         “Same, Bits, nice tan.” Bitty pulls back and smiles, ahandful of freckles across his nose, and Nursey thinks that it’s ratherproblematic that just the presence of freckles makes Nursey even more attractedto Bitty.

         “I have almost no tan lines,” Bitty says, proud, and Jacklooks like he’s choking from behind him. Bitty smirks, because he always knowswhat he’s doing. Nursey blanches because these are his hockey parents and no please don’t wanna know.

         Farmer and Chowder come out from the elevator at thatmoment, a bit rumpled and breathless. Chowder greets everybody happily, huggingNursey because he’s the closest, and when they pull back Nursey gives him araised eyebrow. Chowder beams. “Farmer is downright beautiful in her dress,” hesays, not even apologetic about literally looking like he just had sex.

         Nursey can forgive him, as Farmer does look gorgeous in hersoft green dress, and he tells her as much as he gives her a kiss on the cheekin greeting. “Thank you,” she says, breathless. “Chris didn’t wrinkle it, didhe?” She looks down at herself inquiring and Nursey relieves her of her worry.

         “We should get going,” Lardo says, after everyone’s greetedone another long enough to satisfy.

         “Who’s going in what car?” Ford asks, which is an importantquestion. Every car needs a designated driver and everyone needs to be matchedup with someone who’s probably going to leave at the same time so no one getsannoyed.

         Nursey ends up back in the minivan with all the same peopleexcept for Jack, who goes with Ollie, Wicks, and Bitty in the car Ollie rented,because he’s a little older than everyone else in his year. Ford Ubers withFarmer and Chowder, so none of them have to abstain, and Tango and Whiskey taketheir own Uber for unknown reasons. They all reach the venue at about the sametime, and everyone in cars leaves them with the valet. The venue is awaterfront country-club-esque place. It’s very white, very flowy andpicturesque, and Nursey thinks it’s a beautiful place to get married, though hewas picturing more simple, going off his image of Dex. Though, he knows, justbecause Dex is plain and simple doesn’t mean his aunt is.

         There’s a giant sign reading “Gallagher-Nhung Wedding” thatdirects them towards a doorway, and as they all move to follow its directions,Lardo says, mostly to herself but next to Nursey, “A Vietnamese guy.” Her voiceis unassuming, but Nursey knows what she means; they probably won’t have todeal with too many racists then.

         “Why does it say Gallagher?” Tango asks, because he’s nevermet a question he didn’t ask.

         “It’s Dex’s mom’s sister,” Chowder explains, holding thedoor for Farmer, then Jack and Bitty. “It’s his mom’s maiden name.”

         When they’re all inside, they’re in a big room that looksback towards a deck with a water view and there’s an arching ceiling and somecouches spread around for people who have to wait. There’s a check-in deskwhere a woman in a vest with a nametag is talking to someone on the phone, anda spot above a fireplace’s mantelpiece displays sailing memorabilia. There are afew people milling about, one or two of them with red hair, so Nursey assumesthey’re in the right place. But they’re not so early that they should be theonly ones here, and Dex implied that it was a big wedding, so Nursey alsoassumes that there’s another place people are waiting.

         General questioning murmurs ensue throughout the group,and Nursey is just about to suggest asking the woman at the desk for help whenhe sees Dex coming in through some double doors near the back of the room. He’sjust in a button-up light blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hishair is a bit messy, and he looks frazzled and a little sweaty, possibly fromrunning around. He’s gorgeous, to put it simply, and Nursey’s breath hitches atseeing him for the first time in more than a month. His moms have been makingfun of him all summer for the way he walks about Dex and the way he reacts togetting Snapchats and texts from him, and he’s sure they’d roast him now forwhatever mushy look is on his face, but damn, Dex is pretty.

