#and those are like one of the few names for radio messages for space i think | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mindtrcks · 6 months ago

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mutually assured destruction | LN4

He fucks girls like look nothing like you, so he won't slip up and say the wrong name, or something equally mortifying.

WC: 8.7k

Notes: coworkers to enemies to lovers, fuckboy lando lite, smut, there must be hurt before there can be comfort!

The thing is, you don't really like him.

Lando has seen the pictures, press conferences where your mouth is pressed into a line, as far away from him on the couch as you could possibly get away with, as close to rolling your eyes at him as your press manager would let slide. Lando knows he’s not for everybody, loud and admittedly verging on obnoxious. Chat calls him a gremlin sometimes; once, on a team radio message, you called him nightmare Norris because he didn't get off the racing line in time for you to pass.

So he knows you don't really like him, just as well as he knows what your face looks like when the cameras catch you unaware, peaceful and alone in your garage, humming to music. He knows it as well as he knows how your white fireproofs make you look like some sort of angel, skin made to glow by the untarnished fabric. He knows you dislike him as well as he knows that, despite his best efforts, he really, really likes you.

He’s embarrassing with it, it’s true. People online tell him to stand up, whenever they zoom in to his face in those press conference photos. You, looking like you want to be anywhere else, and Lando, looking like he wants you. His need is so clear on his face he's sure you know about it; honestly, he's sure everybody knows about it. Once Twitter gets a hold of something, it's hard to keep it contained. It leaks into the comments on the official f1 Instagram; fans hold up signs with both his face and yours in the grandstands. You never say anything, so Lando tries to ignore it. Sometimes, though, he catches himself staring in a way he knows is far too obvious. You wear leggings in the paddock one day and Lando fully turns around to watch your ass as you walk away. He freezes and prays to God there's no cameras, but of course, there always are.

All of this to say: you don’t like Lando, for reasons maybe having to do with his personality and maybe having to do with how obviously he wants to kiss you. And so whenever Zak tells him that they're working on a contract with you for the upcoming season, Lando is honestly a bit flabbergasted.

“We still got some kinks to work out,” he clarifies, probably at the look on Lando’s face. “But it's looking good so far. You’ll still be the first driver, of course.”

“Oh,” Lando says, unable to really think of anything else. “Bet she's not happy about that.”

Zak grimaces. “No, she is not. But we’re thinking about getting rid of the performance clause. Her manager says that’ll tide her over.”

Lando’s eyebrows raise, on their own accord. There are very few drivers without performance clauses in their contract. It’s a fail-safe for most teams, something to use in case of emergency. Lando has one. They've never threatened to use it, but it's there.

His face must be doing some strange things, because Zak lifts his hands up in concession. “Look, I wanted to run it by you first. There’s options, if you don't think she’ll, uh, play nice. We just think she’ll be able to fight for big points, right up there with you.”

And yeah, obviously you will be able to fight for points. It seems like your car is always just right in front of him, shaving off time in qualifying that he can't catch up to, never leaving him space to pass on Sundays. That won't happen if you’re his teammate. You’ll have orders to let him through, seeing as you play nice, like Zak had said. Lando will finally be able to get some podiums, maybe a win.

Not to mention, if you’re his teammate, you’ll be contractually obligated to spend time with him. He and you will film videos for the YouTube channel together. You’ll be with him in fanzones and meetings and the motorhome. He’ll have more time to memorize the way your hair falls down your shoulders, the way you tuck it behind your ears and fiddle with loose strands. He’ll be able to see what you look like when your fireproofs are black, when you wear the same colors as him.

“She’s definitely a good choice,” he tells Zak. He tries to toe the line between willing and overly enthusiastic, hoping that he isn't edging too close to the latter. “If you’ve got to get rid of the performance clause, so be it.”

Zak pats him on the shoulder, and then pulls out his phone to send a text.

—

They announce you in the middle of the European triple header.

McLaren cross-posts a graphic of you walking through the paddock, wearing an unassuming gray t-shirt but smirking at the camera like you’ve got a secret, or like you’re a winner. It sits pretty in the Instagram feed, right next to a picture of Lando. He stares at it for a really long time, and then turns off his phone so he doesn't do something crazy, like save a screenshot to his camera roll.

You post a very professional statement on Twitter, about being excited for the future but hoping to finish this season strong. Lando likes the post from his official account, and then convinces himself that sending you a text would be a normal thing to do.

Looking forward to next year! he types, chewing on his cheek. Expecting big steps forward with the car

He waits about an hour before he gets a reply, an unassuming thanks that could've been one of the auto-replies at the top of the keyboard. He should leave it at that. Should close out of the conversation. At most, he could like the message. But the same part of his brain that makes him stare at your ass in the middle of the paddock makes him type out another reply, wincing even before he sends it.

And I’ll try not to be weird

Sorry

You reply right away this time.

i’m sure you’ll try :)

Lando closes his phone and lets out a shaky breath. He knew that you were aware of his schoolboy crush, but to have you acknowledge it like that, in a text that will be immortalized on his phone and in his iCloud drive forever…it makes him feel a little crazy. He needs to go on a run or something, needs to drive a car.

Instead, he settles for shamefully typing your name into TikTok, and watching everything that comes up. Even the fan cams, which all seem to include a clip of you lifting the bottom of your polo to wipe your mouth. Lando is big enough to admit it's not your face he looks at.

—

The season seems to drag on, now that he knows what’s to come after winter break. He middles around fourth place in almost every race. The team still celebrates. Lando still celebrates.

Best of all, girls still celebrate. Models with their own black cards let him spend money on them, and take them back to his hotel rooms. He fucks girls who look nothing like you, because then he won't slip up and say the wrong name, or something equally mortifying. A few of them like him well enough to stay around, put their numbers in his phone. Getting a blow job has never been easier.

There's one time, at some gala or another, celebrating how the season is coming to an end, where Lando drinks a bit too much champagne and accidently goes home with a different girl than he came in with. You spot him leaving and pull a face like you can't decide if you could get away with laughing at him or not. Instead, you make a crude motion involving your tongue and your cheek, and it's almost worse.

—

Lando goes home to Monaco over winter break. He streams, and facetimes with Max, and generally spends less time thinking about you. It's easier when you’re so far away; all he has to do is avoid Instagram and it's almost like you don’t even exist. If he can't see the photos of you, playing paddle with friends and going on bike rides with your trainer, then he can't be weird about them.

There is one time, when he sees a fan-captured photo of you on what seems to be a date, looking uninterested. Bored, even. He’s a little drunk and it's late at night and he thinks, stupidly, I could show her a better time than that. He pulls up his shirt and uploads a story of his abs under the guise of advertising the LN4 sweatpants he's wearing. And then stares at his notifications, waiting for a reply.

You don’t send one. Why would you?

He scrolls through the viewers looking for your name, and then feels weird and deletes it, hoping you never even see it. He needs to get better at avoiding Instagram, if he wants to pretend like he’s stopped thinking about you.

—

At the first team meeting of the 2024 season, you’re wearing a McLaren team kit.

Lando stares. He can't stop staring, actually. He thought it was bad before, but the sight of you, in his colors and on his team, walking around the MTC that has his branding everywhere, makes it so much worse. At least there's no cameras around, he thinks. His longing can't be captured and shared with the world in an Instagram carousel.

But you don’t need cameras to catch on. He’s sitting next to you at the long glass table, and every time Lando glances over, you eventually notice, catching his eye with an unimpressed frown. “Is this you trying?” you ask, under your breath. Just for him.

Lando’s too distracted by the slope of your jaw and the specks of green in your eyes to figure out what you’re talking about. He just looks at you, like always.

You glance to the head of the table, where somebody is presenting some slides about something that doesn't concern Lando. You must decide you can get away with talking to him, because you spin your chair, just a little, so your ankle is touching his. “To not be weird,” you clarify, after you’ve already distracted him beyond the point of no return with the ankle thing. If you ask him, it’s practically footsie, which everybody knows is a precursor to sex. “Lando,” you say, your face like you can't believe it. “Is this your attempt at not being weird?”

With it spelled out like that, he remembers his text from last season. How he promised to be on his best behavior. “Sorry,” he says, blanching. When he sent that, he didn't anticipate how good you would look in orange. Papaya.

You make this face, like you’re trying and failing at not judging him. Instead of replying, you just focus your attention back on the boring slideshow. Worse though, you pull your foot away from his.

—

The season starts off well enough.

You aren't close enough to him in qualifying for him to worry. And Zak had promised him that he's number one, whether you like it or not. You finish one place behind him in Australia and don't fight him for the podium. After you’ve changed out of your race suit, he finds you outside his garage, ready to kneel on the other side of his P3 sign and smile for the picture. It’s fiercely satisfying to finally, finally be able to beat you, in equal machinery and everything. The podium cements Lando’s place as first driver, and you just grin and take it.

In hindsight, Lando really should have known.

—

“Would you have let me pass, if I was faster?” you ask him, shoved into his side at a private booth in a club Carlos had invited him to. You’re wearing a dress, silver and sparkly and itchy where it presses against his arm. Lando’s not sure how he's survived this far without doing something stupid, like looking at your tits. Or worse, touching your tits. They're like—right there. You're so close to him, and you’re his teammate, and McLaren got 27 points today, because you played nice, like Zak said.

Lando shrugs. You’re pressed so tight to him that the movement pushes you away for a moment. “You’re not faster,” he answers, because he figures it's nicer than just telling you no. It’s his first podium of the season, he wouldn't have let anybody pass. Not even with team orders. You don't need to know that.

He can see the movement in your jaw, and your throat, as you swallow. It’s late enough, and he's drunk enough, that he doesn't even pretend not to be looking. “Right,” you say, and then pull yourself away from him, like there's suddenly more room in the booth than before. Like it doesn't mean you have to sit with one leg hanging to the side, hunched over the table to hold yourself up.

Lando feels the distance acutely. He had been hot, overheating, before. Now he feels fine. Still, he wouldn't mind the stuffiness if it meant you would drape yourself over him again, like you belong there. Like you’re one of the girls he takes out with the promise of taking them back to his hotel room, or the club bathroom, or an unoccupied corner. But, no. This is just like all the press conferences. You distancing yourself because you don’t like him. Lando somehow pissing you off just by existing.

He takes a swig of his drink and resolves to find somebody who will treat him like he was just standing on the podium in a Formula One race.

—

Between Suzuka and Shanghai, there's a lot of media things to film, for the YouTube channel. Pictionary, a tour of the MTC, Tiktok trends that take an hour of work all for a fifteen second video. He’s scheduled to work an eight hour day, but instead of killing himself about it, Lando is instead cornered by you in an empty hallway, with nobody around but himself to keep him in check.

“Do you want to go to lunch with me?” you ask him, like that question is something his heart can handle.

“Yes,” he answers, and it comes out too fast. Eager, but it’s not like you don’t already know. He supposes that the benefit of being so obvious is that it decreases his capacity to feel shame. “What, like, now?”

You furrow your eyebrows at him—a look he’s grown well used to by now—and clarify, “During the break. It’s barely 10 a.m.”

“Oh.”

It’s silent for a second, something that only ever seems to happen to Lando when it’s you. But then you rock back on your heels and say, “I just figured it would be better than sitting in your car for an hour and a half.”

Which, yeah. He had just planned to mindlessly scroll through his phone until the next shoot started. But there’s no way he’ll be sated doing that now that he knows he can be with you instead. In front of him, you look a little nervous. Like you think Lando’s going to reject your offer, after he’s already said yes like it’s the only word he knows. “I don’t need convincing, mate,” he says, and your shoulders drop a little, the pinch between your eyebrows lessening. “I’ll drive.”

It’s a little bit bruising to his ego, when you scoff and say, “I’ll drive,” but it’s nothing he can’t handle.

—

In the hours before the break, Lando feels the kind of anxiety a little kid on Christmas eve feels, counting down the seconds until morning. He can’t get out of the building fast enough. He’s leaving with you. How many times has he thought about that? Knowing you well enough to leave together, to have things to talk about. Even if, in all fairness, his fantasies usually include a more R-rated climax than merely taking you to lunch.

Also, it would be him taking you to lunch. Not the other way around. But he’ll get over it. You drive fast and call him your passenger princess, so he doesn’t really have much to complain about.

Over sandwiches, you talk about music and your friends from home and moving to Monaco. He learns more about you in that hour and a half than he knows about any of the girls in his phone. Except for his mum, of course. It feels oddly intimate. Like, somebody could mention country music, and he would be able to say something about how you hate country music, and then people would know. They’d know that Lando gets to hear you talk about things like that. That you’re his friend, or something close. That despite what the internet seems to think, you don’t hate him, even if he acts stupid every time he’s around you and probably deserves all the times you’ve rolled your eyes at him in press conferences. Even if you from a year ago probably wouldn’t be caught dead getting lunch with him, here you are.

Lando pays, like it’s a date. There’s a glint in your eyes when you thank him.

—

The season is going well. Like, really well. He’s getting closer and closer to a win, the team slowly becoming competitive. He stops getting called little Lando Norris. You stop calling him a nightmare on the radio.

That’s the best part, he thinks. He and you are friends now. His iMessage thread with you consists of more than just the texts he sent last season, after your announcement. The conversations he has with you are starkly different compared to the other girls. He imagines sending a you up? text and has, like, a visceral reaction. No, instead he sends you completely non-sexual texts, invitations to more lunches, complaints about shitty sessions, and once, a picture of two cats he sees on the street, both suspiciously papaya in color, to which you respond with a string of heart emojis and the puppy dog eye one. At night sometimes, you send him Tiktok compilations of his own worst moments, along with messages like you’re lucky there’s no IQ test to race or were you dropped as a child? and he takes it all in good fun because at least you’re talking to him.

You don’t roll your eyes at him in press conferences anymore. You smile at him while he talks, and now it’s your face that people online zoom in on. It’s you they tell to stand up. Lando wonders if you felt this powerful, every time he tripped over his words around you, or got caught staring. He wonders if he should ask you out.

He’s working up the courage, when you suddenly start trying to kill him on the track.

It starts in Monaco. He’s in P2, and you’re right behind him, riding his ass. He takes a corner too wide and you divebomb him, forcing him even wider, veering off the track lest he wants you to clip his right rear. Somehow, he manages to hold the position for a clean last leg of the race. In the cooldown room, you chew on the straw of your water bottle and don’t look at him.

He tries to keep his voice quiet for the cameras, but he can’t stop himself from asking, can’t wait ‘til the two of you are alone. “Did I, like, do something to you?” he whispers. He doesn’t think the cameras will be able to pick it up, and Charles is kind enough to at least pretend to be watching the race replays instead of listening. “What was that about?”

The pirelli hat covers your eyes, but does nothing to hide the way your mouth slants into a frown. “I just wanted to win a race, like everybody else here.”

“Okay,” he says, trying to ignore how out of character that is. You’re mad, he gets it. But even last season when you were proper rivals, you didn’t talk to him like everything was pre-scripted. He guesses you didn’t really talk to him at all; maybe this is normal. Still, though, “You didn’t have to practically take me out. I was faster.”

You look up from your lap at that, and he can finally see your face behind the cap. Your eyebrows are set in a hard line, and your jaw is clenched tight. “And I was racing,” you tell him, voice clipped.

—

He texts you from the club that night. Hey today was weird, let's just put it behind us.

He doesn’t get a reply, so he texts a girl he knows will answer.

—

Two weeks later, and he and you have been scrapping for the past three laps. Too many close calls, in his opinion. He’s the first driver; he waits for the message to come through that you’ve been ordered to stop fighting, but the team radio stays silent.

Lando ends up sending a message, though. “She has to give back the position,” he says, after you’ve gotten ahead of him while driving over the track limits.

“Yes, she has the orders.”

It should be cut and dry. You gained an advantage off track, and now you’ve got to give it back. At the very least, Lando shouldn’t have to fight for it. But he does anyway, and gets a puncture for his troubles. He misses when you played nice.

He doesn’t try to talk to you afterwards, this time. He’s been left on read for the past two weeks. And if anything, you’re the one who owes him an apology.

—

It just sucks because—even though you’ve stopped replying to his texts, and you don’t respect him on the track anymore, and you’re sooner to sit next to a complete stranger than him at the clubs now—you’re unfortunately still his teammate. You’re still everywhere that he is, filming with WIRED and fighting to stay awake in team meetings and training in the hotel gym. Only now, he can’t talk to you without it being a fight. Whenever he catches your eye, you always look uninterested. Upset, even. Like you can’t even tolerate being around him.

(Don’t ask him why he keeps catching your eye. He’d have to tell the truth. That even with all of this, he still can’t stop staring at you. It feels like old times again; he wants you, and you want nothing to do with him.)

—

It’s after he gets his first DNF of the season because of you that he finally cracks. “What the hell is your problem?” he asks you, in the middle of the McLaren motorhome. He thinks it’s empty, but it’s not like he stopped to check. He doesn’t have the patience.

“I don’t have a problem,” you grin. “I just won a race.”

In the stale fluorescent lighting, he can see how your smile doesn’t meet your eyes. You look just as tired, just as angry, as you’ve looked every time he’s seen you for the past month. It makes Lando feel kind of sick. “I don’t understand you,” he says. “We were friends! Weren’t we? Until you decided that you want to kill me.”

Your grin falls off. “Right, because you’re an expert at clean racing.”

“Well I’m not just gonna roll over and take it.”

Your jaw clenches. He doesn’t know what you want from him. Right now, or on the track, or at all. You shouldn’t even be here. You should be in the garage, taking a team photo. He should be there to support you. But you came to the motorhome, where you knew he was sulking after you ruined his race. What, did you just want to antagonize him?

“Great! We understand each other perfectly, then,” you say, and Lando wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you. Clearly you don’t understand him, if you think you can relate to him in any way. There’s been nothing for you to roll over and take. He’s never fought you. He’s never had to. And sure, he’ll admit that he’s never been keen on letting you by, but if he knew it was between that and a crash out, of course he’d let you pass.

“I just don’t know what changed to make you suddenly hate my guts. More than you used to, at least,” he says, trying to calm himself down a bit. They’re not even halfway through the season. He can’t fight with you right now if he doesn’t want to spend the rest of the year dealing with the fall out.

In front of him, you stand with your arms crossed over your chest. The look in your eyes is firm, unyielding, but when you open your mouth to speak, you hesitate. “I thought you liked me,” you say, eventually.

It suddenly feels like all of the energy has been sucked out of the room, and Lando is unsure of how to reply. You swallow and close your eyes.

“I do,” he says, after a moment, because what? Yeah, he likes you. Everybody and their mothers know that he likes you. If it’s not written on his face at every moment, then it’s clear in the way he talks to you, the way he texts you. The way he spends time with you and tries not to badmouth you too badly, even when you do stupid shit like crash into him. People who don’t even know him know that he’s into you—how could you be unconvinced? “You have to be joking. Of course I like you. Haven’t you ever opened Twitter?”

When you open your eyes, it’s only to level a glare at him. He watches you smooth your hands out on the fabric of your race suit, and wonders if they had been clenched into fists before. “I’m not interested in joining your harem, Lando,” you say, succinct.

“What?” he blanches. He’s only half convinced he even knows what a harem is, and he deeply hopes it’s not what he thinks.

“Your many girlfriends, whatever. I don't wanna be one of them.”

Oh god, he thinks. Oh god, oh god. He can feel his hands start to get clammy, even as he asks, “What are you talking about?”

He knows. Of course he knows what you’re talking about, because even as he filmed it, as he answered yes to the guy’s stupid question—do you have many girlfriends?—he’d worried about what you would think if you saw it. At the time, he thought you would just judge him. He didn’t think you would take it seriously. He didn’t think it was even a thing to be taken seriously, not when you’d never expressed interest in him. Never even tried to stop him when he’d leave victory celebrations early with some girl who was clearly only after one thing

He watches you shift on your feet, crossing your arms tighter against yourself, like you’re the one with something to hide. “That dumb lie detector video you did.”

His mouth feels dry when he asks, “You watched it?”

“I saw it,” you correct, like that makes a difference.

If Lando were feeling more level-headed, he would probably be focused on apologizing, or explaining himself. “Do you watch my videos?” he asks instead. You inhale sharply, like you’ve been caught. You watch his videos, he thinks, almost delirious. He should’ve known, with some of the videos you’ve sent him. You don’t just happen upon those. He pictures you googling his name, or stalking fan TIktoks like he does. Saving edits to his favorites, like a psycho.

“It wasn't your video,” you say, flustered for the first time Lando has ever seen. “And that's not the point! I thought you liked me, but you were out—what, dating all these girls?”

“I’m not dating them—”

“—And just stringing me along? You just—you like to look at me, but you don’t actually like me. You don’t even like me as your teammate. Not unless I'm ‘rolling over and taking it.’ You’re always faster, so what’s the point of me even trying?”

Lando is having trouble processing all of this. He keeps thinking, all of this because you were jealous? Because you thought he had a harem of girlfriends he likes more than you? “You’re crazy.”

He knows, the moment the words come out of his mouth, that it’s the wrong thing to say. It’s wrong to say, period. He’d know it even if you didn’t flinch back like he hit you. Even if you didn’t cut your gaze away and grind your teeth.

The silence stretches on. Lando needs to apologize, but then you say, calm like a robot, “If you’re going to insult me, you might as well save it for the press.”

Lando watches you walk away, and for the first time in his life, feels at a loss for words.

—

Lando periodically checks your mum’s Instagram. He's not proud of it, but he figures what’s one more sprinkle on the him-being-obsessed-with-you cake? It’s not like it’s the most humiliating thing he’s done, not by a long shot. She posts a story—which he views from a burner account because he’s not that crazy—four hours after you walk out of the motorhome. It’s of you, sitting on a hotel bed and staring miserably at the camera. There’s a plastic spoon in your mouth and a pint of ice cream in your hand. The caption: A mom’s job never ends! Boy problems for my race winner. It’s accompanied by two emojis, a frowny face and a heart.

He looks from your face to the caption and back again. Your eyes are red-rimmed, like you’ve been crying. Your first win with McLaren, and because of him, you’re crying in a hotel room with your mum instead of celebrating.

He has to shut off his phone for a while, after that.

—

“Can I ask what the hell you did to your teammate?” George asks, the second Lando is within earshot.

It’s loud in the club. Lando’s pretty sure Charles has made his way behind the DJ booth. “I didn’t do anything,” he says, yelling a bit over the music.

George just squints his eyes. “Right. Where is she, then?”

Lando doesn’t want to think about you, crying in your hotel room with your mum and a carton of ice cream. He doesn’t want to admit that it’s probably all his fault. He takes a swig of the drink he’d been handed and asks, “Why would I know?” wincing when it comes out defensive, too defensive.

George lifts his hands in surrender, but Lando is too tired to fight, anyway. “You guys sort of come to these things together,” he explains.

Huh. Lando does come to these things with you, doesn’t he? He’s always just thought that it’s because it’s easy. You leave from the same hotel to get to the same club, where you talk to all the same people and do all the same things. Until he leaves with somebody else, he thinks, squeezing the plastic cup in his hand. He could have been going home with you, probably. If he had asked, would you have—

“Have you called her?” George asks.

Lando blinks. He hadn’t really thought of that, and from the look on George's face, he can tell. He digs his phone out of his pocket and finds your contact. It rings and rings, but you don’t answer. It’s a little humiliating for George to see, but he just hums and says, “Text her, then. Even if she doesn’t reply, she’ll see it.”

Lando winces. “She didn’t respond the last time I texted her. I don’t want to look—”

“Look what, Lando? Desperate? Like you’re into her?” George laughs, and it’s more humiliating than the fact that you didn’t answer when he called. “Mate, I think it’s a bit late for that.”

—

Lando finds the bathroom and types and deletes the following messages:

I’m sorry, can we talk?

I don’t have a harem

You’re not crazy

Please call me.

He presses his forehead against the wooden door and huffs out a breath. He wants a drink, but he settles on texting you, I want to apologize. Come to my hotel room later?

It sounds sleazy, he knows. Everything he could say would sound sleazy. But George was right, you do read the message. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he watches the three little dots appear and disappear again. He sits and stares for what must be at least five minutes, until finally he can read your message: ok.

He replies with his room number, and then high tails it back to the hotel, trying not to think about whether or not you discussed his message with your mum.

—

He paces back and forth in his hotel room for the better part of an hour before you finally knock.

“You don’t have to apologize,” you’re telling him, the moment he opens the door. You’re wearing what you’d been wearing in your mum’s Instagram story, a hoodie and sweatpants, your hair pulled up into a ponytail. “I shouldn’t have been taking my feelings out on you on track. I just wanted you, and I was pissed you didn’t want me. I didn’t—to me, it didn’t seem like I was being crazy, but—”

“You’re not crazy,” he sighs, closing his eyes. “I shouldn't have said that. I mean, maybe you drive a little crazy sometimes—”

You stomp on his foot, and he winces to the side. There’s a clear path for you to come into the room now, but you remain firmly in the hallway. “I thought you were apologizing,” you say, crossing your arms

“You just told me—” he starts, but cuts himself off with a sigh. He does want to apologize, not to fight. “No, you’re right. I am sorry. I don’t—there’s no harem, first of all. I don’t have any girlfriends. I have hook-ups.”

In the hallway, your lips press into a line. “Is this going somewhere? I don’t want to hear about your hook-ups, thanks.”

He’s not very good at this, he realizes. He wipes his face and tries to start again. “Sorry, let me start over. I didn’t mean to string you along, or to make you think that I don’t want to be with you, or that I just like you for the way you look. I’ve wanted to be with you forever. If I thought you wanted that to, I would’ve stopped seeing all those girls—”

“—You haven’t stopped?” you interrupt, with wide eyes.

Lando gives up. “Can you just—tell me what you want me to say, maybe? I feel like I’m drowning here.”

You look away from him, studying the hallway intently. But Lando waits you out, until you sigh and say, all in one breath, “I just want you to say that you want to be with me and you’ll block all the girls in your harem and you’ll stop always going home with some rando even though I’m right there.”

“Oh,” Lando breathes. “You know I actually probably would’ve gotten there on my own.”

You stand and stare at him for a long moment, and then let out a frustrated exhale through your nose. “Are you going to say it, then? Or do you want me to go?”

You take a step back, like you’re really going to leave him to eat ice cream with your mum again. He reaches out and grabs your wrist, helpless to the surge of panic that rushes through him. “No, I’ll say it!” he assures, and it comes out loud and squeaky as the noise spills into the empty hallway. Well, empty save for you, standing frozen and expectant. Lando takes your other hand into his, his fingers over your wrists. “I want to be with you, and only you. I’ll block any other girl in my phone. You’re the only person I want to go home with. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise”

You look down at your hands in his, and then back up with the same look in your eyes that he saw when he first paid for your lunch. “Your delivery leaves something to be desired,” you tell him, but you’ve got a cheeky grin that tells Lando he didn’t actually do anything wrong. “But I’ll take it.”

“Do I get an apology for you being an asshole or how you’ve been trying to kill me?”

You roll your eyes. It’s a familiar sight, not unwelcome even now. “You have to say you’ll stop calling me slow first. Besides, don’t you think there’s other things to be doing with each other besides apologizing?”

Lando feels any capacity for rational thought seep out of his head, at that.

“Are you going to invite me in, or what?” you ask, pointed.

—

Lando does invite you in.

You come willingly, once he’s said the words, like you were waiting. You have been waiting, he realizes. This whole time, you’ve just been waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and ask you.

Well, Lando thinks both he and you have waited long enough. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, the question that’s been on his tongue since before you were even his teammate. Since he was being bullied on the internet for having a crush on you.

You make that face again, like you’re judging him. He’s starting to think that face doesn’t equate to judgment at all. “I literally thought you were never going to ask.”

