#i need to drive to michigan and beat the fuck out of them. actually. like actually.

[mbat]

never going to get over the fact that of the people who have liked me romantically/had a crush on me, one of them admitted to being a pedophile. i can never undo that. what the actual fuck. does anyone want to drive me to michigan so i can beat the shit out of them, its the only thing i can think to do to make it suck less

[rjwhite]

That's the Day I Throw my Drugs Away

The Morphine album Cure for Pain came out 30 years ago, on September 14, 1993. A few years back, I was on this music review mailing list, where each member had to take a turn writing about an album of great importance to them. This was mine.

Ever since I was a kid, cities always held a fascination for me. I was not well-traveled, growing up in the middle of Michigan. The idea of being in some cosmopolitan, dense, East Coast metropolis was amazing to me, yet it took until well into college to even head out there, for a college television conference in Providence in 1996. We made the drive from Michigan State University, cut across Canada in the dead of night to spend a day in Boston, then head down to Providence in rush hour traffic. Checked into the hotel and one of the people in our group asked who was playing in town. Morphine at Lupo’s Heartbreak Hotel. A friend said we absolutely had to go, as the band was amazing. I’d never heard of them, but went along because, hey, a concert in an actual, real city and everything, you know?

A loud club with cheap beer. Lots of people crowded in. The band came on. It was one of those weird things you always remember. These guys were on stage- not young, one of them playing a bass with only two strings? The one guy playing two saxes at once? The lead singer going into some beat poetry? What was this? I’d never seen or heard anything like it. My mind exploded. The band, the crowd, everything was in sync. Leaving the club, being downtown in an old, established city- the whole weekend of experiencing something I’d built up for so long … it just cemented that I needed to be in a place like that. I needed to live somewhere with history, vitality.

We got back to East Lansing and one of the first things I did that week was go to Flat, Black and Circular (still one of the best record shops I’ve ever been lucky enough to shop) and pick up Cure for Pain. It wasn’t even the album they were touring for (Like Swimming). I think Cure for Pain was the first one I saw in the rack? But it grabbed me and entranced me and hooked me for life. I listened and listened and listened. This incredible, smooth, wonderful mix of I don’t know what- jazz? Rock? Stories of cheating and sleaziness and sadness and loss and regret?

It’s just a wonderful thing to just discover a band you had no idea existed and instantly be taken with them. To feel that connection you never knew was there and somehow know you’ll be listening to them for a good, long while. It’s almost like falling in love with someone, you know?

I just always associate the album with that time and it’s all smashed together in my head, making that absolutely certain decision that, someway, somehow, I was going to live on the East Coast, in an honest-to-god city where I could go to places like Lupo’s and see bands like Morphine for the first time.

Now, I live in Philadelphia and never go to shows!

Though the odd, strange miracle of the internet, I’m able to hear a bootleg of that very night, knowing that 21-year-old RJ is in that crowd somewhere, just happy and dumbfounded by what he is hearing and utterly enjoying being in that moment.

I don’t know if I can hear myself in there, though. That might be too strange, like thinking of the dead people in the repeated laugh tracks of old sitcoms.

But, the record! Just a pleasure to listen to, front to back.

“Dawna” and “Buena” kicking it off… “I’m Free Now” as a sad, incredible post-breakup song where you feel like that terrible jerk who’s made a bad mistake (I'm free now to direct a movie/Sing a song or write a book about yours truly/How I'm so interesting I'm so great I'm really just a fuck-up/And It's such a waste to burn down these walls around me)... That delicate mandolin of “In Spite of Me”... The barrelling train of “Mary Won’t You Call My Name”... That jazzy, smoky rambling of “Let’s Take a Trip Together”... “Thursday” is almost a short film, with the wenching title track slamming you right after… all of it...

July 3 will mark the anniversary of Morphine frontman Mark Sandman’s death from a heart attack in the midst of a 1999 concert in Europe. If you could throw this (or anything from their wonderful catalog, really) on, I think that would be nice.

Anyway, that's why I love this 30-year-old record and this band. Listen to it wherever you can, it's a hell of a beautiful thing.

[dulafer]

REHAB

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

The Favor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So I drop you off, pick you up?”

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

“Our father who died seven years ago?”

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

“Why don’t you call them yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure go ahead.”

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

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

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

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

“I was sorta overdressed for this place.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Road Trip

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

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

“Hello?”

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

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

“Please tell me you’re not driving.”

“No, a friend is driving me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Silver lining.” I mutter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wallet, PIN number?” I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

He looks at me and shrugs his shoulders.

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

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

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

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

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

Heading Home?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Any word on your Merit membership?”

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

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

“Didn’t forget, its in my calendar.”

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

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

“Chad, how you doing?

“You sound good after last night.”

“Yeah, good sleep. How you feeling?”

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

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

“You never mentioned a brother.”

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

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

“Late tomorrow I’m thinking.”

“Oh, you’re gonna miss my sister.”

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

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

“Don’t worry about it, it happens.”

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

“I’m holding you to it.”

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

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

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

Making Myself at Home

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks Tony. Busy Night?”

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

“Yeah it was busy. I’m starving.”

“The usual?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My First Performance

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

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

“Hey Marcus, what are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you seeing anyone?” He probes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s a date.” 

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

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

Work Day One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So why aren’t you drinking?”

“Because of Friday night and you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Work Day Two

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

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

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

“Where were you bro?” He demands.

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

“Hello? The gym? Did you forget?”

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

“I didn’t see you leaving with him?” 

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

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

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

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

Work Day Three

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

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

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

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

“What can I do for you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh you have his attendance history?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TGIF

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe, you’re late.” I note.

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

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

“I didn’t forget.” I assure him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visit Number One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about everyone else?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Better Marcus

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visit Number Two

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about Chad?” He questions.

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

“You’ve slept with both of them?”

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

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

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

“Oh shut the fuck up!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jail time?”

“3 to 7 years.” He says soberly.

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

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

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

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

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

“But has anyone discovered you, questioned you?”

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

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

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

“No glitches or problems with people or issues?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

More Control

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Visit Number Three

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

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

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

“What? What the hell happened?”

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

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

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

“When do you go to jail?”

“In about two weeks.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about your life and job?”

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

“Throw it all away?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” He looks shocked.

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

“How did you find out?”

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

“What are you going to do?”

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

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

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

“You won’t get away with this.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine!” He blurts out defeated.

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

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

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

THE END

[workingforitallthetime]

svech: a very serious and responsible primer

ok @totally-necessary​ and @needsmore​, i am gonna write you an andrei svechnikov primer and i am going to do my best to produce a work of responsible well-sourced expository prose instead of an embarrassing thirsty disaster like the rest of my andrei svechnikov blogging.

here is my introductory paragraph:

wait, no, give me another shot. i swear i can actually do this. here is my introductory paragraph:

HOW CAN I NOT LOVE THIS GOOD-NATURED FEARLESS JOYFUL SHOULDER-FRECKLED SEX KITTEN????? HOW CAN I DO ANYTHING BUT CRY ALL THE TIME?????

.......ok. sorry. let me try it again. i’ll do it right this time, i promise. here is my introductory paragraph:

once upon a time in siberia, two-year-old andrei svechnikov put on skates for the first time and cried because he couldn’t follow his big brother evgeny onto the ice. eventually evgeny’s coach let andrei join the team’s workouts, and then coach started giving the older players a hard time when andrei would beat them.

the backstory of the svech bros sounds a lot like every other hockey kid who didn’t grow up privileged: parents who worked multiple jobs and sacrificed and moved cities to make sure the kids got hockey opportunities. in interviews, the svechnikov brothers have referenced not knowing where food or clothes were going to come from, and they emphasize how close it made them. evgeny says:

Having a brother that we eat from one plate--sleep in one bed sometimes--we went through everything. It's just one person by your side always. It's like going hunting alone or with somebody.

they wear the same number. they talk every day. as soon as the season paused in march, evgeny drove to north carolina. lately, they’re hanging out in michigan. basically, if hockey is not being played, they are together. basically, if you are going to write a primer about andrei, the most important thing is evgeny.

(my theory is that evgeny is at least part of the reason andrei does not like it when dougie and foegs joke about him being their kid brother. it’s the only joke i’ve ever seen svech refuse to roll with.)

evgeny got drafted by the red wings in 2015 (round 1, 19th overall). he started out with the AHL affiliate in grand rapids, and in 2016 mama svech packed up andrei and moved from russia to michigan. andrei played a season for the muskegon lumberjacks in the USHL. he led the team in scoring and was named USHL rookie of the year. the next season he was the first selection in the CHL import draft, and played for the barrie colts.

ok, so while we’re knocking out the backstory, i want to note that svech’s full name is Andrei Igorevich Svechnikov. don’t tell me that’s not sexy.

furthermore, the very spelling of andrei is sexy. i had a russian-speaking colleague once who had a son named andrei and she would say his name with a little lift at the end. not like the i added another syllable, just like a little caress. i hear it that way when i type it. it makes me happy to type that i at the end. andrei. andrei.

oh sorry, did i veer off topic?

the carolina hurricanes selected andrei second overall in the 2018 draft. he looked just as dumb as everybody always does in their draft night jersey photos, but here’s his draft day suit:

oh wait, can’t pass up the opportunity for a combine photo

did i say COMBINE? i meant JAWLINE

wait one more photo from the combine, just because he looks especially dead poets society in this one:

upon moving to raleigh, andrei emphatically wanted to live alone, which seems unusual for an 18-year-old entering the NHL and is therefore fertile ground for all sorts of headcanons. he keeps his floors very clean and gets mad when his buddies won’t take their shoes off. i am not making this up. he lives in the same apartment complex as dougie hamilton, warren foegele, joel edmundson (rip), and teuvo teravainen. andrei does not cook and he’s constantly calling them to see who wants to go out to eat.

in that last video i linked you can see foegs stumble and jump off his scooter just before he hits the gate to their parking garage. then the gate rises like magic and svech glides straight through. this is an unsubtle metaphor for andrei svechnikov’s entire athletic existence.

svech purportedly does not play video games, which is wild to me. instead, he practices magic tricks. again, i am not making this up.

wait i’m sorry it’s been at least ten minutes since i looked at a picture of andrei svechnikov holding a bunch of kittens

ok where was i.

svech had a pretty solid rookie season in 2018-19, but you can look up the numbers elsewhere if you want them. he was the first player born this century to score in the NHL but we don’t like to think about his 2000 birthdate. he played on a line with jordan martinook for a lot of that first season, and you can read more about that romantic nonsense in the ship primer i’ll be writing next. more recently the canes have settled into a top line of svech, sebastian aho, and teuvo teravainen, which is a pretty deadly combo.

one incident of note from svech’s rookie season is that he got knocked the fuck out by alex ovechkin. we’ll be talking more about that in the ship primer too, but if you want the video it’s here.

here, have a little celly:

svech’s most touted accomplishment is scoring the NHL’s first-ever Michigan-style lacrosse goal. this article has a very good description of how it worked. the postgame interview from that game is so endearing it makes me want to claw my face off. he’s talking so fast (for him) and he keeps repeating that his brother taught it to him, just absolutely determined to make sure everyone knows this milestone belongs to evgeny too.

also, this season, he scored the first playoff hat trick in franchise history.

the thing about andrei svechnikov is that nobody has a bad word to say about him. everybody thinks he’s an amazing player (”skilled and tenacious yet loose and creative”) and everybody compliments his work ethic (shooting pucks for hours after practice or a game) and journalists call him a “transcendent star.” everybody says he’s a great person. everybody calls him special. jordan martinook says svech never has a bad word to say about anyone.

ok it’s kitten time again!

more svech facts of note:

drives a black mercedes, poorly. “he wants to win on the road, too,” says foegs.

his voice gets very soft when he is uncertain about something but he’s loud when he wins a card game. (”GOOD NIGHT, BROTHER! SEE YOU NEXT GAME!”)

loves french toast for breakfast.

guilty pleasure is milkshakes.

if he was an animal, he’d be a bear (”like a russian bear.”)

does monster summer workouts with ivan provorov

look how fucking cute he is

the invaluable social media team over at hurricanes hq understands the svech content the world needs. i’m gonna tackle some more of this in the ship primer, but here are the best ones:

who’s your daddy? this video features svech confusedly asking “daddy?”, which is literally everything i ever want in fic or in life. once he finally understands he’s expected to choose between two teammates, he chooses the one who’s his buddy. and then after he’s catcalled from offscreen, he slouches down in his chair and changes his answer. “both,” he mutters, looking unbearably smug. “both.”

cookie face. it takes marty a very entertaining 49 seconds to eat the cookie. then svech hacks the game and wins in 7 second flat. “he’s good at everything,” marty marvels from offscreen.

this is a terrible concept for a video but it does feature svech and dougie doing the famous scene from stepbrothers, and svech giving a sweeping bow. i will forgive him for wearing a duke hat but only because he wears a tarheels hat in the three amigos video above.

has it been too long since a kitten photo? it’s definitely been too long since a kitten photo.

in conclusion, andrei svechnikov is a massive life-ruining problem and also he is perfect. i love him.

[moldisgoodforyou]

break up songs

a fun lil story in which sophie and the gang drive to michigan for a basketball game. no one asked for this lmao oops to the requests i have in my inbox

wordcount: 2k

“Why do you always sing the breakup songs so loud in the car?”

Sophie paused her Spotify, midway through the chorus of All Too Well (and honestly, how dare he), and raised her eyebrows. “Huh?”

The group was on a three-hour road trip to Ann Arbor for the Ohio State vs. Michigan rivalry basketball game. Rafe insisted on driving (though not before unscrewing the Ohio State license frame from the car), so Sophie naturally got the passenger seat. James and Colin had been asleep in the backseat for the last hour, Colin slumped adorably onto James’ shoulder, despite both of them insisting on not taking the middle seat, but they slowly woke at the jarring silence in the car.

“You have that playlist, that one with the little broken heart emoji, and that’s your go-to every single time we go on a longer drive. Why?”

When Sophie glanced over at Rafe, she noticed a small pout on his lips and he tapped his fingers on the wheel, impatiently waiting for her response. A small smile curved up on her own lips and she held back a giggle. “They’re just songs, Rafe.”

“Well, it’s kind of a shitty reminder.” He paused, really trying to drive his point home. “Of when you broke up with me.”

“Oh my god.” She rolled her eyes and James and Colin perked up in the backseat, interested to hear the transpiring argument.

“C’mon, Sophie -”

“I did not break up with you -”

“Did so!” Rafe insisted, reaching over to poke at her side.

She grabbed at his hand, pushing it back to his side of the car. “I did not! You offered a break, and I took it, but we never actually broke up.”

“Ooh, Mom and Dad are fighting.” James stage-whispered to Colin, but still loud enough so everyone in the car could hear.

“Eyes on the road, Cameron.” Colin piped up and Rafe simply flipped him off from the front seat, then poked her side again, grinning when she yelped. “Exactly my point, Soph, you broke up with me for two whole weeks. It sucked.”

“It’s true, I’ve never seen him in worse shape.” James interjected helpfully, laughing when Rafe shot him a pointed glare in the rearview mirror. “That’s not true.”

“Is so. Sophie, friend, have you ever seen the Da Vinci Code?” James grinned.

She turned in the front seat, ignoring Rafe’s annoying wandering hands trying to distract her. “No, this fucker won’t let me watch with him.” Once she noticed a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips she quickly pointed a warning finger at him. “Don’t say it.”

“Wasn’t gonna say a thing, darling.” He raised his eyebrows at her in a challenge.

“I hate when you call me that.” She grumbled, turning her attention back to James. “What were you saying?”

Rafe caught his eye in the rearview mirror again, expression impassive. “Don’t tell her or I’m telling standards you broke the mirror in the front hall.”

James dropped his grin, sinking back into his seat with a sullen frown. “That’s low, Cameron.”

“That’s fine. Colin?”

Colin laughed, knowing Rafe had nothing on him - at least, nothing that would incriminate him against their fraternity’s standards council. “The female lead’s name is Sophie and he watched it four times. James had to take the DVD and break it so he wouldn’t watch it anymore.”

Rafe scowled. “Four times is an exaggeration. I watched it twice. Maybe.”

“He’s lying.” Colin told her, matter-of-fact.

“I’m not. Anyway, my point is, I don’t want to hear that damn song about the driving girl and the blonde girl anymore. Put on a happy song.”

“Driver’s License is a fucking masterpiece and I’m sorry you can’t recognize that.” She shot back.

“Sophie.” He warned, swatting her hand away as she went to turn up the radio.

“Fine.” Sophie scrolled through her playlist, eyes narrowing, then beamed as she settled on a song.

Rafe groaned as the opening guitar riff of Go Your Own Way sounded through the speakers.

_____

The rest of the drive consisted of the four arguing over what actually consisted of a breakup song, James insisting Rafe pull over the second they crossed the Michigan border just so he could pee in ‘enemy territory,’ and Rafe paying way too much for parking at the Kappa Alpha Theta house at Michigan. (It was closest to the arena so they could walk, and fine, Sophie allowed a little bit of flirting on his end just so he could convince the girl to let her rivals park in the lot.)

Despite Rafe’s protests, Sophie wore her jersey proudly as they walked to the arena, leaving her jacket in the car while the three boys kept theirs dutifully zipped. She ignored every little glance she got, while Rafe noticed every single one, holding her hand a little tighter each time. They made it into the arena without incident and found company with a small group of Ohio State fans also donning jerseys or other spiritwear. 