         “Hey guys,” he greets them, out of breath. “The ceremony isout back on the water.” He rolls his eyes fondly. “My ma keeps saying that wewon’t be able to hear anything ‘cause the seagulls, but it should be niceanyway.” He shakes his head and takes a needed breath. “You can head on backand sit on the Gallagher side. There’s already a bunch of redheads there, youcan’t miss it.” This he says with a look to Nursey, who laughs despite himself.Dex smiles in response, so Nursey knows that’s what he was looking for, and hegrins once he mellows out.

         “Sounds good, hun,” Bitty says, pulling Dex into a hug.“Everything alright? You seem winded.”

         Dex hugs back, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just��cause I’m the only guy in Cindy’s wedding party she’s been making me run aroundall over the place trying to find veils and bouquets and boutonnieres.” Hepulls back from the hug and gestures at himself. “I promise I won’t look likethis for the wedding. I managed to clean up somewhat.” He smiles,self-deprecating, and Nursey’s too busy wondering how he’s going to deal with aDex even more attractive than this one to protest. “Thank you guys so much forcoming. It means a lot.”

         “Got your back, man,” Ransom says, grinning.

         “Even at weddings.” Holster nods, solemnly.

         Dex grins lopsidedly, a bit goofy and probably tired, andsays, “I love you guys.” Nursey wonders if he’s already dipped into thechampagne, or if maybe the wedding is just making him sentimental. Either way,everyone “aw’s” and crowds in for a big group hug.

         “Will!” They all turn to see a red-headed woman, her hairup in intricate braids, wearing a long, white dress with beading andlacework all down it poking her head out of a doorway. She gestures with abouquet. “I need your help with my shoes! Nessa lost them!”

         “Be right there!” Dex calls back. He turns to them with atired grin. “See you guys out there,” he says before turning and jogging off tojoin the woman, presumably Cindy, the bride, in whatever room she returned to.

         “Well,” Bitty says, clapping his hands together, “shallwe?”

         They all find their way to the back deck, which sits abovethe sand only barely, fairly close to the water. People have already filled agood portion of the seats, so the group takes the up the next unfilled row onthe right side, labeled the Gallagher side, and settles in. Nursey ends up withChowder on one side and Shitty on the other, and he fidgets a bit as he waits. Theceremony should be easy, as all he really has to do is be quiet and listen, buthe’s still kind of dreading the ceremony. Despite whatever he said to hisreflection in a fit of self-esteem boosting, he doesn’t know how charming thePoindexters is going to go. He assumes they’ll be too preoccupied with thebride herself to actually care about Nursey too much, but he still doesn’t wantto make a bad impression.

         He’s being stupid, he knows, because it’s not like Dex isgoing to ever return his feelings anyway, and, even if by some miracle he did,he’d likely never introduce Nursey to his family as anything more than afriend. No offense to Dex or his relatives or anything, but going by how Dexacted when he first came to Samwell, his family is probably just asconservative and uncomfortable with ~the gays~ as Dex was. Nursey has no reasonto make a good impression, as he’ll probably never see any of Dex’s relativesever again, which makes his stomach drop just a bit despite himself.

         Shitty must notice, as he’s always had a sixth-sense whenit comes to his friends’ shitty moods, because he looks over at Nursey with aquestioning frown. But before he can ask after Nursey, music starts up,announcing the beginning of the wedding party, and Nursey frowns, looking towardsthe altar. There the officiant stands, wearing the traditional garb of a priestand/or pastor (Nursey doesn’t know the technical term), but no groom. Where’sthe Nhung guy Aunt Cindy is marrying?

         The wedding party starts coming, but they’re strange. Itchanges, but sometimes it’s a girl and a guy and sometimes it’s two girls ortwo guys, which is unlike any other wedding Nursey’s been to. Usually it’s agroomsman and a bridesmaid, but Cindy apparently mixed it up? Dex walks downthe aisle with a young Vietnamese girl on his arm, the pair of them lookingbeautiful and beaming. He looks great, now wearing a jacket and tie, even witha little boutonniere in his lapel. His eyes rove over the crowd, straying fromthe end of the aisle, and Nursey swears that Dex smiles when he meets Nursey’sgaze.