It’s permission enough, for him. Permission to do the thing he’s wanted to do for so long now it feels vaguely ridiculous. He wonders how he can strap himself into a death machine every week and pull points for the team but can’t figure this out? Can’t figure out something a twelve year old probably would’ve dealt with by now. Whatever. Lando’s figuring it out now. He takes you by the back of the neck and pulls you in. It’s the first maneuver he’s been able to pull in a month without you putting up a fight.

Your lips are hot and desperate against his. He supposes that’s what he gets, when he’s let the girl of his dreams think he’s dating other women. But he’s certainly not complaining, not when your hands bunch up in his shirt and you gasp like he didn’t telegram his next move aloud to you.

He walks you back to the bed until the backs of your calves hit it, and then helps you fall with an encouraging hand on the dip of your back. He wants to touch you everywhere, but there's quite literally no available skin, so he settles for biting at your bottom lip, and pressing his hips tight against yours whenever you arch up into him. There’s no reason for it to feel so good, through layers and layers of clothing, but there’s also no reason for you to be letting him do this. Lando makes the executive decision not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Is this all you do when girls come to your hotel room?” you pull away from him to ask. A trail of spit connects his lips to yours, and it’s so grossly erotic that Lando wants to lick it up.

It takes him a moment to gather the brainpower to answer. “No,” he says, wiping his mouth. “They’re not usually wearing so many clothes, for one.”

You roll your eyes again, but still let him push your sweatshirt up and over your head with little fanfare. He expects to see your bra, hopes maybe you’ve forgone that, even. Instead, he finds a faded cotton t-shirt. “I wasn’t exactly at the club,” you tell him, a reaction to what must be the disappointment on his face. He cheers up when you yank the shirt off yourself, discarding it haphazardly on the floor.

“I wasn't either,” he tells your newly exposed tits. Well, exposed apart from your bra, but it’s black and it looks soft and holds them rather nicely, so he won’t complain if you decide not to take it off. He has to swallow before he can speak again. “I got there, and then called you, like, immediately.”

You smile, call him a, “Simp,” even as you start working at the buttons of his shirt.

He takes a moment to help you, before getting the mind to defend himself. “You’ve been driving me off track for a month because you were jealous.”

“No, I was doing that out of respect for my fellow women,” you say, pushing his shirt off his shoulders and then, moving your hands to the zipper of his jeans. Your knuckles press against his dick, where it’s trapped behind the denim. Lando, just a man, groans. “I was trying to free your sister wives of their sexual obligations.”

“They were not—” Lando groans again, this time for reasons unrelated to your hands’ proximity to his dick. He helps you pull off his jeans and then says, with more confidence than he truly feels, “I think you need to be doing something with your mouth besides talking.”

You grin. “Finally, a good idea.”

—

If somebody had told Lando, a year ago, a month ago—hell, a few hours ago—that you would go down on your knees for him, that you would open your mouth nice and wide and let him fuck it like it—like you—belongs to him, he probably would’ve have an aneurysm. And then found an unoccupied bathroom to wank in.

Now, though, he just squeezes his hands tighter in your hair, tosses his head back when you whine. Your hand is shoved down your own sweatpants, and Lando can’t look at that unless he wants to blow his load early. The fact that you’re doing this is enough to have him dangerously close to the edge, even if it wasn't good. He doesn't have to worry about that though, because it is. Good. Maybe not as experienced as he’s had in the past, but you make up for it in enthusiasm. As in, you’re fucking sloppy with it, wet and hot and perfect, and it’s you, so Lando is already half gone, anyway.

He pulls you off with the hand in your hair, and still has the mind to feel shame when his dick twitches as you wipe your mouth. “Why’d you stop?” you ask him. Your eyes are teary and your ponytail is one wrong move from falling out completely, and he wants to kiss you even though it might taste like his dick.

“Didn’t wanna come,” he says instead.

“You can’t go more than once?”

Which, he could, maybe. The fact that it’s you in front of him, asking him, would definitely make it easier. Still, “Don’t want to chance it,” he says. “Wanna come inside you.”

“Ohhh my god, please tell me you have a condom,” you say, shoving your sweatpants down and using his thighs to pull yourself up and onto the bed. He stumbles around, looking for his pants. Pulls one out of his wallet. “You dog,” you accuse.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, instead of arguing. He’s learning, he thinks.

“Only if you get on with it.”

Lando looks down at you, on your back in front of him, propped up on your elbows. He can see more of you than he could’ve ever dreamed of, and boy did he dream of it. You grin up at him, and he thinks yeah, he’ll get on with it now.

Getting your underwear off is a pretty easy feat, with the way you help him shove them down your hips, looking like you wouldn't much care if he were to actually rip them off of you. Next time, he thinks. Maybe then he’ll have more control of the way his hands roam over you—your stomach, your thighs, your tits. He squeezes them through your bra and you huff, reaching an arm behind you to work at the clasp. Lando helps, and soon, he's staring at you, naked and wanting, and he has to fight the urge to bury his face in your boobs and never come up for air.

“This isn't getting on with it,” you complain, arching your back like he needs to be enticed. As if Lando doesn't want you so bad that he would fuck you even if you threatened to crash into him every race because of it.

He spreads your thighs apart with the palms of his hands. The sight of you, all open for him, is fucking crazy. Like a dream. You're so wet you’re glistening. “Soaked,” he hums, running a finger through your folds.

The glide is easy, and when he finds your clit, you make a choked sound in the back of your throat. “Whose fault is that?” you say, but its not biting enough to make up for the look on your face, cracked open and wanting. Lando feels his need acutely in the center of his chest. Not just the need to be inside of you, but the need to make up for all the times he’s fucked other girls while thinking about you. All the times he's led you to think that he's just leading you on. He dips his middle finger inside of you—you’re tight but so wet that it slides right in, and you toss your head back and say, “Oh,” like he's punched the breath out of you.

His brain feels a bit like it's short-circuiting. Your chasing his fingers with your hips, making it easy to fuck them in and out. He’s worked you up to three by the time he thinks you start getting close, thrashing a bit, pulling your leg up to open yourself wider. Lando takes you by the thigh, holds it against himself so you’ll stay nice and open. He curls his fingers and you say, “Okay, okay, you can get your dick in me now please,” staring straight up at the ceiling, heaving.

Please. God, you do know how to play nice, he thinks as he rolls the condom on. He wonders if you would beg if he asked you to, but he doesn't have the patience right now to find out. He pulls his fingers out and wipes the wetness off on the soft downey comforter. Your face pinches up, and you open your mouth like you’re going to make a comment on his cleanliness, but he presses into you with a hand on the base of his dick, and it shuts you up pretty well.

It takes amounts of self control Lando did not know he was capable of to not shoot off like a rocket the second he's inside of you. He's loosened you up enough with his fingers, but you're still tight, still hot, even through the condom. Lando presses ever forward, feeling like he's fucking folding you in half with your thigh against his chest. He doesn't quite trust his voice to come out right, but still he asks, “Does it feel—okay?”

“Okay?” you ask, like you're offended on his behalf. He fucks out and back in, and you add, “Yeah, Lando, feels so good, feel so—”

“Full?” he asks.

You stare up at him with judgment on your face that you shouldn't be capable of when his dick is in you. “Of course you’d get an ego boost from this,” you say. He thinks you’re going for casual, but it doesn't really work, not when your voice is all breathy, your skin all flushed.

“Bit hard not to.” He presses the palm of his hand to your lower stomach, asks, “Bet you feel me here, huh?”

“Yeah,” you say, high and reedy. Your back arches off the bed, chasing something. Lando gives it to you, readily.

Fucking you is worth not finishing the race, he thinks. Whether his mechanics would agree is a different story, but Lando wishes he could travel back in time to the moment he retired the car, and tell himself to not get so pissed. Tell himself to wait it out, til you're in his hotel room, underneath him, writhing and sighing and moving your hips like you can't decide if you want more or want to get away. Lando presses them down onto the mattress so you don't have to decide, so he gets to choose. He sets a pace that's a bit rough on his back—again, worth it, he thinks, for the way you gasp out sobs like Lando’s the best thing that's ever happened to you. And you expect him not to get an ego boost? He's just a man.

Around him, you squeeze him perfectly. Like you were made from him. Better yet, like he's carved out a space for himself, molded you to fit his dick. “Fuck,” he groans, at the thought. At the feeling. You sniff underneath him, hiding your face behind your hands. “No, don’t—” He thinks about pulling your hands away from your face, but decides instead to use his fingers for something more useful, working over your clit. “I wanna see your face when you come.”

“Jesus,” you gasp, wincing away from his hand before pushing back into him. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

It works, despite your bitter tone. You look into his eyes and he hopes you can see on his face that no, he doesn't. He doesn't do any of this shit with other girls. He doesn't even want to think about other girls, not now that he's finally got you. Leaning down to kiss you is a real strain on his back, but he’s helpless to the urge, and you gasp into his mouth like he's made the right choice. Plus, whenever his muscles twinge, you push yourself up to lean against the palms of your hands, and the strain lessens.

He rubs your clit faster in thanks, and he feels you clench tight around him, a vice grip. “Lando, I think—fuck, you’re gonna make me—”

“I know,” he says, when you can't get the word out. He's about to make you come. He feels crazy with the thought. “I can feel it.”

You groan as he bites at your jaw. “You’re terrible,” you whine, tossing your head back. The movement exposes your neck, more real estate for Lando to leave his mark, so everybody on your flight tomorrow knows you spent the night before taking it.

You get impossibly tighter around him, inhaling sharply, holding your breath. When you come, you say his name, loud enough it might get him a noise complaint. Loud enough that he can't help the way his hips buck, control slipping as you go boneless underneath him, falling back onto the mattress.

You’re relaxed around him now, not squeezing his dick like before. But it still feels so good, you underneath him, around him, your hands covering his own on your hips, urging him on. He thinks about how you're so fucking open and easy for him, about how the way your hips spasm with the aftershocks is a testament to the fact that you want him, the same way he wants you, the same way he's wanted you forever, and comes long and hard into the condom.

“Way better than apologies,” he says into your chest, once he’s fallen forward, spent.

You smack him on the head, but he's too content to care about it.

—

When he pulls out, he tosses the condom to the side, something for him to deal with at a later time. This time, there's nothing distracting you, and you groan, “That's disgusting. The poor carpet.”

You turn your nose up at him, and Lando supposes that just because he can fuck your brains out doesn't mean he stop you from judging him. He looks at the way you’re staring at him, a look he's seen in press conferences and debriefs and plastered all over the internet. It’s a look just for him, and he thinks maybe he never even minded it all that much to begin with.

Maybe you never minded him all that much to begin with, either.

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #formula 1 #f1 #f1 x reader #smut #sorry i still don't know how to use tumblr #also sorry there's 6k of plot before they can fuck #if there's mistakes... no there's not! <3 #f1 imagine #formula one #george russell #had to feature my yabba dabba dooer

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jodilin65 · 32 years ago

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MONDAY, NOVEMBER 29, 1993 Talk about weird sleeping habits! At least I’m well-rested and my asthma has been much better. I fell asleep yesterday at 7 AM, got up at 1 PM to take my meds, then fell back asleep till 4 PM. Then at 6:30 PM, I fell asleep till 10 PM. Guess it’s cuz of my period and I was flowing quite heavily.

I heard Tom go to bed at 8:00 last night. He has to leave for work at 7:15. He’s decided he’s gonna like working days better. He says 10-hour shifts will be better than 12. That’s for sure. Also, he used to put himself on days when he wasn’t working, so, he says, why not be on nights when he’s off? This way we can still see each other.

I have 4 envelopes to go out in today’s mail. One to Nervous, Nervous’s mother, Fran, Alex, Gina, and 3 to Kim. Tom gave me neon orange round stickers he got at work. I numbered all 3 of Kim’s envelopes. This way she can read them in the order I typed them. I’m also sending Gina a quick letter to the radio station, as well as my picture in The Beat. She kept asking what I look like, so soon she’ll see. The letter’s really short saying how fun she is to chat with different fonts.

Believe it or not, last night I gave her a reading which was fairly accurate, seeing how dead my vibes have been lately.

While Gina was on the air, I left a message for Andy of me talking with Tammy, Glen, and some funny drunk guy named Larry. He loved it and thought it was so funny.

Later…

I just did my legs again with the hair removal thing. A few hairs grew back, but they were much lighter and finer.

Tom accidentally erased the movie The Guardian, but now I’m glad he did. He’s buying the movie for me and this way I can get the uncut version and see more nudity! Plus, I accidentally hit the record button and erased a few seconds during two different parts.

Tom looked the movie up through Prodigy and it turns out she was in some other movie called Local Hero. This was back in 1983. Wonder what she looked like then?

Later…

Tom’s taking a shower now and soon he’ll be off to work.

In a little while, I have to go put my mail out.

Tom made us tater tots and garlic bread. It was good.

I’ve run out of things to say for now, so I guess I’ll write later when I think of more stuff to write.

Later…

I just got done watching Charlie’s Angels. It was a two-parter. So, tomorrow I’ll try to remember to see the second part, even though I’ve seen every single episode.

I have a two-page picture of Gloria from one of her tour books, but she takes up very little space. Therefore, I’ve glued on 6 tiny ones, so, I now have sort of a collage.

Later…

Well, I fell asleep at noon and I got up shortly after 7:00.

Tom had just gotten in from work. He said it wasn’t very fun at all. The poor guy. He also said he may go look somewhere else for a job. Lastly, he says he may be getting a cold. I sure hope not. Especially now that my period’s pretty much over.

Beauty’s doing fine. She basically only eats her lettuce if I feed it to her by hand, but this is cuz she’s still a baby. She’ll eat more independently as she gets older. She eats the pellets with no problem, though. She’s so loving and always gives me kisses.

I wish it were summer! I wanna go swimming! At least I only have to wait for 4 more months or so, rather than 7. I miss being able to be outside constantly. The daytime weather’s usually nice, but it’s more fun when you can swim.

When Tom looked up the movie The Guardian through Prodigy, there was a 26-page write-up all about the movie. He’s gonna print it out and maybe I’ll copy it into my journal. That is, whatever one I’m on when he’s able to find the time to print the thing out.

Later…

Boy, Michael Jackson’s certainly in some serious hot water. Guess he’s about to be charged with molesting young boys. At first I believed he was innocent cuz everyone always wants to bring down a star. People want to gain publicity and power. They want to challenge those who are successful. Now, I wonder if maybe he’s guilty, as there are lots of sickos in this world. Plus, most cops and superstars feel they’re above the law. If he’s brought to trial, he’ll win. He’s famous and he’s male.

Later…

I just turned on the radio so I can hear what DJ is on tonight. Gina’s on weekends and I guess she’s also a fill-in. She hopes to go on full-time soon and I hope she does too. It’s cool to be able to chat with her and others on the party line when everyone else I know is working or asleep. I’ll bet that guy Magic is on now. I haven’t heard yet, as sometimes they don’t speak till after several songs have played.

My period’s over, thankfully. It sure is weird that I’ve shit 4 times today when all I’ve eaten is a cupcake and a bowl of popcorn.

Next shower I’ll have to do some massive shaving downstairs. It hurt too much to use the hair removal thing down there, as well as under my arms. That’s fine, though, as it sure is nice to only have to do it under my arms and my pussy, rather than my calves and thighs, too.

Gina’s on! Great, I’m gonna give her a call after I go smoke a butt.

Later…

I just called in and she’s got me on hold now. It’s pretty weird hearing the same song playing on the phone that’s playing over the radio. What’s she doing? She must be extremely busy cuz this is the second song now that I’m holding through.

I just hung up and called back and said, “Did that reading scare you, or are you tremendously busy?” She said she was busy and to call back in a half-hour.

No problem. I understand. If she’s on tomorrow night too, then she’ll know what I look like before the weekend. I’ll call her in 10 minutes.

Gina just said, “I wish I could let you hear half the conversations we have here on the party line.” It sounds like the phone lines are quite busy. I wonder how many lines there are. No less than 10, I’d assume. I can see that being a lot for one DJ to handle. Sometimes there are two DJs.

Tammy’s on again. I just heard her. Some guy named Stan, too.

Later…

I’ve got to tell Andy to take his phone off the hook Fri. and Sat. nights. This way if I leave him any messages when we’re on the party line, his phone will only ring once. He said to leave him all the messages I want from the party line.

OK, I’m gonna call now.

She said she’s got everyone on hold, and she’s got Stan and Tammy on and wants to keep me on.

OK, whatever. I told her to take her time. Is she testing me to see if I really am a loyal fan? It’s fine by me, as I have nothing better to do anyway.

I never did get around to sending Tammy (my sister) a message, but I will within the next few days. I’ll type some more letters, too.

Now I’m on the line with Stan and Tammy. Gina’s sick with diarrhea and is in the bathroom. She just yelled, “I can’t get sick! I have too many jobs!”

Gina’s also a waitress at Tuchetti’s.

Now, I’m doing promotions stuff saying, “K-O-O-L F-M” in unison with Tammy and Stan. Gina’s singing is very loud, strange and funny. She still feels shitty. They’re talking about movies now. I hate Westerns, too. And old movies and science fiction.

Some woman from 7/11 named Sandy just called in, but I didn’t hear her request.

Later…

Gina may have to work tomorrow night too, as well as 10:30 this morning. Damn! That’s a long time. About a half-hour ago Tammy and Stan hung up. I asked Gina if I could come down this weekend if Tom will drive me. She said probably, but call her at 2 AM first.

I left Andy a message of all 4 of us. Also, I have me on tape doing a promo line.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 28, 1993 Well, I didn’t get married last Friday, but I did get a guinea pig. Let me go in order of events.

I felt kind of foolish and Tom felt bad, but what he really meant by “Friday” was discussing a tentative date. We set a tentative date for next December. I just didn’t stop to realize that it’s not something you just do in 5 minutes.

I talked with Tom alone and with Andy alone and I think a year from now’s good. This will give us plenty of time, as it’s a big and scary commitment. I know, though, that life’s all about taking chances and I think that if all continues to go well, I’ll be brave enough to take this chance in a year. I am still a believer in the saying “nothing lasts forever,” but I’ll enjoy one day at a time. I won’t put a time frame in my mind for how long Tom and I live. An example of what I mean is, I hope I live a long life, but I could get run over and killed by a car tomorrow.

Andy still feels I should be with a woman and I understand this, but if I could’ve been I would’ve been. It’s not like I didn’t put in a few good years of trying so I’m not without a woman by choice.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 25, 1993 Believe it or not, I fell asleep last night at around 9:00. I awoke at 10:00 to a car going by with a very loud muffler. Originally, I fell asleep on the living room couch. Tom went to bed at 10:00. Shortly before this car’s muffler woke me up. When I did wake up, I went and got into my bed and fell back asleep till a little after 1 AM.

Last night, though, Tom and I had lots of fun. Not sexual fun, but fun hanging out together and finally wrote in my next journal.

When I got up, I cleaned the stove, did dishes, straightened up, listened to music, and typed Kim a letter.

At 4:00 I dropped a bowl of creamed spinach and smashed it to smithereens all over the kitchen floor. I cut my foot, too, and woke Tom who was my savior. He washed my foot and put a Band-Aid on it and cleaned the kitchen floor. So, now I have a black and blue on one foot, from whacking it on the phone which was on the floor, a glass cut on the other foot and a paper cut on my thumb. The thumb is healing nicely, though.

I tried to get some more sleep. At least a few more hours, but it hasn’t worked. I’ll go try again.

Later…

I have been unable to go back to sleep. I typed Lisa, Becky and Sarah a letter, but then got knocked off when I tried to type Tammy a letter. I’ll try again later. Prodigy’s funny sometimes.

I also want to check Springfield’s weather so I can laugh. Unfortunately, they’ve had some mild days in the 50s. They’ll get theirs, as far as the bitter freezing cold goes.

I forgot to mention two calls I made early yesterday morning. One to Barbara, who I woke up. I insisted she left a message for me to call her. She very sleepily denied it, then hung up after two minutes.

I also called Jenny and yelled, “Knock it off, Jenny!” Then I slammed the phone down. I’ll bet she and the bastard brother are still buddies. They can have each other. I’m gonna tell Tammy that if she ever again speaks with Larry to tell him he didn’t want anything to do with me, so why should I want anything to do with him? My life’s way too cool now to have assholes like Larry, Art, or Dureen in it to screw things up. Or try to I should say, as in the end, I learned not to let it get to me. I know what I did and did not deserve.

Later…

This is amazing, yet great. I’m still awake! Cuz I only napped a few hours last night, I didn’t think I was gonna hold out past noon. If I’d been more awake, I would’ve gone to Tom’s parent’s house, but I’m definitely not that awake. He said he’ll try to bring home leftovers.

I went and pulled $20 out of the ATM for cigarettes, then we went to Jack-n-the-Box where I got a breakfast platter.

I also typed two more letters. One to Nervous and the other to his mother telling her what an asshole her son is. I called him up politely to see how he is and I’m so sick of his moods. I don’t deserve his shit. I haven’t done anything to him in ages and any shit I ever did pull on him, he damn well asked for. The guy can fuck off and out of my life just like Dureen and Art. My sending a letter to his mom will surely heat the guy all up. Especially as it’ll shock the shit out of him and catch him off guard cuz I’ve never sent the mother mail before in the past. She’ll be surprised too, and I don’t give a rat’s ass if either of them calls my family.

Oh, before I end the subject of Nervous - his mom had no idea Crystal lived with him or who the fuck she even is. That is quite interesting. I’ve spoken to this girl, so I’m sure she exists, but I highly doubt she lives with him. Not if she’s got any real brains.

Tomorrow should be fun. Tom says that cuz he slept so many hours the last two days, he can go shopping tomorrow when I am awake. Depending on his paycheck we may get the pig tomorrow. Can’t wait! He says it’s a birthday present, but I told him to spare me for my birthday and Chanukah, as I wanted him to have money to buy his family Christmas presents. We’re also gonna look at prices of dishwashers and who knows what else tomorrow.

Remember the note we passed each other on the toy car? The one about us getting married Friday which is tomorrow? Well, he hasn’t said one more thing about it and I hope he wasn’t joking. I’d feel kind of foolish unless he meant next Friday. Maybe he thought I was joking. Well, I wasn’t joking. I wonder what’s really going on in his mind. Are we getting married tomorrow?

What else can I say? I’m in a writing mood, but I’ve run out of things to say. I just hope that whenever I do fall asleep that I stay asleep at least till 2 AM. This way, we can take off as soon as the stores open. It’ll be mobbed, though, being Fri. Plus, everyone’s begun to do all their Christmas shopping.

It’s been oh-so quiet next door, thank fucking God. Come to think of it, I haven’t even heard their dog. Only the one across the street, but it’s not as loud.

I wonder how much of all those letters Bob’s read so far? Is he done? Probably not. I sent an awful lot of stuff, but it’ll be good for him. He needs to fill his time and occupy his mind.

Well, the computer says it’s 28º in Springfield today and tonight will be 10º! It’s only 62º here today.

I talked to Tammy briefly. Apparently, Bill and the girls are very sick, so she canceled dinner. She’s still cooking dinner, but she canceled the company that was to be coming.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 24, 1993 Boy, I’ve been having lots of fun playing Nintendo games for hours. Today’s the first time I’ve ever played. Tom set it up in the back room on my TV. There are these 2 games I’ve been playing. My favorite one is where you use a plastic gun to shoot ducks. You get 3 shots to go to the next round. I’ve gone as far as round 11. The other one’s very hard and I have yet to win one round. It’s where you shoot at two flying disks at once.

Now, here’s the most exciting news of the day. (now yesterday) Tom put batteries in a toy car. We were out back by the pool, then we came into the back room where we were sending the car back and forth to each other across the room. Finally, I took a tiny piece of paper and wrote: I love you and I will marry you. Then Tom wrote: When? I wrote: When do you want to, and be honest? He wrote: Friday. I wrote: It’s a deal!

Later…

I got bored with the Nintendo (for now) as well as the TV. So, I tried to call Nervous. The guy’s smart as no one ever even said hello. He just picked it up and pressed a button on the phone. Although, I wonder if that could’ve been Crystal. It seems her style but not his. His is to answer, swear, then unplug the phone. If Crystal’s still there, that is truly amazing.

I tried to call the radio station but kept getting a busy signal. That’s OK, as shortly after I tried I realized Gina isn’t even on tonight.

Tomorrow Nerv, Fran and Bob should get all their mail.

I did try to call Fran at nearly midnight his time, but he said he’d call me later. Or tomorrow. He was either asleep, drunk, or terribly depressed.

I know what I forgot to mention I did earlier. It sure was an unexpected, yet great surprise, too. Tom asked if I wanted to “fool around.” It was grand, alright. He sure does a fine job down there with his tongue. He knows I can cum way, way too fast (in a matter of seconds), so he knows how to make it last and keep it going so I can enjoy it. It won’t be long till I’m on the rag, so this is when I’m the horniest.

Later…

I’ve got to watch myself on the cigarettes. Been getting a bit carried away. I did better the last 3 days by smoking 11-14, but so far, I’ve had 16 since I’ve been up. In 2-3 more days, I’ll be done with the antibiotics. After that and my period, I’m gonna get working on the exercise videos. Been slacking off. I’m soooooooo fucking bloated! It’s absolutely pitiful! I can now feel myself “precramping,” so I don’t have long to wait.

I wish I could be there to personally see the looks on Bob, Fran and Nerv’s faces when they open their mailboxes to so much mail from me. Especially Bob’s face, as he’s the one who appreciates my mail the most.

Later…

I just took all the meds that I’m supposed to take. I think now I’ll go listen to music and then try to get some sleep. I don’t want my schedule to change too much just yet as I have stuff to do.

Tonight’s Tom’s last night at work. Sunday the poor guy’s on days.

Later…

I’m not exactly as sleepy as I had thought I was. I listened to music, though.

Earlier I came up with a very interesting way to improve my game aim which is naturally pretty good. There are 10 birds to kill in each round, so I came up with two rounds worth (20 people) I can’t stand. I imagine they’re the birds.

I may get another letter from Bob tomorrow or Fri. That’d be nice. I give up on waiting for Alex to send a letter. For now. I’m sure he has a reasonable excuse for not writing and is busy. Hopefully, Kim will send a letter too.

I’m kind of hungry now. Damn. I got a paper cut too. Fuck!

Later…

OK, I just put a Band-Aid on my paper cut.

Andy must’ve fallen asleep. He told me he’d call back when I spoke to him several hours ago.

Tom’s mom beeped in with a message for Tom that Thanksgiving dinner was to be at noon as Raymond, his brother, has to work early. She sounded nice and invited me, but I don’t know if I’ll be going.

Tomorrow Tom and I will probably be getting up at the same time for the first time in a while. This will be nice.

I think I’ll go see if Nervous will answer his phone now, although he may be at work. We’ll see if Crystal answers.

Later…

I am sitting at the living room table while Tom’s watching sports on TV. He made us tater tots which were really good.

Andy picked up his pants and the movie I taped him and he left me a blank tape. I spoke to him earlier and all’s well with him. While he was on the phone, I called Nervous. He got my mail and says Crystal’s still there. I’ve never heard the guy sound so relaxed before in my life. This is good for him.

I played Nintendo and did really well. Got some perfect scores and shot the disks through round 1.

Tom and I were discussing a trip to CA in February or March. A package deal to fly to Disneyland and stay at their hotel for 2 days and 1 night.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 23, 1993 Well, Tom’s not going to recognize the back room when he goes in there. He’ll most certainly get up before I do, too.

I didn’t make it to my GYN appointment today. I really did plan to go as nervous as I was, but I was not able to fall asleep till 7 AM. My appointment was at 11 AM, and I would’ve had to get up at 9 AM. The place is 40 minutes away and there’d have been no way I could’ve functioned on only 2 hours of sleep. Plus, I only slept 4 hours yesterday. My referral expires on the 26th and I don’t know if I can reschedule by then. We’ll see. Guess I’ll have to call Dr. Wilcox. I’ll live whether or not I ever get there.