As the lights dimmed slightly for the intro video on the jumbotron, Sophie dug into her sports bra and surreptitiously pulled out four small shooters - of tequila, no less. Rafe couldn’t help but beam proudly. “Atta girl.” She laughed and handed them out, then ducked down to take hers quickly. “You’re welcome, boys.” 

The four cheered loudly - Sophie, a little too loudly - as the Ohio State players were announced. Soon after, the Michigan players were announced to the tune of their fight song, and Sophie perked up a little at the mention of Brandon Johns. “Oh, hey, I know him.” 

“You do? I thought you hated everyone that went here.” James asked, cocking his head. 

“Oh, I do.” She nodded in agreement. 

“So how do you know him?” Colin questioned. 

Sophie waited until the ball was tipped to answer the question, a few beats too long of a pause. “...We almost hooked up.” She dropped nonchalantly, with a casual shrug. 

“Sorry, you what?” Rafe demanded, his surprise making him too loud for the surrounding crowd, some of who shot him dirty looks. She laughed and nudged his shoulder. “C’mon, pay attention.” 

“Wait, huh? Did I hear you right?” Colin asked, wearing a matching confused expression with the rest of the boys. 

“Yes, you heard me - pay attention, support the team!” She teased, letting out a whoop when Ohio State scored. They went back to paying attention, although a little barb of jealousy poked Rafe every time Brandon Johns got the ball, and he whistled especially loud every time he was up for a free throw. At halftime, they weren’t doing too hot, and James sighed. “Do you have any more alc in that magic bra of yours?” 

“Sadly, no.” She shook her head and Rafe slung his arm around her shoulders, kissing the crown of her head. “Maybe we should have saved ‘em to drown our sorrows.” 

“It’s only halftime, we’re fine.” Colin reassured them. “Besides, I want to hear your story.” 

“My story?” Sophie quirked her brow and James nodded. “Oh yeah, I forgot, I want to hear about Brandon.”  

“Do we really need the story?” Rafe grumbled, getting all protective. 

She laughed and ignored him, clearly loving the opportunity for attention. “There’s not much of a story. He was in town for the rivalry game last year, the night before the game. I was a little drunk -” 

“A little?” James smirked. 

“Well, okay, maybe more than a little. I didn’t recognize him in the bar when he was flirting, I just noticed he was fucking giant, but didn’t really put two and two together.” She paused, sparing a glance at Rafe as her cheeks turned a little red. “I was about to, um, take him home, but he mentioned he wouldn’t be able to stay that long while we were waiting for the Uber.” 

“Because of the game.” Colin deduced. 

“Yeah, exactly. Then some kid came up to him, asking for a picture, and I realized who he was. So I took the Uber home alone and left him on the sidewalk.” 

“Cold, Soph.” Rafe grinned, pleased the story ended there. He wrapped both arms around her from behind, pulling her to lean against his chest.

“Well I wasn’t going to be a traitor. Also, he’s not the best kisser. The height was kind of awkward, you know?” She shrugged and Colin and James cackled while Rafe put his hand over her mouth. “Okay, stop, I don’t want to hear about you with other guys.”

“Nothing happened, and I’ve sure you have your fair share of stories too.” She pointed out. 

“Not quite.” James mumbled, turning away with a small smirk as Rafe shot him a warning glare. Sophie was about to question it until she felt his arms tighten around her a little more, and decided not to push it. 

“You think he remembers you?” Colin asked, laughing as Rafe yelled even louder as Brandon went up for another free throw, his nose wrinkling when he made the shot anyways. 

“Probably not, he probably hooks up with some girl at every away game.” She shrugged.

“You’re pretty memorable.” Rafe argued, pressing a kiss to her temple, arms still around her waist as she leaned against him. 

“You two are different, Cameron, you pined after her for years.” James pointed out and Rafe rolled his eyes but smiled. “Yeah, well, can you blame me?” 

“Sap.” She accused, elbowing him gently in the stomach. He grinned and ghosted his fingers along her side, making her shiver. “Just for you.” 

“Okay, lovebirds, tone it down until we’re home. Rafe, you’re fucking whipped.” Colin teased. When Sophie laughed, he raised his eyebrows. “You're bad too, the two of you flirt daily like you’re trying to get in each other’s bed for the first time.” 

“Lighten up, Colin, it’s young love. Go get laid and you’ll understand.” James chirped good-naturedly. By the end of the game, they were all hoarse and worn out, disappointed by the close loss. Rafe insisted upon Sophie wearing his jacket on the way out and walk back to cover her jersey, just so she didn’t get any unnecessary comments yelled at her (though he was more worried about her trying to snap back at them than whatever they might say).

“I call shotgun!” James yelled once they got close enough to the car, racing Sophie to the door and elbowing her out of the way. Colin laughed and held out his hand. “Want me to drive?” 

“What, Colin, you don’t want to nap with me in the back?” Sophie teased, sliding into the backseat. Rafe handed over the keys and pulled her into the middle seat so she could lean on him on the way home. “Not on my watch.” It only took twenty minutes and a few chill songs from James’ playlist before she was nodding off, curling into his side. 

Rafe eventually contributed less and less to the conversation up front, trying not to wake Sophie, until he caved and fell asleep with his head resting on hers. Naturally, the boys took several live photos of them for blackmail, especially when Rafe grumbled in his sleep and pulled her closer to him. 

Sophie reluctantly kissed him goodbye and waved to the boys once they dropped her off at home, still half asleep. In the short time it took her to get ready for bed and crawl under the covers, she had received a couple texts from Rafe. 

Rafe: Today was fun 

Rafe: I’m glad you’re friends with my friends 

Rafe: *link to Spotify* 

She had to laugh when she clicked on the link to a custom playlist by him, aptly titled ‘songs you’re allowed to sing in the car with me.’ Only one song from her breakup playlist slipped through, because it was one of Rafe’s favorites - Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. 

[lukehughes43]

heartbreak girl - trevor zegras

chapter one

word count: 5,092 whoa vivi can write something under 10k?

your head was nodding along to the beat of the drums jack was busy playing. however, your eyes were focused on your best friend, who was currently singing the lyrics of one of the songs he wrote for the band. “i can be a liar, i can be a cheat. i can be neurotic, i can be a freak,” you sang along with trevor under your breath. kicking your feet as you sat on the couch locking your eyes with trevor’s blue ones for a split second before he was focused on playing the notes song on his guitar. 

as soon as the song came to a close you were jumping up and cheering for your four friends. “whoo!” you screamed before running over and giving your best friend a giant hug, “you guys killed that! when you go to la you’re gonna fucking kill it. get a fucking record deal!” with that you pulled away from trevor and walked over to hug both patty and alex. the black haired bass guitarist was quick to wrap you up in his own arms while all of you started to laugh a little bit. “but seriously trev, when, and how did you write that?” you questioned before walking back to give jack a quick hug. 

“uh i wrote it a couple days ago,” the lead singer answered while shrugging his shoulders. setting his guitar back in its stand in the zegras garage. “as for how i wrote it? i’m not, uh, i’m not really sure,” he trailed off. eyes looking at every single boy except for at you. only you didn’t notice seeing as jack had wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you to look at the wall instead of trevor. not wanting you to see the look of pain that was etched across your best friend’s face.

“there’s a lot of things you don’t even know about z, y/n. aren’t you supposed to be his best friend?” patty taunted as you turned around to walk back to your seat on the couch. “or has someone else taken that throne since you started dating caden and don’t have time for z, or us.” 

as soon as you sat down you were glaring over at the eighteen year old with brown hair. “take it back patrick,” you hissed, ready to pop out of your seat. only before you could trevor was sitting down next to you. throwing an arm over your chest to keep you in your place. “get off of me z!” you screamed trying to get out of his hold. “at least i can get a boyfriend, you can’t even get a girlfriend patty,” you snapped while finally pushing trevor’s arms off of your body. and before he could pull you back down to the couch you were marching over to be face to face with the tallest of the four boys. 

“i wouldn’t call caden much of a boyfriend,” he responded, arms crossing over his chest. “more of dick with legs.” with that you were winding up, only alex and jack hooked their arms with yours and threw you back on the couch. 

“patty stop talking,” jack huffed while glancing back over to the brunette. “y/n looks like she’s ready to kill you.” 

“i am going to fucking kill him!” you yelled while trying to break away from alex, jack, and trevor. “let me go so i can fucking kill him!” only instead the boys hold tightened on you. trevor’s arms making sure to hold tight around your waist. “you have no right to say that about caden!” your body was thrashing against the three boys, only it wasn’t getting you anywhere. finally sighing you slumped back against trevor’s body. jack and alex letting go of your arms. 

alex let out a sigh as he ran a hand through his hair, “y/n/n come on, we all know you and caden aren’t even considered together right now.” you looked between all four of the boys watching as they all nodded their heads. your eyes rolled and your arms crossed over your chest. “you broke up tuesday because after our gig you ditched him to hang out with trevor and us. he got mad at you and you broke up. again.” 

you let out another huff while slipping into the open spot on the couch next to the brunette singer. “yeah, well i must have forgotten to mention that we got back together last night,” you spat, starting to fiddle with your fingers. legs throwing themselves over trevor’s lap. “and before any of you make a big dramatic sigh, over nothing, caden’s a good guy.” 

right on que all four members of the band had let out a sigh. trevor’s head dropped down so he was looking at his lap, patty let out a scoff as he shook his head, and jack and alex just shared an uneasy look. “what’s the longest you guys have actually dated for?” jack quizzed before sitting back down at his drum kit. “because my bet is five months, and that’s when the two of you first started dating three years ago.” 

“my bet’s two weeks,” alex added. 

patty hummed while shaking his head to disagree with all of them. snapping his fingers as he smiled right at you, “three fucking days.” before you could even have a chance to snap back at any of the boys, trevor’s eyes were looking up from his lap. he glanced over at you through his lashes while squeezing your ankle. then over to the boys. 

“you’re all wrong,” he mumbled, “it was seven months.” instantly patrick was shaking his head to argue with trevor. thinking that there was no way you and caden had made it that long. you weren’t paying any mind to the fact all four boys were now bickering, deciding to start scrolling through instagram while trying to find something more entertaining than them. 

only when you didn’t pay attention, and pushed the conversation out of mind, jack was sharing a knowing look with trevor. realizing the hurt he had in his voice, and the way he could barely even look over at you after he had said it. your relationship hadn’t come between yours and trevor’s friendship. no matter how many times caden had tried to make it, you always chose trevor. then after a couple weeks, days, or sometimes even hours one of you would always end up crawling back to the other. it was a never ending cycle of hurt you put yourself through, but it was for love, then you were all for it. plus you got to keep your best friend, along with your other three annoying friends, and still be the band’s biggest supporter, basically their manager. no matter how much it pissed caden off. 

trevor started patting your calves, causing your eyes to snap over at him. “what’s up trev?” you question, not able to help the smile that was forming on your face. the look of pure innocence, which he was not, was too sweet not to smile at. his shoulders just shrugged and you couldn’t help but giggle a little bit. “do you wanna head back to my house? seeing as you’re all done playing.” 

his head nodded right away, “i mean if you’re insisting.” your eyes rolled as you started to stand from the couch. “plus i heard mama m/n is making my favorite for dinner. boys feel free to stick around, but don’t expect julie to feed you, again.” 

“and before you ask, no you can’t come to have dinner at my house,” you sassed, with a smile on your face. “my mom already made it very clearly that none of you can come over for dinner without a reservation.” 

“hey it was one time!” alex screeched. referring to the time you and all four members of beyond michigan showed up at your house expecting dinner. julie having kicked all of you out not wanting to feed you dinner for the seventh time in a row. “plus doesn’t m/n love us?” 

right away trevor was shaking his head, “she only loves me. she tolerates you three idiots. then you’re her daughter y/n, so i think she loves you.” your e/c rolled as you grabbed trevors wrist and started leading him out the open garage door. “well i guess i’m being forced to leave you, bye guys. same time tomorrow?” 

“bye z, bye y/n/n. same time tomorrow,” patty confirmed as he dropped down on to the couch. pulling his phone out as he did so. 

“and you better have new songs finished trevor!” jack reminded the boy as the both of you opened your car doors. “we need the lyrics and to figure out the melodies, notes, chords. we gotta be on our a game for the demo track.” 

“you guys don’t even know what an a game is,” you teased, starting your engine. “you’re a mess.” 

patty scoffed from the couch, head tipping back to look at you and trevor. “oh and you’re not y/n? in fact i think you’re a bigger mess than our band is.” 

with that you flipped both your middle fingers up towards the boys still lingering in the garage, “fuck you patrick.” as you slammed your car door closed he blew you a kiss before returning to his phone. jack and alex both waving goodbye to you and trevor. as you started to back out of the driveway you turned towards your best friend. “having trouble writing z?” you were genuinely concerned. not once in his life had trevor had a problem writing songs. even when the two of you were two years old and barely knew what singing was, trevor still found a way to scribble his songs into a go diego go notebook. 

trevor’s shoulders just shrugged before mumbling, “i just dunno what i want to say.” your mouth fell open as you scoffed over at him. “what’s the look for y/n/n? i just don’t know what i want to say!” 

shaking your head at the boy you started the short two miles drive down the road to your family’s house. “trevor, you’ve always known what to say,” you answered, stealing a glance over at him. his blue eyes focused on the passing scenery that consisted of different houses. something he’d seen over millions of times along the drive to your house. “you don’t really expect me to believe that you don’t know what you want to say, do you?” you pressed while slowing to a stop at one of the stop signs. 

“i do actually,” he sighed while looking over towards you. his brown hair falling flat against his forehead as he did so. “none of the boys will believe me, but you’re my best friend y/n.” his voice was pleading as he spoke. blue eyes searching your e/c ones before you look back to the road. “so yeah, i expect you to believe me.”

sighing you nodded your head, “i do believe you trev. i just, wow. you really don’t know what to write about?” he mumbled back to you, something you couldn’t quite make out. now that was unlike trevor. the eighteen year old was always confident, and hardly ever mumbled. “i think i might know how to get you back into writing tz.” 

a smile lit up on trevor’s face as you pulled into your driveway. “tell me!” he screeched while leaning over the middle consul as he threw his seat belt off. seeing as you car was now safely parked in your garage. “y/n/n, you need to tell me. right now!” he hollered, arms crossing over his chest while he started to pout over at you. the smile that was starting to pull on the corners of your lips was a large one, and it only ever happened because of trevor.

“so you don’t know what to write or sing, huh?” you asked once more. just trying to make sure that you had it all figured out. 

“yeah y/n/n! i’ve only said it like seven times,” he grumbled while pushing open your car door. 

you followed suit, leaning against the side of your car while smiling over to him. “then sing what you’re feeling trevor. write what you’re feeling z,” you explained while starting towards the door that was connected to your mudroom by the kitchen. “and before you try and tell me that’s what girls do, every great songwriter does it trevor, and you’re a great songwriter.”

trevor’s head nodded as he walked into the mudroom, kicking off the pair of converse he had on. “so you’re telling me that i should just sing what i feel, y/n/n?” he repeated back to you, watching as you leaned over to undo the straps of your chacos. ready to catch you if you were about to fall over. “because i don’t know if i can do that. putting my feelings on to paper for everyone to hear in the world,” he added on once the two of you were starting into the kitchen. 

“but you can write and sing about jack, alex, and patty’s feelings?” you retorted with a knowing smile. trevor just shook his head, eyes rolling as the two of you walked further into the house. “what no answer because you know i’m right?” 

sighing the lead singer ran a hand through his hair, “with them it’s only a certain level of how personal it is, you know?” once you nodded your head to show you understood he continued to speak. “but when if me singing about my feelings i dunno, that makes me nervous.” 

you started to laugh a little bit, smiling wide as you looked over at him. “that’s why you look at me when you’re singing your feelings, trev. i make you less nervous, right?” you smiled while leaning up on the balls of your feet. arms wrapping around trevor’s body since you had the feeling that what he really needed was a hug from his best friend.

“right.” 

there was something about the way he said it that you couldn’t let go of, but when he hugged you back you let it slip from your mind. “so at the next gig, when you’re singing about your feelings for the first, you look right at me trevor zegras. i’ll help you get through it, okay bud?” you asked, head dropping to rest against his chest. gently rocking the two of you as you stood there in your kitchen. 

“how’s caden gonna feel about me starting at you while i sing about god knows what?” trevor questioned, head tilting down to look at you. “i mean don’t get me wrong i’ll do it y/n/n. i hate him, he hates me, so it’ll be easy. i won’t feel bad about it, but i don’t wanna cause any problems for you with him,” he rambled on, his hands playing with the fabric of the t-shirt you were wearing. 

glancing up at trevor your mouth opened to speak only you were beat to punch, “hi kids. how was band practice?” slightly pulling away from trevor’s body you turned to seeing both of your parents standing in the doorway from the mudroom. grocery bags in hand, smiles on their faces. 

“i mean i just sit there, but i thought it was good,” you answered, fully untangling yourself from trevor’s arms. walking over and right away starting to help grab some of the bags. trevor was hot on your tail, passing by both of your parents with a smile as he grabbed the rest of the bags that were on the floor that you couldn’t. 