         The wedding party ends with a single woman walking down theaisle, someone Nursey recognizes from Dex’s pictures as Dex’s mom. She must bethe matron of honor, though Nursey has no idea if the wedding processional isfollowing any kind of order. The ring bearer comes next, a little Vietnameseboy in a little suit, carrying a pillow in his hands, staring at the rings withan intense concentration, so much so that he nearly walks into a chair liningthe aisle. He must’ve been told to watch after the rings so he didn’t losethem, Nursey assumes. The boy is followed by a little girl in a flowered dress,holding a basket and dropping out flowers in clumps of wrinkled white petals.She goes and stands next to Dex when she’s done, beaming proudly.

         Finally, the bride arrives on her father’s arm, grinningwithout restraint, and Nursey is still puzzled at where the groom couldpossibly be. Still, he watches her graceful descent down the aisle, her fathercrying by the time they reach the altar. He kisses her cheek before sittingdown in the one empty seat in the front row, and Cindy moves to stand at thealtar. Then her eyes widen and her grin mellows into a soft, breathtaking smileas she stares at something at the other end of the aisle, and Nursey turns tosee what she’s looking at and-

         And it’s a Vietnamese woman, Nhung presumably, in abeautiful, simple white dress, holding a bouquet with the hand not curledaround her father’s elbow. It’s at that moment that Nursey realizes- it’s alesbian wedding.

*~*~*

         The ceremony is beautiful, and everyone is cry-laughinghalfway through Cindy’s vows as she promises to only complain minimally aboutLisa’s (her bride’s) stinky feet until death do they part. When the ceremony isover, and the brides have run down the aisle (Cindy picking Lisa up halfwaydown it and carrying her the rest of the way) all of the guests stand up tomove to the reception area, which a kindly employee at the country club informsthem is “Just over there”. The Samwell group waits to let some of the elderfamily members go first, and Nursey sees on everyone’s faces the same thing hefeels; surprise.

         Bitty is the first one to speak. “I-” he says, then stops.He shakes his head and smiles. “That wasn’t what I was expecting.”

         “Me neither,” Chowder says brightly, tear stains on hischeeks. “But it was beautiful.”

         Shitty shakes his head somberly. “Shame on us, brahs, forheteronormatively assuming that-” Lardo shuts him up by hitting him in theshoulder.

         “I digged Cindy’s hair,” she says, nodding. “I need to findout who did it.”

         “Those braids were mad pretty,” Ransom agrees, as hewatches YouTube hair tutorials to calm down sometimes when he’s stressed.

         “We’d better get to the reception area,” Bitty says, asmost of the other guests have filtered out already. “Find our seats.”

         They all start moving, but still Nursey is stuck in awe,staring at the altar at which two women were just married in the presence ofDex’s entire extended family and no one objected a bit. He can’t help butwonder, hope, wonder some more, and then conclude that he has to make a damngood impression, just in case.

*~*~*

         The reception is sw’awesome. While the food is prepared,everyone is up on the dancefloor, moving along to an assortment of songs thatrange from dad rock to pop to country. Dex doesn’t get a chance to stop byagain to say hi, consumed by his numerous relatives, but Nursey doesn’t mind.He ends up dancing with a few of Dex’s cousins, and then slow dances with Fordafter the newlyweds’ first dance. When they all sit down for the appetizers,Dex is sat at their table, somehow, and talks with everyone around him, bubblyand happy and grinning. Nursey doesn’t get a chance to say much aside fromtelling him he walked funny as he went down the aisle (which he didn’t) towhich Dex laughed and leaned into Nursey’s side, which Nursey ended up smilingat his plate at for a while afterwards.

         In between courses they dance, and they chat and drink andhave a merry time all around. The food is delicious, the music is good, and thecompany is great, and Nursey can’t even remember what he was so worried aboutwhen he and everyone else in the room are singing along to Call Me Maybe afterone of Dex’s younger cousins got ahold of the playlist.