Lisa typed me a letter over Prodigy. She says she’s nervous about her solo and Becky and Sarah are sick. Within the next few days, I’ll call Tammy and the girls.

Yesterday I called Mary and guess what? About a month and a half ago, the butch moved out. Mary said she said she bought a house. Yeah, right! On her income? I don’t think so. Not unless she won the lottery or got a hefty inheritance. If she moved into a house, she rents it and probably shares it.

I still feel so bad for Mary as her nightmare isn’t over. She’s going through all I went through. Some guy moved in above her in the butch’s place and he has late-night wild parties with mucho company. She says she’s gonna call the office, but I know that’ll never do her any good.

I got a letter from Bob and one certain line had me cracking up. When he said, “I need your letters.” Oh, he’s got letters coming alright. If he only knew. He has 10 of them on their way right now. Fran has 11 and Nervous has 9. They’ll each get 50 pages in all, maybe more. Remember how I typed and printed out journals 1 through part of 4? Well, I decided I didn’t want to continue doing this and really had no purpose in keeping what I’d already typed. Therefore, I split the 150 pages or so I typed between Bob, Fran and Nervous. I never thought to send Alex any, but, oh well. He’ll get his fair share of mail from me.

We got HBO and Cinemax. I’ve already seen a few good movies on them both.

It seems each year that goes by I become more and hornier. Once or twice a month is no longer enough for me. Nor is it enough for it to be one-sided where only I cum. I always used to love this arrangement. I wouldn’t want Tom to always be all over me, but I give up. I can’t make him any hornier. This doesn’t change my love for Tom and what I feel emotionally for him and what’s in my heart. It still gets better and I feel surer all the time. I never thought I could be with someone this long, let alone live with them. I can’t believe I have more and more thoughts of marrying him. I won’t count on that happening, though. If and when he ever asks me - well - we’ll see.

I guess the only other not-too-cool news, besides me being the only horny one around here, is that I woke up yesterday really wheezing. Didn’t have to go to the ER, thank God, but I had to deal with it for an hour.

Tom and I had a nice talk when he came in from work. We talked more about getting a guinea pig.

My license expires on my birthday. I’ll have to renew it if I can pass the written test. Maybe I’ll just get a photo ID.

The back room was badly cluttered with boxes and books. Now it’s nice and organized. I also have the perfect spot for the pig.

I can hear Tom talking in his sleep now, but I have no idea what the fuck he just said.

Later…

Today was a great day. First of all, Andy left his pants on the front door handle for me to sew a ripped pocket of his work pants. He’ll come get it tomorrow and leave me a blank video. This is cuz I’m taping a movie for him on one of ours.

I called the GYN and rescheduled for 12/16. Tomorrow I’ll call Dr. Wilcox and explain why I need a new referral, and also a refill on my meds.

It was a gorgeous day today, but a cool spell is coming.

I spoke with Lisa today who’s still nervous about her solo. Tammy was pretty busy and Bill just returned from CA. It was a business trip and due to the drastic temperature change, he’s sick. I went through that bullshit those two times I went to Florida in the winter. I also spoke a little bit to Becky.

I’ll bet there’s a chance my parents are thinking I may call right before my birthday for a birthday present. (money) No way! Their money’s not worth it.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 20, 1993 Well, lots of little things have happened since I last wrote. First, let me go do up a list of topics and smoke half a cigarette.

OK, I’m back. That only took a second. First of all, I changed my mind. Originally, I was gonna let Tom have the very last page of this book. Now I’m letting him write in the next journal (#51). This book has no lines on the pages, so, this way he can write as large or as small as he likes. He can also have as many pages as he needs.

Well, today the cat went back home. I cried as I’ll miss him. He was the best-behaved cat and so loving. I still have a new guinea pig to look forward to. Perhaps in 2-3 weeks.

Anyway, after he left, I vacuumed and aired the place out. It was a beautiful day at 78º and will be tomorrow, too. I did the dishes, but I hope to not be doing this too much longer. After the first of the month, we’re getting a dishwasher (I hope).

I ordered 2 CDs of Gloria’s through Columbia House and Tom ordered 6. I hope there are no problems with this, as I just realized Tammy’s got CDs coming to this address.

The tooth whitener Kim sent is really working. I noticed a huge difference after only one day.

This coming week Tom’s gonna pick up film and a flash for my camera.

I rearranged my tapes some more, and can you believe that after 4 years, I’ve finally completed my Gloria medley?! Finally, I do still have a few touch-ups to do and I will later.

Gotta go take my meds.

Later…

Well, I recorded a movie and now I’m recording two more shows.

I have 3 letters ready to go out. To Fran, Kim and Bob. I asked Bob if he wants a tape of the edits and some convos. Kim confused me in her postcard to me. She mentioned, “the pictures you just got.” But I never got any pictures. Maybe they’re on their way. I hope so, as that’d be nice. I pre-addressed and put my address labels on 25 envelopes. Kim, Bob, Fran, Nervous, and Alex got 5 each.

The biggest thing I’ve done is talk on the phone to Gina, the DJ at KOOL FM for two hours the last two nights. I was on the party line with a few other people. She is sooooo funny. She is a carbon copy of me and Andy. She’s got our kind of sense of humor. I played her some edits and I even edited her saying, “I think I’ve just lost my fucking mind!”

She sent me over the air saying, “Gina, I’m having fun with you this weekend with KOOL FM.”

She even dropped hints that she may be gay and asked me what I look like. Shall I send her a copy of me in The Beat? We’ll have to wait and see.

She also had me answer one of the party lines by saying, “Sunny 97.” That’s another oldie’s station. I said I punched her out cold, so I was taking over the airwaves.

She had me and 2-3 others singing live to a song, and we told jokes. There’s a really funny one I heard if you know that there’s a Thomas St. and a Grand Ave. here in Phoenix. The joke goes: What did the gay guy do when he got to Phoenix?

He went down on Thomas and thought it was Grand! (names of streets in Phoenix).

Later…

I just went to call Andy, but he’s playing Monopoly with someone, so he said he’ll call me back. I always hated that game.

Tom’s working now, trying to get as much overtime as possible. When he’ll be home, who knows? He’s kind of bummed cuz his job’s being eliminated and the poor guy has to work days next week. Permanently. I’d just want to die. At least he’ll have 10-hour shifts, rather than 12. He’s to be working Sunday – Wednesday from 8 AM - 6 PM.

Later…

Well, finally! The Gloria medley is finished! I just stuck in the last few songs. I did leave out a few slow boring songs, though.

Now, what do I have to edit? Well, as far as that goes everything’s all edited down. So, I’m gonna go through each convo one by one and edit stuff that way. I know that over half of all these convos combined have already been edited. I’ll go through them as who knows what great stuff I could’ve missed.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 18, 1993 Finally! I finally got my package from Kim. It sure is great to have my very own camera. Soon, I’ll get film and flash for it. It’s a very small lightweight camera and it seems it’ll be easy enough to use. Luckily Tom knows cameras, so he can help me with it.

She also sent that tooth whitener and already it’s making a difference.

She sent a magazine called The Night Side she picked up in Las Vegas. It’s just like The Beat magazine I was in when I was at Favors. She enclosed a letter along with a letter she got from Bob. Some other time I’ll copy these into #44. I typed both Kim and Bob letters.

Kim mentioned Alex may have once again gone cross-country. Where the hell would he get the money to afford to do this?

Later…

I got a letter from Bob today. Also, a postcard from Kim. She had some left over with stamps on them, so she figured why not send one?

I spoke to Fran earlier and even his friend Sharon. I have a couple of minutes of her on tape, but she’s not nearly as funny as Ann or Melissa (CP lady).

I split that Vegas magazine between Nervous, Fran and Bob. They each got 4 pages.

I do suppose I could write more but I haven’t been in a writing mood.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 17, 1993 I never wrote while at the doctor’s office as I luckily wasn’t there forever. She changed my antibiotic to something else and gave me yucky-tasting cough syrup. She also recommended I try charcoal capsules for the gas and bloating I’ve had. This is a weird one I’ve never even heard of before. The last thing she did was have the nurse draw blood right then and there. Originally, I was to return today for the blood to be drawn. Conveniently, it was all done today.

Tom’s been really helpful, patient, and supportive through all this and I really appreciate that.

The only other thing that’s gone on is that Fran’s tried calling both me and Andy.

I took that foam thing I took from my sleeper couch off of my bed. I had 3 problems with it. It was too wide, kept slipping (the sheets) and sagged in the middle too much. I’m better off just waiting till I get a real double bed with a soft mattress.

Real soon I’m gonna hit the sack. I’m taking about 7 different medications right now and they’re making me somewhat drowsy. So - till next time!

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 16, 1993 Yesterday was an absolutely shitty day. I awoke at 7 AM with a very bad asthma attack. Tom called 911 and they came and gave me two breathing treatments. After they left, I fell asleep for two hours, but have been feeling very tight and congested. I’ve been wheezing and sneezing a lot.

In about 5-10 minutes, I’m going to my doctor. After that, we’ll stop at Jack-n-the-Box.

I haven’t worked on the computer, but last night I mustered up enough strength to draw a few pictures. Tom really liked them. Especially my eagle. It was the very first one I drew. I copied it off of one of my collector’s plates.

I have a few other things to write about, but I’ll save them for my endless wait in the waiting room.

SUNDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 1993 Today I feel a million times better, thank God! Boy, I sure felt lousy. My lungs are much clearer, as well as my nose. I knew I needed an antibiotic. I slept only an hour or so yesterday afternoon and basically accomplished nothing. I had zero energy. Couldn’t even type letters or the 13 remaining pages in #49. I did, though, glue in 12-30. Maybe later I’ll type up 31-43 and some letters too. I may even do some editing.

Tom’s now working on the computer and we made a “date” for later if you know what I mean.

I tried calling Kim to let her know I still haven’t gotten that package. Maybe it got lost, or something came up where she wasn’t able to mail it out. Yesterday I sent out Barbara’s picture of Bob. Also, I sent a letter to Alex and the old smoking log to Nervous.

Later on, I may also do the dishes and straighten up. I’m doing laundry now.

Tammy’s ordering CDs here and if they come here, which they should, I will ship them off to her.

Tom and I have made a decision yesterday. I’ll never be that tolerant of cat dander and smells, so after this one goes home, we’re getting a guinea pig. I do miss them, and now being with Tom, who’ll help change the cage, it’ll be much easier. I won’t have to constantly lug sawdust down 4 flights of stairs and rinse a filthy cage in my tub. Being in a house is so much easier and better for it, as all we have to do is go out back and rinse the cage with a hose. Tom has plenty of hoses.

I’m an expert on guinea pigs. I know them like I know sign language and I know everything they need. I’ll put him in the back room away from where we sleep. This will be good too, as I won’t have to keep my bedroom door shut or step on kitty litter. They eat more and need more things and are a bit more costly, but we can afford it. I’ll tell you one thing, though, and that is that I’m definitely gonna get a lid for the cage. I’m not about to ever again deal with what I went through with Toffee always jumping out and getting into everything.

Well, I’m now gonna go pull out the stuff that can’t go in the dryer and then make some of my honey cinnamon tea.

Later…

Tom’s now running my clothes through the dryer he’s got out in the garage.

I just played with the cat for a little while and for the first time, I didn’t sneeze. I really needed those antibiotics and now, once again, I want to keep him and forget about the guinea pig. Unfortunately, he can’t stay anyway, and I’d rather get a pig, rather than another cat.

I’m now gonna lay down for a bit. It’s still rainy out and that makes you drowsy. Well, it sucks the energy out of me, anyway. Later I’ll do some editing before dinner. Tom’s making us pork chops again. How wonderful to have someone around who likes to cook.

I’m dedicating the last page of this journal to him to write whatever he wants. Only 3 others have written in my journals - Andy, Nervous and Kara.

Later…

Well, I fell asleep for an hour and a half. I awoke at 2:30. An hour after I got up we had pork chops and tater tots. Then I folded my laundry, Tom took a shower, and we fooled around after. It was great. I really believe he does even better down there than most of the women I’ve been with. Things have been excellent with us, both in and out of bed. He went to sleep after we fooled around which was at about 4:30.

At 5 PM the movie Police Academy went on. I’m watching that now. There are two more movies I’ll probably watch. I’ll edit some other time, but I may still type later.

SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1993 Tom’s gone out to pick up my antibiotics. Last night at 2 AM I awoke all congested, wheezing and sneezing uncontrollably. It’s been worse than usual. Especially with this yucky rainy weather we’re having. It’s been waking me up a lot, too.

I do have more to write, but I am just way too tired. I’ll write more later. For now, I really must try to get some sleep. I need it.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1993 Today I got the envelopes I ordered. Still no packages from Kim, so who knows what’s going on with that?

When Tom got in yesterday morning at 6:30 he went to bed. He’s been there all day and night. He only got up for a few hours. I don’t think he’s feeling too well. I believe the two of us are going food shopping together tomorrow morning.

We’ve only had sex twice since a little over a month ago. I never met anyone like him before. I think it may have to do with our age differences. He’s through with his sexual peak and mine’s just beginning. I’m getting used to this, though. I’ve been used to this and it’s not like he’s a gorgeous woman. Then it’d be much harder to deal with for sure.

Well, he’s up now. I just heard him open the kitchen door. When we go to sleep, which I plan on doing soon, we shut the door to keep the cat in the back, away from clawing our doors.

Earlier I worked out and did a few other things. I typed a letter to Tammy and the girls over Prodigy. I also sent Nervous an old smoking log which certainly did me no good and typed Alex a letter. Barbara’s picture of Bob is ready for her too. I also addressed 5 envelopes to Kim, 5 to Bob, and 1 to Fran.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1993 Last night I didn’t fall asleep till 10:00. I woke up at 6:30. Tom woke up shortly after.

It’s raining out now for the first time in quite a while. This is good, as it’ll settle any pollen and continue to make allergy plants go dormant.

I hope and pray to hell that I finally get my packages and envelopes today.

Right now I’m gonna go and get myself a cup of tea. After I drink it, I’ll finish copying a page from each journal in #49.

Later…

I finally got my hair trimmed today. Tom did, too. She didn’t do as good of a job as Richard did but did good enough. She didn’t get scissor-happy. It’s been trimmed another 2” but is still below my waist. In less than a month it’ll be to the crack of my ass. I feel she could’ve done a better job with my bangs, although it’s still a bit too soon to tell. At least it’s no longer in my face.

Yes, she’s pretty like Andy said. I’d rate her a 7½ - 8, but her body wasn’t great. Her face was kind of broken out, but pretty. Her hair was permed and almost to the middle of her back.

I had forgotten that there was to be no mail today due to it being Veteran’s Day. Oh well, if I don’t get my package tomorrow, then I give up.

Today it rained and was chilly and windy. First rain in quite some time.

I’ve only had 13 cigarettes in the 15 hours I’ve been up. That’s better, but earlier I didn’t feel too great. My chest was tight.

Well, I’m gonna try to conk out now, but if I can’t sleep, I’ll write some more. Before going to bed, I better go check my messages. I do believe I heard the phone ringing. It’s probably either Andy or Fran. Fran left a message last night.

Later…

Nope. That call wasn’t from Andy or Fran. It was from Wendy. Now Tom’s got two messages. One from Eileen, a coworker with a gay daughter, and Wendy, who took her dog to the vet.

I came back to write something else I had just remembered, but now I forgot what the fuck it was.

I keep telling myself to call Mary, but keep forgetting that, too. She had to have lost my number as she certainly would’ve called by now.

God only knows what’s going on with Kara. I have no way of contacting her and she’s got no way of contacting me. Not by phone, that is. I could maybe write to her at her old address at the Via El Camino apartments and it’ll get forwarded to wherever the hell she is now. She could be in Michigan. I remember her mentioning wanting to return there. Will she ever become a cop? I hope so. That’d be totally for her.

Every now and then I still have fantasies about Stacey. I don’t know what it is with that sick bitch. She reminds me of Kate Jackson even though she has light eyes and hair. Did she really ever have a thing for me? I’ll never know for sure, but yes, I believe she did, despite the fact that she shit on everyone. I can’t picture her ever shitting on Rosemarie, Donna, and Tara and Tonya, though. She most certainly never has or will shit on that damn butch. At least I know that everyone I wrote to did receive all my mail. Even Rosemarie. It’s amazing how much legwork both Stacey and Andy put into trying to nail me in court. They were so sure they were going to, too. I’ll bet they’re still pissed that they lost. I’m sure they lied about losing, too. Stacey’s not the type to walk back into the office and admit she lost. Too humiliating for a person like her. Despite that letter I sent her boss, she’s still working there. I knew she would, as like with cops and staff members in funny farms, they protect their own. I have no regrets about writing it, though. I hope she at least got to read it.

I spoke to Tammy a few days ago. She asked me if I’ve talked to Dad.

Fuck no!

She says she’ll mention my guitar. Like it’ll do any good. She hasn’t heard any more about the bastard, but I hope they all killed each other. All 3 of them are good for nothing.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 10, 1993 I’m now on my 50th paper journal! Yes, I am actually here before 1998, the year I figured I’d get to #50 when I first began. Although I’ve officially closed #49, I’ve got a project for the last half of it. It’ll only take me a few hours to do it, too. I’m writing two pages from each journal. The only ones I may not do two of are the books of letters.

Tom and I had a great day. He’s now cooking us pork chops and tater tots for dinner which I believe is to be ready any minute.

Later…

That was a great dinner.

I haven’t been able to reach Carolyn, so if I don’t hear from her by tomorrow, Tom and I will go have Richard do our hair Friday.

Tomorrow I have to call Dr. Wilcox’s office to make sure my referral is good till the 22nd.

Last night I fell asleep at 10 PM and awoke at 4 AM to take my meds. Then, I went back to sleep and got up at 6:30.

At 9 AM Tom and I went to the mall. I got this journal, some makeup, and that hair-removal system for $50. I did my legs and my bikini line (as far in as I could go). It wasn’t really as painful as I thought it might be. I could feel it, but it didn’t hurt so much that I couldn’t stand it. It took a while to do and I still have to do under my arms.

Can you believe my God damn package still hasn’t come yet? Neither have the envelopes. In fact, they still haven’t cashed my check. This is bullshit. What’s taking so long? Guess it’s all cuz we’re getting closer to the holidays.

I totally love this journal. It’s the most awesome one I’ve ever had. The outside’s nothing all that spectacular, but I’ve always wanted colored paper for a change from typical white paper. There are 8 of all 6 colors.

Well, I sure did plenty of stretching when I was using the hair removal system, but tomorrow I’ll do the exercises with the video. I’m just too beat now. I’ll remember to put the beast in the back room and close the door between the kitchen and the living room. He gets in the way. Being as flexible as I am really helps when you’re shaving and or removing hair. Especially the backs of the legs.

I hope Alex writes to me. As I said before, Kim says he writes like hell, but I have yet to see this. I’ll write him another letter begging for a letter. I’ll even put a guilt trip on him, cuz I already wrote him a very very long letter.

I just asked Tom, who’s going to bed now, to pick the next color. He picked the one I figured he’d pick. It was also to be my next choice. I have 9 different colors picked out. That’ll look cool. Not only will I have different colored paper, but different colored writing on it. It’s different than writing with different colors all on white paper.

I think I’ll go listen to music for a while now, then I’ll come back and write some more later.

Later…

Amazingly enough, I’ve only had 11 cigarettes today. Nonetheless, my lungs were a bit tight a little while ago, so I made a cup of this honey cinnamon tea Tom bought earlier. It’s good. It helped to clear me up too, and to relax my chest muscles.

I just listened to some music and soon I’m gonna go make another cup of tea.

I just remembered something else I forgot to remove, as far as hair goes. My widow’s peak. I’m not particularly fond of the thing.

I wish I was much more awake than I am now. I’d type some letters, do some editing, and whatever the hell else. I’ve got a semi-bright lime green T-shirt I’m gonna decorate with glue. I also may take one of my pairs of cutoff jeans and glue stuff on that too. I plan to get more Bedazzeler beads one of these days. They’re at Wal-Mart where I got the glue. It’d also be nice to get more colors of the glue. There’s not much variety in only 3 colors.

Gotta send letters soon through the computer to Tammy and the girls. Lisa got a solo in the band playing sax. Great for her. Today’s Bill’s 47th birthday and I sent no card. I’m sure he’s not crying over it any more than I’d be if I were to not get a birthday card from him. The two of us never really liked each other. We’re extremely different, but that’s fine. All that matters is that he makes Tammy happy.

Now I’ve had 12 cigarettes, but that’s still much better than the ridiculous pack a day I’ve been smoking.

I wonder how Nervous and Crystal are doing? I’m sure by now she’s realized she’s made the biggest mistake of her life. If not, she’s even crazier than he is. I wish I could see the look on his face when he pulls out Bob’s dick. Also, when he got my tits.

Well, it’s now almost 6 PM and I am not gonna be able to hold my head up much longer. I’m sooooooo tired. Be back here tomorrow, though. That can be counted on!

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 9, 1993 I am now sitting outside and it is beautiful out. It’s 82º.

Later…

It’s so hot that I just ran in to change. Andy called, too. I can’t believe that it’s 11/9 and I’m sweating out by the pool in a bikini. How lucky I am.

I have so much to write about and it’s all good stuff, too. Last Friday night Tom and I finally fooled around and it was fun.

We finished sealing up the soundproofing stuff in my windows, but I still have to sleep with my radio on. This is cuz of the mailbox thing and that fucking mutt next door. You also never know if they’re gonna slam their car doors and move shit next door. Their driveway’s barely 5 feet away from where I sleep. So, to be on the safe side, I sleep with it on. There is still a positive side to soundproofing. It does decrease noise and it makes it nearly pitch dark if I am asleep during the day.

Later…

Well, I’m in my bedroom now. It’s too hot out there for writing. Too uncomfortable to write as much as I have to write. It’s so bright and sunny out, too. I wore my sunglasses. No breeze at all. If there were a slight breeze it’d be perfect. Perfect for tanning, although it’s perfect now for that. The only bummer is that you get all heated up but the pool’s too cold. I’m not gonna have any patience for tanning till I can swim.

Later…

I just ran out back to cut my toenails. This way my nails don’t go flying everywhere.

Tom’s working on the computer now. We’ve been doing great together.

Still no package from Kim or letter from Alex. Soon I hope, but I just sent one to Bob who wrote me. Guess what he sent? Two Polaroid shots of him in just long pants, two in his underwear, and one of his dick. I’m keeping the two of him in his long pants. One of the underwear shots is going to Barbara in the NHA. The other, along with his dick pic is going to Nervous. He oughta love it.

Last Saturday I did get my address labels and they’re very pretty. Black print on 5 different metallic colored backgrounds - blue, green, red, purple and gold.

I talked to Tom and finally gave in and set up a doctor’s appointment for the 22nd. The one my referral’s for.

Carolyn got her own phone now, so I hope she can do our hair tomorrow or the next day.

The beast, as I call the cat, is doing fine. My allergies are a little worse, though. Last Sunday night I woke up wheezing my ass off at 11 PM. Thankfully it was no ER attack.

I think I mentioned sending a tape to Kim. Well, everyone has tapes, except Bob. It’s time he got his very own copy of edits, convos, etc.

Yesterday at noon I called KOOL FM, my favorite radio station, to request a song. I said I was dedicating it to my fiancé. Tom got a kick out of it. Of course, I taped it.

Later…

I was just eating and outside smoking. Speaking of smoking, I can’t quit so I’ve developed a cutting-down method at least. I’ve been getting too carried away. I’ve been setting the timer so I only have 1 an hour. Soon, after I get comfortable with this, I’ll up the time by 15 minutes. Every 3 days or so, I’ll up it to 15 minutes to slowly lower my nicotine level.

Real early last Sunday morning Tom and I went to JB’s for breakfast.

After, we went to Walmart. I got a leopard print bodysuit, two exercise videos, a journal, and fabric glue. I still have to get new sneakers, ballet slippers (the practice kind you don’t tie around your ankles), and I saw a gorgeous skirt I want. I’m also gonna get a hair removal system. It yanks the hair by the roots and grows back slower and finer. I hear it’s painful, but no pain, no gain. It’s better than breaking my arm again or childbirth. It’s something I can also stop if it hurts too much.

Next month we’re getting a dishwasher. Thank God! We need it.

The exercise videos really work great. One’s Buns of Steel, the other’s Abs of Steel.

The journal I got was really cheap at $2.69. It was the only one of two there that I liked and it’s got no lines. The one with no lines is a nice change here and there. This way I can write super small or big. I can, and I have done that in lined journals, too, but it looks nicer on blank pages. I now have a total of 50 journals!

I also got 3 tubes of fabric glue. Neon colors of pink, green and orange. They all came in 1 package. Tom bought two white T-shirts which I decorated for him. I also did my yellow half-shirt and I’ll do more clothes of mine later. On journal 20 I had glued on material from an old bathing suit. Then I put blue glitter glue on it, but it would always fall off. Well, I tore it all off and decorated it with glue. I also did journal 37 with the glue too, and put 3 rhinestones on it. They were from my half-shirt. They were arranged a bit crooked, so I stuck them on the side of journal 37. Two are blue and one’s yellow. I also put a pink line of glue on the side of journal 5, too.

Later…

Tom’s in the shower now and soon to be off to work. This week he’ll have the next two days off.

I called Carolyn and her boyfriend answered. There’s a possibility of her coming tomorrow afternoon.

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 5, 1993 I fell asleep around 2:00 or 3:00 PM and although by 10:00 PM I was well-rested, the fucking dog next door woke me up. This weekend for sure, we must seal in any gaps in the soundproofing stuff. This is the last time I’ll be woken up by outside noise, even though it’s only been occasionally. I live in a house now, therefore, I refuse to be woken up by anything outside. Even if it is once or twice a month. The good news is that my asthma’s OK. I just thank God it’s not an everyday thing like it is in apartments I can tolerate dogs and kids very well if it’s off in the distance. I almost like hearing dogs bark way off in the distance. But next door’s too close and too loud. Tom’s snoring is another example. It’s soothingly rhythmic from his room to mine, but I could never deal with it in the same room.

I got two things in the mail yesterday. My referral to a female GYN. Also, a notice of services I didn’t think my health plan covered. Family planning stuff, like birth control pills, IUDs, condoms, Norplant, sponges, creams, shots, vasectomies for guys and tubals for women. At least I don’t have to bother with and deal with all this. Not if he won’t cum and I’m sterile.

Today I really oughta get Kim and Bob’s mail for sure. I mailed Kim her tape in an envelope and wrote “hand cancel” on it.

This weekend or next, Carolyn can do our hair, but in the meantime, I have to get more detangler stuff.

Gotta get like maybe 3 journals and a CD. I’ll save the rest of my money for cigarettes and whatever else I may need. My address labels probably won’t arrive for another month or so.

The cat’s been great. He’s the perfect cat and still never bothers me or claws on my door when I’m in my room. I wish I could keep him.

Now for the weirdest dream of them all, before I forget. I was told by my beautiful neighbors to ring their doorbell at a certain time so I could babysit. I rang their bell and got no answer at the time they told me to. I figured they had to step out. I then looked straight down and realized I was topless! I put my pants on but had forgotten my shirt. So, I glanced over here, thinking, “I better run over here fast and get a shirt on.” But as I turned to run over here, the house kept moving farther and farther away till I was next walking on the beach in CT. I covered my tits with my hand and hair, and in my other hand, I had my journal. The beach was crowded and although no one seemed to notice me, I had to walk out in the water. It was so mobbed that there was no room on the sand, but the water kept getting deeper and deeper. The last thing I remember before waking up was, “Oh shit! My journal’s underwater.” It was up to my neck.

Later…

I am 97 pounds according to the scale, but I’m just finishing my period, so of course I am. In a few days, I’ll be closer to 100. Those Pre-Sym pills do help a bit as far as the bloating goes from water retention.

I’m playing some edits right now and just had another sneezing fit. It was worse yesterday. This weekend I’m gonna dust and vacuum. Gotta do the dishes, too, but hopefully for only 1 more month.