“so then why don’t we hear from the main man of that band,” you dad suggested. your entire family's eyes were on trevor, his cheeks burning pink as he started to put packages of fruit in the fridge. 

he was biting his lip when you stole a look at him from the corner of your eye. his head bobbed to what you assumed was the beat of a new song he was currently thinking of before he started to string together a response for you parents. “of course you thought it was good y/n/n, you always think it’s good,” he countered towards you. making sure that a smile was strung on his face while he teased you. “but in reality it was pretty good. would’ve been great if i would finish some more songs,” trevor revealed to your parents. his focus on putting the eggs into their spot in your fridge. 

your mother smiled over at trevor while she set her bags down on the island. the ones that held all of the ingredients for dinner. “well that’s great to hear,” she replied, trevor turning to face her once she started to speak to him again. “why don’t you guys run up to y/n’s room, and we’ll come get you when dinner’s ready.”

“are you sure?” trevor pondered, quickly looking over to you, and if you had it your way you’d be making a run for it up to your room. only trevor always wanted to help out with your when it came to your family. said that he owed it to your parents seeing as they were basically his second mom and dad. “we can help finish putting away groceries m/n. it’s not a big deal,” he informed as he folded up the reusable bag and put it back in the pantry your mom kept them in. 

she laughed while walking over to give the boy a side hug, “oh trev it’s perfectly okay. d/n can finish putting all of these away as i get dinner started.” 

“yeah i’ve got this,” your dad boasted, knocking his hip against yours while he placed his own empty bag back in the pantry. “go relax a little bit or something.” 

right away you were nodding your head, “you don’t have to tell me twice, come on z. you can talk to my parents at dinner.” before the singer could even argue with you, your hand was latched around his wrist pulling him through the dining and living rooms and up the stairs. as soon as you were in your room you let go of his wrist to fall back against your bed. “you can pick a record today trev,” you said while pulling your own phone out. shooting a quick text back to caden saying that you’d talk to him later. not going into much detail so he didn’t ask any questions of you. 

when you locked your phone you were staring over at trevor who was busy sifting through the record collect you had acquired over the years. bottom lip sucked between his teeth as he looked over all of his options. probably half of which he had gotten for you for gifts over the years. “how does mamma mia sound to you y/n/n?” he quizzed while pulling out the record. one you had probably listened to more than any of the other ones, mainly because it was the first  vinyl trevor had ever given you.

“it sounds perfect to me z,” you beamed while sliding over in your bed. moving over enough so trevor had room to sit down next to you. as soon as ‘honey, honey’ had started to play over your record players trevor was seating himself next to you. quick to lay himself out and take over half of your bed up. “so when is the next gig tz? none of you guys have even told me, and i’m supposed to be your guy’s quote unquote manager.” 

trevor’s shoulders shrugged as he pulled out his phone, going straight to the group message that you were a part of. typing out a quick message before it popped up on your phone. 

beyond michigan + y/n

trevy z:) : guys when’s our next gig. manager won’t get off my ass about it:/

y/n/n<3 : fuck off z, i just needa know so i can plan my outfit. 

y/n/n<3 : ew. let’s pretend i didn’t just say that. 

jack hughes: come on manager, you’re the one who’s supposed to know these things

pAtTy: yeah come on y/n, aren’t you the one who booked this for us? some manager you are

y/n/n<3 : thanks for defending me trez, it’s okay. just sit there jamming out to your mamma mia

turcs: z, you’re listening to mamma mia? 

trevy z:) : no. y/n’s lying. 

right away trevor was looking over at you, “y/n, please shut up. they don’t need to know about mamma mia.” shrugging your shoulders you looked back down at your phone. “oh come on!” 

beyond michigan + y/n

y/n/n<3 : we’re currently on money, money, money;) sorry trev

trevy z:) : *trevor has left the chat*

jack hughes: the next gig’s next saturday 

pAtTy: you’ve got a whole ten days to plan your outfit princess:)

y/n/n<3 : *y/n has left the chat*

locking your phone you looked over at trevor who was pouting back at you. “oh come on trev, you can’t be mad at me. you love me trevor zegras, and there’s no denying it either,” you sang while your smile started to grow. “you love me trevor zegras,” you repeated, leaning over to start poking at his toned abdomen which was hidden by the fabric of his shirt. 

after a dramatic sigh trevor looking over at you smiling, ���of course i love you y/n.” you let out a victory ‘hmp’ before his blue eyes rolled at you. “do you want anything from downstairs?” he suddenly asked while changing the topic. sitting up in your bed before he pushed himself up off your bed as he stared down at you. “well i’m waiting y/n/n, do you want anything or not?” 

you couldn’t help but laugh as you rolled over on your side to give him a questioning look, “shouldn’t i be the one asking you that z? this is my house after all.” 

“well i figured since i was gonna go down there, and your parents love me,” trevor answered, slowly walking over towards the door. “so do you want anything, girlfriend, or no?” he sassed as his arms crossed over his chest. rolling your eyes at the drama queen you let out a hum. 

“just a water please,” you responded, while smiling over at him. “please and thank you trev.” 

with that he nodded his head before heading out of your room. as soon as trev left your room you pulled out your phone once more to send a text to caden. 

y/n: trev’s over for dinner, and before you freak out at me, i was planning on having you come over once i brought him home c 

caden<3 : i guess that’s okay. am i sleeping over, or can i not because i’m not trevor. like seriously, your parents are letting you and trevor sleep together in the same room in new york, but i can’t spend the night? 

y/n: baby please. trev and i have been best friends since we were born. you’re my boyfriend c. it’s a little bit of a difference. plus new york? can we not fight about this. again. 

caden<3 : yeah fine. whatever, text me when you’re bringing him home so i know when to leave

downstairs trevor padded right into the living room, rounding the corner he came face to face to see that both of your parents were still in the kitchen. only now your mom was currently working on making dinner, and your dad was sitting at the island drinking a beer to keep him company. “hey m/n, hey d/n!” he called while sliding into the kitchen. 

“hi trevor!” your dad smiled, tipping his beer bottle over towards the boy. 

your mother turning around from tossing the salad, “hey hon how are you? we barely got a chance to talk and catch up.” 

the blue eyed boy shrugged his shoulders while smiling, “well if you wouldn’t have kicked us off grocery duty we could’ve talked more.” your mother let out a small laugh before rolling her eyes at the boy. “but i’m great! i’m just grabbing y/n/n a glass of water, and highjacking a bottle of arnold palmer for myself, of course.” 

trevor didn’t notice the way that either of your parents looked at each, too focused on digging through the fridge to grab the bottle of half and half. the look that the both of them shared was a sincere on, both of them knowing something you didn’t. “you’re such a good boy trev,” your mom complimented as she went back to tossing the salad. 

“how’s the band?” your dad then inquired, taking another sip of his beer.

your best friend couldn’t fight the smile on his face while he turned his attention to the cabinet that contained the glasses. “amazing actually,” he started to explain while grabbing the glass. “there’s been some record dealtalk in the past few weeks,” he then expressed. looking over his shoulder while he filled your cup. gaging your parents reactions, loving the way they both had proud smiles. “it’s really looking good for us right now.” 

“really? that’s great!” your mother gasped while walking over to hug him. “well let’s hope that the deal goes through then,” she smiled while hugging just a little bit tighter. 

shaking his head trevor bit his lip a little bit. this was his childhood dream he was talking about. one that both your parents knew about. “that makes both of us,” he mumbled to himself. “i know that y/n/n is excited, i think that all of us are,” trevor explained while beaming towards your parents. “it seemed far fetched at first, but not anymore.” 

both of your parents were nodding their head to agree with the boy. “trevor we’ve been listening to you sing since you and y/n were two,” your father reminded, “we never thought it was far fetched.” 

“your guy’s band is amazing.” 

with blushing cheeks trevor put down the glass of water while he tried not to smile. “well thank you m/n, d/n. i would say we could sit and take about the record deal and the new york trip, but i’ve gotta bring this to y/n,” he smiled while pointing down at the glass of water before picking it up. “but thank you guys, really.” 

“anytime trev,” your mother replied before the band leader picked up the glass, his bottle of arnold palmer in his hand before walking up to your room with a smile on his face. 

the smile on his face only proceeded to grow as he walked back into your room, “one water, as asked for.” your locked your phone before turning to look over at your wide open door. “here you go y/n/n,” he smiled while handing it over to you. 

“thank you trevy,” you sang before taking a drink of it. “was dinner almost done when you were down there?” you then asked, part of you wanting to hurry up and eat so you could spend time with your boyfriend. just so there would be no more problems caused at the fact you had spent practically all of today with trevor, and hardly any time with him. 

he shrugged his shoulders while dropping back down into his trademarked spot on your bed. “your mom was tossing the salad if that means anything.” you nodded your head while setting your glass on your nightstand. “why are you that starving y/n/n? or do you have ulterior motives?” he questioned, leaning over towards you. face inches away from your own as he stared you down. 

biting your lip you shrugged your shoulders, “me with ulterior motives trevy? never.” he let out a hum before you smiled over at him, gently pushing his body away from yours, “i’m just that hungry.” a frown crossed trevor’s face as he watched your phone light up, of course it had to be a text from caden right now. 

“you’re ditching me,” he mumbled, his whole body shifting away from you. “of course you’re ditching me y/n/n. caden’s just so much better than me, isn’t he?” 

“trevor,” you rushed, leaning over to grab his arm. “trev please,” you begged, hand resting on his bicep. gently squeezing knowing that he would always give into you if you did that. “trevy-” 

he shook his head as he scoffed at you, “no y/n. you don’t get to ‘trevy’ me.” your mouth fell open as you stared over at him in shock. “you’re ditching me for caden again y/n! you always do this. ditch me and beyond michigan. you know what, i can’t right now y/n. i need to cool off a bit, so i think i’m gonna head home,” he laughed while pushing up from your bed. “needa run it off. i’ll expect your apology text sometime tomorrow morning since i’m sure caden’s gonna be here all tonight.” 

closing your eyes you let out a huff, as ‘winter takes it all’ played through your room. “trev please,” you pleaded while getting up from your bed to follow him to your door. “what about dinner? please just stay for dinner trevor. please,” you whispered, while you could feel the tears start to form in your eyes. you and trevor hadn’t fought like this in forever. “please, please stay for dinner, trevor.” once again you grabbed his bicep, pleading up at him. 

trevor shook your hold off, “suddenly i’m not hungry anymore. don’t worry i won’t tell your parents the real reason why i’m leaving. expect i’m sure they’ll figure it out once caden shows up.” with that the brunette walked out of your room and down the hall towards the stairs. shaking your head you let the tears fall as meryl streep’s voice drowned out the pain you were feeling. letting out a frustrated sigh you grabbed your phone to read the text caden had sent you. 

caden<3 : hi z, after you leave? y/n/n is all mine, like it should be:)

tears fell down your face as you typed out your response to him.

y/n: you can come over whenever

[calumance]

okay hear me out..... an fbi 5sos au.... no? okay i’ll see myself out 😔

Oh fuck, okay this was actually quite a challenge for me. I do love me some true crime stories though, however I’m afraid this turned out to sound like an episode of Criminal Minds. That could be good or bad however you want to interpret that. Anyway, here’s some FBI!sos. 👀👀👀 Please note that this has sensitive subjects in it, please read at your own discretion!!!

           Calum sat in the van, lights flashing as he watched as the officers escorted the assailant into the police car, ducking his head and then slamming the door. The case that his team had been working on for months, although solved, came to a crashing halt when they were notified of a hostage situation in the town next to theirs. Immediately, his team jumped into the fleet vehicles and sped to the location of the hostage situation. While Calum sat in the back of the van, he ran through the months and months of research that they had been doing.

           Normally cases such as this one wouldn’t become and FBI problem, but as soon as the crimes started to cross state lines, the case caught the FBI’s attention. Almost thirty people had been reported missing during the time the assailant had been active, and nearly half of those people had gone missing within the past few months.

           The first objective the team was given was to identify the assailant’s profile. Calum walked into the conference room with a cup of fresh coffee, something he thought was only done on TV shows, but after working for the FBI for ten years now, he’s come to realize that life can’t go on without coffee. There was a white board at the front of the room with pictures of all the victims, something that always made Calum’s stomach turn, no matter how many cases he’s worked on. He gulped and smiled down at his colleague Luke as he sat down. Luke has been on the same team as Calum for about five years. Luke worked for the Australian Secret Intelligence Service before he moved to the United States. After he moved he went through all of the American training to be a part of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. Calum and Luke bonded over their Australian heritage, although Calum didn’t get into the service until he moved to America over fifteen years ago. Although Luke and Calum both knew Luke was smarter and more experienced, neither of them would admit it out loud. “Is there anything new I missed?” Calum asked after sitting down and taking a sip of the gloriously bitter liquid in his paper cup.

           Luke shook his head and leaned his head into his hand, resting his elbow on the table. “Dude went silent a month ago. Think he’s about to strike again, but not sure where.” Luke licked his lips and leaned towards Calum, pointing to the white board at the front of the room. “I’ve been trying to see if there’s a pattern with where he’s choosing his victims. Maybe if there’s a shape, or a commonality between the cities.” Luke shook his head and dropped his hand, “But I’ve got nothing.”

           Calum stared at the whiteboard. The victims the assailant has chosen all have something in common, the most obvious is the fact they are all women. Maybe the assailant has something against women, maybe a childhood trauma, maybe some Norman Bates thing where he’s obsessed with his mother now he’s killing women. Calum raised his eyebrows and took a drink of his coffee again, he would need more fingers and toes to count how many times he’s crossed men like that.

           The rest of their team made their way into the room, sitting around the table while the team director came last, shutting the door behind him. Calum nodded to the rest of the team, Ashton joined the team about three years ago after transferring from another branch. Michael joined the team four years ago after making his way up from the local police department, his previous title being a detective. Ava, who has a doctorate in psychology, has been working for the FBI longer than Calum has been in America. Ava was incredibly smart and knew everything there was when it came to the human mind, especially serial killers. Ava and Calum were put on the same team six years ago, Calum would never admit it out loud, but Ava was one of his favorite people to sit down and have a conversation with. Greyson was the newest member of their team, he joined about a year ago, and Calum honestly didn’t even know where he came from. The only thing he knew about the guy was that he was ridiculously smart with electronics, a critical component to the team in such a technologically advanced age.

           The director of the team was a gentleman named Henry. He had a good fifteen years on the oldest member of the team, but somehow he managed to get along with every single one of the members of the team, and was able to connect with them on a personal level. Henry began to break down everything they knew, recapping to see if it could jog any type of “ah-ha” moment. Calum leaned back in his chair and pressed the lips of the paper coffee cup to his lips. His eyes danced from picture to picture, collecting all of his thoughts and hypotheses. Although Calum chuckled to himself for his crazy thoughts, something suddenly made sense.

           As he leaned forward he set his coffee cup on the table next to him. He rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. Again, his eyes danced across the whiteboard, gathering every ounce of information he could. His thoughts became solidified and he sat back, scratching one finger over his cheek before he raised his hand. Henry stopped in the middle of his thought and motioned for Calum to speak. Calum cleared his throat, “Aside from the obvious fact that all of the assailant’s victims are female, and they all have brunette hair and blue eyes, something that I think we’ve been skipping over is the fact that they all came from the same city.” Everyone stayed silent and Calum stood and made his way to the whiteboard to point out his thoughts. “Victim number one, although he lived in New York City, she was originally born in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Same with all the victims afterwards. The assailant is travelling across the country, seemingly killing all the women with this physical description and come from Grand Rapids.”

           Henry sat down and leaned against the table, giving Calum the floor to continue his thoughts and ideas. “We know that the assailant has been seen driving some beat up Volvo with no license plates. Maybe the Volvo is still registered in Michigan, we can narrow down the registrations in Grand Rapids and see if that can get us some names. Maybe the assailant went to school with all of these women, being brunette and blue eyed isn’t exactly uncommon. I think we should find out where these women went to school, and if there is an open registration on Volvo’s in the Grand Rapids area.” Calum was nearly out of breath trying to explain his thoughts, the excitement of figuring something out making his heart race.

           Henry slapped his hand down on the table and nodded, “You all heard the man, start doing some research.” With that, the team scattered. Within a few days they narrowed down the list of names from hundreds, to just a handful. It wasn’t until they released the assailants profile to the press that everything spiraled out of control.

           It took about a week and a half for the profile to spread across all media sources, and it was within hours of the team watching a press release that they got the call of the hostage. The guy who made the call was frantic, he was the owner of the local liquor store. The assailant grabbed the woman and clutched her to his chest as he pointed a gun at the owner. As he held the gun, it gently shook with how hard he was holding it. The assailant told him to leave the store, walk five miles and then call the cops. When the cops asked for a description of the woman, he answered, “She has brown hair, blue eyes, I had just checked her ID, she was from Michigan, and she had told me she was there on vacation.” After hearing that, the description was immediately sent to the FBI and the team scrambled their way to the cars.

           Calum sat next to Luke in the van, and together they put on their bullet proof vests. Greyson frantically typed away at the computer, trying to tap into the security cameras. Ava, Michael and Ashton all strapped on their vest and took a deep breath, trying to ready themselves for whatever was going to happen when they finally got to this liquor store.