         After the Cha-Cha Slide, Nursey leaves the dancefloor to goget himself a drink (a Coke, as he told himself he wasn’t going to drink and hemeant it) and someone slides up nextto him at the bar. He turns and is surprised to see it’s Dex, grinning and abit out of breath from the dancing. “Hey,” he says, casual, as if Nurseydoesn’t want to grab him by his stupid ears and kiss the ever-loving shit outof him.

         “Hey,” Nursey says back, chill, because he’s an idiot.

         “Having a good time?” Dex asks, and at Nursey’s nod hesmiles, soft, and says, “Good, I hoped you would.”

         Nursey raises his eyebrows. “Not all the guys? Just mepersonally?” It sounds flirty and he curses himself for making a fool ofhimself, but Dex just grins, his cheeks only a little pinker.

         “Of course, Nurse.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s alwayspersonal with you.” Nursey knows it’s a chirp, but something about the way Dexsays it makes Nursey swallow hard.

         “It wasn’t what I was expecting,” Nursey says, to changethe subject before he projectile word-vomits feelings all over Dex’s nicebutton up (he ditched the jacket after the appetizers, and lost the tie too, sonow his collar is undone and flashing freckled collarbone and is way too much). “But it’s really nice.”

         Dex nods, motioning at the bartender for a drink he must’veordered already a few times tonight, because the bartender knows what he wantswithout asking. “Yeah, it’s a bit over the top, but Cindy wanted a betterwedding than her brother, my uncle Quinn, who is stewing in anger over in thecorner as aunt Abby laughs at him.”

         Nursey debates it for a moment before saying, “That’s notwhat I meant,” because he is nothing if not an annoying catalyst to all of hisand Dex’s conversations.

         Dex looks over at him, this time his eyebrows raised. “Youmean the gay thing?” Nursey just nods. Dex looks back at the bar, all thedrinks on display. Behind the shelves of drinks is a mirror and Nursey can seeDex’s reflection in it as he frowns a little. “It wasn’t great, in thebeginning. Cindy came out while she was at college and most of the familydidn’t know how to take it, at first. She’s the youngest of my mom’s siblings,except for Nessa, and Nessa’s always acted older than she was- anyway, she wasthe baby and everyone adored her, but they didn’t really understand?” Dexgrimaces for a second before his expression smooths out. “No one really talkedabout it for a few years, but then she brought Lisa home and told everyone theyhad to deal with or she wouldn’t ever come back again, and they did. No onewanted to lose her.”

         “Everyone seemed fine today,” Nursey says lightly.

         “Oh yeah.” Dex shakes his head, his expression returning toits earlier easiness. “Everyone’s fine now, really. A few of my cousins havecome out, and Dani even started transitioning last year, and everyone gets herpronouns right now, even when smashed.” Dex smiles a little. “Cindy started it,though. She made it okay.”

         “You must be really proud of her,” Nursey says, smilingback.

         “I was fifteen when she brought Lisa home. I just got myfirst boyfriend and I was terrified that I’d be disowned, then I found out mymom had been going to PFLAG meetings since Cindy’d come out to her a decadeearlier and I felt like an idiot.” He smiles, thanking the bartender as hehands Dex his drink. He takes a sip and turns to look at Nursey. “She’s mysuperhero.”

         Nursey blinks, trying not to let his surprise at Dex’squeerness show on his face. He remembers his moms talking, sometimes, aboutwhat it was like when they came out to their families, how it took time toadjust and how some people never did, and he’s grateful for everything theygave him, especially the environment in which his coming out consisted ofsaying “I think Buffy is cute, but not as cute as Angel” at the dinner table ona random day he doesn’t really remember.

         He looks at Dex, the pride in his smile and slant of hisshoulders and how comfortable he looks with himself in that moment, and hewants to tell Dex how much he loves him.

         But Chowder comes up behind them in that moment, throwinghis arms over their shoulders and informing them that they’re about to cut thecake, and Nursey doesn’t get the chance.