Now I’m gonna make Tom some sandwiches.

Later…

I just made Tom 8 sandwiches. It’s funny but true, that on weekdays I make his sandwiches, and on weekends he makes me my coffee. Also, on weekends, he cooks and I clean. I hate being around him when he eats though. I always thought Andy was #1 on my list of those who are totally obnoxious when they eat making these gross smacking sounds. Not anymore. Tom’s disgusting. Way worse than Andy and me. We agreed to talk about the stuff that bothers one another, but he takes it wrong when I try to tell him about this obnoxious chomping of his. He takes it as a cut-down and gets defensive.

Yesterday morning he and I had a nice talk about his family. He said whenever I’m ready to meet them, fine. He’s been good about this, too, and has never pressured me. I told him I was hesitant cuz everybody loves a liar, and I don’t want to pretend to be who I’m not to please anyone. I’m happy with what and who I am but was afraid they’d cut him down as he has a great job and car, and I don’t. Also, cuz he looks like a conservative man and I look like a girl who’s more on the flashy, modern style of looks. We don’t look the same as most couples do. If his family asks me what work I’ve done, I’m not gonna lie. I’m proud to have been a dancer and to hell with what anyone else thinks. People want to hear awesome lies, rather than the truth at times, although Tom says not to worry at all. I also don’t want to seem selfish either. If Tammy lived here, he would’ve gladly met her long ago.

It’s incredibly chilly out now, so thank God I have this heater. It’ll warm up to 83º today and yesterday was about 85º. I was out back for a bit yesterday afternoon and it was beautiful. Too cool for a bathing suit, but too warm for a heavy shirt. A thin half-shirt was fine.

Today or tomorrow Steve will get his letter. I’m sure he’ll show it to everyone in the office and the entire complex. He’ll also suspect me too, but I don’t give a shit. He’s the type that’ll think it’s weird and somewhat funny, but will mainly be pissed, paranoid and probably scared. I’m sure by now Scott has fucked him over. They’ve probably fucked each other over. How can Bonnie live with a guy like him? I always wondered.

THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1993 This cat is so good. I wish it were mine. He’s so friendly and loving. He now seems so happy here. He’s not obnoxious and doesn’t wake me up. When I go into my room and close the door he doesn’t claw at it. I think it’s best to keep him out of my room. He knows Tom, but would definitely rather hang with me. This is good, though, as I have much more time to play with him than Tom does. I’m sitting at the table in the living room and he’s sitting right by me. He’s come totally out of his shell.

Now that I’ve been gone two months from Crystal Creek, I decided it was time for Steve to hear from me. You know, the guy that lived below me when I was next to Tom. I assume he and Bonnie are still there. If not, his letter will be forwarded. I never knew his last name, so I addressed it to Steve Jensen. How did I come up with Jensen? Well, Steve’s a firefighter. One time I saw a firefighter on TV here in PHX with that name, so he oughta get a kick out of that one. I’ll bet they do know each other. I pretty much wrote some funny stuff.

I was slightly annoyed earlier as I recorded 3 shows but forgot to up the volume on the VCR remote, so I can’t hear anything. Oh well, they will repeat this show in a few months. All they do these days is 10-15 new shows on almost each of the series, then repeat them all 3 times.

I’m still debating on whether or not to mail Kim’s tape in a mailbag or an envelope. I have done both in the past and they’ve both worked. We’ll see.

Also, when the stamps run out, I could order 50 more or get stamped envelopes. We’ll need envelopes soon, too.

Yesterday Tom got a Signet bill, so I addressed the final letter for Tammy and I’ve mailed out all 3.

Yesterday Tom also got me a portable heater and I love it. It works so well and has a fan and an air purifier too. There are wall heaters here, but only in the living room, the hall by the bathroom and his room, and in the back room. There’s none in our bedrooms and the only thing that comes out of the vents is the AC and EC.

The cactuses I got with Kim are starting to grow.

Later…

Yesterday I called my doctor’s office. They didn’t have my current number and address, even though I gave it to them, so they left a message with Andy. They’re mailing my referral. I have no infections, but they say I have non-malignant cell changes. So. What’s the big deal? Everyone’s cells change, so why should I go to a specialist? Tom says he’s gonna try to talk me into going, but why put myself through more discomfort for nothing? Plus half the GYNs say one thing, while the other half say another. An example of that is, half say I’m average size down there. The other half says I’m too small. I know I’m small. It’s been obvious enough. They also say I can have sex. I have nothing that can hurt Tom, but I’m not sure that’ll make a difference in his appetite.

I’m not sure if I mentioned this yet, but Nervous is gonna be getting an awful lot of mail. Tom got a package of 25 no-postage-necessary postcards for computer stuff. I’d have loved to have sent them to Stacey, Andi, and several others, but they’ll just run and try to get another conjunction. Although they’d lose again, I don’t need the bullshit, so they’re all going to Nervous.

I told Tom of all those weird dreams and he thought they were quite bizarre, too. I have yet to write about one more, but before I do, let me thank God I slept OK. I knocked off at 4 PM, got up at 9:30, took my meds and went back to bed till 1 AM. I talked to Andy at 2 AM for about 20 minutes. Tomorrow he’s taking the AT&T test for the fourth time. I really hope he passes. Again he was saying how he wishes I could go take that test for him. Also that he would’ve gotten a 40% on the civil service test, whereas I pulled off an 81%. How, who knows?

My hand’s pretty sore, so later I’ll do the dream, as well as a list of stuff I want.

Later…

Tom’s gone out to get my prescription and some groceries.

We had a great talk earlier. We finally are beginning to have extra money and things have been so much better with us, it’s making me again want to marry him. To hell with the odds and statistics. I’ve been made to eat my words once again and that is about it getting better with time, rather than worse. But I’ll still never have a kid even though he thinks I’d be a good mom.

He got some great ideas for me to help him out with the computer by doing icons and releasing them for possible donations if people like them. He’s gonna write a biography on me. He told me what he was gonna say and it was very flattering.

He said his friend Wendy says I should go to the crotch doctor as the cell changes could be pre-cancerous. Why oh why must I deal with this? I’ve had enough. Dealing with asthma and allergies is enough.

I got my period and it’s almost over, so at least I’m not horny.

Tom says he ordered something for me by mail, but he won’t say what. It’s multi-colored and made of paper.

I sent a check for $34 for 100 stamped envelopes by mail. Hopefully, my address labels get here soon, and Kim’s package and Bob’s letter.

For Hanukkah, I’ll send Tammy and all of them a check for $25 and only buy a few Hanukkah cards.

When I decide what to do for Tom, do I do it on the 9th or the 25th? How do couples work this out when only one’s Jewish? I’ll figure it out. I’m sure there’s a way. Cuz even though I don’t consider myself Jewish or of any other religion, it’s been a lifelong habit to celebrate or exchange gifts at Hanukkah and ignore Christmas. Except for all the pretty lights, decorations and Christmas songs, it would’ve been so much more fun to have been Catholic as a kid. There are certainly no Jewish Santas. No pretty trees to decorate. Only 8 lousy candles.

In December we might get a dishwasher, then a camcorder. I may also go to Vegas and California in this life. Can you imagine that?! Me? California! Well, that’s what I said about Phoenix, dancing, modeling, relationships, living in a house and marriage. But no kid.

Guess I’ll go make coffee now.

WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 3, 1993 Today was sort of a shitty day. I was living in an apartment all over again. It sure felt that way when the assholes next door woke me up 6 times from 6 PM - 11 PM moving furniture. They were moving something in and out. I’ve always wanted to live in a house and now that I finally do, neighbors are still waking me up. While I seldom hear them, their fucking dog is unpredictable. Whether it’s daily or occasionally, I’m so sick of listening to other people’s noise. I want to wake up when I say so, not someone else’s dog or activities. Also, when I’m awake, I wanna hear my noise. Not someone else’s. I hope these people decided they hate it here and are moving out and a guy like Tom moves in. It’d be so nice to have one person over there with little or no company and no dog. It’d also be nice if these houses weren’t so close.

On the lighter side of things, Kim left a message that relieved my fears. Bob’s alive and well and hasn’t written due to not having money for stamps. She said he was quite ecstatic cuz his court date’s only two weeks away and looking good. In his favor, I mean. She said he was quite “normal” for a change and he mailed me a letter. Kim says my package is to be mailed out today. Can’t wait.

No referral or call from my doctor yet. Oh well, but I am gonna call Tammy now. I still need to read that letter to her.

Also, the cat’s here. It hid behind the stove for a while, but I eventually coaxed it out. It’s friendly and yes, a bit chubby. Shadow was bigger, though. Longer and taller, I mean.

Later…

I finally got ahold of Tam to read the letter to her and to add stuff for her. I printed and mailed 2 of the 3 letters for her. I’m waiting for Tom to get a bill from Signet so I can get the address.

I don’t know this cat’s name, so I’ve been calling him Shadow. He came out from hiding again and was meowing by his litter box.

I sure hope I get Bob’s letter today. Hope to hear from Alex soon, too.

Later…

Tom will be home any minute, but I figured I’d write till then.

Ellie had given me hair glitter gel. I finally used it and it sucks. My hair is all matted.

Last night, around midnight I called Andy. I played him a little more than a half-hour of edits. He called the VV machine. Stacey’s still working there as I figured. Her voice is still on the outgoing message. Two quick segments of her were left. The bitch will probably go call the idiots in Florida, but I could care less. Either them or the so-called parole officer I never had.

Speaking of Stacey, I had a weird dream with her in it and the assholes next door. I dreamt I went out back and caught her sitting by the pool. She had a huge German shepherd that almost bit my knee, but I didn’t care. I was too busy cussing her out.

I was also visiting these so-called people next door, but it didn’t look like a house. I was sitting talking to them in their living room when one of them opened their fireplace door which was solid. The back wall of the fireplace was glass, though, and through it, I could see the apartment next door’s fireplace and into their apartment which was all brick. Then weirdly enough, as I was leaving and walked out the front door, I was outside my old door at Crystal Creek.

Then, there was this part where I was standing at our front door here and glanced down a slight hill at theirs. It seemed to be a brown wooden colored house, much bigger with two floors. I remember turning to Tom who was sitting on the couch and saying, “It’s amazing how they live so close, yet so far.” Apparently, the house was at an angle.

In another part, I was walking across my backyard and through the back of theirs. (there was no block wall) Inside they were talking to Stacey.

Tom’s home now, so I’ll have to remember the weirdest part for later.

TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 2, 1993 Well, I got my period a few hours ago. No severe cramps thankfully.

Yesterday I did more editing.

Tammy called really early, but we were both up. She gave me the addresses of the credit card companies she owes money. I typed a letter to them for her and I will call her at 8 AM her time (later) and see if they’re OK. The letter basically says how she’s struggling and trying to find a job.

Later…

I decided I do like and prefer my phone numbers to be in a journal, rather than an address book. I’ve written stories halfway through #35, and I have decided I’m definitely sick of story writing, so the last half is phone numbers. I’ll probably write stories on and off here and there, but for the most part, I’m tired of it. They’re easier to keep in my head, rather than write them down.

I called Kim a few hours ago. She hasn’t had time, due to tons of ambulance calls, to go check on Bob. She will soon, she says. There’s definitely something wrong. Neither of us has heard a word from him.

Also, no one in my beautiful family’s tried to call, thankfully. Tammy never mentioned anything the last time we spoke, so nothing too exciting’s going on, I guess.

My parents will never send my other guitar, let alone my pictures. I’m sure she never kept the pictures. That was never her intention. Her intention was to throw them away and that’s exactly what she did.

Later…

I just finished making 7 sandwiches for Tom. That oughta help him out and make his workweek easier.

Tomorrow, before he goes to work, he’s picking up that cat that needs to be on a diet.

I have to remember to call Mary soon. It’s been a while since we last spoke and I’ll bet she’s lost my number. I should’ve heard from her by now.

Oh, almost forgot. Yesterday morning I finally spoke to Carolyn (Andy’s coworker). Tom needs his hair cut too, and she says she’ll only charge $5. Between Tom and I, that’d be $10 instead of $16 and she’ll come here. Maybe this weekend.

I can’t wait till Kim sends me that tooth whitener and the camera.

I also can’t wait till I know what in the world happened to Bob. I wish I knew. I hope he’s OK. I hope he gets out here. I need more letters from him. Gotta start filling up Book of Letters #5. It’s got only one full page done. I also hope Alex writes and more often than once a year. Kim says he is a big writer and that once he starts, he goes on and on. Kim said she and Phil got a kick out of Alex’s letter.

I let Kim know I’m sending her a tape. On one side there’s a funny convo with me, Andy, Fran and Nervous. The other side has Andy and Laurie H and also one she’s never heard that I just found of me, Bob and Andy. She oughta enjoy it.

Well, anyway, I think I’ll go do some more editing. It’s been coming along really well. Tom heard some new ones last night. Andy said I could leave them on his machine, but it’ll take forever. It’s a pain in the ass when the VM only goes for 3 minutes each. I’ll wait till we’re on the phone and I’ll play them for him live.

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 1, 1993 Today was another very good day. Yesterday morning I didn��t fall asleep till nearly 11:00 and was shocked to have slept till 7 PM. There are tons of kids on this street, yet never did I hear a knock or a doorbell. Not even after I got up. I’m so grateful that I hardly ever hear kids. I sure don’t miss hearing them 24/7. The only thing that can sometimes be obnoxious is the dog next door. It’s always outside. The soundproofing stuff in windows really helps. Tom and I are gonna seal it up soon.

This Tuesday we’re having a cat here, but only temporarily. Some elderly couple he knows has 10 cats. One’s gotten fat and needs to be on a diet, so it’ll be here for a month or two.

When I got up, I danced and exercised a bit. Later, Tom set up his keyboard and we played a little of that and some guitar.

I drew a horse which he really likes. Yeah, it was a lucky shot.

Last night we baked chocolate chip cookies and we still got plenty left over. He cooked us burgers and mashed potatoes. Soon I’m gonna go zap some leftovers.

Fran called. It’s cold and snowing! They’re only two hours ahead now.

I hear Tom opening a soda.

Later…

I’m back after having a cookie and telling Tom about a great idea I came up with. The idea is to build a shelf that goes around the whole room across the middle of the wall. Maybe a foot lower than the middle (between the floor and ceiling).

Someone’s out having a good time now. I heard a car stereo. Other than that, it’s quiet and rather chilly out.

Gotta go pee now, but I’ll write more later.

0 notes

las-cercanias · 1 year ago

Text

Prologue: a letter

My beloved Lola,

Unsuspectingly, analog horror became a bedside suppressant for my occasional anxious spirals.

I have a compulsion to telepathically ruin my life a thousand times and have too much pride to ask for people’s help, so I turned to find a homoeopathic means to save myself. Unbeknownst to me, the effect of these stories lasts much longer than any responsible dosage of ethanol, caffeine, or nicotine. Old school radio box encases the pulses from some higher beings you can’t risk imagining. Cosmic beings brute-force their way into my subconscious corridors. My third eye stares at the hellish mockery, so intensely that it lets go of all trivial fallen leaves.

What I had yet to recognize is that: fear, parallel to sadness, is also cathartic. The neighbouring side of the internet gave me a pseudo-scientific name— said these could be cognito-hazards. That makes sense, I suppose. After all, among various impending dooms, you survive the world by hours, by the minute… even by the halves of it. Inside, there is no way out. At the eventual point of the storyline, you face death squarely but never fairly. We witnessed the revived Goliaths, but how do space monkeys like us stand beside the great young shepherd?

To the north end of our land, there is something crawling out of the dense woods. That something was once ordinary people, that were us, but now they helmet skulls with fungus protruding from empty sockets where a person’s cornea and blood vessels had been. They parrot our hello-s and can-you-hear-me-s, and then politely knock on doors in an entitled manner as kids do on Halloweens. Before the sun reaches the county highways, pickup truck drivers oversteer at the same time farm animals’ heads are ripped apart from their spines. Even further in the north, every season a newly recruited lighthouse keeper settles in to replace the former caretaker, who conveniently had walked out of his job and presumably into the ocean. Most lighthouse keepers are smart enough to not question what is in the ocean except the foolish few, who would take their scrapbooks to make cartographic notes and decipher messages periodically surface from the sea beneath. They have one-sided conversations with the sea until something hears them speak, afterward, never again are they seen.

At this point, obviously, I shall remind you, my love, that you simply should not take this beyond its intended stage. When prescribed properly, none of these lovecraftian plays would harm me more than my questionable collection of spirits. Rest assured that otherwise those silly, tiny, little deaths in each iteration of universe reciprocate my decadal struggle with existential dreads.

The next time we see each other, perhaps I can interpret the tales from the deep sea for you.

Descending, Guillermo figuratively, from la calle de don quijote, 28th October 2023

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the-firebird69 · 2 years ago

Text

There's a huge Force of empire ships building up outside of Florida and they are about 300 miles away to the South Southeast. You're too close and you need to move off everyone's wondering who they are is open hailing frequencies it's probably this idiot next door. Is John remillard he says that I treat him like a pet our son says and I say it's better than most so sit no I got a newspaper here cuz you're a prints buddy and he's thinking about it.. a bunch of ships are going off to investigate about 500 and the cluster of ships is about 300,000

The approach and hail them ask them what the hell they're doing instead of gathering in order to grab a John remillard nope our son. Are his ships.

It's kind of time for them to leave I need the commercials off the air people are afraid of them I guess.

The scanning the fleet to see who it is they've been receiving messages from them telling them to relinquish their weapons and their aiming at Florida more ships from the empire State are coming over and they're saying stop with your stinking aggressive attitude and the fleet that's gathered 300,000 vessels says no Susan's sister action upon us will be fired upon now the fleet that went over to talk to them is small we see four or 500 mi ships and those 300,000 wouldn't stand a chance and we don't think they can see them they're calling for backup and they hear the backup is depleted. You're screaming we need backup I think they see the ship now all of them and there's plenty of big ships a whole bunch of 10 MI and there's 300,000 are mostly one mile and only a few 5 mi sips and they're yelling you... They're up there and negotiating sort of more ships are amazing from the empire fleet and they're saying do not fire on us or our headquarters or they'll be so much death here you won't imagine it and it's 300 miles or blasters would do damage but mostly to Miami out here hurt like hell no dude destroying places but not that badly and their name sucks just good in this case you see several heating up and the big ships send out a blooming message on their intercom turn down your weapons or you'll be fired upon so they hear this voice on the radio and says we are to turn our weapons down not up and it said yes turn your weapons down and Macs getting status and start turning it up a little more. And he said he hit these son of a b******. They open fire on the ones that heated up this is all of them wipe them out so you go to sleep for Christ's sake and hit some and then wiping them out 90% out and it's remaining 10% and it's gone. That's on half of John Remo and share of the empire fleet the other half is to the West and they saw where it was and they have a team out there and they're firing on them it's about another $300,000 but the same size. It's about a million to the South and they're firing on them and the hitting a whole ton of them and they're coming down now some of them in space and being hit pretty bad lots of them are in space 50% out soon 100% And they're more ships coming yeah and it's John remillard and they're going to be hit very soon

Thor Freya

0 notes

vintagegeekculture · 2 years ago

Note

Where can I read pulp novels like The Shadow and Doc Savage?

Archive.org is so much, much more than just the Wayback Machine. For posterity, they have completely digitized a tremendous amount of scifi and horror and adventure pulps, all available for reading and downloading in PDF, including the following:

Adventure. Of the big two pulps, they have the entire golden age of possibly the greatest pulp mag of all time, Adventure, from 1914-1930, when they had Talbot Mundy's mystic adventures in Central Asia and India, and Harold Lamb's tales of the Mongols and Cossacks. It's incredible to just flip through them and find things like articles where people talk about what it's like to be bitten by a snake, or a firsthand account of the Italian invasion of Abyssinia, or polar exploration from the air. The stories are just the beginning, and in reprints, they don't include the fact they have wonderful maps of where the story is set.

Argosy is also available, the very first pulp magazine ever made starting in 1896. So you can read, among others, the first stories of Zorro, Tarzan, and fantasy novelist A. Merritt, as well as find letters pages where you see the weird prose H.P. Lovecraft, who the other letters that wrote in response did nothing but make fun of him. It's like witnessing cyberbulling in 1914 mixed with crank youtube comments.

Weird Tales. Speaking of Lovecraft, they also have almost the entirety of Weird Tales. Unlike Adventure and Argosy, which sold in the millions, this one was a low seller, but through Robert E. Howard (creator of Conan) and the incredible worlds of Clark Ashton Smith (the true genius of Weird Tales), and the space adventures of C.L. Moore.

The first ever scifi pulp magazine, Amazing Stories, is available for reading. It created geek culture as we know it as he encouraged fans to message each other. So geek culture as we know it started in 1928 so a Luxembourg American weirdo could sell radio parts.

Don't sleep on a few of the minor ones. My favorite is Unknown, which has amazing work by L. Ron Hubbard, one of the best early fantasy and horror novelists. There's also A. Merritt's Fantasy, a reminder of a time he was THE name in Fantasy.

Unfortunately the hero pulps were mostly published by Street and Smith and are therefore not in Public Domain, but for those, there are great, cheap collections available that I recommend, especially as they have great historical material added by William Murray, pulp historian.

#pulp magazines #scifi pulp #horror pulp #adventure

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charlie-rulerofhell · 3 years ago

Text

An interview with Måneskin: “It's not about out bodies, it's about our music”

Heyo, I'm back with another translation. This time the article is from the German Rolling Stone website who met with Måneskin after their TikTok performance at the Schwuz, Berlin, and posted the interview yesterday. Again there were some interesting questions asked (and the pictures they added to the article are quite nice, though severely lacking some Ethan content, but check it out!).

Again, I hope that no one has already gone through the effort and translated it or is currently working on a translation. Also this is an official invitation, if you stumble across any articles or video interviews in German that you would like to have translated just message me and I'll get to it! (or if you just wanna chat about Måneskin, my inbox is always open :))

Have a great day everyone!

Full article under the cut.

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

An interview with Måneskin: “It's not about out bodies, it's about our music”

Jose-Luis Amsler

July 6, 2021

Måneskin are just what this generation has been missing. Passionate, corny, and full-on honest. In an interview with Rolling Stones, the ESC winners explain to us why they would never work in a normal job and why the hype for their appearance is sometimes going too far.

Damiano, Victoria, Thomas and Ethan are entering the nearly deserted dance hall, before they wait on stage in a red-blue spotlight. They are wearing glittering fish net tops, black tape across their nipples, leather pants, heels and make up. The camera men who are filming in portrait format (9:16) suitable for TikTok are whirling up the haze of the fog machine.

Måneskin are [in] Berlin to give a TikTok concert. A TikTok livestream of this scale has not been done often – tension is in the air. The four Italians don't know at this point that due to the stream the few people present are not allowed to clap or cheer. In complete silence and with slight uncertainty the four are crossing Neukölln's club Schwuz. A few puzzled glances are exchanged. Finally, Måneskin are striking the first chord.

Then the rich sound of Ethan's bass drum is tearing through the silence. It's almost as if someone has flicked a switch somewhere. There it is, the rock star presence that is hovering over everything they do, with an ounce of arrogance (in the best sense of the word). Singer Damiano is dancing lasciviously on his heels, and during an especially ecstatic solo guitarist Thomas is throwing himself down on the floor in a way it can only be done by a passionate 20-year-old musician who had never had to worry about the looming doom of an artificial knee joint [for 'passionate' the interview is using the term 'besessen' which means 'possessed', and although I think it's rather supposed to describe the way Thomas is 'possessed / obsessed' with the music, thus passionate for the music, you never know if they didn't mean to say that the way he dances looks 'possessed' … I mean, they might be on to something here ;)]. Around half an hour and about 120 decibel later, Damiano says their goodbyes with an almost shy-sounding “Okay, bye.” After the performance, we do our interview in the Schwuz.

Rolling Stone: It was a little bit weird, right, when you went on stage today?

Damiano: Yeah, that was really strange (laughs). They only told us after the performance that the audience was instructed to stay silent for the stream.

Vic: But at least they weren't silent because we were shit (all laughing). We are slowly getting used to playing without a live audience. I mean we are doing this now for more than a year.

RS: What do you think about these new kinds of concerts such as the TikTok livestream today?

Damiano: Well, at the moment it is the only option to perform anyway, so it's alright. But of course you cannot compare this to a proper concert.

Thomas: But it's pretty cool that so many people can experience our concert live.

Vic: Also we're gonna start touring again soon. Right now we are arranging some festival and gigs. In December we will be touring Italy and afterwards we are planning to go on tour through Europe. But we don't have anything fixed yet, there is just a lot going on at the moment.

“A lot going on”. Quite an understatement considering the recent journey Måneskin has made through the past weeks after their ESC win. Their singles “Beggin'” and “I Wanna Be Your Slave” went through the roof (also thanks to Social Media) and are currently dominating the international charts – lately they were also number one in Germany. There is barely a radio station that isn't playing the band on heavy rotation [would love to know what stations they listen to, have never heard Måneskin played in German radio tbh :( ], and everyone opening Instagram or TikTok these days is flooded by Måneskin content. Every second a new fanpage with the name of 'maneskin_obsession' or 'damianos_slut' is springing up like a (virtual) mushroom. It sounds like a cliche, but Damiano, Vic, Thomas and Ethan became international stars over night.

“Of course it's nice to get compliments. But sometimes they definitely cross a line.” – Damiano David

RS: How has your life as a band changed since your win at the ESC in Rotterdam?

Vic: I think we don't even notice a lot of what's happening. Right after the ESC we went to a studio in the countryside where we made music the whole day long. So at first we didn't realise that so many things were happening all around us – and that we had so many new fans. We're just now beginning to learn what's going on. We were at Sony yesterday, there were so many fans waiting for us. That was crazy.

RS: A large part of the attention you are getting now is about your outer appearance, your style, your attractiveness. Is that getting a little too much sometimes?

Damiano: Of course it's nice to get compliments (laughs). But sometimes they definitely cross a line. Especially when we just talk about our music or about a social or political topic that we care about. In those moments it's just completely inappropriate to reduce us to our appearance. Sure – when I'm posting a half-naked picture of myself on Instagram I know that I will get these kind of comments. And then it's totally fine, I mean in the end I'm posting the picture to show myself. But sometimes it's not the right place for it.

RS: And also you should be allowed to wear what you want without being sexualised, right?

Vic: Yes, absolutely. We are wearing these outfits because we feel good in them, not to put the focus on our bodies. And in general it shouldn't always only be about how you dress. We are musicians – so first and foremost it should be about our music. But I think it will still be a long way until we will reach that point.

“That the boys are wearing make up does not tell you what gender they are attracted to. Those things should never be equated with each other.” – Victoria De Angelis

RS: But still you are sending a message with your style against stereotypical gender roles. I guess it's also not only coincidence that we are in the Schwuz today, which is normally a party location and safe space for the LGBTQ community.

Vic: Yes, that is all part of the positive message that we try to send. We want to give our audience the feeling that they are free. Free to wear whatever they want to wear, be how they want to be and love whom they want to love. It's unbelievable that there is still so much intolerance in our times. That has always been really important to us so we try to talk about these topics. We also believe that the narrow-mindedness of society is an educational problem. When you grow up with people all around you telling you how you should be, you will never feel completely free. The more people are talking about it, the sooner things will change.

RS: Some artists who are advocating for these topics are accused of 'queerbaiting', that they are only pretending to be a certain way to gain more support from the queer community. Have you also been faced with those allegations?

Vic: Yes, a few times. But of course we never pretended to be anything. Some people accuse of us queerbaiting because we look and act the way we do. But that's flawed thinking. We don't believe that clothes are connected to a person's sexuality. That the boys are wearing make up does not tell you what gender they are attracted to. Those two things should never be equated with each other.

RS: This courage for free self expression that you are conveying is mainly lived by our (young) generation through Instagram and the like. What is your relationship to social media?