           The van came to a screeching halt. Outside the fan was hordes of flashing lights, and multiple policeman perched on their car doors with their weapons pointed at the store. Henry got an update from the chief of police and Calum stood there, eyes scanning the entire front of the store. “He won’t come out knowing there’s so many weapons pointed at him.” Luke said with a sigh, tucking his golden curls behind his ear. Calum turned to him and Luke’s eyes widened. “He’s never done anything drastic in broad daylight. Sure, it’s night time, but there are so many eyes on him that he won’t do anything.” Luke was right, Calum knew he was right, but Calum didn’t know what to do next.

           In one swift movement, Calum stripped out of his bullet proof vest, tossed it at Luke and ducked under the crime scene tape, sauntering his way towards the store front. Behind him, he could here Henry yelling at him, but before Henry could blow everything, Calum turned and shot him a look. Henry immediately became quiet, the only sound being the wind, and the heartbeats of all the nervous officers behind him. Calum raised his hands above his head as he stopped a few feet in front of the front door. “My name’s Calum, do you mind if we have a chat for a moment?” The silence was terrifying, Calum would never deny that, but silence all meant that nothing life threatening was happening. Calum kept his hands above his head as he closed the distance between him and the front door. All of the windows of the liquor store were mirrored, it was a common way for stores to combat the Los Angeles sun. As Calum reached down and rested his hand on the door handle, all he could was himself, and the flashing lights behind him. “I just want to talk, do you mind opening the door for me?” Calum said, waiting patiently for the click of the lock.

           His heart dropped to his feet when he heard the click. Before making his way inside, he gulped. When he opened the door, the woman who was being held was sitting on the floor. Her ankles were tied with rope, and so were her wrists. Over her mouth was a strip of duct tape, mascara flowing down her porcelain cheeks, terror washed over her blue eyes. Calum rushed to her aide and untied her restraints as quickly as possible to ensure her safety. “As soon as I untie you, you run, don’t stop until someone on the other side of the caution tape grabs you, understand?” She nodded, sobbing still out of terror. The second she was free, she followed Calum’s instructions, running until Luke grabbed her, ushering her to the Ambulance and out of sight.

           From behind Calum, he heard the gun cock. Slowly, he raised his hands above his head and turned to face the assailant. The guy was around the same age as him, but looked as if life had run over him more than a few times. His teeth were stained a blackish-green color for the amount of drugs he has injected into his body. His eyes were sunken into his head, his hair unwashed and matted. His clothes were dirty and stiff from the lack of washing. Calum looked into his glossy eyes and could tell how high he was based on the size of his pupils. Again, Calum repeated himself, “My name is Calum, why don’t we put the gun down and have a chat?”

           “No!” the guy blurted out, holding the gun even tighter causing the weapon to shake. Calum has handled many guns throughout his career, but the way this guy was clutching the gun made him nervous. “You don’t even know what I’ve been through!” The assailant yelled at Calum.

           “Oh, but I do, man.” Calum dropped his hands to be shoulder level. “I know that you were outcasted the second you got into high school. On top of that your mom passed away at a very young age. She was a beautiful woman, wasn’t she?” The guy gulped and nodded, tears filling his eyes. “Your dad was never around, so once your mom passed you had no one, isn’t that right?” The guy gulped again and frantically ran his hand under his eyes then clutched the gun even harder. “All of these women, you didn’t even know them, but they look just like your mother, don’t they?” Calum knew that’s what was going on, he didn’t need the assailant to confirm that. “If you drop the gun and come with me, I can help you.” It was such a cliché line, but most of the people who commit these kind of crimes just want help.

           Calum took a step closer to him but the assailant took a step towards him, shaking the gun in his face. He gulped realizing that if he got any closer, Calum might end up swallowing the barrel of the gun. “I don’t need anyone’s help!” The assailant cried out, and in a split second he shut his eyes and pulled the trigger.

           Thinking quickly, Calum lunged at the gun, causing the gun to motion upwards, the bullet going through the ceiling. Within seconds of the assailant landing on the floor and the gun sliding three feet away from him, Luke and the other police officers busted through the front door. As Calum locked the handcuffs around the assailant’s wrists, Luke slapped Calum’s shoulder. The local police officers took him out the front door and Luke wrapped his arms around Calum, “I heard the shot and thought he got you. You’re a crazy son of a bitch aren’t you?” Together Luke and Calum laughed. You have to be a special kind of crazy to have a career in their field, but Calum loved being that special kind of crazy.

************

Tag list: @mantlereid @notinthesameguey @viiirg0 @wheniminouterspace @thinkofmehlgh @another-lonely-heart @limer-encia @itsmytimetoodream @babyoria @treatallwithkindness @karajaynetoday @talkfastromance4

**If your URL has a strike through it’s because it won't let me tag you ☹️

Ko-fi

[yetanotherreader]

Useful—4

Genre: College AU

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Y/N Y/L/N, slight Dean x Lisa

Summary: The school’s most popular boy wants to be friends with Y/N, out of the blue. It definitely doesn’t have anything to do with her hot best friend, though.

Word Count (For the chapter): 2,627

Warnings (For the chapter): Language, self deprecative thoughts.

[For some reason, some of the tags aren’t working. I’m sorry about that.]

[[ Also I’m sorry for the no Read More thingy because it doesn’t happen on the phone app :-(]]

Useful Masterlist

Chapter 4

Chapter 3

Time flew by faster and in no time, it was the last week of the semester. Winter breaks were going to begin and you didn't know what to do with your life during the vacation. Lisa was going to be spending it with her family, Dean was going on a road trip with his friends and you had no plans whatsoever. You had no funds to go visit your family, overseas. You were saving for an apartment, and your parents understood. You were, in fact, surprised that they did without any clashes but again, maybe, living away from each other did mend your relationship with your family better. You missed them and, hopefully, they missed you too.

Right now, though, you were trying to figure out how you were going to survive the holidays, browsing the library for some books you could use for your time alone. Older times, you would have enjoyed it. Would get bored, might go into overthinking drives, beat yourself up for things of the past, but still somehow enjoyed the undisturbed two weeks. Now, it was different. Everything was. You were not used to being alone all the time anymore, there was a certain green eyed idiot who made sure to be around you as much as he could. The idiot you've started to dangerously feel for. He introduced you to Cas and Jo, and they were amazing people. Lisa had started spending time with you, too. It was funny. A few months ago, you had literally no one to talk to and now, you barely got to be alone.

"There you are! I've been looking for you."

"Well, I'm honored. Hey, Lis."

"Gotta say your sense of humor has worsened more," she said with a laugh, "Hey. So mom is going on a holiday with her fiancé for the new year. So had to cut the trip short. They invited me but I bailed out"

"I'm sorry," You knew Lisa and her mom's new boyfriend didn't get along all that well. The previous guy her mom was with, though, treated Lisa like her own, and she missed him. For some reason, they broke up and that was why Lisa  moved here for college from Michigan. Her mother's new fiance was a nice man, according to Lisa, but she just couldn't give him that place in her heart.

"Yeah. So, yeah, I'll be here a week earlier."

"That's cool. We can catch up on some movies then."

"And bars and parties and hot boys at the beach."

"Oh, Lord." You laughed, and she soon joined you.

"Hey Y/-" You heard Dean stop, abruptly before continuing, "H-Hey."

You looked up at him to see him looking at Lisa, only to realize it was her he actually greeted, "Um..hey, Dean."

He practically tore his gaze away from her to look at you, "Oh, hi, Y/N. You didn't tell me your friend was going to be here with you."

"Uh, you didn't tell me you were going to be coming here, Dean." You laughed awkwardly trying to cut the tension in the air.

"Oh, yeah, actually I was looking for you. Well, I was wondering if you-"

"Y/N, won't you introduce me to your friend?" Lisa chimed in, practically eye-fucking your best friend—and you hated to notice, it was coming right back at her.

"So, you don't know who I am, huh?" Dean smirked, flirting. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

It was like you weren't even there while they continued to make filthy comments and it was disgusting, you audibly groaned making your way out of the library, "God, ew."

For the rest of the day, you were supposed to be busy. You had assignments to submit before the vacations started, but it seemed like you dropped your concentration somewhere on the road. You couldn't stop wondering what Lisa and Dean were doing right then. Did they kiss? Or were they planning somethi-

You shook your head, shaking away the thoughts. They were your friends, you should be happy for them if it came to something like that. What you felt for Dean was a tiny, little crush which would fade in no time. You weren't going to make things between you two awkward by acting on it. This friendship was important to you, after a long, long while you were willing to put your trust in someone. You didn't even remember the last time you ever talked to someone like you talked to Dean. He was starting to become the closest friend you'd ever had, so yeah, you were going to be happy for him no matter who he dated.

The only thing was...you weren't.

You typed furiously on the computer, trying to ignore the insecurities that were creeping inside you little by little. Dean is going to leave you too. No one will stay. Everyone leaves. Your fingers danced across the keyboard smoothly yet faster than before as you hurried to get the work done so that you could get the hell out of the premises and take a nap. Because you deserve it. You're not worth any love. You're a disgra- You typed the last words and emailed yourself the document, not bringing anything that was going on in your mind show on your face.

"Y/N!" You stopped at the familiar voice, turning around as Lisa made her way towards you, "Guess what?"

"What?" You asked, not surprised by her happy attitude. She was always so happy, it made you wonder what was wrong with you that you couldn't be.

"You never told me you were friends with that hot snack!"

"Um.. actually. I did." You said, rolling your eyes. Obviously she wasn't paying attention.

"No…" you gave her a long look, "you did?"

Exhaling heavily, you made your way to your room, "Lis, I've had a busy day. I'm really really exhausted. Can we gush over how hot Dean is later when I've had some shut eye?"

"No, I didn't stop you to tell how hot Dean is. I mean, yes he is but I wanted to tell you he invited me to the road trip he's going on with his friends." Your eyes shot up to her face, searching for any signs of it being a joke. It wasn't. Dean, actually, did ask her. They met...like...just now?

Lisa must have gotten an idea of your discomfort 'cause her eyes saucered in realization, "oh my god...I'm so sorry, Y/N! I completely forgot about you and the plans we made. I can drop going, I'm so sorry."

"No..it's..it's okay. Really. Go enjoy your holiday. I was, anyway, going to spend my time alone before we made those plans."

She looked at you, guilty, "Are you sure?"

"Yeah.." You smiled in understanding.

"I can always ask Dean to let you tag along."

You chuckled at the irony. You were his best friend, you didn't need anyone else to ask him anything for you. And you even felt a little insulted by the statement. You could do without this favour. You could definitely do without anyone 'letting you' tag along, "Braedon, really, go. I'll be fine on my own."

She went away without another word. The pit in your stomach only seemed to grow as you did your best to drag it aside. You, somehow, managed to stop the slumping of your shoulders as you walked into your room. You changed out of your jeans into your pajamas, ready to call it a day. You made yourself a peanut butter sandwich and was done with all the chores that you settled down on the bed. Switching off the lights, you pulled the warm blanket over your head. It was then that all the thoughts you'd been pushing aside started making appearances.

Your friend 'completely forgot' about you and the plans, your best friend didn't even bother remembering that he forgot about you. It was like you didn't even exist. You knew it was stupid, in fact it was really childish to think like this. Them people have gotten their own lives which DID NOT have to revolve around you. And pretty honestly, you knew no life revolved around you, not even your own. No one would give two shits if you suddenly disappeared, including you. Still, you weren't supposed to feel this way. You weren't supposed to be so much affected because of something like this. Being left out was not something that was happening for the first time to you. But this time, it hurt a little. The thought of you getting replaced bothered a little when it shouldn't. It wasn't a crime or anything. What did you ever do to make a lasting impact in someone's life anyway so that they'd want to keep you forever?

You woke up to constant pounding on your door. Groaning, you got up to open the door.

"I was about to knock the door down, sleepyhead." Dean ruffled your hair playfully as you slapped his hand away annoyed.

"I was sleeping, asshole."

"Shocker."

You looked at him, bored, for a while before widening your eyes and pulling him inside and locking the door behind, "What the hell are you doing here? If the warden saw you, she'd rip me two."

"For a second I thought you were going to kiss me," he snickered sheepishly. "I called you to inform, you didn't pick up." He made his way inside the room, putting the box of pizza and a backpack on the couch. You scrunched up your nose at the action.

"Pizza? Why?"

"Why are you surprised?"

"It was Tuesday. Did I sleep for three fuckin' days straight?!" You said, flabbergasted for a moment until you saw Dean making the most annoyed face ever.

"Y/L/N. It is still Tuesday. Wednesday, actually. And our Friday night outs are at my place, not here where your warden is ready to eat me alive."

"Your point?"

He sighed, "We didn't spend any time together today, Y/N. I saw you earlier, you didn't look well."

You frowned before the memories made their way back, "oh…

"Well that's exactly why I was trying to sleep, Winchester." You scolded, trying to not sound too cold.

"What is it?"

"What?" You turned away from him, walking to your bed, Dean following suit.

"What's wrong? And don't give me there's-nothing-wrong-i'm-okay shit. Tell me." He sat himself beside you as you crawled under the blanket to the other end.

"There's nothing wrong, I'm okay." Dean rolled his eyes as you pulled the covers over your head.

"You know I hate it when you do what I tell you not to."

"Then don't tell me what to do." Your voice came out muffled, as you replied back sharply. He sighed.

When she walked out of the library, groaning as Lisa and him flirted, Dean had noticed. He thought it was just the playful best friend reaction seeing them two flirt with each other, so he let it pass. Later that day, he went to meet Y/N and saw her working on the computer. She would look normal to anyone around there, but Dean had secretly picked up on her habit of doing her work extra smooth when she's stressed. Her shoulders were tensed and eyes sharp. Yep. She was definitely bothered. What he was about to tell her would have to wait, first he needed to know what was bothering her. He decided to talk to her after his class, but by the time his class was over, Y/N was already out of the campus.

"I never got to tell you why I came to talk to you this morning."

"Oh, you came to talk to me? Didn't think I was so lucky." Was that what it was all about? Was she... jealous? But why would she be jealous? She was so darn confusing, it frustrated him sometimes.

"You need to talk to me, Y/N. What's going on?" He said, pulling her blanket to him before she pulled it back.

"Nothing is going on Dean, really. It's nothing. I'm just tired is all."

"And grumpy?"

"And grumpy."

"I need you to know no one is going to take your place, sweetheart." He felt her stiffen just a bit, not enough to be noticed but enough to be noticed by him.

"Stop thinking you're that important to me, Winchester. You're not." He flinched. He knew Y/N didn't mean that, it was just her defence mechanism with some extra sass but it still painfully tug his heart a little bit. She made a lot such comments, mostly playfully, with that serious face but playfully. Maybe it wasn't the comment but the fact that she was hurt that was bothering him? He wouldn't know. One thing he knew, though, was whatever was bothering her, he needed to make her smile. Maybe she noticed his sudden pause because she immediately spoke up, "Sorry. It came out harsher than I intended."

"S'okay. So you're not gonna tell me what's bothering you?"

"Nothing is bothering me Winchester."

"Whatever you say, Y/L/N." He gave up. It bothered him that she had still not opened up to him even when they'd been 'best friends' for so long. Every time he thought she would, she would close off and change the topic. She still was the mystery girl he met at the beginning of the college, a mystery he didn't know how to figure out "So, you coming?"

"Where?"

"The road trip?

"So Lisa did that after all."

"Lisa did what?"

"Nothing. And well, I've got some work so I can't come."

"Yeah I know what work you got. Come on, Y/N. Be easy on yourself sometimes. It's gonna be fun."

"But-"

"Great. So it's a 2 weeks long trip. Pack accordingly and now we have that pizza." He stood up before she could protest and got the pizza.

"How many times are you going to watch this show, Dean? Don't you get bored?" You said taking your third slice.

"As many times as I please, babe. It's Dr. Sexy M.D, it never gets boring." He said casually, thankfully missing the pink that dusted your cheeks at the nickname in the dark.

After a couple more episodes, you were starting to doze off, and so was Dean, "Alright, let's sleep. We have classes tomorrow.

"There's no morning class. Just one more epi." He said, clutching the remote in his hands, like a child, "please?"

"No." He pouted at your response, defeated.

"Okie." He said letting out a small yawn. Sleepy Dean was always adorable, "So it's settled that you're coming with us?"

She paused for a moment before shrugging slightly.

"I guess...yes," he smiled cheekily as she said that, "but, why did you want me there all of a sudden?"

"Because I want you there? It's gonna be fun. I've heard girls need their girl-friends on these tours for some 'girl-company' thing. I invited Lisa, so-"

He stopped abruptly as she stood up and made her way out of the room, "I'll go and throw these boxes, you change in here."

"- that you could get some company." He whispered mostly to himself. What the hell just happened? He shook his head, too sleepy to think about it right now and stripped out of his clothes into his pajamas.

Obviously. There it was. The reason he wanted you there, it's all here. It's because he didn't want Lisa to be alone around people she didn't know. You stood by the sink and chuckled to yourself, feeling a sting in the back of your eyes. Wow.

"Same old easily replaceable Y/N." You whispered.

-------

Chapter 5

A/N: alright. I know I know. I'm a terrible author who do not care about her readers but it's not that. I'm really, genuinely sorry. Life's been really rollercoastery and I've been dealing with stuffs lately. I promise I'll be better next time. And if you could take out a minute of your day and pray for me and a lot of people who need it, please, I'll be really grateful. They say prayers are powerful and I think I can do with them a bit.