*~*~*

         The reception winds down a little earlier than Nurseyexpected, but the younger guests are getting tired and it did start early.Everyone at the table is getting ready to go, except for Whiskey and Tango wholeft twenty minutes ago when Tango got too tipsy to form full questions. Nurseypulls on his suit jacket, wishing he could stay longer to try and get somealone time with Dex, when the devil himself shows up to see them all off.

         Dex makes his way around the group, hugging and kissing andthanking them for coming, and he finally gets to Nursey at the very end. Hehugs Nursey close, unexpectedly so, and all Nursey can do is nod dumbly inresponse to Dex asking, in his ear, “Want me to drive you back to the hotel?”Dex says he’ll be back, he just has to say goodnight to the brides, and thenhe’s gone in a whirlwind, leaving Nursey to speculate on why Dex could possiblywant to drive him back to the hotel alone.

         He begs off when Lardo tells Nursey they’re leaving, butshe doesn’t ask why, just gives him a knowing look that Nursey hopes means thathe’s right, this means something. Dexcomes back ten minutes later with his keys and a blush, and he leads Nursey outto the parking lot. Dex brings him to a rusting blue pickup that Nursey has seenin Snapchats the past two summers and he gets into the passenger side with asmile.

         It’s a stick-shift and watching Dex maneuver it makes hismouth go dry, which is fine because they don’t talk the whole way there. Dexknows the way to the hotel without directions and Nursey is silent, watchingDex drive and wondering about improbable implications. They reach the hotelsoon enough that the silence doesn’t become awkward and Dex parks and turns offthe engine. He turns to Nursey and asks, “Can I come up for a minute? I wantto- talk.”

         Nurseynods, so Dex follows him out of the truck and into the hotel lobby. Nurseyfeels his heart start racing as the implications become more and more probablewith every step Dex takes behind him as they get into the elevator. He fidgetsin place after he presses the button for his floor and the doors close. Theystill don’t say anything as they reach Nursey’s floor, not as they reach hisroom and Nursey opens the door, not even as the door to the hotel room shutsclosed behind them and they’re left standing in the hallway, quiet andthrumming with anticipation.

         “I’m not-” Dex pauses. “I’m not good with words like youare so I’m just going to-to do it and if I’m wrong we’ll deal with it later, okay?”Before Nursey can reply, Dex is in his space, cupping Nursey’s jaw so carefullywith one hand, and pressing their mouths together. Nursey hums, devastatedinstantly with just that one press of lips, and grips at Dex’s suit jacket totry and stay grounded. Dex pulls back for a fraction of a second and re-slotstheir lips together and it’s perfect, it’s warmth and comfort and coming homeand everything he’s been waiting for, and then Dex parts his lips and Nursey isgone.

         He loses himself in it, the give and take, the smooth skinof Dex’s lips and the calluses of his hand rough against Nursey’s cheek, the absolute needNursey has for the soft sounds Dex keeps muffling in Nursey’s mouth. They kissand keep kissing until Nursey forgets what it was like before Dex’s lips wereon his and he hopes he never has to remember again, and it’s then that Dexpulls back, breathing hard with his forehead against Nursey’s, and Nursey hasto figure out how to breathe again.

         “I love you,” he says, the second he has enough air in hislungs, because his mama has always said he’s an impulsive boy. “I know it’s toomuch, but I do, and fuck please never stop kissing me.” He curls his fingers inDex’s jacket tighter, pulling him impossibly closer.

         “I won’t,” Dex says, and kisses the corner of Nursey’smouth. “I promise, I won’t.”

         “God, we’re so gay,” Nursey says, laughing against Dex’scheek, and Dex bursts into surprised laughter, leaning even further intoNursey, and somehow they end up hugging each other, laughing like idiots, justlike that.