Damiano: For me it was almost scary at first. The more we grew, the more people were trying to twist all of my words. But over time you start to understand that with more fame you also get more criticism. The happier you look the more hate you will get. It's not only like that for celebrities. If you are brave enough to show the things that make you happy there will always be people that support you, but they are also those that envy you. Of course, this should never lead anyone to not express themselves openly but that's easier said than done.

Vic: We are also trying not to spend too much time on social media. In the end we just try to be honest with our fans and to avoid negativity.

[caption under the picture of Damiano: 'Is already being compared to icons such as David Bowie']

It's actually surprising how little power a win at the ESC holds in most cases. Almost 200 million people are watching this shining spectacle every year – and still, a few months afterwards it is hard to remember who those people were that got covered in confetti during the award ceremony. It's the well-known curse of a casting show that rests on the winning bands. When just next year a new sensation will come to marvel at, how much impact does a win have then? There are exceptions of course, like Lena who is until this day, 10 years after her win in Oslo, a part of the more famous music scene of German pop music. With their charisma, their unusual sound at least for our modern standards, and their contemporary message Måneskin could become such an exception, too.

It's likely also helpful that the band already had a standing in the Italian music scene prior to their ESC participation. Their first album 'Il ballo della vita' already achieved platinum in 2018, three years prior to Sanremo and the ESC. And then there is also the long way that led the four schoolmates to this point that helped them gain the necessary persistence. Because contrary to what some people might want to believe Måneskin are not a phenomenon that has just been deliberately bred to be this way by the entertainment industry for Eurovision.

“I have worked [in a 'normal' job] for a whole month in my entire life – it didn't really end well.” – Damiano David

RS: You were all raised in Rome, the capital of the catholic church. What was it like to start as a young progressive band in such a conservative environment?

Damiano: In the beginning, when we started as buskers, no one gave a damn about us anyways (all laughing). But of course … Once we got a bit bigger there were a few people who had a problem with us. For example when we went to Sanremo, there were quite many people who thought that the way we looked and acted we shouldn't be allowed to represent Italy. They didn't even want to listen to our music first.

Vic: Especially when it comes to appearance and sexuality, Italy is a little more backward than other countries. The church probably also has an influence there. They are often quite conservative of course, so many people grew up with such a [conservative] mindset.

RS: You once said that the song 'In Nome Del Padre' is an answer to exactly those people. What does the song mean to you?

Damiano: Back in the beginning [of our career] we had to deal with a lot of problems. They didn't want to let us play in clubs because we would take too much space as a band or because they didn't like our (fashion) style or because they didn't want to pay us. Italy isn't a good place for bands. Our musical style was also criticised a lot. Many people were telling us: Don't do that [rock music], you won't get popular with that in Italy, you will never achieve anything with it. Of course those comments were hurtful but they were also a good reason for us to continue with what we did. And we turned our sadness into anger. With that song we wanted to tell those people from back then: Fuck off and look at us, we did it!

RS: Did you ever consider working in a nine-to-five job and live a 'normal' life?

Damiano: Nah, not really. For one month in my life I worked [in a 'normal' job] – it didn't end well (all laughing).

Vic: We all made music since we were kids. It's a huge part of us, that we couldn't just ignore. And the most important thing is that you do something that makes you happy. At least that's what we believe. So we started from a young age to put all our time and energy into music.

Thomas: Yeah, exactly. Ever since we were in school together we always made music. That has always been our main focus and it is until today. We play and play and play because it is the only thing that …

Ethan: … we live for.

Damiano: Music has also something very therapeutic for us. Even when we are in a bad mood or fight with each other – yeah, that happens, too – then all of that is gone the moment we enter the stage. Maybe that's the beautiful thing about music – that it allows you to forget everything else. You're just standing on stage, having fun with your friends.

From most bands you wouldn't buy such a corny love letter to music. Mostly it just sounds like an empty phrase, a well-practiced quotable line. But when there is something that defines Måneskin and that becomes more and more evident during our conversation it's their uncompromising honesty. The four of them are definitely not lacking a sense of humour but they take their music very seriously. Which should not be taken for granted in a generation that has mainly produced sarcastic cloud rappers and has made cynical twitter comedy a national sport. And maybe Måneskin are exactly what this generation was lacking all along.

Still, the four musicians, all in the age of 20 to 22, are also prone to the constant need for self-expression, that has become an intrinsic part of today's life. This does not only reflect in the outfits of the band (always 'on fleek') and their Instagram profiles, but also in their lyrics. Their latest record 'Teatra D'Ira – Vol. 1' shows a clear theme: The album is an ode to individuality, accentuated by fast and hard sounds.

Sometimes this message fitting for a Disney movie [really? guess I have been watching the wrong Disney movies my whole life …] is wrapped in a contrasting loud and forceful packaging, but never so much that it becomes inauthentic or self-caricaturing [note: I'm honestly not entirely sure what they wanted to say with this sentence since it uses a lot of rhetorical devices that could be interpreted in different ways, but I'd say this sounds the most plausible]. And in the end, the thing that makes Måneskin so interesting is their unification of the spirit of this time – between TikTok hedonism and an omnipresent political statement – with the music of past generations.

“When you are twenty, you start to think about what the future will hold.” – Damiano David

RS: Your musical style is often described as classical 70s rock, but in fact there are many different influences in your music. Sometimes you groove almost into funk, sometimes it's more rapping than singing. How did this mixture come to be?

Thomas: It's just that we all have our own individual influences and then we meet somewhere in the middle. And we always try to stay open for experiments.

Ethan: Yes, we are very experimental in our song writing process.

Vic: We also don't want to limit ourselves to what is regarded as typical rock music. If rap fits better at some point then we just add that in. It just happens naturally without us thinking too much about it.

RS: So why was it still rock music in the end?

Vic: Because it's the style that we feel most represented by. But actually we just play the music that we enjoy playing. That's really important to us so that we can show something real on stage. We don't want to pretend to be something that we aren't or mock those people that really enjoy our music. You should always be proud of what you're doing and never fake anything just to sell more records.

RS: Is there something like an Italian rock music scene?

Vic: There are quite a lot of bands – but the most of them are much older than us or they are more going in the direction Indie rock. There isn't really a young rock scene, which we think is a pity. But ever since we got more famous people are telling us that they started listening to rock music because of us or that they bought their first guitar and such. That's incredibly nice!

RS: So you're saying that you also want to show this style of music to a younger generation. And you capture this contrast quite well in the song 'Vent'anni', which is a typical rock ballad but lyrically portrays the thoughts of today's youth. Where did the motivation come from to write that song?

Damiano: With the song I wanted to show that I'm just a normal guy, a really typical 20-year-old. I experience the same things that other people in my age are experiencing, I'm just doing another job than them. Also I wanted to describe this age as a whole because I think it's a really special age. At 20 you start to think about what the future will hold. I think it's one of the most important stages of your life. Since we (the four of us) are all in the same age, I then started to mix our experiences together. In the end the song shows what it means to us to be 20. There is a lot of good things – you are quite carefree and are looking at life enthusiastically. But on the other hand you're too young to do certain things and too old to do others. Some people are treating you like a full-grown adult, but …

Vic: … not entirely.

Damiano: Exactly. It can get pretty frustrating at times. We wanted to show our audience: Hey, we're also just 20 years old, and we're going through the same things as you. We understand you.

RS: Except that you are the ones who are becoming a world-wide phenomenon right now. How do you want to maintain this honesty?

Damiano: I think that we could just reach this point because we have always been authentic – for better or for worse. Also we are just trying to have fun with what we're doing together. That's something special that we don't want to lose. In the end we're just four friends who started to live their dream. It's actually pretty simple. Of course – we go on stage, we get a lot of attention, we give interviews – but when we come back home we're just four friends.

#måneskin #maneskin #måneskin interview #my stuff #esc #again if you ever want anything to be translated just hit me up i'm free most of the time #ig my blog is slowly turning into a måneskin fanpage for translations and shitposting #but tbh i'm not complaining #have a great day everyone and happy waiting for sooooon

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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

Note

So this is sort of similar to the people writing fanfic about the lions but can you imagine the YouTube edits? Like the videos that are just "Cap having heart eyes for Loops for 10 minutes straight" or "Loops lovingly dragging Caps name through the mud for 3 minutes" like those kinds of things and I can just imagine them doing reaction videos and it just being funny and the world just loving coops

Okay so this wasn't a specific fic request but I got carried away with imagining videos and....here you go. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but Grace and Anna are mine! Bonus points to anyone who remembers the easter egg in this one!

Message From: Gracie

ANNA HOLY SHIT

Anna frowned at her phone screen, squinting to read around the spiderweb crack decorating the upper corner. She had tried to convince herself that it was cool, goth, edgy, but in the end she had to admit that it was just irritating. In a tragic turn of events, packing tape couldn’t fix everything.

Message To: Gracie

Wtf did I do

Two weeks of radio silence, then unexplained accusations. Anna shook her head as the grey bubble disappeared for a third time and turned back to her computer. Grace may have been her favorite cousin—and favorite person, if she was being honest—but very few things came between Anna and video editing. Especially editing for a Lions meme video. She had a whole 2,341 followers to attend to, after all.

Message From: Gracie

DID YOU SEE THE FUCKING INTERVIEW???

Message To: Gracie

Wow thank you so helpful

Message From: Gracie

Skip to 2:45 bestie

A link popped up just as Anna cut a segment from the sleep study video, where Loops’ heart eyes were in full effect. It was a rare, precious find for fan editors like herself.

“Come on,” she groaned. Maybe introducing Grace to the deepest parts of her hockey obsession was a mistake. But, really, what else was she supposed to do when she learned her cousin, who didn’t even live in Gryffindor, got to meet her favorite players just by chilling in a café? What kind of cosmic joke was that?

She narrowed her eyes at the embed of the link, then stifled a shriek. Impossible. How had she missed an upload?

As if on cue, her computer pinged with a new notification from the Lion Pride channel. “Oh, fuck me,” she muttered, scrambling to save her half-done video and pressing play.

The interviewer asked basic questions, ones she had heard the answers to a million times while curating her content. It always felt funny to hear people refer to Cap as ‘Sirius’—it was too official, too formal. She had spent countless hours on the compilations of his softer moments, and they were her most popular videos. Cap Having Heart Eyes for Loops for 10 Minutes Gay. Cap Being an Actual Puppy for Six and a Half Minutes. Everyone Wanting Cap Cuddles for Fifteen Minutes. Every Time Cap Smiles When Someone Mentions His Godson. The list was endless. She loved it.

She did a silent fist pump when she saw the interviewer had snagged both Cap and Loops; that would give her a whole new stream of workable content. If she was lucky, she could expand on her series of Loops Lovingly Roasting His Friends, part…fuck it, who was even counting anymore?

Anna was so caught up in her excitement that she nearly forgot about Grace’s suggestion. I’ve never skipped through a video on the first watch before, she thought hesitantly. But maybe just this once…

Her cursor hovered over the 2:45mark. She closed her eyes, and clicked it.

“—have you been adjusting to life as a celebrity?” the interviewer asked. Anna nearly rolled her eyes when Loops laughed. That question had been used far too often to be interesting anymore.

“It’s had its ups and downs,” Loops said with a smile. “Mostly, though, the fans have been incredible and just knocked my socks off with their support.”

“Really? What’s your favorite part of the Lions fanbase?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “Their creativity, for sure. There was a video a while back where we reacted to some of the comments people left, and this person on Twitter made an absolutely beautiful collage of photos.”

“I have it saved to my phone,” Sirius added.

One more clip for the simp video. Anna made a note on the small corner space of her European History notes. The degree can wait for ten more minutes.

“Do you have a favorite creator?”

The interviewer was clearly teasing, but Loops’ smile was genuine. “I don’t know about a favorite, but there’s this person on YouTube who makes a shit ton of videos and they’re hysterical. I saw one the other day about—god, what was it again?”

“Every time I smile when people mention Harry,” Sirius answered around a laugh. “Can you blame me?”

Anna didn’t hear the next question. A ringing noise filled her ears as she sat, frozen, on her shitty dorm mattress and listened to her literal heroes talk about her dorky little channel. “Holy fuck,” she blurted after a moment of silence. “Holy fuck.”

“—subscribed?” The man’s voice snapped her back to reality.

“Of course I am!” Loops said. “You think I’m passing up a chance to watch a compilation of my friends making stupid decisions for the entire internet to see?”

A noise that would have been a shriek if Anna had any breath left in her body escaped her lungs; she clamped a hand over her mouth and shakily exited from the video before going to her YouTube account. 800 new notifications. 700 new followers in the last quarter hour. She was pretty sure she blacked out for a second from sheer shock and joy.

Message To: Gracie

What

Message From: Gracie

You’re famous!

Message To: Gracie

What

Message From: Gracie

I bet he knows your stuff better than he remembers me tbh

“They know me,” she whispered, staring at her computer. The unfinished video showed a perfect frame of Loops’ soft smile as he watched Cap get his toothbrush stuck in his pajama shirt. Somehow, the thought was both exhilarating and horrifying. What if they thought she was a creep? She wasn’t, not really, just a bored college student with not enough free time for a job but too much to keep herself busy with schoolwork. Her 2,341—no, 3,052—followers were just other hockey nerds looking for time to kill.

And the subject of those videos was one of her subscribers.

Anna slipped her headphones back on and began to edit like it was her last day on earth. Her fingers flew across the keyboard on muscle memory while her brain fizzed. Perfect, she thought. It has to be perfect.

In four hours, it was done. She sat back, panting, then hunched over again and began tapping out a title card.

Hello. Idk if anyone saw the new Lion Pride video today (linked below if anyone wants to see why I’m dying right now) but apparently Remus Lupin is subscribed to this channel and has been for a while.

Hi Loops. I’m Anna. You met my cousin once and she said she liked your sweater.

Now that that’s out of the way, please enjoy the next five minutes of our new rookie being the sappiest mf in existence (except for his fiancé). Mr. Lupin, please tell Hattie I say hello.

She pressed upload, peeled her headphones off, and collapsed backward on her bed.

Message To: Gracie

If I die here, tell the world I did it doing what I loved

Message From: Gracie

Will do

OH FUCK YOU FOR BRINGING UP THE SWEATER I SOUND LIKE A CREEP

Anna covered her itchy eyes with her forearm and settled in for a long, long nap. Her brain still needed to repair a few circuits.

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #anna #grace #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #ocs #hattie #lion pride

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quinncupine · 4 years ago

Text

Need a Hug

Word Count: ~2,000

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Notes: This is largely self indulgent because I really needed a hug and who better than Izuku. I just know he would give the best hugs. I tried to leave this gender neutral but I wrote this for me so if I slip up on that, sorry

The puffy cushions of the couch nearly engulfed you as you tucked yourself as far into the corner as you could. A soft blanket draped over your knees as you stared blankly out the window opposite the couch. The sun was only just starting to set. Warm swathes of orange and hints of purples chased after the waning sun. It was the first time in a while you'd watched the sunset. Sitting in the silence, there was a sense of calm that always floated around this time of night, something you desperately needed right now.

On the coffee table, your phone buzzed. The harsh vibrations cut into your heavy thoughts, pulling your focus to the small device that jittered on the wood. Even if you couldn't quite make out the name from your position, you recognized the ringtone. There was only one person who you'd set that ridiculous jingle for. A few more rings filled the air but you didn't bother to get up, choosing instead to lazily watch it eventually give up and go silent once again. It was the third time he'd called in the last hour and a wave of guilt washed over you, though you did nothing to assuage it.

Turning back to the window to watch the last bit of sunlight creep beneath the horizon, you were interrupted by a few sharp dings. Message after message popped up and with a tired sigh, you dropped your head to your knees. That man was relentless, you'd give him that.

Over the last few days, you'd seen the small concerned glances he sent your way, trying to figure out what was wrong. You weren't even sure what was wrong, yet he still picked up on it. Observant. You could add that to the list as well. He was so many things, all of them you loved yet you still had a hard time believing there was anything he could love about you. Sometimes that seemed like a ridiculous notion because he was a good person, the best person. But other times there was a small nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering doubts about you and your relationships with those around you over and over again. It was annoying but in weak moments like this, you found yourself begrudgingly agreeing with it.

The phone rang again, the shrill ringtone filling up the space. Why hadn't you just turned it off already? Burying your head deeper into the blanket, you let out a long groan. A few seconds later a knock on the door echoed through the apartment. Your head shot up, nearly flinging yourself off the couch in the process.

"Y/N, it's me, please open up," said the muffled voice through the door. When you didn't respond, he sighed, "I can hear your phone. I know you're in there. Please open the door."

A drop of fear flooded your chest, heart sporadically hammering away at your ribs. Of course he would show up here, he was stubborn too. The last thing you wanted to do was talk to someone, especially him while you were like this. You were in no state to talk, let alone explain yourself. Was he angry with you ignoring him? Was this the day he's finally had enough of you? Would you be abandoned again? All those questions raced through your head at lightning speed, crashing into each other, and scrambling your thoughts.

"Y/N," he said softer, barely audible, "I'm worried. I just want to know you're alright."

Worried. That's another reason you loved him; he cared. Although you weren't used to this level of care. No one had ever been concerned enough to stop by after a day or two of radio silence. Maybe that was why you felt the edges of an anxiety attack fray around your mind. You didn't want him to see you like this, it could ruin everything you worked so hard to build.

"Please," he said with a soft thump you could only assume was his head on the door.

For whatever reason, that got you moving. Sliding off the couch, you shuffled on padded feet towards the door and unlocked it. With a shy peek through the crack, you slowly met his eyes. Big giant green worried eyes.

"What are you doing here?" voice cracking slightly from unuse.

Izuku Midoriya stood there staring at you, brows crinkled in concern, lips pulled into a small frown. He didn't say anything at first, eyes roaming your face until finally, he blinked and gently pushed the door open enough to see your full form. "I'm here to see you. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine Izuku," with a tired sigh, you moved to the side to let him in. "You didn't have to come all the way here."

He stepped in, glancing around the place. Most of the lights were off save for the small sink light streaming out from the kitchen. The apartment seemed in order, nothing broken, nothing misplaced, as clean as it usually was. When he finished his quick examination, his eyes found yours again.

"Are you sure?" the question was soft and seemed to fade in the darkness that surrounded the two of you. "You seem…off."

Oh god, was he going to start questioning you? That was the last thing you wanted. Questions would be too much to handle right now. Actually doing anything seemed like a herculean task. It was a miracle you'd even gotten up to let him in.

"I'm just…tired." Fingers curled through your hair as you tried to distract yourself from his quizzical gaze. He wasn't buying that for a second. "Izuku, honestly, I just need some sleep. Thanks for checking on me, but…" your eyes flicked towards the door, hoping he would take the hint.

He took it alright. He took it and Texas smashed it right out the door. "Look, somethings wrong, that much I can tell." Izuku faced you fully, eyes narrowed in determination. "I'm not gonna force you to tell me, but I know from experience that talking about it might help. You don't even have to talk to me, but talk to someone or something…just don't shut yourself out like this."

The bluntness took you by surprise. You knew Izuku well enough by now that you shouldn't be, but he'd never been so direct with you before. Usually, he would skate around whatever it was he wanted to say or do when it came to you. The man was shy and easily flustered, just like you, but there was that edge that always came out when he needed to assert his point; like now.

A moment of silent staring slowly stretched into minutes before you took a step back and rubbed your face. "Persistent," you mumbled, "that's going on the list too."

"What?"

"I don't want to talk Izuku."

That frown on his face only deepened. "If you keep bottling it up it's gonna eventually explode and it's gonna hurt." His calloused fingers gently reached for your own and you did nothing to stop him. "I don't want to see you hurt."

Scarred hands wrapped around your own, completely engulfing them. Sometimes you forgot just how big his hands were. The hands of a hero. Strong yet so cautious as if he were afraid to grip too tight. You couldn't peel your eyes away from his delicate hold as the warmth of his touch seemed to spread up your arms and through your whole body. A single touch from him always calmed you down, made you feel safe and protected. You usually loved it, but with a frown you tore your hands away and turned, tucking them under your arms.

"Please tell me what's wrong," said Izuku, trying to school that crestfallen look off his face. That was always hard for him. The man wore his heart on his sleeve. "Is there something I can do, something I can fix?"

If only.

"You can't fix this."

With that, you escaped into the living room where you plopped on the couch and scrunched your knees to your chest. He followed close behind, clicking on one of the lamps as he walked in, and you flinched at the sudden intrusion of light. Izuku paused when he neared the couch, hovering a few feet away, unsure how close he could be.

"Can you at least tell me what?" There was no anger to his voice, just slight confusion.

"I don't know."

That was the truth, at least partially. These moods came and went sometimes, but this is the first time it's gotten so severe while Izuku was around. Maybe it was the stress, maybe it was work, or maybe it was simply you. Whatever the case, it affected everything and frustrated you to no end.

Izuku fidgeted at the opposite end of the couch before he worked up the courage to sit on the farthest cushion. His body tense as he scanned you for any signs of discomfort from his actions. When he found none, he scooted just a little closer.

"You don't have to talk about it if you're not comfortable, but can I at least stay with you for a little while?" he whispered, messing with his fingers.

A slight breeze of relief swept through you. He wasn't going to force you to talk. And to be honest, his being here was comforting in its own way. Nodding, you held out your hand and he eagerly took it, erasing the rest of the space between you.

"Is there something you do want to do?" Izuku asked, thumb gently brushing over the top of your hand. "Go for a walk, or get some ice cream, or watch a movie, or-"

"A hug." It was barely a whisper and heat climbed up your neck at the request, silently berating yourself with how childish it sounded, but you couldn't stop the words from spilling out. "Can I have a h-"

Before you could even finish that sentence, he pulled you close, arms wrapped tightly around your frame. Green curls tickled your nose and once you got over the shock of the quick movement, you buried your face into the crook of his neck. He smelled good. Like a misty forest. With your eyes closed, you could almost picture standing there with him, covered by a canopy of green, soft dirt squishing between your toes, hazy sunbeams trickling through the leaves leaving warm spots on your skin, and his body tucked into yours with solid arms wrapped snuggly around you.

It had been a long time since someone hugged you like this. Really hugged you. A bone-crushing, heart-squeezing, all-encompassing hug that he poured every fiber of his being into. It must have been exactly what you needed because all that tension drained from your shoulders and you sagged against him, arms clutching onto him as if your life depended on it. Heavy tears threatened to escape your clenched eyes and after a moment you gave up resisting. A good cry felt nice right about now and Izuku would be the last person to judge on that stance. So you cried. A lot. And hard.

He never once pulled away keeping that tight grip for as long as you needed it. Rubbing soothing circles on your back as you heaved through the tears. At one point, you felt a warm wet on your shoulder. He must've started crying too. For some reason, that actually made you feel better, less alienated, less ashamed. Whether Izuku knew it or not, he was always good at the comforting part. And it didn't hurt that he gave the best hugs.

As time stacked on and the tears dried up, you were left with a slight headache and sore eyes, but that lead weight on your chest didn't feel so heavy anymore. The hollow cave in your heart slowly being filled inch by inch with Izuku's presence. It didn't erase it completely, far from it, but things were starting to feel a little more bearable now. You wanted to stay that way forever, curled up in his arms, listening to his deep breaths, inhaling whatever cologne he had on, and just having a moment of peace. But your arms and legs were starting to prickle with numbness, so with a heavy breath, you pulled away.

"Thanks," you mumbled, suddenly feeling embarrassed as his own tear-stained gaze landed on you.

Those oversized eyes of his were tinged red and slightly puffy, but he managed a big smile, one reserved solely for you as he wiped away a stray tear on your cheek. You probably looked a mess. You definitely felt a mess, but with Izuku, you couldn't find a reason to care at the moment because he was a mess too. Together, you could both be crying messes and that was perfectly fine with you. He would always be there even if you didn't know you needed him because he was Izuku Midoriya: a relentless, observant, determined, persistent hero. But most importantly, he was here.

taglist: @dorki-time @awilddreamerwrites @peachsenpie @thecindy @miriobaby @kiyoobi @dragonsdreamoffire @amive2567

#izuku midoriya #izuku x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya x y/n #bnha #mha #super self indulgent #izuku gives the best hugs #hands down #the best comfort character there is #i need this man in my life

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ficauthor · 3 years ago

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inspired by the prompt by @danphanwritingprompts:

Danny narrowed his eyes as the Uber arrived at the church, and he finally remembered the occasion. “Wait, Mom? Did we just pregame Vlad’s funeral?” Danny asked. Maddie scowled. “Shut up and act sober. For some reason, your dad loved that miserable creep,” she told him. “It’s the only way to get through the day,” Jazz agreed, fumbling to open the door and step out.

and some other headcannons that I've seen float around tumblr about trans Danny fic below cut if you dont wanna follow the link.

Looking out the window was making him nauseous, like really really nauseous. The kind of nauseous he only got when sick or from a good punch. He knew a thing or two about good punches. He’d been taking them for a few years now.

It really wasn’t fair if you asked him. One should ask him because it was an experience that only he could experience. After all, halfa's were rare as can be. Skulker had certainly told him enough for him to know. Every brush with alcohol in his younger days was, well, a mixed bag. He processed it faster than the average person so he was lucky in that aspect that he got drunk faster. But if anything his messing about with alcohol before he was 21 told him it was that it also left much faster than normal. Bullshit ghost rules and all of that. Genuinely being a ghost even half one had very few upsides. Some people online speculated about how cool ghost powers must be to have but clearly none of them knew about the burden that it came with. Sometimes he still wished that he didn’t know.

However this time for whatever reason the alcohol was hitting him and staying. Maybe it was because the previous times he’d been drinking cheap party booze in Dash’s garage with Sam and Tucker, no one but the three of them aware that they were even there. Instead this time the booze was some semi expensive shit, he didn’t know the name or type but he’d been promised quality. Why he of all people was being given quality alcohol he'd never know but he wasn’t going to turn it down.

That being said seemed the trade off was intense nausea. It wasn’t that bad all things considered, he actually preferred being sloshed for the upcoming event but his body was not agreeing with that. Not that his body agreed with a lot of things. The disagreement between ghost and human sometimes really bit him in the ass. His head was floaty, the world in front of him was spinning badly, maybe it’d be worth it to never drink again. Especially if he was going to have this reaction . If only he’d invited Sam and Tucker. They were great fun and always knew how to reel him in. Man he missed them, if only they didn’t all go to different colleges. But nooo all of their majors just had to have few overlapping colleges. At least they were all within a drives (or in his case a flying) distance. When he wasn’t feeling too sick and unbalanced he’d have to fly over to their dorms for a movie night. It’d be nice. Sam might even be able to get them into someplace cool again.

In a stagnant attempt to push the feeling away he turned away from the window and towards his family. Jazz was studying a text on her phone. Probably a message from her girlfriend at university. Maybe she was inviting her. That’d be nice. She seemed nice when he’d saved her as Phantom a month ago, then everyone was nice when their life had just flashed before their eyes and they were rescued from it’s visions. Even when he and Valerie were on the worst of terms he was always grateful when ever she rescued him in either form. Bar Johnny 13 his sisters' taste in partners wasn’t actually all that bad. He actually liked her last girlfriend. Even then with Johnny he wasn’t sure how much of that was actually her taste and how much was Kitty’s possession.

Certainly Jazz’s apprehension couldn’t be blamed, three of her previous partners both highschool and college were driven away by how weird their family was. She claimed she was fine with it, something about them not truly accepting all parts of her but still. That sucked. School had been rough enough, he couldn’t even count the amount of people that had been weirded out from being his friend because of his parents. Well there was also his reputation but his parents being renowned ghost hunters and chaotic town kooks certainly did not help. Looking back on it more of that might have actually been on his reputation. A nerd with A+ grades until highschool only to then end up with Ds on the best of days and bruises on the worst. Yeah some of that was probably on him.