Also, please don't do something wrong with yourself. You're worth every effort you make for a better life. Each minute of your life counts, just make sure you keep yourself and others as happy as you can. Be kind to you and others, I'm rooting for you. ❤️

And show some kindness to the animals too, they deserve it. ❤️

.

.

Tags for useful:

 @fandoms-fiend @mrsdeanfuckingwinchester @itsjaybro16 @mml232 @blablatiti @stilltoomuchafangirl @bat-shark-repellant @bluebell-24 @shortwinchester @always-money-in-the-banana-stand @ima-be-a-mongoose @soullessbabee @infinityspacesuniverse @vicmc624 @roonyxx @fandoms-fiend @slythermyg

[canaryatlaw]

alright well today was pretty good. my alarm went off at 9:30 and I got up, got ready and met Jess for brunch at the vegetarian place at 10. It was Super Fucking Cold all day (like 10 degrees) so that was fun. after we got food we walked back to her place and started our real adventures for the day. We drove up to Schaumburg which is a suburb north of Chicago that happens to be home to the only IKEA store in the area and Jess really wanted a giant stuffed shark they had, so we were off. I’d never actually been inside one of their stores before so that was an experience. It kinda reminded me of a Costco, though that may just be because they had a food court. It was pretty cool looking at everything. sadly when we reached the stuffed animal section there were no sharks on display, so we tracked down a worker who confirmed they were in deed sold out, so that was disappointing. From there we left and went to the area where there’s a ton of car dealership because Jess’ lease is up in like a month and we needed to figure out what we were gonna do about that. So we started at Honda because her current car is a Honda so we wanted to see what they could do but their numbers weren't all that good, so we decided to hunt around a bit. We went to the BMW dealership that was in the same parking lot as the Honda just for kicks and ended up spending like an hour there (they had a very cool self-service coffee bar) during which we went on a test drive with one of their cars to see how it felt driving and that quickly turned very bad when we reached a roundabout which is already confusing in itself but then this jerk tried to cut us off and then started honking at us at a stop sign and Jess was like about to have an anxiety attack and the salesman in the back seat is like taking down the guy’s plate and ready to like, get out of the car and start fighting the guy (we later reflected it was likely our Italian family upbringings that automatically make us like I WILL PROTECT LET’S FIGHT) so that ended up being a bit more stressful than we hoped, when we got back they had like one of the head guys come out and like apologize that it didn’t go well but I mean it obviously wasn’t their fault. their price was also like double than what Honda said so we were obviously never seriously considering it as an option but that wound up being an adventure (the roads are also very snowy and icy, so like, that’s enough stress to drive on, assholes on top of that is just really bad) and from there we went to the Ford dealership across the road because Jess’ trash father told her to go to all of the dealerships before making a decision and they like Fords because they’re from Michigan and apparently everyone in the state of Michigan owns a Ford (which tracks with my cousins from Michigan who live outside Detroit and my uncle works for Ford) so we did another test drive in that car and their numbers were about on track with Honda, but at that point with the ice on the roads it had just been enough so we decided no more test drives, so we just wanted to check prices on a few more, so we tried to go to a Kia but they had no parking spots so we aborted that plan and went to the Hyundai next door where the salesman was clearly very disinterested in helping us which obviously kinda turned us off to them. after that we were pretty much beat though, so the plan was from there to drive to the mall that we’ve been to a few times (mainly because we had to take my laptop there and back over the summer when the cat chewed through my charger and somehow short-circuited the computer and the Chicago apple store couldn’t get me in for another like, 3 days. It had started to snow at this point though and Jess’ windshield wipers are currently frozen to the roof of her car so we didn’t really have any way to get the increasing moisture off the car which led to somewhat of a terrifying drive to the mall but thankfully we survived. Hit up the cheesecake factory first like we normally do and got the two pasta dishes we always do, and of course their dinner portions are so fucking huge we were way too stuffed for cheesecake without even finishing them. We weren’t really planning on going around the mall that much but at this point we were trying to wait out the snow rather than attempt to drive back to Chicago with a very blurry windshield. so we hit up our normal stores and got t-shirts from Hot Topic to wear to the Panic! At the Disco concert we’re going to in Milwaukee tomorrow night (idk if I ever mentioned that on here? but yeah that’s a thing) and walked around, then got bubble tea at their food court and wandered around Macy’s looking for khaki shorts that we need for the Legends camp cosplays we’re gonna do for London, initially the plan for the day involved hitting up a Goodwill for those but that ended up getting scrapped after the driving situation turned out to be a bit hazardous, but we decided we’ll do thrift stores/check at Old Navy next weekend. Eventually it hit 9 o’clock which was the time the mall closed but also thankfully the time the snow was mostly supposed to stop, so we traversed back to the car and began driving home. the windshield situation was better but since we were trying to avoid the toll roads the roads we were on tended to be plowed less well than an expressway would be and the lines were very hard to see for pretty much all of the drive so Jess was very anxious and I did not blame her, when we got back I walked the rest of the way home from her place because we knew my street probably wouldn’t have been plowed and that was just too much. So we did that, I got home, and pretty much just got in the shower and started getting ready for bed and now I’m here! I have to wake up in less than 8 hours for church so I think it’s probably a good idea to go to sleep now, so I’m going to do that. Goodnight dearies. Hope you’re enjoying your weekend.

[davessecretary]

So there was a once-internet-famous bunch of stories by one davesecretary, but the site went away, and I had to dig into the Internet Archive to find them. Originally there were more on other sites, and there were copies around, but they all disappeared, and this is all I could recover.

EVERY GODDAMNED CHRISTMAS MY DAD AND MY UNCLE RON GET INTO IMPORTANT ARGUMENTS ABOUT POLITICS AND THE BEST AIRPORTS IN ZURICH AND WHICH PRESIDENTS ARE ASSHOLES IN PERSON AND THAT SORT OF THING. MY OTHER UNCLE D. IS KIND OF THE BLACK SHEEP IN THE FAMILY AND WE DON'T PAY MUCH ATTENTION TO HIM.

ANYWAY THIS ONE CHRISTMAS MY DAD & RON ARE REALLY GOING AT IT, SOMETHING ABOUT AFRICA, WHEN UNCLE D. WALKS INTO THE MIDDLE OF THINGS GINGERLY CARRYING THIS TAPE LIKE IT WAS A DYING CHILD AND LOOKS COYLY AT MY DAD AND RON AND SAYS "SO, I BET YOU'LL NEVER GUESS WHAT SONG IS THIS!!"

AND MY DAD AND RON COULDN'T CARE LESS AND SOMEONE SAYS SOMETHING ABOUT HOW THERE'S NO TIME BUT UNCLE D. IS ALREADY BREAKING THE TAPE DECK AND JAMMING IN HIS PRECIOUS TAPE. HE FLASHES US A SLY LOOK AND SAYS "I BET NOBODY HERE WILL GET THIS" AND PRESSES PLAY

IT'S FUCKING 'HEY JUDE'. 19 PEOPLE IN THE LIVING ROOM ALL SAY 'IT'S HEY JUDE' AT THE SAME TIME AND LOOK AGGRAVATED.

UNCLE D. LOOKS AT US ALL IMPISHLY AND SAYS 'NO'.

I'M PASTING THIS FROM THE SMALL TALK THREAD BECAUSE IT SHOULD GO HERE:

ALSO A PRETTY SWEET STORY AT SCHOOL INVOLVING THE WORD 'CARROT'

WE'RE LEARNING ABOUT WEBER AND MY RUSSIAN TEACHER HAS AN ACCENT AS THICK AS MY CLASSMATES AND IS GOING ON ABOUT HOW SCIENCE CAN ACTUALLY PROVE SOMETHING WHEREAS ENGLISH OR ARCHITECTURE CANNOT.

SOME INBRED URCHIN IN THE FRONT ROW SLAMS HIS BIG HAMMY FIST ON THE DESK AND DEMANDS CLARITY.

MY RUSSIAN TEACHER GIVES HIM A STERN LOOK AND SAYS "SCIENCE CAN PROVE ZINGS ZEE GREEN GROZER CANNOT!"

IDIOT BRIGADE IN THE FRONT STILL DOESN'T GET IT. "GREEN GROZAY?"

"GREEN GROZER! GREEN GROZER!" MY TEACHER EXCLAIMS EXCITEDLY

"GREEN GROZAY? WHAT'S GREEN GROZAY?!"

"GREEN GROZER! GREEN GROZER!! HE SELLS THE GREEN GROZERIES!!" TEACHER RETORTS

"OH!!" A SMALL LIGHT GOES ON SOMEWHERE WITHIN THAT MISERABLE CAITIFF. "THE GREEN GROWER!" HE SMILES BROADLY.

THEN, THEN, AS IF THAT WASN'T BAD ENOUGH, SOME WRETCH OF A GIRL DOWN THE ROW JUMPS UP FROM HER SEAT LIKE SHE WAS BITTEN AND SAYS IN THIS POSITIVELY AGHAST VOICE "BUT CARROTS ARE RED!!!"

SO THIS ONE TIME I'M OUT IN MY NEIGHBOR'S DRIVEWAY WITH MY BEST FRIEND KYLE AND HE'S TEACHING ME HOW TO RAISE A PUCK. WE'RE USING A REAL PUCK AND HE'S STANDING ABOUT 15 FEET DOWN FROM ME. I KEEP HITTING THE PUCK AS HARD AS I CAN BUT I CAN'T RAISE IT. KYLE IS JUST STANDING THERE ACTING ALL SUPERIOR AND GIVING ME INANE ADVICE AND PASSING THE PUCK BACK TO ME EACH TIME IT SLIDES OVER TO HIM.

ANYWAY I REMEMBER I GOT ALL FRUSTRATED AND DECIDED THAT THIS WOULD BE IT - I WAS GOING TO RAISE THAT FUCKING PUCK. SO I WIND BACK AND TAKE MAYBE THE HARDEST SLAPSHOT OF MY LIFE. THE PUCK RAISES MAGICALLY. UP UNTIL THIS VERY SECOND NEITHER KYLE OR I REALIZE THAT IF I EVER DID GET THE PUCK IN THE AIR, KYLE WOULD BE IN SOME TROUBLE.

TIME PRETTY MUCH SLOWED DOWN FOR ME. THE PUCK IS A GOOD TWO FEET IN THE AIR AND IS MAKING A BEE LINE FOR KYLE'S DICK. I REMEMBER SEEING KYLE'S EYES OPEN UP VERY WIDE, AND I SEEM TO RECALL MYSELF SHOUTING OUT SOME OBVIOUS INSTRUCTIONS ABOUT HOW HE NEEDS TO STEP ASIDE RIGHT NOW.

KYLE ISN'T VERY BRIGHT, AND IS NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO MY INSTRUCTIONS. I CAN SEE THE GEARS TURNING IN HIS LITTLE BRAIN, AS HE TRIES TO COME UP WITH SOME SORT OF SOLUTION TO THE IMMINENT DANGER HE IS IN. "STEP ASIDE, KYLE, STEP ASIDE!!" I AM YELLING EARNESTLY.

KYLE EYES THE PUCK ONE LAST TIME AS IT FLIES A BILLION MILES AN HOUR TOWARDS HIS BALLS, AND AT THE LAST MINUTE DROPS TO HIS KNEES AND TAKES THE FUCKING THING IN THE FOREHEAD. KNOCKS HIM RIGHT THE FUCK OUT.

SO I'M ON THE BUS FOR SOME GODDAMNED REASON AND I AM LISTENING CAREFULLY TO THE CONVERSATION IN FRONT OF ME, HELD BETWEEN THIS BLOWSY SULKY GIRL WHO IS CLEARLY DOMINATING THE SITUATION AND HER 'BOYFRIEND', A SCRAWNY LOOKING MESS NEAR TEARS. THE FOLLOWING IS ALMOST VERBATIM.

SCRAWNY MESS: WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'VE CHEATED ON ME?!

BLOWSY GIRL: I CHEATED ON YOU.

SCRAWNY MESS: (SNIFFLING MISERABLY) BUT.. BUT.. YOU CHEATED ON ME?

BLOWSY GIRL: (ALMOST INDIGNANTLY) YES.

SCRAWNY MESS: (TEARS FORMING) FOR HOW LONG?

BLOWSY GIRL: (WITH A HINT OF SATISFACTION) ABOUT A YEAR.

SCRAWNY MESS: (TEARS WELLING UP) OHHHHH NOOOO.

SCRAWNY MESS PAUSES TO REFLECT. THE BOY IS A VERITABLE DISTILLERY AT THIS POINT AND YOU CAN JUST TELL SOME SORT OF ULTIMATUM IS COMING. HE MASTERS HIS EMOTIONS AND BECOMES VERY STILL. I AM EXPECTING HIM TO GET ALL KUNG FU ON THIS GIRL. INSTEAD HE TURNS TO HER, WIPES THE TEARS FROM HIS EYES AND SAYS "STRIKE ONE, NANCY... STRIKE ONE."

I ALSO POSTED THIS IN THE SMALL TALK THREAD BUT IT SHOULD GO HERE:

SO IT'S CHRISTMAS AND MY FAMILY IS PLAYING 'SCATTERGORIES' AND EVERYONE IS DRUNK, ESPECIALLY MY STEP-UNCLE RICK. HE'S JUST RAVING DRUNK. IT'S CRAZY. SOMEONE ROLLS THE LETTER 'F' AND WE ALL SPEND 2 MINUTES TRYING TO FILL OUT THE BLANKS. THE TIMER DINGS AND WE GO AROUND TELLING EACH OTHER OUR ANSWERS.

THE FIRST CATEGORY IS 'VEGETABLE'. WE ALL GO AROUND AND WE GET TO DRUNK STEP-UNCLE RICK WHO LOOKS AT US ALL SMUGLY, DIGS UP THIS WIDE GRIN, AND THEN SAYS "FUCKING CARROTS!! BAHABDIUAGHF(*PA#HIOH BHAHAH AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" AND LAUGHS LIKE A GODDAMNED DEMON KING FOR NEARLY A FULL MINUTE. ONCE HE'S SETTLED DOWN WE MOVE ON. THE NEXT CATEGORY IS 'THINGS YOU FIND ON THE BEACH' OR SOMETHING, AND WHEN WE GET TO RICK AGAIN WE ARE GIVEN THIS CONSPIRATORIAL WINK AND NOD, AND THEN HE SCREAMS OUT "FUCKING TOWELS, MAN!!! BBAHAHAHAHHAHA UAHDIUAHIUHAIUH AHAHAHAHAHA" AND AGAIN WE ARE UNNERVED BY HIS CRAZED LUNATIC LAUGHTER.

THIS GOES ON FOR SEVERAL ROUNDS! IT GETS TIRED REALLY QUICKLY! FINALLY, AROUND ROUND 7 OR 8 WE GET TO THE CATEGORY 'OCCUPATION'. WE GO AROUND AND GIVE EACH OTHER LOOKS OF DREAD AS DRUNK RICK'S TURN APPROACHES. FINALLY IT'S HIS TURN. WE BRACE OURSELVES FOR THE INEVITABLE 'FUCKING DOCTOR, MAN!!' OR 'FUCKING BUS DRIVER SHIT YEAH!!'. THE TENSION IS TERRIFIC. DRUNK STEP-UNCLE RICK CLEARS HIS THROAT, SHOOTS US A MANIACLE LOOK, AND THEN SAYS QUIETLY AND CALMY 'forensic scientist' AND THEN GIVES A CALM NOD TO THE PERSON ON HIS LEFT.

HE THEN GETS UP, WALKS INTO THE KITCHEN, AND FALLS DOWN ALL THE STAIRS INTO THE BASEMENT AND PASSES OUT.

SO WE'RE IN KANSAS CITY ON TOUR AND I CALL MY MOM AND I'M LIKE "MOM I'M IN WICHITA, THIS IS WHERE YOU GREW UP!!" AND MY MOM'S LIKE "YEAH IT'S NICE ISN'T IT? TALK TO THE PEOPLE, THEY'RE REALLY FRIENDLY!"

SO THEN I GO TO THE DOLLAR STORE TO SEE IF I CAN SCORE SOME FOOD BECAUSE I'M ON TOUR AND THEREFORE POOR AS ALL HELL AND I WITNESS THE FOLLOWING CONVERSATION BETWEEN THIS LARGE, LAZY MAN OPERATING THE CASH REGISTER, AND THIS SHRIVELLED, WITHERED HUSK OF AN WOMAN, WHO IS SCREECHING AT EVERYONE WITHIN EARSHOT. SHE TURNS THE BRUNT OF HER FORCE ONTO THE IMMOVABLE LAZY MAN.

"I WANT TO BUY THREE CANS OF THIS TOMATO SAUCE BUT THERE'S ONLY ONE HERE. CHECK IN THE BACK!"

THE IMMOBILE MAN LOOKS UTTERLY BORED. "I DON'T THINK THERE'S ANY IN THE BACK."

THE SHRILL OCTOGENARIAN DOESN'T SKIP A BEAT: "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, "THINK". GO CHECK! GO CHECK!"

THE LAZY LARGE MAN CASTS HER A GLANCE OF SLIGHT REPROVE: "I AIN'T CHECKIN'."