[danieledorazi]

Sustainable Fashion Practices / The Uniform

‘Colacello, who worked at Interview for years and was among Warhol’s inner circle, says his 60s look of “silvery white wig, dark wraparound sunglasses, black turtleneck under black leather jacket, black boots and, yes, blue jeans – was calculated to create a cool, hip, rebellious, even a bit sinister image. And it succeeded.” By the time Colacello met him in 1970, only the jeans remained. The rest had been replaced with Oxford shirts, conservative ties, clear-framed glasses and cord jackets. “The suit-jacket-and-jeans look became the Factory look, preppy and businesslike but more edgy than corporate,” he says. “We all found this combination comfortable because we could go from an uptown dinner party to a downtown loft party and fit in, while also being a bit different.”’

‘'Hip, rebellious, even a bit sinister': how Andy Warhol made pop art fashion’ - The Guardian

Black & White

Want to be sustainable & fashionable? Dress in black (or navy, or even white, or olive green, orange, too, why not?). Easy. Although we say “green fashion”, colours are related to season and the moment. Today is all about salmon and mustard, tomorrow it will be flaming hot whatever, and you’ll dump that mustard jersey. Stick to black, it will be forever cool and en vogue, it’s easier to keep it clean than other colours (think about white!), it makes you look good, serious, smart (and thinner).

The uniform is the game

Many great creative forces of the fashion universe dress always the same - check this article on Fashionista: ‘15 DESIGNERS WHO ALWAYS WEAR THE SAME THING’, featuring:

Carolina Herrera

Yohji

Prabal Gurung

Vera Wang

Alber Elbaz

Olivier Rousteing

Riccardo Tisci

Michael Kors

Karl Lagerfeld

Giorgione Armani

Jason Wu

Thom Browne

Raf Simons

Tom Ford

Alexander Wang

A uniform is travel-friendly

An interesting read on the topic: Jason’s ‘Travel Essentials: The Uniform’.

‘Packing light

Choosing to wear a uniform eliminates options, which reduces the number of items needed to put outfits together.

One less decision

Additionally, the simplicity removes a decision from my morning. And while I’m not making hundreds of critical decisions every day, I do want to cut down on decision fatigue as much as possible to leave that mental space available for the decisions I actually care about.

Keep it simple

The entire goal of a uniform is to simplify your wardrobe, not add a bunch of extra work to it. I should be looking at what I already wear most of the time, and putting my uniform together from there.

Keep It Flexible

Since I won’t be traveling with a full closet, my uniform needs to be appropriate for any situation I find myself in. Can I wear it to a fancy steak dinner at an upscale restaurant? A dive bar? A business meeting?

When you start putting together your uniform, consider three factors:

What do I actually feel comfortable wearing?

What type(s) of weather should I be expecting?

What kind(s) of events, venues, and situations will I find myself in?’

It’s also a branding exercise

From Forbes: ‘Steve Jobs Always Dressed Exactly the Same. Here's Who Else Does’.

‘William Arruda, a personal branding guru and author of Ditch. Dare. Do!, says this practice can be part of personal branding. “They wear what they wear because that's what they feel comfortable wearing,” he says. “When you wear something that just feels right, you are confident. And it is also great to have a trademark look. It makes you memorable and distinctive.”

“Famous business people and politicians are known to be consistent with their wardrobe because it's their brand identity,” says Dan Schawbel, founder of Millennial Branding and author of Me 2.0. “It's who they are, how they want to represent themselves and make a statement. It's not about what you wear, but what you accomplish. [Mark] Zuckerberg, for instance, wears casual clothing because he represents the entire generation of young people who don't want to wear suits to work.”

This week, the Facebook CEO told NBC's TODAY host Matt Lauer that he owns "maybe about 20" identical grey T-shirts. Zuckerberg said, "I mean, I wear the same thing every day, right? I mean, it's literally, if you could see my closet at home."

We also found a number of notable people who wear all black, all white—or a combo of the two—all the time.

Author and journalist Tom Wolfe began wearing his trademark white suits in 1962, while Johnny Cash’s all-black dress earned him the nickname “The Man In Black,” around the same time.

“Consistency of all kinds is what builds brands,” Schawbel says. “People who wear the same thing, have a catch phrase or two, and associate with the same people are more memorable than those who don't. It says this is who I am and this is what I enjoy. I think it's a rather positive thing that helps people identify with them and allows them to just be themselves.”’