Jazz gave him a look, he’d spaced out and looked at her for too long, it was weird now. He gave her a shrug and turned to their mother.

Laughing would be rude; he had to remind himself when he spotted her dancing along to the car radio in her dorky adult grooving. It was peaceful in a way. A down time he didn't usually get to appreciate before something bad (normally ghosts) interrupted. It was almost nice in a way to be calm with his mom and sister. Even if the former looked really really stupid.

He snorted anyway at his mom’s dance moves. Discombobulated shoulder jerks and little hand motions mixed in with little head rolls that had no rhyme or reason. It was wildly out of beat and didn’t match the tone of the song on radio. It was definitely the kind of dancing that Tucker would disparagingly call “white people shit”. The thought alone of Tucker's pain at his parents' dance moves was almost enough to send him into hysterics.

Man he missed Tucker.

He’d have to check in on Tucker soon, since he started the latest school assignment he’d sort of ghosted everyone, for the lack of a better word. It was probably the stress of dealing with his assignment partners, he’d done the same last time. Still… in a town and world with ghosts it couldn't hurt to try to check in on him. Tuck was a big boy now he could hold his own in a ghost fight but he didn’t like the idea of leaving him to it. Call him what you will but obsessions were just like that.

Maybe he was a little possessive.

Just a touch.

“Oh Danny!” his mom squealed as a new song filtered in. The Uber driver rolled his eyes, clearly he thought no one could see him but Danny caught it in the rear view mirror. ” I love this song, isn't it rad!”

He tried not to laugh, he really did, but it was so ridiculous. His parents were doing this on purpose! They had to be! There was no way that they weren’t no one was that out of touch. That behind on lingo. Warm giggles and chuckles bubbled forth, messy and loud. The kind of laugh only those closest to him could coax out of him. Back in school it was only Tuck and Sam that got him to laugh like that (maybe Jazz if she was lucky) make him lose his composure so quickly, but more and more readily his parents had been able to also force the laughs out of him.

If only fourteen year old him could see him now. He’d be so embarrassed. Sitting in the back of an Uber laughing openly at something silly his mom was doing. She said something he couldn’t catch, teased him probably for laughing. A random pop song and the air coming in from the drivers open window were just loud enough to cover even a raised voice. Even still the there was comfort. Whatever she said was from a place of love.

He loved car rides sometimes. He didn’t always appreciate them when he was younger, kind of like how he felt about his parents. Especially when he was 14 but now? They were some of his favourite times spent with his parents. He just couldn’t help it, something about the rolling scene and music with easy conversation lulled him. It helped keep his obsession at bay, blocking it from flaring if he could see that some of the most important people in his life were there, in front of him safe and sound.

He still ached. Felt that compulsion to check Sam and Tuck. Rather than scream like normal it was a soothing whisper. He was able to drunkenly send them a text about how much he loved them without the skin crawling need to see that they were still standing.

The Uber slowed to a crawl, the Sudan squealing as they stopped. Man that guy really needed to replace his breaks. He could get in a wreck and then whoever he was ferrying around could get seriously hurt.

No!

He shook his head; he couldn't let his obsession obsess on something so small. It was probably safe to look out of the window again so he chanced a look. Danny narrowed his eyes as the Uber arrived at the church, and he finally remembered the occasion.

“Wait, Mom? Did we just pregame Vlad’s funeral?” Danny asked.

Maddie scowled,“ Shut up and act sober. For some reason, your dad loved that miserable creep,” she told him.

“It’s the only way to get through the day,” Jazz agreed, fumbling to open the door and step out.

Damn he hadn’t meant to forget the occasion but he couldn’t help it his mind was already prone to wandering and the alcohol was just making it worse. Really it was a miracle he passed highschool in the first place, even when sober his mind just struggled to latch onto subjects, and that was before he had to nightlight as Phantom, hell it wasn’t even nightlighting it was a full double life. Really he didn't even know how he was managing college with the heroing on the side. Best guess if he was pressed to give one was that his parents’ disappointment and the desire to go to space was combining into the ultimate peer pressure. Funny how his brain worked like that, maybe Jazz could explain that to him. She was good for stuff like that. Explanations for why his brain was weird. She tried to give him an acronym for it one time something with A's. An attention thing of some sort. He'd have to ask her about it again sometime so he could wrap his mind around it.

“Hey!” Jazz opened the door, her face inches from his, the scent of some fruity cocktail on her breath,” get out Danny, and remember, act normal. At least for dad’s sake.”

“Yeah,” he waved her off stumbling to his feet, honestly it wasn’t fair that the ground was so unsteady beneath him, kind of transphobic if you asked him. “If you wanted me to act normal then why’d we all get plastered?” he joked.

“Shush,” Jazz clamped a hand on his face, their slow amble up the church's many steps paused. “Don’t lick a gift horse in the mouth Danny, you know this will be insufferable.”

He licked her hand, she recoiled, wiping the spit off on her fancy black dress.

“Danny!”

He stuck out his tongue in retaliation.

“Behave, ”she chided.

He rolled his eyes and followed her. It was just a funeral, what was the worst they could get into?

The second he stepped in the church threshold he knew. It put his whole body on edge, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up and the faintest trickled of mist? ghost vaper? Ghost breath? He actually had no clue what it was that came out of his mouth.

Well he never really understood what he was saying half the time anyways, his mouth had a habit of running out from under him. The worst case of that was just the other week, he was talking to Sam over skype about something and he’d forgotten that she knew about Phantom, how really he had no clue, and he just went on for about twenty minutes making some out there wild excuse for why he’d missed their last hang out when she’d stopped him.

Honestly it was getting embarrassing, even worse was trying to keep things he said to his parents in each form separate. He really had to tell them soon.

It was so easy when he was 14 the breadth of his conversations with them as Phantom at the time could be summed up with a snarky quip from him or a “I’m gonna dissect you” from them. Now though they seemed to be fully taking seriously the notion that ghosts had depth to them. Which while true was deeply inconvenient for him. That meant he had to have interactions with them as Phantom and keep his identity straight ( ha ). Maybe he should be grateful, they weren’t threatening to dissect him anymore that was certainly a plus, they still definitely wanted to examine him however. He had considered it, in the depth of the night, allowing them to examine him only to drop the transformation part way through. It’d be funny, just a little bit to catch them off guard like that. But they didn’t deserve a coming out like that. He stifled a groan, he thought he was done with the closet when he’d come out but no life just had to never end and add in ghosts.

“Danny,” Jazz hissed at him.

He slurred out a huh at her in confusion.

Damn he’d been staring out at nothing, the Pastor? Priest? He didn’t know the difference to be honest, was still talking about Vlad. Shit that’s right! The second he’d walked in his ghost sense had gone haywire, Vlad was still (half) alive in that plush ass casket. He wondered how bad it'd be to fake a stomach ache and transform into Phantom for some ass kickery. Knowing his luck though Vlad might just feign full death embrace just to make a fool of him.

He would do that, fake his death, hell he was doing it right now! Motive was still unclear to him but Danny was going to get to the bottom of it. The man at the front, religious figure of whatever denomination, was gesturing large and big as he wrapped up. It was really official, and stuffy, when he finally fully died he wanted his funeral to be nothing like this. Maybe Tuck's ideas of dramatic funeral pranks were where it was at. Or maybe even Sam's ideas of celebratory parties that remembered the dead's life. He wouldn’t object to either of those.

Alcohol was fading out of his system again, well it’d been nice while it’d lasted but it’d probably be best to not be sloshed if Vlad wanted to cause a scene.

He sat at the edge of his seat as his father came up for a speech.

“Vlad,” his father stopped to blow his nose,” Vlad was a good friend of mine in college, w-we,” his lip trembled, his large jaw hammering up and down as he stammered for words. It took everything in Danny to not sink into the pew bench in embarrassment. Jack was for all intensive purposes the only person in the entire church that seemed genuinely broken up about the billionaire’s death.

“We drifted apart for a while, and he’d just started to come back to mine and my wife's lives a few years ago and- and- I-I sorry,” he winced as his fathers voice died.

While he didn’t understand his fathers affection for the man his heart couldn't help but ache for the man’s sorrow. His father had such a large heart. He was so trusting and held so much affection in his large beating heart. It was a weakness and a strength. One his mother often said he inherited. He didn’t know if he could see it. He wasn’t so soft, so trusting, so eager to love and care as his father. Then the larger man hadn’t been burned the same. Hadn’t had his heart half electrocuted to death like him.

His mom walked up on the stage, he was briefly impressed by her composure, she was buzzed but also in heels and looked to all the church exceedingly well put together. Quietly she was speaking her hands gently on Jack’s shoulders patting his back soothingly. She often sold herself short. Stating her heart not to be as big, Danny didn’t believe that, not really, his mother was just more careful in those she let in.

“I wasn’t as close to him as my husband,” she admitted, having softly taken the mic from Jack. her fingers were curled around it softly, but her other hand was in her hair. She was fidgeting and searching for words,” but I’m sure those he was close to will miss him dearly.” she said tight lipped. Jack whispered something to Maddie quietly making her smile tightly and nod. The man moved to his seat and let his wife continue his speech in his stead.

It was nothing notable really, Danny wasn’t one for paying attention to speeches or lectures and a funeral would not be an exception. He caught a few snippets though, his moms implication that she liked him better in college. A line hoping that in death that he could hopefully move on from the past. He really tried to not laugh at that one clearly because she'd noticed the exes. How many of them had known before? How many of the exes had to learn of their blueprint right then and there in the funeral.

Still he sat teetering on the edge of his seat, half paying attention to her words and mind half trained on that open casket. Vlad lay there in the plush box waiting. What for he couldn’t tell yet but he wasn’t going to be caught unaware.

The speeches couldn’t have ended any slower in his opinion. He wished that the alcohol hadn’t run it’s course already. It was so much easier to get through shit when his mind was quieted and his obsession was dulled. Instead he was forced to wait, his waking obsession tearing at his insides making him wait. Watch the lingering guests with apprehensive eyes. A few were expected. Gaggle of divorced exes. Some smattering of people that vaguely had Vlad's chin and nose. It was bizarre, some looked wildly like him and others well. They were utter strangers to Danny. They all were but they seemed almost faceless in how unknown they were. Interestingly none of them really seemed that choked up. He’d never expected troves of people depressed about Vlad’s passing. Still to only have one sobbing mourner? Maybe they just grieved differently...

Yeah maybe.

About when he got his water from the refreshments table he realized that Vlad really wasn't pulling a stunt. Still he had no clue why he was in that damn casket if he was still (half) alive in there. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it all, his worst nightmare was being trapped in one of those, yet Vlad had clambered in willing foot after foot laying stricken and board straight for all that he knew to see him. It didn’t make sense. There had to be some trick.

There had to be.

He thought maybe after his father had bowed his head over the casket head in hands loud body wracking sobs shaking his shoulders that Vlad might then spring to life (ha) and attack them. No, instead he remained laying in that coffin, the soft plush pillow under his head holding him still, the flowers in hand still clutched in strict fingers. He must have some sort of long con going on then. Some sort of goal he was aiming to reach by laying stricken and dead.

Wouldn’t be the first time the man had pulled a bizarre stunt. The time he’d kidnapped Danny and his mom sprang to mind. But there were few situations that came to mind where faking one’s death could come in handy.

A severe looking man walked up to him a small plate of hors d'oeuvres in hand. Sam would hate the sight of the small snacks, not a single one was vegetarian. And Tuck? He’d be laughing his head off at the name and size. He really had to rope them into a trip to the movies or arcade sometime soon.

The man greeted him, straightening his professional looking tie as he spoke. The man was exceedingly out of place, in a clean and crisp business suit that hardly matched the tone of mourning clothes. Then his parents were wearing their jumpsuits under their fancy clothes so glass houses and all that.

The man was painfully dull giving Danny his condolences in a rather stilted and clunky tone. The man clearly didn't want to be there. He raised an eyebrow at the man as he finally asked how he knew the ‘deceased’.

Telling the man something to the effect of, “Just through my parents,” somehow making it clear to the man that he wasn’t particularly choked up by the billionaire's death. Gee he wondered what gave it away, his flat unaffected tone? Or the fact that Vlad was a billionaire with no moral backbone.

Huh, he must really be missing Sam a lot to be thinking like that. he hated to admit it but she was kinda right.

Business suit was disinterested in conversation with Danny after that, he hastily wrapped up the conversation. Man even muttered “shame.” under his breath, if Danny wasn’t half dead he wouldn't have caught it. But well nothing ever really worked out well for bureaucrats did it?

Had Vlad seriously faked his death to avoid paying a few measly bucks? The man was a billionaire! He must really owe them a mean amount of money for them all to arrive at the funeral like this. Maybe they hoped the will would work in their favour? Not far in front of the refreshment table were two suits talking unabashedly about the amounts that Vlad owed them. If it weren’t for the setting Danny would think that they were coming or going from an important meeting.

For what was probably the first time he properly looked at all of the guests. Actually taking them in, a good chunk like he’d noticed before were the exes that half looked like his mom, and their kids (hopefully they weren’t biologically Vlads). Then there were the vague family members that looked like Vlad watered down with kindness. But the rest? Suits and-

Oh.

Oh he had to step behind an archway and stuff a fist in his mouth to stop himself from laughing out loud. Vlad had fucking bounty hunters being sent after him! It was karmic, he had to stop himself from busting a gut right then and there in the middle of a church. It was already blasphemy enough to be the walking dead he didn't want to also throw in disrespecting the (only mostly) dead into the mix.

Well at least they weren’t all debtors, lurking around the corners and edges of the room was a guy he’d worked with as Phantom a few years ago. He was kind of hot in a rugged sort of way. If it weren’t for Sam and Tuck he’d have considered flirting seriously with the other man. As it was his joking flirting got him in trouble with the other two.

He was really acting up being normal, that rugged man. Mingling about with other people dressed neatly.

Clear to only Danny what he was, what the others like him were, the man wandered unaware that Danny was watching him. Ironically he only knew they were bounty hunters because Vlad had hired the rugged man and his crew to hunt Phantom that time a few years ago and now? Oh the tables have turned. Someone, maybe one of the exes, or the debtors wanted him dead. Damn what had Vlad done?

Ghost Zone inhabitants had mixed opinions on him, many of which wanted him dead or knocked down a peg. But that was the Ghost Zone, half of them wanted Danny dead at some point or another. This was the human world. Earth and shit, it was much harder to piss off someone to the level of murder. Not impossible but damn. He grinned at this, Vlad was (half) alive and (sorta) well in that casket and he couldn’t do anything if he started to stir shit up. Life was beautiful, twinkling and gorgeous, he decided. He Didn’t need Tucker and Sam to have fun.

He started with one of the exes. He went out of his way to ignore her dyed red hair and pale purple eyes as he talked with her. It wasn’t her fault that Vlad had a complex, he reminded himself as the woman talked. Fault couldn’t be pinned on her for the parallels he could search between his mother and her. She was nice in a weird way, again really like his mom. It was unnerving. He kept trying to ignore her beady eyed gremlin of a child as she talked to him about the will.

Whatever Vlad had done for all the people in his life to only care about the will and the will alone Danny wanted to do the express opposite. It was almost painful in a way to watch all of these people act like they weren’t only here for the money. Served the man right, it was still depressing, the man had everything on paper but not a damn thing in reality.

“Do you think his daughter will show?” he tactfully added into the conversation after the woman had made some condolences about his family and Vlad.

“Daughter?” the woman asked, her large eyes blinking slowly,” I'm sure you're mistaken, Vlad told me he doesn’t have kids.”

“Oh,” he said, feigning apology, inside he was loving this, sure Vlad couldn’t admit the truth about the clones but clearly the man had seriously left out some details to his ex lovers. “Are you sure? ‘Elle is nineteen now,” he said, it was technically true if you counted right. She was also only seven if you counted right. It was all about semantics.

“Ninete-” the woman stammered something hard settling in her eyes,” he told me he didn’t want to have children,” she looked down at her angry eyed child (he hoped the little dude didn’t kick him in the shin) who had a hand fisted in the end of her dress. “If you’ll excuse me, Daniel, this was an- enlightening conversation.” he watched her walk away to a woman with a big chunky bracelet.

Also a redhead. Of course.

A sharp pain seared in the top of his ear he prevented himself from yowling out as the fingers attached dragged him over to a corner.

"ow ow ow," he whined out quietly trying heard not to draw attention to himself. It didn't really work.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jazz hissed at him when they were hidden away from the rest of the group.

“First of all: ow!” He rubbed his ear delicately between his finger pads,” I’m not a child anymore, maybe borderline sibling abuse was funny in 80’s sitcoms but it's not anymore.”

Jazz rolled her eyes,” second of all?” she pressed, she was still slightly buzzed and yet she was still holding herself with so much composure. Kind of impressive, if she hadn’t just physically threatened to rip his ear off.

“Secondly I’m not doing anything wrong.”

“Not do-” Jazz floundered,” Daniel!” she hissed out again struggling to keep her tone low. Damn she was mad, she only pulled out the full name when really fucked up,” I know your relationship with Vlad was- complicated.”

He snorted,” he tried to kill me multiple times, Jazz.”

“Yes bu-”

“Dark Dan,’’ he pressed further.

“I get it!” she snapped in a whisper-shout,” but a funeral isn-”

“He isn’t dead Jazz. Or really fully dead I guess I should say,” he laughed

Jazz rolled her eyes,” This is concerning behaviour Danny.”

“W-what?” he asked.

She tapped her chin pensively, she was psychoanalyzing him again, gag, “You must be transferring your complicated feeling about him into-”

“Jazz,” he groaned. It was best to stop her before she got on a roll, “Ghost senses remember? He’s still not fully dead, I can tell. He faked his death.”

“Okay,” she said with a sigh," I'm not saying I believe you, but say he did fake his death-”

“He did.”

She shot him a look, “Why? Why would he fake his death? He’s a rich ceo multi-billionaire with more money than most of us can conceive of, nonetheless actually obtain, what does he get out of faking his death?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, this was easier when Jazz was talking to one of Vlad’s cousins ignoring him stirring the pot.

He explained what he’d pieced together so far, with the suits and hunters lurking around the edges of the room it was easy to point out how out of place they look. Slowly a realization fell on her face, an acceptance of what he was saying.

“When I was talking to the stepford exes they were all talking about who would get the estate.”

“Do they know who?” he asked.

Jazz shook her head,” no the will was kept really secretive from all of them. There was even a bit of an altercation from two of the younger ex girlfriends over it.”

He winced at that, he couldn’t blame them for being mad he just wished Vlad wasn’t faking death for them to take it out on. “The bottle red and the one with the big bracelet?” he prompted, remembering the end of his conversation with the former.

“No that’s Maddison and Maggie, the two that fought were Morgan and Melenie.”

“Maddison? Maggie? Morgan? Melenie?” he repeated with a grimace voice getting higher with each name.

“Yeah I know,” she said with a sigh,” a textbook case of projecting an ex, or in this case crush, on future partners leading to a string of failed relationships,” she frowned looking over at the group of clustered red heads. Danny followed and examined them, they were all looking at something their eyes occasionally darted over to-

Oh of course, mom, they ‘d probably done the math already. He winced at the thought. He’d half thought about it before finding the notion funny. Now in his sparkling sobriety of the evening he couldn’t find the humour.

“At least they all mostly get along,” Jazz offered, trying to look away from how the dozen or so women were looking at the one woman they were all stacked against.

“Really?” he blinked at her,” I’d have thought that they’d all be fighting cause of the- well you know,” he gestured to the, everything, of the situation.

She shook her head,” no, they seem to all understand that it was all on Vlad, two of them, Mackenzie and Melody,” she clarified to even more of his confusion,” even found out that they were seeing him at the same time. How they didn’t know with all of the press that followed him I’ll never know, but they decided to team up on the legal front if there are any issues with the will.”

“Really.”

Jazz nodded,” yeah I was surprised too, but good for them, Vlad went around causing too many issues in their lives.”

He nodded in agreement as he looked at at the sea of redheads, some of them had grown out their hair revealing dark roots, some had hair styled in poufy curls reminiscent of his mothers old style and one of them had completely cut her hair into a half shaved look, it was actually similar to the look that Sam had now.

“Want to cause some problems for him?” he asked.

“Danny, legally and socially he’s dead, what could we do?”

“Legally yeah,” he agreed,” but technically he’s still half alive in there, and can hear everything that people say-”

“Are you suggesting that we ruin his reputation?” Jazz asked with a poorly hidden smile. He loved that in the years she’d loosened up. It was a good look on her, relaxation.

“Ruin?” He said, in mock scandal, ”I'm merely suggesting we bring it down to where it belongs.”

“Oh ‘merely’ what is that a fifth grade word? I'm impressed!” Jazz teased.

He shoved her lightly with a laugh,” oh fuck off I’m in college now you know.”

“Really? Accredited and everything?”

He stifled his laugh,” shut up, you know dealing with ghost shit messed with my grades.”

Truthfully he’d expected her to joke further about it, to razz him about doing so much, or maybe analyze him, diagnosis him with trauma. Instead she hugged him.

“I’m sorry so much was put on your shoulders so young,” her voice was raw. Too raw.

He patted her back, stomach squirming. Because what was he to do with that? The tender care held for him in the cracks of her fingers. The sorrow that settled in her pores all for him?

“Hey stop that,” he eventually said, pulling back,” or I'll make clockwork take me back in time so you never find out.” He didn’t mean it, he never did.

Jazz laughed a little wetly, he didn’t comment on it. Why would he? Also didn’t get a chance as she ruffled his hair, despite the fact that he was now much taller than her. “People are allowed to care about you, asshole.”

He scrunched his nose up at that,” ew what? I detest affection.”

“Oh detest another good one, really racking up those vocab words huh?” she sniffled her hands on her hips, a little lean in her back as she smirked.

Snorting, he stepped back and fixed his hair,” how about we make this a competition?”

“Huh?”

“First one to make Vlad burst out of his casket and rage in ghost mode wins.”

“Really? What would the winner get?”

He tapped his chin making a humming noise,” how about this, loser has to reveal their secret.”

Jazz laughed nervously,” I don’t have a secret Danny.”

Danny gave her a look,” Jazz, I’ve met your girlfriend.”

She bit her lip looking down at his outstretched hand, a debate playing in her eyes.

“Hey you don’t have to if you don’t wanna,” he said softly,” this is just meant for fun after all.” he knew better than most what forcing this stuff did.

”No, it’s fine,” she took his hand and shook, if a little clumsily,” that doesn’t mean they have to meet her though.”

“Oh don’t worry,” he said,” it won’t be my fault if they do that’ll be entirely on them.”

“Danny!” she exclaimed at him as he fled to the other side of the church. Finally this funeral was going to be interesting!

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked the swaying uncle of Vlad. The man smelled of beer and hors d'oeuvres. Not that Danny could judge if it wasn’t for the thick layer of spray on deodorant that his mom smothered him in right before he got in the uber then he’d probably smell just as rank. Then there was the fact that he’d pregamed to.

The older man narrowed his eyes at Danny, he was shocked to see the man he looked to hardly be much older than Vlad yet he was his uncle? He’d gone to ask about it but thought better about it, the less lore he knew about Vlad’s family the better, he really didn’t want to know about how many kids and when and how the Masters ‘clan’ had. Conversation with the older man was… stilted, to say the least. But he was certain that if he told him something then it wouldn’t get back to him. And that was half the game wasn’t it? Finding a way to spread the most rumours without people finding out it was him or Jazz. All without powers of course, that almost went without saying.

The man didn’t seem too broken up about Vlad, they probably weren’t that close and Danny had always gotten the impression from the billionaire that he was a smidge too snobbish to fully have developed relationships with people. As often as he teased Jazz for being snobby, she at least was nowhere near as bad as Vlad. Man damn near invented snobbishness and assholery. He’d have to ask clockwork if Vlad’s ancestors were just as bad. Judging by some of his family, probably not.

“Well before he passed,” Danny prompted, pausing in a way to snag the older man's attention.

“Yes?” the older man asked when he didn’t continue.

“Well,” Danny fidgeted with his nail,” you know his signed Packers jersey?”

The older man nodded eagerly.

Danny looked to the side,” it’s a fake,” he whispered to the man.

“Really?”

He nodded,” yeah, but please don’t tell anyone,” he added,” it’s bad enough that they know he was banned from buying the team-”

“He was what?”

Danny fought to hide a smirk. He knew it’d be easier to sell this lie if he started smaller.

“I thought everyone knew!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, most of the town knows, it’s just, no one talked about it to be polite.” okay that might have been overselling it a bit but the distant relative seemed to really be drinking it in.

“What did he do?”

Danny looked side to side like he didn’t want anyone to overhear.

“Well a few years ago when he was closing the deal to buy the team he got caught stalking some of the members!”

“Really?” the uncle asked,” wha- why?”

Danny shrugged,” they never really found the reason he was following them, he was even trying to seduce some of the wives.”

The man gasped,” I- really?”

Danny nodded. “But you can’t tell anyone you have to promise me.”

He watched as the man smiled in what he thought was slyness,” of course! I just, with all of those wives he had!”

Within the next five minutes Danny heard the rumour circulate across the room and it had grown legs. How glorious those rumours legs were.

“I heard he’d tried to break up a marriage on the team!” an ex wife (Maggie maybe?) hissed.

The other ex (Mary? The other woman might have called her) laughed,” would it really be any surprise? With what he did to Morgan and Melenie?”

The first woman nodded sagely,” fair I can’t believe I even fell for his tricks.”

All things considered the rumour was spreading well, and there was not even a gasp of a suggestion that he was the source. He couldn’t wait to hear what Jazz had invented, with the rumbles he’d already started to hear, it was probably great. Jazz always did have a way of getting into people’s heads. Find what interests them the most.

“So this daughter of Vlad's?” the woman he was talking to prompted, he vaguely remembered Jazz saying her name was Maddison. She’d found him again some time later; her child now safely deposited over by the other kids with their group babysitter. They were in the middle of the church now, the other two still whispering about the packers' spouses.

“ ‘Elle?” he asked as if he’d forgotten.

The woman nodded her curls bouncing as she did.

“Can I see a picture of her?”

He pulled up an older photo of them hanging out, the picture was grainy and they were both sticking their tongues out at the camera. Shit he’d really forgotten how alike they looked.

“You both-” the woman said before stopping. She glanced at his parents.

Shit he had to go into damage control,” well she’s also my cousin,” he fibbed.

“Cousin?”

“Yes! Technically once removed? Or something like that, I didn’t meet her until a few years ago, we were really blown away with the family resemblance!” he laughed. "Really it's uncanny!" He continued.

Too far! Too far! He was leaning into it too much! It wasn’t like he could just tell her the truth, that Dani was Vlad's only successful half dead clone of him! Then he’d also have to out two things about himself to her.

“She travels a lot,” he added. He really needed to learn when to shut his big mouth,” she was in Paris a few years ago actually.”

“Really?”

He couldn’t even blame the alcohol! He was just this stupid naturally huh? They’d been saying it for years Sam and Tucker, if only he’d taken them seriously before this. His idiocy might really be terminal.

“Yup, I haven’t seen her in awhile though, hopefully she visits again!”

Scrutinizing eyes scanned him up and down, darting from each corner of his face hunting out the ruse. He really needed to learn to shut his big mouth.

“Do you have her number?”

Crashing noises filled his brain. Her number? The last thing that he had expected was interest in ‘Elle. he’d just thought that they’d get upset at Vlad and leave it at that.

“ ‘E-elle's?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sorry if this is prying but me and the other ladies,” she gestured to a few of them,” we’re talking and we want to support her!”

“I-” he hesitated, he hadn’t really planned for this,” what?”

The older woman nodded,” we all talked it out and if we get the estate we’re going to support one another and the kids, and it seems like ‘Elle just got stuck in the middle of this like the rest of us.”

“Yeah uh, let me just text her first?”

“Of course honey!”