THIS IS TOO MUCH FOR OUR ANTAGONIST, OR POSSIBLY PROTAGONIST. SHE CLEARS HER THROAT AND SHRIEKS LIKE A BANSHEE: "WHAT IF I WANTED TO BUY A HUNDRED CANS!!!!!!!1"

THE LARGE MAN LOOKS AT THE WOMAN DISDAINFULLY AND SAYS WITH THE FIRST HINT OF A SOUTHERN ACCENT "WELL AH KNOW WE DON'T GOT A HUNDRED CANS IN THE BACK!"

SO JENN AND I ARE DRIVING THROUGH MICHIGAN WHICH IS KIND OF A DREARY STATE AND WE STOP IN SOME SMALL VILLAGE OR POSSIBLY BOOM TOWN WHO KNOWS AND LOOK FOR FOOD. THERE IS NO WAY IN HELL I'M GOING TO FIND ANYTHING VEGAN SO I THROW IN THE TOWEL AND GET PREPARED TO EAT A SWEET GLASS OF WATER AND MAYBE A SALAD IF I'M LUCKY. WE GO TO THE NEAREST PLACE, WHICH HAPPENS TO BE THIS COMPLETELY RAMSHACKLED HUT. THERE IS THICK BLACK SMOKE POURING OUT OF A HOLE IN THE CORRUGATED IRON ROOF AND SWEARS COMING FROM INSIDE. A LARGE SIGN ADVERTISING A 60 OUNCE STEAK IS PEELING FROM ABOVE THE DOOR. THERE IS SOME SORT OF GREASE POOLING NEAR MY FEET. THIS IS GOING TO BE AN ADVENTURE!

SO JENN AND I WALK IN AND IT'S WORSE THAN I THOUGHT. WHAT I ASSUME TO BE A CONVICTED FELON IS STANDING BEHIND THE BAR, YELLING OBSCENITIES AT THE COOK IN THE BACK, AN EQUALLY REPREHENSIBLE OAF WHOSE OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG MULLET IS SWEEPING OVER ALL THE FOOD.

I STEP UP TO THE PLATE AND TRY MY HAND AT CONVERSATION. "DO YOU HAVE A MENU?"

"NO MENU."

I SWING AGAIN "OKAY, DO YOU HAVE ANYTHING THAT ISN'T MEAT?"

THIS TIME THE COOK IN THE BACK TURNS A BEERY EYE ON ME. "WHAT DOES THAT KID WANT?"

"HE WANTS TO KNOW IF WE HAVE ANYTHING THAT ISN'T MEAT"

THE COOK TURNS TO ME "YEAH OF COURSE! WE HAVE FAUX-TURKEY AND MOCK CHICKEN, AND WE ALSO HAVE TOFU SCRAMBLER!"

THIS KNOCKS ME FOR A LOOP. TURNS OUT THIS PLACE HAS A TON OF VEGAN SHIT. JENN & I ORDER A BUNCH OF FOOD TO GO. AS I WALK OUT OF THE BUILDING THE COOK SHOUTS OUT AFTER ME "DON'T FORGET YOU CAN ORDER FROM US ONLINE!!!"

SO I'M HANGING OUT IN THE BASEMENT READING AND MY DAD COMES DOWNSTAIRS AND HE LOOKS AT ME AND HE SAYS "DANGER POINT!! YOU LEFT THE OVEN ON!" AND I'M ALL LIKE "DANGER POINT?"

RIGHT SO IT'S KINDERGARTEN AND IT'S SPRING AND EVERYTHING IS THAWING AND MUDDY. AND ALL THE KIDS HAVE THOSE RUBBER BOOTS THAT GO UP TO OUR WAISTS. THE THING TO DO IN THE MORNING BEFORE CLASS STARTS IS TO FIND A BUDDY, GO FIND A NICE SOFT MUDDY SPOT IN THE PLAYGROUND SOMEWHERE, FACE YOUR FRIEND AND START SQUISHING YOUR WAY DOWN IN THE MUD UNTIL IT'S ALMOST UP TO YOUR WAIST.

WE DID THIS BECAUSE IT WAS FUN. SO KYLE AND I ARE FACING EACH OTHER AND BOGGING OUR WAY DOWN IN THIS MUD PUDDLE. WE GET IT ALMOST TO THE POINT WHERE THE MUD WILL START TO SEEP INTO OUR RUBBER BOOTS. I LOOK AT KYLE AND SAY "HEY KYLE, CAN YOU DO THIS?!" AND I TAKE MY FOOT OUT OF THE BOOT, WIGGLE MY LITTLE SOCKED TOES IN THE SPRING AIR FOR A FEW SECONDS, AND PUT MY LEG BACK IN MY BOOT, WHICH IS FIRMLY LODGED IN MUD.

"YES I CAN!!" KYLE SHOUTS BACK AT ME DESPITE ME BEING ONLY A FOOT AWAY FROM HIM. KYLE TAKES HIS FOOT OUT OF HIS BOOT AND IMMEDIATLY FALLS BACKWARDS INTO THE MUD. BECAUSE ONE LEG IS STILL IN THE BOOT HE IS KIND OF PINNED. THE SUCTION FROM THE MUD IS TOO MUCH FOR HIM TO SIT UP, AND HE CAN'T TURN OVER BECAUSE HIS LEG IS STUCK IN THE BOOT.

THE BELL RINGS AND I LEAVE HIM THERE FOR SOME REASON. IT'S MONDAY MORNING SO WE HAVE ASSEMBLY. THE WHOLE SCHOOL SITS IN THE GYM AND WE SING 'OH CANADA'. OUR PRINCIPAL, WHOSE NAME IS HONEST TO GOD 'MRS. HEGGINBOTTOM' SAYS 'GOOD MORNING STUDENTS' AND THEN WE ALL SAY 'GOOD MORNING MRS. HEGGINBOTTOMBOTTOMBOTTOMBOTTOM' BECAUSE NOBODY CAN GET IT IN SYNC AND SOME KIDS SAY IT FASTER THAN OTHERS.

THEN OUR PRINCIPAL IS ABOUT TO GET INTO THE ANNOUNCEMENTS WHEN THE BIG DOUBLE DOORS IN THE BACK OF THE GYM ARE THROWN OPEN AND SMACK AGAINST THE WALLS WITH A GIANT BANG. ENTER MRS. VAIL, SHORT, BUTCHY VICE PRINCIPAL WITH BICEPS LIKE NOTHING YOU'VE EVER SEEN. SHE'S HOLDING KYLE, WHO APPEARS TO HAVE BEEN DRESSED FROM THE LOST AND FOUND. THERE ARE TEARS JUST STREAMING DOWN HIS FACE. WE ALL STARE AT KYLE AND MRS. VAIL LETS HIM GO. HE RUNS TOWARDS ME, SLIPS ON THE GROUND BECAUSE HE'S IN SOCKS FOR SOME REASON, PICKS HIMSELF UP, AND SITS DOWN NEXT TO ME. TOTALLY INCONSOLABLE FOR THE REST OF THE DAY. WHEN WE GET HOME HE FINALLY OPENS UP TO ME AND TELLS ME THAT MRS. VAIL PICKED HIM UP OUT OF THE MUD LIKE A DYING SOLDIER AND WASTED NO TIME IN STRIPPING HIM NAKED AND DRESSING HIM UP IN SHORT-SHORTS AND A STRAWBERRY-SHORTCAKE TSHIRT EVEN THOUGH THERE WAS A NINJA TURTLE TSHIRT RIGHT THERE.

SO ALSO IN KINDERGARTEN I APPARENTLY THOUGHT THAT THE KIDS IN MY CLASS DIDN'T KNOW ENOUGH ABOUT COUGARS FOR SOME REASON, BECAUSE I DEFINITELY MADE A SWEET COUGAR QUIZ WHICH I INSISTED ON GIVING OUT TO THE CLASS THE NEXT DAY.

WHAT COLOR IS THE COUGAR? GOLD? NO! BROWN? NO! RED? NO! THE ANSWER IS TAWNY.

THE FIRST TIME MY DAD TOOK ME AND MY SISTER CAMPING I WAS ABOUT 8 OR 9. I REMEMBER WE PARKED THE CAR, I JUMPED OUT AND IMMEDIATELY STEPPED ON A NAIL. WE HAD TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL AND THEN WE WENT HOME BECAUSE I HAD TO GET A TETANUS SHOT OR SOME KIND OF SHOT. IT'S ALL KIND OF HAZY.

THE SECOND TIME MY DAD TOOK ME AND MY SISTER CAMPING WAS A MONTH LATER, IN THE MIDDLE OF JULY. WE PARKED THE CAR, AND MY SISTER JUMPED OUT AND IMMEDIATELY TRIED TO LIFT UP SOME SORT OF BOULDER THAT WAS ON A HILL. I DON'T REALLY KNOW WHY SHE DID THIS. ANYWAY SHE ENDED UP BREAKING HER FINGER. WE HAD TO GO TO THE HOSPITAL, AND THEN WE HAD TO GO HOME BECAUSE SHE WANTED TO BE WITH MOM IN HER HOUR OF NEED.

AT THE END OF SUMMER, MY DAD, OUT OF COMPLETE DESPERATION TO GO CAMPING WITH THE KIDS, TOOK US OUT AGAIN. I REMEMBER HE SEEMED A BIT FIDGETY THE WHOLE WAY THERE, AND I REMEMBER HE WOULDN'T LET US OUT OF THE CAR UNTIL HE HAD SCOUTED AROUND A LITTLE BIT.

WHEN I GOT OUT OF THE CAR MY DAD WAS BUSY TAKING THE BUNGEE CORDS OFF THE ROOF. WE HAD ABOUT A BILLION THINGS UP ON THE CAR WHICH MY DAD HAD SECURED WITH AN UNNECESSARY AMOUNT OF BUNGEE CORDS. ANYWAY FOR SOME REASON I UNHOOKED ONE OF THE BUNGEE CORDS ON MY SIDE OF THE CAR. IT WHIZZED OVER THE CAR ROOF LIKE A METEOR AND CUT MY DAD DEEPLY IN HIS EYEBROW. WE HAD TO DRIVE TO THE HOSPITAL, THIS TIME WITH BLOOD STREAMING DOWN MY DAD'S FACE AND ME AND MY SISTER IN TEARS.

ALSO ONCE AT THE COTTAGE MY DAD AND UNCLE RON ARE NOW ARGUING OVER WHO HAS THE NICEST WATCH. RON IS GOING ON ABOUT HIS IS ATOMIC OR SOMETHING AND MY DAD IS TALKING ABOUT HOW HIS IS POWERED BY WRIST MOVEMENTS AND THEY ARE BOTH MAKING EXTRAVAGANT CLAIMS THAT I CAN NEITHER VERIFY NOR DISREGARD. WE ARE ALL WALKING DOWN TO THE BEACH TO GO SWIMMING. AS WE APPROACH THE SHORELINE UNCLE RON CAREFULLY REMOVES HIS WATCH, WRAPS IT IN A CHAMOIS HE MUST HAVE HAD HIDDEN IN HIS BATHING SUIT, AND PLACES IT DAINTILY IN THE CENTER OF A FOLDING CHAIR.

"CAN'T TAKE IT IN THE WATER, EH?!" MY DAD SHOUTS OUT TRIUMPHANTLY AND UNCLE RON GLOWERS. "MY WATCH ISN'T JUST WATER-RESISTANT, IT'S WATER-PROOF!! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT!" MY DAD SUDDENLY TURNS THE BAND OVER AND SCRUTINIZES THE BACK OF PLATE. "YEP!!!" HE CONTINUES GLEEFULLY "SAYS IT RIGHT HERE - WATERPROOF UP TO 14 WHOLE ATMOSPHERES. WHAT A WATCH!"

RON SILENTLY WADES OUT INTO THE LAKE. MY DAD SPLASHES IN LIKE HE WAS DROPPED OUT OF A PLANE AND SWIMS PAST UNCLE RON, SHOUTING ALL THE WHILE. "14 ATMOSPHERES! THAT'S PRETTY DEEP!! CAN'T DO THAT WITH YOUR WATCH, CAN YOU!" HE SCORES HIS POINT AND TAKES IT FURTHER WITH A LITTLE DIVE UNDER THE WATER. HE SURFACES EXUBERANTLY. "YES, SEE - STILL TICKING!" HE PUTS THE WATCH TO HIS EAR AND SMILES BLISSFULLY ALTHOUGH I'M CONVINCED HE CAN'T HEAR A THING AMID ALL THE SPLASHING HE'S DOING. "YES, THIS IS A FINE PIECE OF CRAFTSMANSHIP. I BET I COULD GO DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF THE LAKE WITH THIS THING!". HE TAKES AN EXAGGERATED DEEP BREATH AND DISAPPEARS INTO THE MURKY DEPTHS OF THE LAKE.

UNCLE RON AND I WAIT. RON LOOKS AS THOUGH THE LAKE IS FULL OF VINEGAR AND HE JUST SWALLOWED A LOT OF IT. ABOUT A MINUTE LATER MY DAD'S HEAD POPS UP A GOOD 50 FEET AWAY FROM. HE'S STILL SHOUTING HAPPILY UNTIL HE LIFTS UP HIS HAND - THE WATCH ISN'T THERE ANYMORE. HE'S SOMEHOW MANAGED TO LOSE IT WHILE SWIMMING AS FAST AS HE COULD UNDER WATER.

A THIN SMILE BEGINS TO CREEP ACROSS UNCLE RON'S FACE AND WITHIN MINUTES HE IS JUST BEAMING. HE STILL REFERS TO THAT TIME AS ONE OF THE BEST SWIMS HE'S EVER TAKEN IN THE LAKE.

SO THIS KID NAMED DAX USE TO ALWAYS HANG OUT WITH US IN HIGHSCHOOL BUT NEVER EVER EVER SPOKE UNLESS HE WAS ASKED TO ANSWER A QUESTION, AND EVEN THEN THAT WAS A RARE OCCURANCE BECAUSE THE TEACHERS ALL KNEW HE DIDN'T LIKE TO TALK.

ANYWAY ONE DAY WE WERE ALL HANGING OUTSIDE AT LUNCH AND I HAPPENED TO MENTION THAT OUR PHYSICAL SCIENCE TEACHER MR. BLORN SPENT THE ENTIRE GODDAMNED HOUR TALKING ABOUT HOW ROBERTA BONDAR WAS THE FIRST WOMAN ON THE MOON.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" MY FRIEND JASON INTERRUPTS, "EARLIER TODAY BLORN TOLD OUR CLASS THAT ROBERTA BONDAR HATED THE MOON AND ONLY WANTED TO BE THE FIRST WOMAN IN SPACE!"

"GOD DAMMIT!" I REPLIED! "I WONDER WHAT THE HELL HE'S TELLING HIS CLASS RIGHT NOW!"

AT THIS POINT DAX CLEARED HIS THROAT AND WE ALL WENT SILENT. "I BET I KNOW WHAT HE'S TELLING THE CLASS RIGHT NOW" HE SAID IN HIS CREAKY VOICE. WE WERE ABSOLUTELY FLABBERGASTED. THIS WAS A RARE MOMENT INDEED. DAX HIKED UP HIS PANTS, PUT A LEG UP ON THE PICNIC TABLE AND PICKED UP A LONG BRANCH WHICH I IMAGINE WAS SUPPOSE TO BE THE YARDSTICK BLORN CARRIED WITH HIM AT ALL TIMES. THE IMPRESSION WAS LACKING, BUT WE DIDN'T MIND - DAX WAS ABOUT TO SPEAK.

"YOU KNOW WHAT HE'S TELLING THE CLASS RIGHT NOW ABOUT ROBERTA BONDAR?" HE LOOKED AT US IMPRESSIVELY. WE ALL NODDED SILENTLY. DAX MADE AN OBSCENE THRUSTING MOTION WITH HIS PELVIS AND ATTEMPTED A POOR MIMICRY OF MR. BLORN'S SANDY VOICE: "YEAH I FUCKED HER, BOYS. I FUCKED HER REAL GOOOOOOOOD."

ODDEST THING EVER.

MY CHEMISTRY TEACHER MR. RESTIVE DIDN'T KNOW SHIT ABOUT CHEMISTRY. HE WOULD STAND IN FRONT OF THE CLASS WITH THE OVERHEAD PROJECTOR AIMED AGAINST THE FAR WALL, OPENED TEXTBOOK ON THE DESK NEXT TO IT, AND WOULD JUST COPY STUFF STRAIGHT OUT OF THE TEXTBOOK. WE WERE THEN SUPPOSE TO COPY IT OFF THE OVERHEAD. I REMEMBER THIS ONE AFTERNOON HE GOT ALL INTO HIS SUBJECT AND STOPPED WRITING ON THE OVERHEAD AND HIS BROW FURROWED AND HE WENT SILENT FOR ABOUT 10 MINUTES AND THEN SMILED SUDDENLY AND WAS ALL LIKE "HMM. HMM.. HEY, THIS IS KIND OF NEAT!!" AND WE WERE ALL LIKE "JESUS CHRIST" AND MR. RESTIVE IS JUST GLOWING AND HE LOOKS UP AND SAYS 'TURN TO PAGE 72'.

SO WE ALL TURN TO PAGE 72 AND IT'S JUST A BIG BLACK AND WHITE PICTURE OF THESE TWO GERIATRICS SMILING AT EACH OTHER AT DISNEY WORLD OR SOME SHIT.