Uniform vs Conspicuous consumption

We now live in sober times, where bragging is for the uncool and the nouveau riche - get a uniform, and you won’t be victim of conspicuous consumption, i.e. ‘the spending of money on and the acquiring of luxury goods and services to publicly display economic power—of the income or of the accumulated wealth of the buyer. To the conspicuous consumer, such a public display of discretionary economic power is a means of either attaining or maintaining a given social status.

The development of Thorstein Veblen's sociology of conspicuous consumption produced the term invidious consumption, the ostentatious consumption of goods that is meant to provoke the envy of other people; and the term conspicuous compassion, the deliberate use of charitable donations of money in order to enhance the social prestige of the donor, with a display of superior socio-economic status.’

Read more here.

Dystopian Fashion is lit

According to Hollywood, TV series and Netflix, zombies are coming for us - wearing stiletto shoes won’t save you, techwear will.

From Stone Island to Y-3, via Rick Owens, many brands offer a stylish yet sporty-esque approach to fashion. Some of them are blatantly into uniforms, ant the related concepts.

Kiko Kostadinov

“I want to do things that help me live in the city. You go to meetings and you need a bag that can hold a charger for your phone, headphones, a notebook et cetera. I’m not saying you need to have a hundred pockets as that’s fictional function, but it needs to be really comfortable and interesting.”

“It’s all about the cut and finishing — I hate decoration,” says Kostadinov, whose own uniform consists of Yohji Yamamoto workwear. “There’s nothing worse than finding a pair of trousers that are cut great but covered in straps and buttons that don’t do anything.”

Craig Green

“I remember at school when you had a non-uniform day, the poorer kids would feel really self-conscious because they’d have to wear normal clothes all of a sudden, compared to the rich kids who had flashy Nike trainers. I remember my mom saying it gets rid of that idea of what you have or how much money you have and it makes you as one. It can be seen as a negative thing because it’s anti-expression, maybe, but then it can be seen as a protective thing emotionally, as well.”

From Grailed: ‘Given his upbringing and personal attraction to the idea of a “uniform,” it’s no surprise that workwear and uniforms have become another recurring theme in his collections. This includes a literal take on the idea of “uniforms,” like Fall/Winter 2016’s references to hazmat suits, and Fall/Winter 2017’s riffs on uniforms of various seafaring folk. Working outside of the typical fashion cycle, Green even designed many of the military uniforms used in the filming of Alien: Covenant. If you look closely enough while watching, you can even see his now-signature vertical quilting.

There’s another, albeit more abstract sense of “uniforms” that flows throughout his collections. It’s a uniformity of humanistic bent—one that’s concerned with the democratic ideas associated with work and a shared human experience. The specifics often shift from collection to collection, while retaining a running theme. According to Green, Spring/Summer 2017 was “initially based around the Scout scarf...That symbolism of ‘belonging’ to something”.

Think back to Spring/Summer 2015 too, with its barefoot models and pure, effortless designs, takes on not-so-subtle religious undertones. Pause on that for a moment: religious officials wear codified uniforms too. It may be difficult to tackle appropriately, but season after season, Craig Green takes them on in effortless fashion, producing collections that always seem to go beyond “just clothes.”’

The uniform: a life changer?

According to this article on StyleCaster, it is - ‘6 Ways Uniform Dressing Changed My Life’.

‘Here are the six biggest ways uniform dressing has changed my life for the better.

Never Being Late

Extra Closet Space

More Free Mental Space

No Longer a Slave to Trends

Becoming a Smarter Shopper

Packing is a Breeze

Last but not least - David Lynch.

MODS MODS MODS!

Great article on mods and fashion: ‘The Mod Suit: How a Uniform Defined a Subculture’.

“In his essay “Noonday Underground,” Tom Wolfe noted, “these kids have found a way to drop out almost totally from class-job system into a world they control.”“