Danny walked away from that conversation feeling distinctly weirder than before. Regardless he pulled up his phone and slid out the keyboard.

He opened up the “With an I” contact.

Hey i accidentally got you adopted by like fifteen random women that used to date vlad

5:43 p.m.

You what? Lul

5:45 p.m.

He looked up around him before typing out the next message

Yeah long story short he faked his death. Its weird

5:46 p.m.

I’m at the funeral and the exes wanna like support you?

5:46 p.m.

Well Vlad wasn’t good for much but at least i now have a multitude of mothers

5:47 p.m.

So i can give them your number?

5:47 p.m.

Yeah have at it! If this causes chaos for vlad im all for it !

5:48 p.m.

“So her phone number is.”

By the time he’d separated himself from that conversation a few more rumours were floating.

“I heard that the reason he died in a car crash is because he was on the run from the law!” one of vlad's relatives whispered.

“Really!” another responded.

Elsewhere some of the attending staff were murmuring too. “I heard that he got caught smuggling maple syrup cans from canada!”

“Cans?”

“Yes apparently the good stuff is canned there.”

He walked to a new group this time with the suits.

“I hear that the money in the accounts is dirty.”

“According to my source his invested stocks were backed with illegal funds.”

“If there’s drugs really attached to it like I was told then I don't want anything to do with it.”

“I agree it's hard enough to get money from wills with spouses involved. It's even harder if the feds sniff any drugs.”

“It might not even be worth it to try with all of the ladies,” a different suit complained,” I overheard them talking about lawyering up together if anything goes wrong.”

Another much older suit scoffed,” this business was much easier before the exes started working together.”

Finally he heard his own new rumour starting to gain some traction.

“Wasn’t it found out that he was stealing science equipment from the nearby college?”

“Oh whatever for?”

“I heard it was for making a specialty shampoo.”

“I’ve always wondered how he kept his hair so nice and shiny.”

Jazz was good, too good, considering that neither of them had really clicked into any social cliques in highschool. Now she was gossiping better than even any of the A-listers.

“It’s just such a shame that they can’t come,” Jazz was even fake sobbing, damn he was going to have to up his game.

“Who couldn’t come?” One of Vlad's older cousins asked, Danny wondered if Jazz was screaming inside at the hand she had around one of the older exes' waists, it was casual and tender. If one of Vlad's exes was getting together with his cousin because of the funeral , Danny would shriek from laughter, hell if he accidentally used his ghostly wail it’d be well worth it. Vlad of all people deserved to have a partner snatching occur to him.

“Oh I’m sorry,” Jazz said,” I thought that everyone knew,” she looked from side to side,” please don’t tell the other ex wives Monroe I’d hate for their feelings to get hurt over this.”

Damn she was good. The wife- Monroe who was leaning comfortably on the cousin nodded.

“Of course Jazzie,” she said in a deep comforting New York accent,” this can be brought up to them later more delicately later. Though I must admit,” she said after a pause where Jazz thanked her for her discretion.” I myself am curious who wasn’t able to come.”

“Well you know how he used to do ghost research with mom and dad?”

Where was she going with this? She was selling it well, Danny had to admit but for the life of him he couldn’t guess where this was going.

“Yes of course,” the cousin nodded as Monroe spoke.

“I can’t name the amount of times he used to write home in our youth about his little ghost adventures,” the cousin added.

Jazz nodded ,” well at the school there was the Lunch Lady Ghost and the Box Ghost, he was seeing them romantically in between their stays in the ghost zone.”

Danny held back a snort box ghost! If he laughed too hard in that moment he’d drop the ghost form and would fall on top of the group that’d gathered around her. As much control as he’d mastered over his abilities over the past couple years there was nothing that would be able to save him from Jazz’s wit.

“I’m sure box ghost is very helpful for moves,” one of the crowd commented amicably. The others though had nothing to say. Clearly they’d all actually met Box Ghost.

The gossip might have even stayed in that circle if it weren’t for another one of the cousins being right there and then deciding to tell his wife, who then told one of the ex-wives, who then told another, who then told a suit. So on and so forth.

By the time that Danny was back in human form and settled on the opposite side of Jazz’s conversation he was hearing the children that some of the wives had brought talking about Vlad ‘holding hands’ with the Box Ghost and Lunch Lady. Why couldn’t he have thought about that? It was so good, it was perfect, literally no one could prove it wrong. And embarrassing, seriously Box Ghost!

All the stuff he knew to be true about Vlad sounded so far-fetched.

Half ghost?

Well most people didn’t know about them.

The time he infected his two closest and longest friends with ghost pimples?

Needed the half ghost context.

If only there was some-

“I hate Vlad!” one of the kids near him cried out stomping down his foot.

Unsurprisingly all of the kids agreed, okay he was a little surprised, usually Vlad had the wool pulled over on most people. So the fact that all of these kids hated him really meant something.

“He stole my cotton candy at the fair!”

“Well he told me that I didn’t need to see daddy anymore cause he was gonna replace him!”

Eager ears pointed at them he drank in their every complaint. He’d known that Vlad was cartoonish levels of evil for awhile (see the infecting teens with ghost acne for personal gain as proof, or kidnapping him and his mom) but never had he truly expected for him to be so stupid as to do it all in the open in front of all of these kids. Then again some of this might be his obsession making him act out. Smallest sliver of him almost felt bad about that, the fact that Vlad was in a way forced to be this way, but it wasn’t really anything he wasn’t before. Obsessions just highlighted what was already there. Made it more severe.

“Uhm excuse me,” he tapped the shoulder of one of the shorter women,” Mallory?” He'd asked the babysitter for her name but for the life of him he was struggling to keep all of the exes straight in his head. There were just too many of them and they all looked too similar to his mom.

“Yes,” her eyes flickered with recognition,” Danny?”

He laughed,” yeah that’s me!”

“Some of the others were mentioning you!” she said with a bright smile taking his hand,” thank you for telling us about ‘Elle! I can’t believe he kept her a secret from all of us for so long.”

He nodded in agreement,” well about Vlad-”

“Oh no, what else was he hiding?” she asked, there was a laugh ringing from her but Danny didn’t need ghost senses to know it was dead on arrival,” I’ve learned so much more here at his funeral than I ever did when we’d been together.”

He laughed a little at that, a stilted awkward laugh that only filled his chest halfway. He almost felt bad telling her about this, but she deserved to know the truth. “Well I overheard some of the kids complaining about Vlad.”

He filled her in on what he’d overheard about the kids, the petty little actions of Vlad. The cotton candy he’d stolen (which was weird he’s rich), the fathers he threatened to replace, it was all so bizarre. Danny was about halfway through when the casket began to shake.

Vlad masters was not an impulsive man. He was calculated, smart and forward thinking. At least he certainly liked to think so. No impulsive man goes out of his way to plan his nemesis’ death and demise for twenty years. No reckless person would spend his time building an empire carefully crafting his abilities and connections for taking down his enemy. Vlad however to his greatest distaste was in fact still half human and not infallible. While he was meticulous and in his personal opinion exceedingly intelligent he had no way to properly plan for wrenches in his schemes.

The fenton boy, Daniel was his biggest hurdle but it was only a matter of time before he found the right way to tackle the issue. He was just a particularly big roadblock. If only his emotional attachment to his dunderheaded father wasn’t so strong. These issues were all small potatoes compared to the one he was in now. The details can be spared and smoothed over all that was truly important was that he was at his own funeral.

He’d always wondered what people's reaction to his death would be. Contact with his extended family had been… loose, for the lack of a better term since his ‘accident’. Deep down however he knew that when or if his time came, truly came, that they’d have a reaction. Probably sadness, he had been close to a few of them before his accident, hell he’d been close to them before his company had taken off. At the end of the day he simply had better things to do. Plans to make, revenge to ruminate on. It wasn’t his fault that they’d fallen to the wayside. They simply weren’t as important as Maddie.

He’d toyed with the idea that maybe his dear Maddie would sob over him, that she’d denounce Jack when she saw that he was no longer an option. How deeply poetic it’d be for that to happen. He never liked the idea of her only realizing their potential then but he couldn’t ignore the artful symmetry of it all. Some of the books that Maddie used to read in college had those even beginning and ends, those swooping through lines that tied it all nicely in a pretty bow. His first death had ripped her away from him. It’d gifted her to Jack on a silver platter, and his second oh how glorious it’d be if it drew her to him. Making her denounce her imbecile of a husband. Leaving the stocky man discarded. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder and even with its harsh edges his death bringing her close to him was something to behold. If only that was what he was watching happen.

Unfortunately for Vlad Masters Owner, Ceo, and founder of Vladco. Life was not an art piece nor a well orchestrated game of football. No instead he got to lay still (half) alive in his exceedingly expensive casket and listen to the dolt sob.

It started like all of the worst things while heading to the Fenton's for another plan to be set in motion. The restraining order was still being held up in the courts so there was technically nothing legally stopping him from seeing them, or especially her. Besides he was a billionaire, those things were more fine machines than anything for him. Once it was enacted all he’d have to do was pay a fine.

Unfortunately it was during the drive that issues started. Again finer details notwithstanding for he’d run them all in his head a thousand times now while laying in this blastedly comfortable casket. While on the drive it became clear to him he was being followed. No matter , he’d smugley told himself. He’d been followed by techbro fans before they were easy to deter. Easy to remove from his time and life. However in a deeply detestable turn of events the car following him did not belong to a fan.

He knew from the offset of seeing the make and model that it wasn't his average follower, those types usually had older beaters or worse highly expensive care that they had no business owning. No, instead this car was perfectly down the middle of class and price. How he detested those cars, they had no class. It was effectively similar to the many unmarked police cars that he used to have follow him during his brief stint as mayor.

Regardless the car was tailing his limo, it was simple at first to attempt to outmaneuver them. Eventually his limo was pinned.

Blah blah blah mindless details later some pointless shooting at him with guns and he’d jacked their car. In the end it was simply easier to fake a fatal car crash. then there were all of those witnesses that had to see his death. Walking it back was impossible all circumstances considered. At least when they attacked him they only knocked his driver out, the legal case of that would have been a logistical nightmare and he still had some hopes of getting access to his funds later.

It was almost funny in a karmic way. Almost as poetic as he had wanted pretending to be dead to be. Only problem was it was poetic in exactly the opposite way. The person that he hated most there sobbing the loudest. It’d be so much easier if it was Madeline sobbing. If she was sobbing, a faked death could be almost satisfying. If she melted down it could almost be worth it. Instead it was Jack Fucking Fenton.

Numerous things were to be expected from his funeral, Daniel's arrival, yes, Maddie’s, undoubtedly. Even Jazz’s and Jack’s all expected arrivals. Some of them were more annoying than others but they were the requisite arrivals. Even his gaggle of ex flings was to be expected (they had to try and get their hands on the estate and money somehow. Well jokes on them he’d left it all to Maddie). No, what he hadn’t been prepared for was Jack’s incessant wailing and sobbing.

The man was besides himself absolutely losing his mind right next to his goddamn open casket. It was getting hard to keep a straight face when he wanted nothing more than to leap from the plush silk sheets and throttle the man. His hands might not quite reach around the other mans thick neck but he could give it a good try he was sure. To put it simply and without intense amounts of rage he had mentally calculated for a lot of variables, not one of them being Jack of all people struggling to breath, choked out sobs instead of breaths coming from him as he hovered nearby. Not a single variable included being cried on by the most loathsome man in all of Amity Park. Every tear that fell on Vlad’s extremely expensive make up was another tally against the man’s. Had he no clue how hard it was to not flinch every time a drop of water splattered on his face? It was much harder than it looked he’d have him know.

Didn’t the idiot realize that he hated him? That he’d never cared for him? At least not since his death.

Worse was when Maddie and the Fenton children staggered in, he could smell the alcohol on them from a mile away. It was tasteless! The smell alone nearly made him leap from his casket and throttle them where they stood (Maddie with exception of course). Have they no respect for the dearly departed? Have they no care for social decorum? Those Fenton spawn would never survive in high class society. Not like himself and Maddie. Oh how he wished he’d never gone for those pale imitations. They hardly kept up with all that he needed.

All he had to do now was ignore everyone and get through the funeral and he could be Plasmius full time. Pursue Maddie 24/7 with no worries of the law (though with some worries of Phantom). If only those blasted Fenton's would stop spreading rumours about him! And he knew it was them! Who else would say such outrageous things?

Okay certainly if one wanted to be technical Danielle was his daughter, but he hadn’t raised her. She was not his blood, she was not his in the most important ways.

Then there was that rumour about the-

“He-hey Vlad.”

Oh, oh no.

“I uh, I’m gonna miss you.”

No no no no no! He couldn’t do this! He wouldn’t do this! He would not stand for this! He did not go out of his way to fake his death for this.

Jack blew his big blubbering nose into a handkerchief so hard it honked. Honked! He was going to throttle this man at his earliest convenience. Getting cried on he could deal with, revolting as it was. What he couldn’t and wouldn’t deal with getting yammered at. That was not in the details. He did not plan for this.

“I- uhm- I know we weren’t really close these last few years.”

That was putting it lightly.

“Or really at all since college,” there was a wet laugh from Jack.

If that oaf ended up coughing slobber on him- Maybe if he tried hard enough he could die for real, that’d be nice. He’d never really craved death before, not like in this moment. It’d be so much easier if he just didn’t have to hear this.

“I-I know you didn’t really like me in the end.”

Wait what? Had he finally gotten a clue? That was a first. Maybe his overt plotting had finally gotten through to the oaf. If Jack attacked him now that’d almost make this all worth it. He might even consider revealing he’s Plasmius if he did.

“I know I messed up, I-I must have hurt you, I don’t really know how, but- but uh, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

Yes ye- He was what?

There was another laugh sob from his ex friend,” It’s probably too late since you’re uh- dead, but whatever it is I did to hurt you, I'm sorry. I hope,” he trailed off into a high pitched keening whine.

Stop stop stop! This is not what he wanted!

“I hope you rest well Vlad.”

Footsteps receded away from him at that.

Well what the fuck was he supposed to do with that? What in the world was he supposed to do with that knowledge? Internalize it? Grow and change as a person? He was (half) dead! He was well past the point of growth! He was beyond growth.

For all Jack knew he wasn’t coming back! For him and basically all of them he wasn’t coming back! The only person that would know was Daniel and maybe his sister if he told her. Maybe his brat friends if he messaged them.

What did Jack get out of telling him all of that?

Certainly not money, the will had left everything to sweet Maddie, not him. Some sort of moral upper hand? A sense of feeling like he got one over Vlad?

No the dolt wasn’t that complex, his intelligence lay somewhere between absentminded and incompetant on a good day, there was no moral forethought. Yet why did the words settle so deeply in a corner of himself? Carving out a crevice in him that ached and burned?

“Did you hear about why Vlad couldn’t buy the green bay packers?”

Why? Why did it dig in his flesh? why when he’d thought he’d burned all of that away.

I'm Sorry.

“No, why?”

Life was easier when he was fully alive. College life was simpler. At least then he could fool himself that Maddie thought of him equally as she did Jack.

“Well I heard that he was stalking the team!”

What?

Why would he stalk them? He’d never stalked someone once in his entire life! (death maybe but he’d never admit that) he could buy all the tickets to their games he had no reason to stalk them!

There was no practicality in stalking them. Just like Jack had no reason to apologize to him! The idiot didn’t even know what he’d done to hurt him. He hadn’t ripped the apology from Jack. He wasn't on his knees begging from him. Hell he didn’t even know that he’d killed Vlad. Jack Fenton was as oblivious to the fact that he’d died back in college as he was to the fact that his own son was dead and playing hero as Phantom.

The density of the man was rivaled by no other.

But then why did he apologize?

“Did you hear?”

He got nothing out of it.

Why did it ache?

Burn? He wanted for years nothing more than to make the man sob and beg for forgiveness.

Why did having it fulfill nothing?

“About him and the Box Ghost?”

Would it burn just as painfully if he finally got sweet Madeline’s confession? Would it ring just as hollow?

“I thought it was the lunch lady ghost?”

No. There was something about Jack that made it wrong. Something about that blathering moron that lashed the words to him like a blade.

“I think it was both.”

And what the hell were they all blathering on about? What was all of this nonsense about Box Ghosts and smuggling and stalking? What were any of their empty little words?

Did any of that really matter? Their blathering human rumours and petty squabbles when he, the very guest of honour in all ways but one was laying here before their very eyes on the precipice of something? He was teetering at some edge, he didn’t know what it was but he could just make out the shape of the hole he was almost toppling in, he just had to know what it was. He just-

“Well I heard-”

They heard- they heard! What did it matter what they’d all heard! Nothing that they heard could matter in the slightest not when he was dealing with this! Not when he was reeling with whatever this was! The weight and size of it completely overtaking him and yet none of them aware, he was suffocating being overtaken by the edge of knowledge some realization he’d yet to make and hee still couldn’t read it. All because they wouldn’t stop blathering on and on about what? Lies?

Stupid foolish tales spun by his greatest enemy!

By a child.

If it were not for the show and pageantry of it all, if it were not for the display that he’d set about around him he’d be yanking his hair by the roots, tearing it slowly strand by strand from his scalp. And if there was one thing that Vlad Masters was, it was a showman! He was dramatic and he was going to be so unabashedly it was not his fault that there was no one that yearned for his life to roll onwards like Jack. None of it could be held against him. He was a romantic! Everything he did was for her.

Had it truly all been for nothing?

All these years.

Had she never really cared?

“Dirty money, attached to drugs. I wouldn’t touch it with a ten foot pool.”

All this time.

Did he really-

“Never even mentioned a daughter!

All his schemes!

Jack's tears were so warm when they cut the thick funeral makeup.

“So many secrets for him to keep.”

Dozens of attempts on his life!

Did he really care? The water on his face was still warm.

“Wasn’t the cause of his crash a run from the law?”

“Would you all just shut up already!”

Silence blanketed the church as Vlad’s voice finished ringing out the wooden box still perched on its little stage. The casket was still shaking and the flowers were falling from the box as the hush grew sharper. Energy crackled from the casket shooting out and blowing the bulb above. Glass fell from the light falling gently on the flower petals.

None one spoke, Danny’s father had a hand over his mouth, new large tears welling up. He looked green and pale, unlike most of the stunned guests he looked like he was about to be sick.

Danny shot a glance at Jazz, she nodded and jerked her head to the side. He ducked out. Things were about to get hairy.

There was no response from Vlad for a second as it seemed the outburst was done. Even the children who’d been shrieking with laughter and joy from their play for most of the funeral were silent. The falling glass and shaking box were deafening in the silence. Danny ducked behind a pillar and into the doorway that led to the restrooms. There was no one there. The closest person was his mom but she was standing silent and stunned not an eye tilted away from the casket. He couldn’t blame her.

It wasn’t everyday your incel stalker had a breakdown after he’d legally died.

He transformed. On the most part there weren’t many people near the casket. It was just a few lingering Exes, most people were near the refreshment table. His first line of action should be to grab the people near the stage and get them to safety. Then?

Well the rest was adlib.

At least he had stored the Fenton thermos in his suit jacket (just in case). If only Sam or Tucker were there. Things were so much easier with their help.

Just as he was about to jump into the situation, the group of exes all swarmed Vlad. Shit he’d have to replan everything. He wouldn’t be able to get in an ecto-blast with out the fret of hitting one of them. He could always try Ice or a little storm cloud?

Just as a new plan was starting to formulate one of them (Maria?) slapped Vlad hard across the face.

Smack.

The noise echoed loudly across the church.

He grimaced.

Oh.

He did not want to get in the middle of whatever that was. He really didn’t want to get in the middle of it at all. Backing back into the bathroom he turned back to normal. Didn’t matter what the situation was, he was not going to get in the middle of a dozen or so angry exes and Vlad. It was his grave (even if Danny had helped him dig it a little) like hell Danny was getting buried with him.

“Vlad Masters!” one of the exes screamed,” you slimy pathetic excuse of a man.”

Yeah Danny was not getting in that, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to watch.

“Ow!” Vlad cried out, his eyes were glowing red, but aside from that he still looked very much the same.

Weird, Danny didn’t expect him to stay in human form. He guessed it made sense if he changed into Plasmius the gig would be up. There’d be a lot of questions too. Knowing Vlad’s tendency to monologue he might even explain the concept of Halfa’s.

“M-Maria!” the older man stammered out,” darling hello-”

The woman smacked him again,” I’m Maggie,” she spat out.

Danny winced, yikes. Makeup covered Vlad's gaunt face but Danny could imagine the smarting red forming on his cheeks.

“Y-yes of course, how could I mistake your beauty, how foolish of me to compare the two of-”

The clearing of a throat interrupted as Maria herself tapped her foot.

“Maria!” Vlad exclaimed this time correct, even if taken by surprise.

“Yes,” the woman agreed,” but don’t mind me, what were you saying? Something about comparison?”

The billionaire awkwardly laughed as he seemed to take in the fact that he was surrounded by all of his exes. Phantom wasn’t even needed. Villain defeated right then and there by the rage and power of his many exes. Again Danny found himself desperate to find out whatever the older man had done to make everyone hate him so just to do the express opposite.

When he actually fully died he hoped his funeral wasn’t this… whatever plan he actually ended up with he just didn’t want this.

“So,” Jazz said as she settled next to him leaning on the pillar with him,” any idea what got him up?”

“Nah,” Danny shrugged looking over to his sister. She looked more sober now, less unstable on her feet.” He didn’t really decree what his gripe was this time.”

Jazz sighed,” so no winner yet.”

“Unfortunately,” he said,'' He also technically didn’t go ghost mode.”

Jazz groaned resting her head on his shoulder,” I wanted to go home, these heels are killing me!”

He stuck a tongue out at her,” shoulda transed your gender like I did,” he teased quietly.

“Ha! Really funny Danny,” she flatly commented with a roll of her eyes at the tired joke.

“Ah meany,” he pouted.

“You walk in these heels at a funeral,” she complained again,” At least if he went full ghost It’d be socially acceptable to ditch them.”

He bit his tongue remembering a rant that Sam had gone on recently about heels and social pressure. How she’d then thrown one of her platform boots at Tuck when he made a remark. Jazz probably wouldn’t appreciate his lovesick ramblings about them.

“Looks like we'll just have to continue to watch this unfold.” he said instead with a sarcastic twinge.

“Oh what a shame!” Jazz said flatly,” sucks to be us.”

Danny snickered as Vlad continued to try to dig himself out of his hole. How he wished Sam and Tucker were here. Unfortunately for him they were both far too busy. Ah well he’d just have to video it all for them.

How unfortunate for Vlad that he was made to sit through his own will reading, and how fortunate for Danny Fenton that he was the one that got to watch it all go down. In the entire time that he and Vlad had been nemesis he never knew just how much he wanted exactly this to happen. Actually if someone ever suggested this happening younger him probably wouldn’t have appreciated just how funny this was. No fourteen-to-fifteen him was far too invested in things like learning his powers and finding out just how observant the rest of town was. Also looking cool. Adult him however? Freshly 21 and college attending him? Oh he could enjoy the fuck out of this situation.

There was some minor debate among some guests over how ethical it was since Vlad's ‘ghost’ was now here to view the reading. Some point could be made that it might be weird...

“Isn’t it rude?” one family member had suggested.

But...

“It might be in bad taste,” another guest had even pipped up.

No one really liked Vlad anyways

“Oh no!” Morgan said,” I want to know what it says, and who better to see how accurate it all is.”

Oh how glad he was that those few were beaten out. How glad he was that the crowd was seeing blood. That the group was too nosey and invested in the drama to really get caught up in such small things as ethics. How grateful he was that the exes were in half a mind to Kill Vlad a second time.

Fortunate he was, that his luck was finally turning up. It might even be the universe trying to pay him back for all of the shit he’d been dealing with since he was fourteen. Return investment on the untimely youth death. Honestly if it was it was a pretty bang up start all things considered. He’d have to find out if there was a ghost involved in the control of karma. They might just end up with an edible arrangement on their lair door. Older adults loved that shit so ghosts should too.

“Hm,” the lawyer said when they entered the room with the walking corpse of Vlad masters. The office was small and hardly held everyone, but snugly, far too snugly for comfort they all fit on the other side of the large desk.

No one said anything to the lawyer. Whether the man had been privy to the rest of the funeral or had just arrived Danny didn’t know but he had to admit this entire situation was bizarre even with full context. Not many of them knew ghost rules and the only ones that did were in either stunned or gleeful silence. There was no objection to the fact that Vlad had dragged his body with him, not a voice descenting on the fact that his form hadn’t shifted. Not a single attendee seemed perturbed by the fact that Vlad was not really a ghost.

Even the paid bounty hunters didn’t know how to discern ghosts from humans judging by their stunned expressions. Though he’d love to watch one of them attack Vlad in the middle of a church. Stabbing a man in the house of god might just be a big sin, though Danny wasn’t sure.

“Well this is unprecedented,” the lawyer commented,” never in my time have I ever seen a dead man rise for the reading of his own will.”

Vlad grumbled but no one could make out the words as the two exes on either side of him glared.

Oh how fortunate Danny was indeed, never before had he ever been so glad for his untimely death. If it all led to watching Vlad squirm like this still trying to keep his alter ego a secret? Pain and strife, the many attacks and attempts on his life were worth it.

“Well if there is no protest,” the lawyer said. For a moment Vlad looked very much like he wanted to protest, but the glares of the exes kept him silent and made him snap his jaw shut. Danny knew what went into keeping a corpse looking fresh. Shame the mortician seemed to have skipped wiring the jaw shut. Then, Vlad didn’t seem to need physical wires to keep him silent and well behaved, his Exes were all doing that job very well.

“In that case,” the lawyer sounded queasy, if Danny wasn’t so invested with the drama unfolding he might have turned to verify. “Then I believe we will begin.”

The man started out by reading the long legal preamble, the paragraphs upon paragraphs of titles and information about Vlad that was included. Danny understood that him being the owner of VladCo was technically important for the will but did he need to include all of his ten titles at the company in the will? It just felt excessive. ‘Ceo, entrepreneur, founder, head of decisions, etc.’ did anyone care? Leaving out the most important title of ‘asshole’ was the biggest mistake of his will.

“Yes I think we get it,” Monroe said, her accent clipping the words in stiff professionalism. Bless her for cutting the pain short. “I do have,” the woman glanced at the cousin who was still holding her hand,” A more important social engagement to attend to with Carmila.”

The lawyer stammered,” yes of course ma’am my apologies.”

“It reads:

‘First, I hereby denounce all previous wills made by myself, Vlad Masters, no matter nature or kind.

Second I Vlad Masters hereby appoint,” the lawyer paused making a face before he continued,” Madeline Fenton love of my life as the executor of my estate, networth, and-” the lawyer paused,” the ownership of my beloved cat ‘Maddie the cat, the third-”

“Huh, I guess you listened to my suggestion after all and got a cat.” Danny muttered as at the same moment his mother reached her breaking point

“You what?” Maddie was standing out of her chair, indignation flaring in her eyes,” Vlad! I don’t want any of this.”

“But but,” Danny tuned the man out as he made the normal declarations of love. Trite at this point his mind was already trying to entertain itself. Fast forwarding this would be nice, if only his core was time based. But no he got Ice, and Weather, and other weird disconnected powers. He was electrocuted to death! Cruel that he didn’t get cool electrocution powers.

They were still arguing when he tuned back in. Loath wasn’t a powerful enough describer for this love diatribe that Vlad spewed every three to five business days. His mom yelled something back, a few of the ex wives even chiming in agreement. Well at least they didn’t hate mom that was a plus.

He shot Jazz a look as he repositioned his phone camera to get a better shot.

‘This again?’ he tried to communicated with his expressions. Tuck usually laughed when he tried and Sam told him he looked to constipated.

She shrugged and nodded as if to say ‘this again.’

“I am happily married! I told you I won't leave Jack for you!”

Tuning out the conversation didn’t seem to leave out many details. Everything was falling exactly into the same patterns as always.