THERE WAS THIS KID IN OUR HIGHSCHOOL WHO ALWAYS HAD POO OR SOMETHING IN HIS NOSE AND WE USE TO JUST CALL HIM 'TOODLES' AND ONE DAY HIS DAD SCREECHED INTO THE SCHOOL PARKING LOT AT ABOUT 90MPH AND LEAPT OUT OF THE CAR AND BOUNDED UP THE LANE INTO THE SCHOOL CARRYING THIS GIANT POT. TOODLES WAS HANGING AROUND BY HIMSELF SMELLING LIKE POO LIKE HE ALWAYS DID AND NEXT THING YOU KNOW HIS DAD IS JUST SCREAMING AT HIM ABOUT HOW HE BURNT SOME RICE IN THE POT LAST NIGHT. AND THEN HE TURNS TO THE CROWD OF CURIOUS STUDENTS STANDING IN A BIT OF A SEMI-CIRCLE, AND HE SHOWS US THE POT WHICH HAS BITS OF BURNT RICE STUCK TO THE BOTTOM AND HE YELLS OUT "THIS!! THIS IS A FIRE!!"

SO IN CUBS OUR CAMP 'LEADERS' ALL HAD THESE RIDICULOUS FAKE NAMES THAT WHERE TAKEN FROM THE JUNGLE BOOK AND WE WERE SUPPOSE TO ADDRESS THEM AS SUCH. NONE OF THE KIDS WHERE VERY HAPPY WITH THIS, AND EVEN AT AN EARLY AGE WE ALL REALIZED OUR CAMP WAS BEING RUN BY A BUNCH OF NERDY TRY-HARDS WHO SEEMED TO HAVE A THING IF YOUNG BOYS CALLED THEM 'AKELA' OR 'BALOO'.

ANYWAY SO WE HAD TO DO THIS WINTER CAMP ENDURANCE EMBARASSMENT. IT BOILED DOWN TO SPENDING A FRIGID NIGHT IN A GODDAMNED BARN IN JANUARY. IT WAS AWFUL. I REMEMBER THERE WAS THIS FAT KID NAMED MARK WHO SPENT THE ENTIRE NIGHT MAKING ALL THESE LITTLE LABOROUS NOISES AND GENERALLY SOUNDING FOR ALL THE WORLD LIKE A BEACHED WHALE. I ALSO REMEMBER AT ABOUT 2 IN THE MORNING (BECAUSE IT WAS TOO COLD TO SLEEP), SOMEONE TOLD MARK THAT THERE WERE 'CORN CHIPS' HIDDEN IN THE HAY SOMEWHERE, AND THEN MARK WENT VERY STILL FOR A WHILE AND THEN 15 MINUTES LATER WE HEARD HIM MUNCHING. SINCE THERE WERE NO 'CORN CHIPS' WE ASSUMED HE WAS ACTUALLY EATING HAY.

SO ANYWAY THE LAST DAY OF THIS WINTER CAMP ABORTION WE WAKE UP TO FIND OUT THE CAMP LEADERS HAVE DECIDED TO TEACH US HOW TO USE A COMPASS. WE ARE TIRED, BROKEN MEN AT THIS POINT AND IN NO MOOD FOR THESE SHENANINGANS. AKELA OR AKIRA OR WHATEVER IS THRUSTING THESE PIECES OF PAPER WITH INSTRUCTIONS TO ALL THE KIDS. THERE HAVE GOT TO BE ABOUT 400 DIRECTIONS ON THIS PAPER, ALL SAYING THINGS LIKE "GO 55 DEGREES NWN FOR 400 PACES UNTIL YOU SEE A TREE SHAPED LIKE A VULVA".

WE ALL GROAN AND THAT FRUIT "BALOO" EXPLAINS TO US THAT THERE'S A BIG SURPRISE WAITING FOR US AT THE END OF OUR "COMPASS QUEST". MORE GROANING. "BALOO" GIVES US THIS WINNING SMILE AND CRIES OUT "IT'S CHOCOLATE!!!!!"

NOW AT THIS POINT WE ARE DEFINITELY IN A BIG SNOWY FIELD IN THE MIDDLE OF NOWHERE AND TO OUR RIGHT IN THE FAR DISTANCE YOU CAN SEE THE WOODS, AND EVERYWHERE ELSE IT'S JUST HORIZON. THERE IS ONE LONELY LITTLE SHED STICKING OUT OF THE GROUND LIKE A BROKEN TOOTH A MILE AWAY.

THEN ADRIAN SAYS "IS THE CHOCOLATE IN THAT SHED?" AND "BALOO" SAYS "WHAT?" AND THEN I REMEMBER WE ALL STARTED RUNNING TO THE SHED DESPITE THE CRIES AND PLEAS FROM THE COUNSELORS AND SURE ENOUGH THERE'S A BUNCH OF GODDAMNED CHOCOLATE EASTER BUNNIES FROM WHO KNOWS WHAT YEAR STACKED UP IN THE SHED. IT WAS AWESOME. WE DIDN'T HAVE TO DO THE COMPASS QUEST.

OH AND VERY QUICKLY

I WAS PLAYING MONOPOLY WITH KYLE ONCE, AND THIS KID SERIOUSLY CAN'T GET ANYTHING STRAIGHT AND DEFINITELY IS NO GOOD AT ANY BOARD GAME AND WHENEVER WE PLAYED MONOPOLY HE WAS USUALLY BUST BY THE THIRD OR FOURTH TIME HE WENT AROUND 'GO'.

ANYWAY THIS ONE TIME HE WENT OUT EXCEPTIONALLY EARLY, EVEN FOR HIM, AND HE THREW HIS LITTLE METAL IRON PIECE ACROSS THE ROOM IN ANGER AND YELLED OUT "I HATE BEING BANK-ROBBED!!!"

SO I WAS AT THE VIDEO STORE A FEW MONTHS AGO AND THIS GUY AND THIS GIRL WERE LOOKING AT THE NEW RELEASES AND THE GUY SAID "HAVE YOU SEEN AVIATOR? AND THE GIRL SAID "AVIAWHAT?"

ALRIGHT SO TODAY THERE'S GOING TO BE A FEW STORIES FROM DAYTONA BEACH. SIX YEARS AGO, WHEN I WAS SEVENTEEN, MY FRIEND MATT AND I PRETTY MUCH STOLE 30K FROM OUR SCHOOL. SOME OF THE MONEY WENT TO FUND AN OUTDOOR KEG-PARTY WEEKEND THING IN MONTREAL, BUT A LOT OF IT WAS FUNNELED INTO A TRIP TO DAYTONA FOR US AND ABOUT 50 OF OUR FRIENDS. WE RENTED OUT WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN THE MOST DERELICT SHANTY-MOTEL ON THE ATLANTIC STRIP, AND HAD ONE OF THE BEST TIMES OF OUR LIVES.

ALRIGHT SO WE'VE SURVIVED A 22-HOUR BUSRIDE FROM OTTAWA TO FLORIDA THAT INVOLVED CARL THE WEINER-BOY COMPLAINING ABOUT EVERYTHING, CHRIS BITCHING ABOUT EVERYONE NEEDING TO USE THE BATHROOM IN THE BACK, AND JASON BREAKING HIS BRAND NEW PORTABLE DVD-PLAYER, ONE OF THE FIRST MODELS EVER MADE.

WE GET TO DAYTONA AS THE SUN RISES. WE PARK IN FRONT OF THE SEEDIEST ESTABLISHMENT I HAVE EVER LAID EYES ON, AND ARE IMMEDIATELY GREETED BY A WIZENED OLD LADY WHO IS DISTRIBUTING TOWELS AND ROOM KEYS LIKE RATIONS AMONG THE TROOPS. SHE CLAIMS HER NAME IS 'ESMERELDA' BUT SHE LOOKS LIKE A JANE TO ME. SHE QUICKLY LAUNCHES INTO A FASCINATING TIRADE ABOUT HOW IF ANY OF THE FACILITIES IN THE MOTEL DON'T WORK, IT IS BECAUSE WE HAVE ALREADY BROKEN THEM.

I, OF COURSE, AM ALREADY RUNNING TOWARDS THE BEACH. I JUMP IN THE WATER AND SWIM OUT ABOUT 50 FEET AT WHICH POINT I AM STUNG BY A JELLYFISH AND GO INTO ANAPHYLACTIC SHOCK. JASON, ALWAYS A BRO, JUMPS IN THE WATER AND HELPS ME GET OUT. WITH MY ARM OVER HIS SHOULDER I STAGGER TO THE FRONT DESK WHERE ESMERLDA IS NOW EXCITEDLY GOING OVER THE LIST-OF-THINGS-THAT-WILL-LOSE-US-OUR-DEPOSITS. I TELL HER SHE NEEDS TO CALL AN AMBULANCE AND SHE GIVES ME A SOUR LOOK. "WHAT ABOUT A CAB?" SHE SAYS?

"I DON'T REALLY HAVE TIME FOR A CAB, I'M DYING" I REPLY SHORTLY.

ESMERELDA BEGINS TO HAGGLE. "LOOK, WHY DON'T WE CALL A CAB FIRST, AND THEN IF IT GETS REALLY BAD WE'LL CALL AN AMBULANCE" SHE SAYS DOUBTFULLY. CLEARLY SHE DOESN'T WANT AN AMBULANCE PARKED IN FRONT OF HER RAT-INFESTED MOTEL.

JASON RUNS INSIDE THE MOTEL AND CALLS AN AMBULANCE WHILE ESMERELDA AND I CONTINUE TO ARGUE OVER THE RELATIVE MERITS OF AMBULANCE VS CAB. FORTUNATELY THERE'S ONE NEARBY AND THEY STOP BY THE MOTEL AND PUT ME ON THE STRETCHER AND TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL. JASON JUMPS IN THE BACK WITH ME.

AT THE HOSPITAL I GO THROUGH THE USUAL - ADRENALINE, NOREPIPINEPHRINE, AND A TON OF BENADRYL DUMPED DIRECTLY INTO THE IV. AS YOU ALL KNOW, BENADRYL MAKES YOU VERY SLEEPY, ESPECIALLY WHEN YOU HAVE A HUGE DOSE PUMPED INTO YOU INTRAVENOUSLY. WITHIN ABOUT 20 MINUTES I AM SO SLEEPY I CAN BARELY STAND UP, YET AM BEING VERY STUBBORN ABOUT GOING BACK TO THE BEACH. AN HOUR LATER I AM IN THE CLEAR AND RELEASED, DESPITE THE NURSE THINKING I SHOULD STAY OVERNIGHT.

JASON AND I MAKE SOME EDUCATED GUESSES AND FIND A BUS THAT WILL GET US BACK NEAR OUR HOTEL. I CAN BARELY STAND ON THE BUS. I'M STILL IN A WET BATHING SUIT AND TSHIRT AND THAT NOSE-PLUG THING THAT DELIVERS OXYGEN IS DANGLING OUT OF MY POCKET AND I'M TOTTERING ALL OVER THE PLACE. THE BUS STOPS AND OUR MOTEL IS IN SIGHT. THE DOORS IN THE BACK OPEN UP AND I FALL OUT OF THE BUS AND LAND RIGHT ON MY FACE. GASH OPEN MY HEAD AND FALL ASLEEP AT THE SAME TIME. JASON WAKES ME UP, HE LOOKS REALLY CONCERNED.

WE SLOWLY MAKE OUR WAY BACK TO THE MOTEL WITH BLOOD POURING DOWN MY FACE AND BYSTANDERS STARING AT US. WE GET INTO OUR HOTEL ROOM AND I FALL ASLEEP FOR ABOUT 20 HOURS. SO MUCH FOR DAY 1 AT DAYTONA.

WHEN I WAKE UP I IMMEDIATELY FEEL LIKE GOING SWIMMING. I OPEN THE DOOR AND WALK OUTSIDE AND MAKE MY WAY DOWN TO THE BEACH. 20 FEET LATER I SUDDENLY GET VERY TIRED AGAIN, AND SPOT A HOT-TUB FULL OF ELDERY PEOPLE OVER THE FENCE BEHIND THE HUGE HOLIDAY INN THAT'S RIGHT NEXT TO US. I DECIDE THAT'S MUCH CLOSER AND CLIMB THE FENCE AND START WALKING TOWARDS ALL THESE OLD PEOPLE.

THIS HOT TUB MUST HAVE ABOUT TWO DOZEN OCTOGENARIANS CRAMMED IN THERE LIKE SARDINES, AND THEY ARE ALL STARING AT ME. OF COURSE I HAVE A TON OF DRIED BLOOD ON MY FACE BUT I DON'T REMEMBER THAT, AND I MUST LOOK LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF A HORROR MOVIE AS I WOBBLED TOWARDS THEM. A FEW REALLY OLD WOMEN WITH LOOKS OF ABSOLUTE TERROR ON THEIR FACES PUSH AWAY FROM ME AS I EASE MYSELF INTO THE HOTTUB.

I'M STILL IN MY BATHING SUIT SO THINGS ARE LOOKING GOOD, BUT WHEN I TAKE MY TSHIRT OFF LIFE STARTS TO GET INTERESTING. I'M TOTALLY COVERED IN THOSE LITTLE ELECTRODE-MONITOR THINGS THAT LOOK LIKE LITTLE METAL NIPPLES. THEY'RE STUCK ALL OVER MY BODY FROM WHEN I WAS HAVING MY VITAL SIGNS OBSERVED. I DON'T REALIZE THIS. PRETTY SOON THE BUBBLING WATER WORKS ITS MAGIC AND MY GERIATRIC AUDIENCE WATCHES IN AMAZEMENT AND DISGUST AS SEVERAL OF THESE LITTLE THINGS LOOSEN FROM MY BODY AND START FLOATING AROUND THE HOTTUB. EVERYONE'S AVOIDING ME BUT NOBODY'S GETTING OUT. I JUST SIT THERE BLISSFULLY, MY FACE CAKED IN BLOOD AND DIRT AND A LITTLE SPHERE OF ELECTRODE-MONITORS BOBBING AROUND ME LIKE LITTLE SILVER WATER-LILLIES.

FINALLY THIS ONE OLD MAN ACROSS ME STARTS SHOOTING THESE BALEFUL LOOKS AT HIS COMPATRIOTS, AND THEN ADDRESSES ME DIRECTLY: "SON, YOUR HOO-HAS ARE FLOATIN' AROUND THE POO'"

DAY THREE AT DAYTONA: MARK, JASON, CHRIS AND I ARE SITTING AROUND COMFORTABLY IN OUR HOTEL ROOM. THE DAY BEFORE JASON HAD BOUGHT A STUFFED CRAB FROM THE GROCERY STORE AND 'ACCIDENTLY' LEFT IT IN THE MICROWAVE FOR ALMOST HALF AN HOUR. THE RESULTING SMELL WAS SO BAD AND SO PERMANENT THAT WE WERE MOVED TO ANOTHER ROOM. THIS WAS JUST FINE AND DANDY, AS OUR OLD ROOM HAD A MALFUNCTIONING TOILET.

SO WE'RE SITTING AROUND DRINKING WHEN CARL THE WIENER-BOY BURSTS IN AND TELLS US OUR HOTEL IS BEING RAIDED BY THE POLICE. YOU NEED TO MEET CARL TO UNDERSTAND HIM. HE IS CONSTANTLY HIGH-STRUNG AND EVEN THE MOST PERFUNCTORY ACTION IS THE BIGGEST DEAL TO HIM.

JASON BELCHES PEACEABLY. "WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT NOW, CARL"

CARL IS LOOKING AROUND HIM WILDLY. "THE COPS! THE COPS ARE HERE AND THEY'RE BREAKING INTO EVERYONE'S ROOM AND LOOKING FOR ALCOHOL AND ARRESTING ANYONE WHO ISN'T 21!!!"

MARK LOOKS AROUND HIM AT THE IMPRESSIVE ARRAY OF LIQUOR WE'VE GOT WITH US. WE PROBABLY HAVE THE MOST ALCOHOL OUT OF EVERYONE IN THE MOTEL. HE LOOKS AT ME INQUISITIVELY. "CARL, GO HOME" HE SAYS.

IT'S TOO LATE - CARL'S ALREADY JUMPED OVER ONE OF THE BEDS AND IS RUNNING TOWARDS SEVERAL BOTTLES OF HARD LIQUOR ON THE MANTLE. HE GRABS A 60 OF RUM AND ONE OF WHISKY AND RUNS INTO THE BATHROOM.

THIS SHIT DEFINITELY DOESN'T FLY IN OUR PARTICULAR MOTEL ROOM. I TELL JASON TO START PUTTING THE ALCOHOL INTO EMPTY COKE BOTTLES AND LARGE CUPS FOR NOW, AND FOLLOW MARK INTO THE BATHROOM, WHERE CARL HAS BEGUN TO POUR WHISKEY DOWN THE BATHTUB. MARK SLAPS CARL IN THE FACE, HARD.

"CARL YOU LITTLE WEINER, GET OUT OF HERE!" MARK BELLOWS.

CARL LOOKS AT MARK, THEN AT ME, AND MAKES SOME SORT OF FEEBLE REMONSTRATION ABOUT HOW WE NEED TO GET RID OF THE ALCOHOL. MARK REMAINS UNMOVED AND WE ESCORT CARL OUT.