“Maddie please-” the billionaire tried to beg.

This made the woman snap,” no don’t Maddie please me! You have not respected my decision to marry Jack since it happened, well guess what Vlad it’s too late for you! You were never even an option!” she turned to Jack and put a hand on his shoulder. her voice much softer when she spoke,” come on honey we’re leaving. Kids?” She turned to the two Fenton children. The both of them stood with no protest. Like hell they were going to end up on the wrong side of their mother right now. Mission orientated as she was they had no doubt she could commit Vlad's murder and get away with it. legally she might even considering the fact that he was technically a 'ghost' right now.

Just as she was about to step out the door she turned,” oh and ladies, don’t worry about a legal battle I’ll work with our family lawyer to transfer everything to all of you.”

There were some small thanks from the stunned Exes as the office door latched shut behind them.

The air in the car was-

Well the word tense didn’t really sum up the air but it was the best approximation that Danny had. It could have gone worse, he supposed he could have genuinely ended up fighting Vlad again. Chances where that if he fought Vlad while he was Plasmius that the formerly rich business mogul would then use the moment to out Danny as Phantom. Not just his family but all of the church. If he had to rate the evening it was definitely not as bad as he expected. About a six or seven, depending on his critical he was being.

“Uh so who won the bet?” he whispered to Jazz. he wasn’t worried about his parents, Maddie was soothingly rubbing circles on Jack’s back as the man drove. That and they were sat in the back, sometimes the front seats struggled to hear them at a normal level forget a whisper.

Jazz furrowed her brows,” I guess neither of us really won, he didn’t even go ghost.”

Nodding, he thought back to the man’s loud entrance,” He also didn’t say what rumour got him up.”

“So do we both lose?”

“I guess?” he looked over to his parents,” so we both tell them?”

Jazz sighed leaning back in her seat, hair dramatically laying behind her,” yeah I guess.”

“You don’t hav-”

Jazz cut him off with a snort,” no it’s fine, my things not really as big all things considered.”

Fair, she had a point with that. Their parents already knew that she was interested in men and women but still revealing partners to them was always weird and nerve wracking. The first time he’d introduced Sam and Tuck as partners and not friends he’d expected a lot more questions. Turns out if you hunt ghosts for a living nothing is really weird after that. They just bought him new sex ed books. Sentiment appreciated but still weird considering he could google that sort of thing now.

“So Danny,” his mom said, her fingers tightened on her phone. They were lucky she got old brick Nokias instead of those new Smart phones. She’d break them in a week. Jack wasn’t paying them much attention as he drove, he seemed to still be shell shocked. Hopefully he didn't crash, okay so maybe he didn't always like car rides. Sometimes the looming threat of a car crash really messed with his obsession.

“Yeah mom?” he asked.

“I was talking to some of the ladies.”

“Uh huh?” wherever she was going with this he didn’t like the tone.

“And imagine my surprise when one of them tells me Vlad has a daughter.”

“Weird right,” he said. Please stop, please stop! He begged, wherever this was going it was nowhere good. It would have been better if he’d just died in that accident. Screw whatever he thought back when he thought his luck was turning up. He was still the most unlucky bastard in all of amity park.

She hummed in agreement,” and imagine my surprise when they said she was your cousin.”

Danny didn’t have a response to that, Jazz was stifling a laugh next to him.

“And then,” she said,” she showed me a picture of her.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, Danny," there was a pause as she seemed to collect her words," why does she look like you pre transition?”

“Does she?” sweating wasn’t really something he did so much anymore, not since his core started cooling his mortal flesh, it was nice sometimes. But it didn’t stop nervous sweating. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hadn’t- Danny,” his mother sighed,” sweetie if you want to start presenting as a girl again you can. We won’t judge you.”

Wait what, “ what?!”

Shrieking loud bursts of laughter came out of Jazz.

“Jazz!”

That set him off, it was just so ridiculous.

“Honey I’m serious,” his mom sounded so upset her tone lost. She really was trying.

He couldn’t help it, it wasn’t his fault. It was just so out of the realm of what was happening. Man his parents really didn’t have any of the facts.

“Danny?” his father asked the tenseness in his shoulders from the funeral leaving way to confusion.

Him and Jazz made eye contact and the laughing got so much worse. If being part dead didn’t make him need to breathe so much less he’d be choking. He’d die, it was just- they still didn’t know and somehow that was all the funnier. God he was calling Tuck and Sam right after he explained everything they were going to get such a kick out of this. Especially Tucker.

“That’s not-” wheezes high and stringy, cutting him off, he was struggling even with his ghost lungs.

“Danny my boy,” Jack asked quietly,” what’s funny?”

“We’re trying to support you Danny!” his mother exclaimed.

Finally he quelled the laughter enough to speak,” okay okay,” he whipped a tear from his eye. “I’ll explain it all it just probably isn’t something dad needs to be driving for.”

“Danny what do-”

“Just trust me okay?” he grinned at his mom in what he hoped was reassurance.

She sighed and looked at her husband, Jack furrowed his brows and the pair silently communicated before the man hit his turning signal.

The small side road was perfectly out of the way enough that no one would be able to peer in. It was some half abandoned picnic area but none of them reached for their seatbelts to leave the car. It was just the closest spot they could stop.

“Okay,” he started giving Jazz a look, she nodded comfortingly,” Remember how the portal didn’t work at first?”

It took them a moment but they nodded in remembrance.

“Right well I died.” it was best to just rip the Band-Aid off.

“What?”

“Danny- honey you’re not dead.”

He thought so at least, he sighed pinching his nose,” I need you guys to wait for questions till the end okay?”

“But honey you’re not dead!” she didn’t sound so sure as she looked him over.

“What your mother said my boy! You’re sitting right there!”

Danny groaned,” guys please?” there was a pause as they looked at each other and finally finally agreed to wait till the end. “Sam said I should check it out, see if I could fix it. I put on my suit, and,” he made a buzzing noise with his tongue,” the button shocked me to death when I hit it. It was dark so I didn't see,” he looked to the side. The trees outside were swaying peacefully in the wind. Jazz put a hand on his shoulder, he took a steading breath and clenched the hand with the thin invisible scars. “It was an accident but,” he turned back to them resolution in his eyes,” I died that day, When I woke up, well, brace yourselves okay,” he let the tugging cold of hic core shift and change his appearance.

There was silence. He’d expected something but, no, even Jazz wasn’t saying anything.

He cracked an eye open, his parents were staring at him dumbfounded. Yeah that was about par for the course.

“Well this happened and now, I’m half Ghost,” he admitted,” everyone in the ghost zone knows that’s why there were always so many attacks at the school.”

“Half?” his mom asked despite herself.

Danny nodded,” yeah I still age, and need to eat and breath... mostly on that last one. It’s kind of cool I can go invisible,” he demonstrated before changing back,” and phase through things and float,” he demonstrated both in succession allowing the belt to glide through him as he hovered up an inch. “Shoot Ecto-blasts… probably best if I don’t do that one in the car though,” he laughed.

“Okay,” his mom said.

“Okay?” he asked.

His father nodded,” sure Son, we love you. It’s weird but, well we hunt ghosts for a living.”

He laughed,” yeah fair enough.”

"I-" his mom looked over at Jack," We're proud of you sweetie, that's a lot to undertake at so young."

he chuckled," it wasn't so bad, I had a lot of help," he grinned at Jazz," Between her Sam and Tuck I don't know if I would have lasted half the battles I did."

"You knew Jazz?" Their father asked his tone soft and slightly hurt.

She smiled softly," yeah, I walked in on him transforming. Thought it was best if I let him tell you guys."

"Part of the apprehension might have been the dissection thing," Danny addmited.

"I- honey-" his mom put a hand over her mouth in shock.

"I'm sorry son," His dad said," it was closed minded of us to assume stuff about ghosts we didn't know."

"Well you weren't always wrong. Just usually."

“So ‘Elle?” his mom prompted before Jack could pepper in questions about what the got right.

He sighed,” yeah her full name is Danielle, technically she’s the only living clone of me Vlad made.”

“Only living Clone?”

“Vlad made?”

Man he had a lot to explain. Years of events just gone unsaid. Some small part of the divide between them was shifting, growing smaller.

“Is now a good time to tell you guys I have a girlfriend?”

Danny choked on a laugh. Not to long after his parents followed after the tension disrupted, Well at least he had Jazz to help explain. Sam and Tucker too when they weren’t busy. It'd be a mess and weird to finally clear the air between them, but at least he knew they were proud of him.

#My writing #danny phantom #trans danny fenton #trans danny phantom #everlasting trio #thats their ship name right? its not like super there its minor but ye #danny phantom exists in my brain in vague memories and nothing else #only the smallest amounts of cannon may be contained in this fic #idk i dont have enough brain to know tho #danphanwritingprompts

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danniburgh · 4 years ago

Text

Past Grievances & Turning Points (a RushBit mini-series) part 1

Pairing: Javier Peña x ofc//f!reader with name.

Summary: You just moved with Javier, but you can't live your life wearing his clothes, so the two of you start a road trip to your house in Albuquerque in which you take the time to tell him everything he still needed to know about you.

Word count: +4k

Chapter warnings: mentions of violence

A/N: This is canon RushBit after the main story; i had such a hard time getting into this for some reason, but finally here we are, im so excited for this side of the story, really <3

ao3 // fic index // Masterlist

comments and reblogs are eternally appreciated 💓

gif: @fuckyeahjavierpena

“Javier,” you whispered in his ear again, he shifted slightly and let out a sigh when you ran your hand through his hair “Javi, baby,” you called, he hummed in response and you smiled “breakfast’s ready.”

Javier let out another unintelligible hum and your smile widened, you left a kiss on his cheek and left him there to wake up if he had gotten or not the message; you walked out of the room, made sure to let the door ajar so at least some of the smell of the food you and Chucho had made together woke him up fully and made your way back to the kitchen.

“Still asleep?” Chucho asked when he saw you walk into the kitchen, he was already sitting and eating, Pepe sitting next to him whining for a bite, you nodded and sat next to him.

“He has a lot to make up for.” you teased, Chucho grunted a smile while you poured maple syrup on your pancakes.

“At least he doesn’t get those nightmares anymore, Florecita,” he said, cutting a piece of his sausage and dropping it to the floor for Pepe to eat “ya, ten, perro necio.” (cut it, here, stubborn dog)

“Lucky him.” you muttered with a piece of pancake inside your mouth.

“Is that another of my shirts?” you heard from one side as you cut another piece of pancake, you lifted your head to look at Javier, still rubbing sleep off his eyes as he walked inside the kitchen.

“Yeah,” you replied, Chucho asked for the syrup in a mutter that you had learned to identify in the two weeks you’d been living with them, “why?” you asked, handing the bottle to him.

Javier sat next to you with his plate in one hand and a coffee cup in the other, you looked at Pepe, that sat between you, looking at Javier.

“Just asking.” he said, shrugging as he blew slightly to his coffee.

“I need clothes.” you commented, stretching over your plate to reach for a napkin, Chucho called Pepe to give him another piece of sausage.

“We can go buy some later.” Javier replied with another shrug, you frowned with a slight smile on your face.

“Why? I have my stuff,” you told him, Javier looked at his dad pet Pepe and rolled his eyes, not having really listened to what you said “Javi, I need to go back to Albuquerque.”

“What?” he almost choked on the sip of coffee he was drinking, his brow furrowed. You raised your eyebrows “why? what happened?” he asked.

You looked at Chucho with your mouth slightly agape and a flabbergasted smile on it, the old man looked at you, shrugged and kept on eating.

“My things, Javier,” you enunciated, “I gotta pick up my stuff if I’m gonna live here, I can’t live dressed in your clothes.” Javier relaxed visibly.

“You look good in my clothes,” he leaned back on the chair with a small smirk on his mouth, you threw him your balled napkin and he chuckled, “fine then, when do you wanna leave?”

“First thing tomorrow.” you replied, sipping from your own cup of coffee.

“A’right, we leave tomorrow.” Javier leaned forward and picked up his fork.

“Wait, you're coming with me?” you asked him, Javier didn’t look at you, he cut a piece of sausage. Pepe huffed at the smell.

“Who’s gonna help you pack?”

You yawned again as you carried your small bag on your shoulder; you shivered slightly when you walked out of the house to put the bag inside the truck because of your dampened hair making contact with the chilly morning air.

You looked up at the early morning dark sky and closed your eyes as you breathed in the sweet smell of the night dew resting on the little patches of grass around the house; there was something about the few late nights and early mornings you had spent with Javier there, something you hadn’t given yourself the time to put into words or expressing to him. Something that made you feel like you belonged there, like that was your space in the world, in that ranch with the man you loved, his dad, a big dog and the mooing of the cows that could be heard once in a while. You fit there.

You heard Javier’s heavy steps as he walked out of the house and you turned around to look at him as he closed the door.

“Could you make more noise, honey?” you teased with a low voice, Javier rolled his eyes at you and you looked at the boots he was wearing, you shook your head and smiled at him as he walked towards you.

“All ready?” he asked, resting his hands on your waist, gently tugging you against him, you smiled and nodded, “good,” Javier leaned to leave a soft kiss on your lips; your breath hitched at the deepness of that soft kiss, when he broke the contact to look at you, you let out a heavy sigh that made him smile. “I’ll drive.” he whispered, and you nodded again in response.

Javier slid his hands away from you and you bit your lip once he turned to walk around the truck and get inside; you did the same, buckled your seatbelt and shifted on the seat to look at him as he turned on the ignition; you scoffed as he backed the truck slowly through the driveway, wondering if he would be able to endure the thirteen hour drive.

“What’s so funny?” he asked with half a smile, reaching for the seatbelt on his left side, you shook your head and he narrowed his eyes at you.

“You look good today.” you muttered, leaning forward to turn on the radio, Javier let out a chuckle and gripped the steering wheel. A song you didn’t know but was sung in spanish started on the radio and you folded your arms on your chest.

“We’re using the two-eighty-five?” he asked as he turned on the main street, you hummed in response “and then where, we go through El Paso?” you turned to look at him.

“El Paso? no way, that’s extra forty-five minutes,” you huffed “we keep on the two-eighty-five basically until it ends,” Javier groaned “then we turn on the route sixty-six and we’re basically there, the house is on the outskirts.”

“You’re helping me drive, right?” he teased, you laughed.

“Of course, you big baby.” you replied with a smile on your face, Javier scoffed and kept driving with one hand, dropping the other softly on your thigh.

“I was thinking,” he let out as he turned again on the main highway to leave Laredo, you hummed in response as you unfolded your arms, lowered the voice of the radio and took his hand with yours, admiring the little wrinkles of his knuckles, “if we’re gonna live together, we should build our house.”

“What?!” you almost shrieked, Javier let out a chuckle.

“Well, you didn’t think we were gonna live with my dad forever, did you?” he glanced at you.

“Well…” he gripped your hand tightly and you reciprocated the grip, the thought made you nervous; it was another step, that, although it was very obvious, it also seemed enormous in comparison to what it had been happening since you arrived at Laredo “I guess you’re right.”

“You sure?” Javier asked, having turned again to start driving through the highway, he looked at you for a few seconds before looking back at the road.

You wanted to nod, you wanted to say yes and unbuckle your seatbelt and shift on the bench seat and kiss his cheek until your lips were numb; but at the same time the thought of a physical representation of your permanent stay there frightened you. Not too long ago Javier had told you he wasn’t sure about feeling resentment in the future. He had told you he didn’t know if some day he would wake up and decide he hated you.

Javier looked at you again and tightened the already tight grip on your hand; he was the man you were leaving everything for; your body and your heart and your instinct were telling you to leap and jump onto whatever he wanted to do with you, onto whichever plan he had already made in his head, into the brick castle he was building on a cloud.

But your mind, that one was betraying the very sentiment that had driven you to Laredo in the first place; it didn’t know. It wasn’t sure.

“I mean…” you muttered, Javier said nothing, waiting, expecting, “yeah.” you let out, your eyes glued to the windshield and to the early morning sky, still dark, purple with the reflection of the sun slowly arriving.

“Amor, you don’t sound very convinced.” Javier chuckled out almost nervously, glancing at you once again. He wanted to stop the truck, he wanted to pull over and turn off the ignition and turn fully to you and ask you what was going on; he wanted to study your face and hold you close to him until you mouthed and voiced what was going on inside that head of yours. He hated not knowing what you were thinking.

“I think I’m just nervous,” you said, lifting the entanglement that was your fingers around his and kissing his knuckles softly. You didn’t want to overthink it; you had made a decision, you had decided to stay with him for as long as he had you. And, if he was planning on building a house and building a life, it felt like he was thinking about something permanent. “have you thought where?”

Javier let out a short sigh and decided to not ask about your thoughts anymore; he knew you would say you were fine because it was your default response. So he decided to go in the direction you were leading.

“Right there in the ranch,” he muttered; you smiled at him, Javier looked at you briefly and recognized that smile as one of disbelief, “I’m serious, there's a piece of field on the opposite side of the paddocks, we can build there.” he said, shrugging.

“Chucho’s gonna let us do that?” you asked him, Javier slid off his hand of your grip to scratch his jaw and nodded.

“He’s the one who offered the land.” he replied, you covered your mouth with both hands and frowned; your throat closed at the thought of him having that very same conversation with his father and Chucho just offering his own property for you and him.

“You talked to him about it?” you asked him, your voice slightly muffled by your own hands, Javier huffed and nodded with a smirk on his face.

“Why you’re not buying what I say?” his smile widened, you shifted on the seat as closer as the seatbelt let you and reached for his hand.

“It just doesn’t sound familiar to me.” you muttered with a tight lipped smile, playing with his fingers.

“What do you mean?” he questioned, you let out a sigh and turned to look at him; Javier eyed you and the road back and forth for a few seconds.

“Well, I haven’t received that kind of affection from my parents, y’know?” you let out, Javier nodded, he gripped your hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing your skin with his dry, soft lips, tickling it with his mustache, “Idunno, feels foreign even when I’m seeing it happen before my eyes.” you explained, Javier kissed the back of your hand and let his and yours rest on his thigh.

“Pop can be a hard man sometimes,” he said, his voice deep with some emotion you could barely see in his eyes ��but he loves very openly.”

“Like you.” you muttered out, Javier smiled and shook his head a couple of times.

“Maybe,” he replied, “I haven’t asked yet.” he teased.

You wrinkled your nose at his response and he chuckled. You leaned to raise the radio volume again; a grupero song that you recognized immediately was barely starting on the station, making you groan and change it.

“What?” Javier asked while you pressed the forward button to fish for another station.

“That fucking song,” you muttered, “it’s about fucking Felix Gallardo.” you said.

“He has a song?” Javier questioned, you turned to him and narrowed your eyes.

“He has several, that one is the newest,” you mumbled, settling for a pop station that was playing some new song by Mariah Carey, Javier scowled at it and you leaned back on the seat “I don’t know why they’re playing it in the fucking radio.”

“Maybe stations don’t know.” he shrugged, you scoffed.

“I can tell them, it’s shockingly obvious.” Javier chuckled at your reply and you tightened the grip on his hand as hard as you could.

“Hey!” he complained, sliding his hand away and stretching his fingers “sorry.”

“Yeah.” you let out, crossing your arms on your chest and setting your eyes on the view outside, Javier groaned lowly.

“Amor,” he called out, you shook your head, “I would know why it makes you so angry if you told me, y’know?” he tried to reason, you looked at him and then looked back at the road; the sun was rising in the morning sky and the, yellow, orange and scarlet tones of the sun telling the night sky a temporary goodbye were reflecting on the puffy clouds above the fields.

“Yeah, I know,” you replied, feeling his hand searching for yours. You unfolded your arms once again and took his hand, knowing there was one last thing about you he needed to know and that was long overdue, a talk you had promised since the first time you spent a night together, since the first time he had held you inside his arms when you told him half trues and blatant lies. Knowing there was just that one thing to get over with so your chest didn’t feel as constricted as it felt when you talked about it. “you really have to know.”

“I’d love to hear it,” he muttered softly, brushing your knuckles with his thumb “and we have time.” he whispered, trying to lighten the mood inside the truck, you huffed and let out a heavy, audibly sigh.

“I don’t even know where to start,” you mumbled, biting your lip and looking at him, the soft, recently born sunshine that was taking over the sky slowly reflected on his skin and made his deep, brown eyes glimmer; Javier looked back at you and raised his eyebrows, expecting, ready to listen. “alright, I think I told you I was a desk agent, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, when was that?” he asked, you let out a chuckle.

“Uhm, since I was out of the academy until almost the end of ninety-one,” you replied, “when they sent me down to Juárez,” you tried to recount the time, Javier groaned and you laughed silently, “yeah, around five years.”

“Really?” Javier let out, you nodded “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed “I was in the New Mexico office, mainly focused on intel and trying to put my masters to good use,” Javier hummed and played with your hand “wasn’t so bad, had the chance to go on some raids,” you muttered, “we were just looking for low life dealers, whoever controlled which town, y’know, the usual.”

“And when you told me they sent you to México as a punishment,” he started, you looked at him, “was that the truth?”

“Yeah,” you muttered, “that was true, I tried to cut a deal with some idiot distributor for intel.” Javier huffed.

“That doesn’t end well.” he let out, ripping a low chuckle out of you.

“It really doesn’t, the shithead got caught, he said my name in the interrogation room and by the next week I was crossing the border with a suitcase and I think a cardboard box with files,” you laughed, Javier grinned, “I barely knew any actual spanish.” he frowned.

“Really?” he asked, you nodded, Javier tutted his lips “well, you learned it good.” he teased.

“I had to,” you said with a shrug “see, by this point the mexican government had finally figured out Felix Gallardo was still running his business from jail,” you explained, Javier hummed in response, sliding once more his hand away from yours and patting his chest to reach for his sunglasses that hung from his shirt, “and there was this whole deal with the plazas and no one really knew who managed what, so basically they sent me to study the area’s main supplier,” Javier shook his sunglasses to open them and put them on, the sun was starting to reflect on the windshield, “if I wanted to do my job right I had to learn the language.”

“How long did it take you?” Javier asked, you shifted on the bench seat to tuck your leg under the other.

“Around a year with intensive help from…” you stopped suddenly, Javier turned to you with an eyebrow raised, he looked at you and noticed the way your head tilted, he put his hand on your thigh, “from Marcos,” you muttered, “he taught me.”

Javier only hummed in reply, he didn’t know if he should ask you about him; he groaned to himself and felt your stare, he was sure you also remembered the way he had asked if you were fucking him for intel all those months before that felt like a lifetime; you gave him a chuckle.

“I didn’t fuck him,” you whispered, drawing a chuckle out of him, he shook his head before you fell onto a brief silence that he swore he could cut with a blunt knife “I just got him fired.”

“Baby,” he started, you shook your head, “it wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe,” you muttered, “he still lost his job.”

Javier sighed, his thumb started drawing slow circles on the covered skin of your thigh.

“You talked to him?” he asked, you let out a slow whine.

“Yeah, I tried to apologize,” you said, remembering how you worked yourself up for three days in order to have the courage to dial his number and talk to him; you closed your eyes and took Javier’s hand, “he didn’t even know it had been because of me, so…” you felt your chest constricting, Marcos’s surprised, hurt voice still echoing inside your head, “let’s just say that bridge there is burned.”

Javier tried to reassure you in the only way his body knew how, he gripped your hand and tried to bring you closer to him; you unbuckled your seatbelt and shifted closer, resting your head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” his voice came out soft and sweet, you huffed; cherishing the way he was slowly voicing stuff he knew would make you feel better.

“I guess it had to happen,” you replied with a soft shrug, “we spent years together, I learned a lot from him,” Javier hummed appreciatively and you smiled, “we were sent together down to Guadalajara,” you told him, looking out to the Texan road, wondering where exactly were you driving through, “we had to focus on Sinaloa too, we had just learned they had this, weird, sort of partnership with Juárez,” Javier nodded once, “and a fucking rivalship with Tijuana.” you chuckled tiredly.

“What a fucking mess,” Javier teased, you nodded and stretched to place a kiss on his cheek, Javier smiled, “that must’ve been hard, amor.”

Javier tried to imagine himself in your place; he had been there for a couple of years before being sent to Colombia; a small taskforce to look for the missing Agent Camarena, he didn't like it. He felt like the violence and the way the narcos were destroying his parent’s country, and his, in a certain way, felt too personal. He didn’t know if he would’ve come out alive if he had been stationed there instead of Colombia.

“It was,” you replied, stirring on the seat to tuck your other leg under you, “the amount of hours we spent trying to analyze interactions between those three cartels still haunts me,” you tried to joke, Javier scoffed, “if I compare it to how Colombia was…” you reflected, Javier hummed warningly, “in my experience,” you smiled and clarified in the same tone he hummed, Javier chuckled, “for me, México was crazier.”

“I imagine,” he said, you looked at him trying to read his face from up close; in the last two weeks you had spent in his house you had re-met him. It was like he was another man with the same essence; he was relaxed, talked more, his sense of humour came out at all times and you had lost count of the times he had made you laugh until your eyes teared up and your belly hurt. It was like being in a relationship with a man you barely knew but had a deep, meaningful love for. He turned to you and smirked “what?” he asked.

“I love you.” you whispered.

Javier smiled at you and, with his eyes skilfully on the road, leaned down to leave a soft kiss on your lips.

“I love you too.” he replied and you left another soft kiss on his mouth, Javier turned to look at the road.

“We should look for something to eat,” you said against the skin of his jaw, he chuckled, “I’m gonna be hungry really soon.”

“We definitely don’t want a hungry flower around here.” he teased, you swatted gently at his arm with a feigned frown.

“I just wanna have energy to keep telling you about México,” you said, Javier nodded, “where was I?”

“Rivalry with Tijuana.” he recalled, you opened your mouth and mouthed a soft ah, nodding.

“So, to make the story short they all wanted to kill each other.” you told him.

“Sounds familiar.” Javier let out growly.

“Right? why can’t they be diplomatic?” you joked, making him chuckle, “Tijuana had thrown a bomb into one of Chapo’s houses and that was a whole ‘nother mess,” Javier blinked heavily at the word bomb and you winced when he gripped your hand tighter, “you get it,” you muttered, he nodded, chewing the inside of his mouth, “so Sinaloa responded with a shooting and killed a lot of people, family of Gallardo,” Javier looked at you in disbelief, “yeah, cousins and one of his aunts.”

Javier said nothing, he kept driving normally but you could feel the way his respiration had become faster, you wondered what he was remembering after what you had said.

“It all escalated very quickly, mind you, this was ninety-two, I spent my birthday in a hotel room in Guadalajara,” you chuckled.

“Why?”

“The cartel knew we were in town, they were trying to track us so we moved hotels for a while.” you replied with a smile on your face while the memory of a small, supermarket store-bought cake with a hard frosting and one single candle painted itself inside your head.

“Who’s we?” Javier asked you, you rolled your eyes.

“Marcos and I,” you told him, Javier groaned in feigned anger and you laughed at him, “he sang me the mexican happy birthday.” you bragged.

“They’re called las mañanitas, Flor.” he chuckled, making you laugh harder at the tone of his voice.

“Yes, that,” Javier shook his head at you, “we had to move to Culiacán, though,” you let out, sitting up straighter at the sight of a gas station, “we had the tip that el Chapo had moved because of all the violence, so we followed him too,” you pointed at it, “can we stop? I’m hungry.”

“Yeah,” Javier changed lanes so he could drive into the gas station and parking next to a pump, you reached for his left hand and took it to look at his watch, you’d been driving for around five hours, the both of you sighed at the same time and he turned off the ignition, “can you get me some sunflower seeds? I’m gonna fill up the tank.” he asked when you reached for your bag that rested on the truck’s floor, you looked at him as he opened the door and got out.

“Sunflower seeds? a’right grandpa.” you teased, opening the door, Javier laughed silently, watching you as you hopped off the truck, closed the door and walked towards the store.

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