WHEN I OPEN THE FRONT DOOR (WE'RE ON THE THIRD FLOOR), I NOTICED AN UNUSUAL AMOUNT OF MY FRIENDS MILLING ABOUT ON THE BALCONY BELOW US LOOKING UNCOMFORTABLE, AND SEE SEVERAL POLICE OFFICERS DOING A BIT OF A METHODICAL SEARCH. CARL'S LITTLE SPASM ISN'T ENTIRELY FABRICATED, IT SEEMS.

WE EMPTY THE LAST OF OUR ALCOHOL INTO TWO LITER BOTTLES AND ABOUT A DOZEN PLASTIC CUPS, AND THROW THE BOTTLES OUT THE BACK WINDOW ONTO THE BEACH. A MINUTE LATER THERE'S A KNOCK ON OUR DOOR AND COPS COME INTO OUR ROOM. THEY'RE VERY FRIENDLY AND POLITE, AND SAY THERE HAVE BEEN COMPLAINTS OF UNDERAGE DRINKING AND THEY KNOW IT'S SPRING BREAK BUT THEY NEED TO DO THEIR JOBS. THEY DON'T LOOK VERY HARD, AND LEAVE QUICKLY.

THIS CALLS FOR A CELEBRATION. MARK, JASON, CHRIS AND I ALL GRAB A RANDOM CUP EACH AND START DOING SHOTS.

OF COURSE JASON, IN HIS UNENDING HASTE, JUST HAD TO EMPTY A BOTTLE OF RUBBING ALCOHOL CHRIS'S MOM PACKED IN HIS KNAPSACK INTO A CUP, AND OF COURSE I JUST HAD TO CHOOSE THAT PARTICULAR CUP FOR MY CELEBRATION. SINCE I'M ALREADY DRUNK I CAN'T REALLY TASTE THE DIFFERENCE, BUT TEN MINUTES LATER I KNOW SOMETHING'S WRONG. I GO DOWNSTAIRS WITH JASON, WHERE I PLAN TO SIT IN THE LOBBY UNTIL THINGS EITHER GET BETTER OR I NEED ANOTHER AMBULANCE. I DON'T REALLY MAKE IT THAT FAR - ON THE FIRST FLOOR I KIND OF FALL OVER AND CAN'T STAND UP ANYMORE. I REMEMBER BEING REALLY DIZZY. ANOTHER MINUTE AND I'M PASSED OUT FACE DOWN.

NOW FOR SOME WEIRD REASON THIS ONE KID I DON'T REALLY KNOW THAT WELL SUDDENLY COMES INTO THE PICTURE (WORD TRAVELS FAST IN THE MOTEL WHEN THERE'S TROUBLE AND THERE'S ALREADY ABOUT 30 KIDS STANDING AROUND ME). ANYWAY THIS KID, ROBBIE, APPARENTLY SHOUTS OUT SOMETHING ALONG THE LINES OF "I'VE WATCHED A VIDEO ON SAFETY" AND LEAPS INTO THE FRAY. FROM WHAT I'VE HEARD HE LOOKS ME UP AND DOWN AND ISSUS HIS EXPERT OPINION THAT I NEED TO BE ON MY SIDE. HE THEN GRABS ME BY THE BACK OF MY HEAD AND PULLS MY HEAD UP. UNFORTUNATELY I'M SOAKING WET, IN SOME SORT OF WEIRD COLD-SWEAT, AND ROBBIE'S EXPERT GRIP FAILS HIM. MY HEAD CRASHES BACK DOWN AND I RIP MY HEAD OPEN AGAIN ON THE HALL FLOOR. AMBULANCE COMES, JASON ONCE AGAIN HOPS IN THE BACK. WHEN I RETURN LATER THAT NIGHT ESMERELDA GIVES ME A WITHERING LOOK.

MAN SO IN GRADE 1 I HAD MY FIRST 'CRUSH' ON THIS GIRL NAMED PAMELA WHO WAS THE FASTEST KID IN SCHOOL. SHE WAS IN MY GYM CLASS AND WE USE TO START OFF GYM WITH OUR IDIOT TEACHER MR. BILEN PUTTING IN SOME 80S JAM IN THE TAPEDECK AND THEN WE'D ALL RUN LAPS TO 'GET OUT OF MY DREAMS, GET INTO MY CAR!!' OR SOMETHING. ANYWAY PAMELA WOULD ALWAYS LAP THE REST OF THE CLASS WITHIN MINUTES. FUCK SHE WAS FAST.

ANYWAY ONE DAY AT LUNCH IN THE PLAYGROUND I DON'T REALLY REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED BUT I DID SOMETHING SUPER NICE FOR HER OR I HELPED HER UP WHEN SHE FELL OR SOMETHING, BUT ANYWAY SHE DECIDED TO 'REWARD' ME BY TELLING ME ON MONDAY WE COULD HOLD HANDS WHILE WE RAN LAPS AROUND THE GYM. IT WAS LIKE TUESDAY AT THIS POINT.

SO EVERY DAY THAT WEEK AFTER SCHOOL I WOULD GO HOME AND RUN LAPS AROUND MY HOUSE, TRYING TO GET FASTER. I WAS SO WORRIED THAT SHE WOULD BE DRAGGING ME BEHIND HER IN FRONT OF THE WHOLE CLASS AT GYM. I THINK ACTUALLY DID GET FASTER, BUT I WAS STILL WORRIED. SUNDAY NIGHT FOUND ME IN MY ROOM CRYING BECAUSE I STILL DIDN'T THINK I WAS FAST ENOUGH AND WAS SERIOUSLY TERRIFIED AND DIDN'T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL.

NEXT DAY AT GYM PAMELA SINGLES ME OUT RIGHT AWAY AND TELLS ME TO HOLD HER HAND. WE'RE ALL STANDING AROUND AT THIS POINT AND MR. BILEN PUTS IN THE FLAVOR OF THE WEEK AND WE ALL START RUNNING. INSTANTLY I FEEL MYSELF GETTING YANKED FORWARD BY PAMELA WHO IS MOVING LIKE A GODDAMNED BULLET AND SHE KEEPS YELLING 'FASTER!! FASTER!!' AND SHE'S STRINGING ME ALL AROUND THE GODDAMNED GYM AND IT'S JUST LIKE MY NIGHTMARES.

ANYWAY EVERYTIME SHE KEEPS YELLING 'FASTER!!' I ACTUALLY MAKE AN EFFORT TO SOMEHOW RUN 'HARDER' AND IT'S TOTALLY WORKING. BY LIKE THE 8TH OR 9TH TIME SHE'S YELLED OUT 'FASTER!!' I'M ACTUALLY KEEPING UP WITH HER AND I FEEL LIKE GODDAMNED HERME HIMSELF AND THEN SHE YELLS OUT 'FASTER!!' AND I ACTUALLY START BEATING HER. AND THEN SHE YELLS OUT 'OKAY THAT'S TOO FAST!' AND I REMEMBER THE WHOLE CLASS IS JUST STARING AT ME IN TOTAL DISBELIEF AND EVEN MR. BILEN SEEMS TO HAVE LOST SOME OF HIS COLOR AND FOR THE REST OF ELEMENTARY I WAS THE FASTEST KID IN SCHOOL.

ALRIGHT SO I SHOWED PROMISE IN PRESCHOOL AND WAS CHOSEN FOR THIS SPECIAL 'EARLY START' PROGRAM WITH 3 OTHER LOSERS IN MY PROVINCE AND WE SPENT THE MAJORITY OF OUR KINDERGARTEN YEAR IN A MUSEUM. KIND OF SWEET, BUT I DIDN'T LEARN MUCH AND WHEN I WENT TO A REGULAR ELEMENTARY SCHOOL IN GRADE ONE I WAS THROWN INTO THESE SPECIAL 'ENRICHMENT' CLASSES BECAUSE OF IT. ENRICHMENT SUCKED. IT WAS DONE OVER HALF OF OUR LUNCH AND THE 'BRIGHT' KIDS FROM GRADES 1-6 WOULD GET TOGETHER AND WE'D BE GIVEN THESE RIDICULOUS PROJECTS.

ANYWAY I REMEMBER THIS ONE YEAR THE PROJECT FOR THE ENRICHMENT KIDS IN GRADES 1-3 WAS TO DO SOME LOSER PRESENTATION OF 'THE LOON' OR SOMETHING, WHICH WAS THIS TOTALLY RANDOM INDIAN/NATIVE AMERICAN NARRATIVE THAT INVOLVED THINGS LIKE TREE SPIRITS AND MENORRAHS AND THINGS OF THAT NATURE.

[cassholte-blog]

( emma dumont | she/her | cisfemale ) livin’ in the sprawl can be interesting for CASSANDRA ‘CASSIE’ HOLTE. the 23 year old is a STREET RACER & DRUG DEALER living in an APARTMENT when i met them, they seemed kind of POLITE, but also kind of HEADSTRONG. who knows what they’ll be like? [ SMELL OF BURNING TIRES, CIGARETTE ASH FALLING, TASTE OF IRON, BROKEN MIRRORS, A BLUNT AXE, SCREAMING AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS, THE WAY HOPE FEELS LIKE A PLASTIC BAG OVER YOUR HEAD, COFFEE AT MIDNIGHT, HEART-SHAPED BRUISES, DRIED BLOOD AND SPILLED LIQUOR. ] ( chels | 20 | GMT | she/her )

    [ sup fellas? im chels and i play cass right here!! she’s broody, angry, won’t       take shit from nobody & here’s her intro right under the cut! ]

cassie holte was born to dr. jack and linda holte in michigan

daddy left when she was 8, so she and her mama moved back to her grandma’s hometown, black sheep. 

grew up pretty poor, ended up being bullied and outcast for being a nerd & the lunch lady’s daughter. this was soft cassie. but trust me, getting punched and taunted at enough can leave you to become a very fucked up, scared, angry being. 

tough cassie comes in when her mother got arrested for beating up one of the boys who was harassing her. thankfully, her mother never got incarcerated. why? cause she hung herself in her cell. cass had to spend time in a halfway house..

16 at the time, she was adopted into an amazing family in black sheep, the perfect power family who loved the sun, the sea, and life. oh yeah, cassie didn’t -- they couldn’t understand why.

she blamed herself for her mom’s death. 

she blamed herself for her dad’s leaving. 

she blamed herself for being inadequate.

they let her have driving lessons, and being in a car was the first time she felt empowered. that meant she didn’t have to think about her past life anymore. she could just be angry girl in a loud car. not lost girl, stuck being a freak.

so when she was done and good at 18, cassie moved out without a single cent or phone call. she didnt wanna be a burden on them anymore. she wasn’t their family.

started dealing drugs back in high school, and when that was done, she started doing it full time, carrying drugs around in her car, selling it to whoever who wanted some.

quickly, she met with some people who taught her to use that empowerment & do something fun with it. street racing. these people became her new friends, and taught her to become everything she is now. 

now she’s a street racer pulling in decent enough cash to stay away from the rest of the world. no one else needs to know how much of a freak she is. 

including the fact that she’s never dated anyone, kissed anyone, had sex with anyone. 

and the fact that she doesn’t really let herself get close to anyone because honestly, who wants to be friends with a freak like her? so she’s flighty as fuck. 

oh and the fact that she’s actually seen her fellow street racers die next to her so that’s never fun. she blames herself for the ones that didn’t deserve it. 

personality wise: she’s broody, she can be angry and she definitely can bite back hard. however, she’s not a bad person, she’s got good morals, she never does anything that would actively harm the other person if they didn’t deserve it. definitely slightly sociopathic, but she tries her best. is actually soft and gooey inside, she’s just terrified of it, because she’s worried she’d actually be some weird freak of nature. she can be friendly, if you’re nice enough to her at first. also very vulgar. be ready for some creative swears. 

STATS - Name: Cassandra ‘Cassie’ Holte - Age: 23 - Sexuality: Bisexual

[ right, so thats all I have so far! hit me up if you wanna  plot or write with cassie! ]

[bad-beats]

A Bowl of Bad Beets - Bad Beets Ch. 5 (12/16-1/5)

Ladies. Gentleman. Boy. Girls. Cats. Dogs. Degenerate Gamblers. Bookies. Welcome back to the Bad Beets Blog! I hope you had a fantastic holiday season and that your Sunday Scaries weren’t as bad as mine after my two-week absence from the office. This past month was full of NCAA bowl games, and bowl game szn and bad beet szn are basically synonymous. I already broke my New Year’s Resolution of having zero Bad Beets in 2020. Nonetheless, I am here to provide entertainment for all of you (albeit that it is in the form of my gambling misfortune). Let’s get after it.

12/17/19

League: NBA

Bet: Magic vs Jazz Under 209 (-110)

Units: 1.1 to win 1

Welcome back to another thrilling episode of “Life is too short to bet the under.” Thanks for being a recurring viewer. This is a classic NBA scenario: Magic down 1 with a minute left. Jazz score two buckets in a row. Magic play the fouling game to try to decrease the deficit. Jazz don’t miss free throws. 10 points scored in the final minute.

Bad Beet #1 just dips its feet in the water compared to the beets that are to come in the rest of this article.

12/18/19

League: NBA

Bet: Cavaliers -3 (-110)

Units: 2.2 to win 2

I will definitely take part of the blame for this beet. Why the hell I thought it was feasible that the Cavs could cover a 3-point spread at home is beyond me. The Cavaliers should never be favorites. Unfortunately, I didn’t listen to logic and took them -3 anyway. For most of the game, I was pretty proud of myself for this bet - I thought I had outsmarted Vegas. The Cavs were up double digits almost wire to wire. They took a 12-point lead into the fourth quarter. They were up 10 with 3:08 left in the game.

Enter “Scary Terry” Rozier. The guy couldn’t miss a three during the final 60 seconds. He channeled his inner Jimmer Fredette, pulling threes from 28+ feet.

Larry Nance Jr. missed a free throw with 31 seconds left with the Cavs up 5, and of course, Scary Terry drained a 28-footer just seconds later to cut the deficit to 2. Not to fear though, the Cavs got the ball back and were about to get fouled and head back to the line to try to cover again, right? WRONG! Colin Sexton dribbled the ball of his foot, turning the ball right back over to the Hornets. Scary Terry had a chance to win the game, but it rimmed in and out and the Cavs secured the rebound. With only a few seconds left, the Hornets didn’t foul, the Cavs didn’t get to shoot free throws, and they somehow didn’t cover the -3, and I couldn’t even escape with a push.

I forgot to mention that the Cavs had a 96% chance to cover with just three minutes left in the game according to The Action Network (@ActionNetworkHQ on Twitter). Bad Beet #2 of the week can be attributed to Scary Terry and the Lebron-less Cleveland Cavaliers.

12/19/19

League: NHL

Bet: Blackhawks vs Jets 1P over 1.5 (-150)

Units: 2.75 to win 1.85

As I have mentioned in previous blogs, there is little that is more exhilarating than betting first-period hockey totals. These bets can be instant wins if you take the over and the score is 1-1 after 2:33 seconds, or you can lose an under on a last-second goal 19:54 into the period. I love betting on the Blackhawks first-period overs this season because their defense ranks in the bottom third in goals allowed and they give up the most shots in the entire league at a whopping 35.95 per game. On the flip side of the puck, Patrick Kane can find the net faster than a fat kid can find a sleeve of Oreos.

The Hawks scored on the first shot of the game, 0:59 into the period. Alex Nylander beautifully put it home, and my bet was already halfway there with 95% of the time in the period remaining.

Someone please explain to me how the fuck one goal is scored on this first shot, and zero goals are scored on the following 28 shots. FUCK. Bad Beet #3 of the week. No words for this one.

12/21/19

League: NHL

Bet: Jets vs Wild 1P under 1.5 (Even)

Units: 0.8 to win 0.8

Remember how in the previous beet the Winnipeg Jets scored 0 goals off of 17 shots in the first period and screwed me out 1.85 units? These mother fuckers are the worst. In an uneventful first period against the Wild, they committed a penalty in a 0-0 game with just 6:30 remaining, proceeded to score a SHORTHANDED GOAL with 5 minutes left in the period, and for good measure scored with 6 seconds left to take a 2-0 lead into the break.

Fuck me. The Jets are on my shitlist. Bad Beet #4 of the week would have been non-existent if the Wild keeper could have not sucked for just 6 seconds longer (P.S. The Jets would go on to win this game 6-0).

3/26/2003

This is the day that the “Catch me outside, how bout dat,” girl was born. Also known as Danielle Bregoli, or by her rap name “Bhad Bhabie,” she is the queen of producing some absolutely horrific music during her short rap career.

I think it would be more appropriate to call her “Bhad Bheets.” Sheesh.

12/23/19

League: NCAAF - Bad Boy Mowers Gasparilla Bowl

Bet: Live Bet - UCF vs Marshall over 73.5 (+155)

Units: 2.5 to win 3.85

I LOVE COLLEGE BOWL SEASON. I am a big proponent of these games: coaches are more inclined to go for it on 4th down, there are generally some crazy trick plays, and both teams have a similar chance to win the game. You all know how much I love betting the over, and for college bowl season, I bet the over 85% of the time (which doesn’t end up working out for me). However, on this game, I had such a good read on the over that I obviously took over 59.5 before the game started. UCF plays such with a rapid tempo, and I had a feeling this could turn into a shootout-esque game. Feeling greedy, I took the live bet over 73.5 (+155) sometime in the 2nd quarter. The score at halftime was 24-7. After a 39-point third quarter, I only needed 4 points in the last quarter of the game to hit my live bet. UCF kicked a field goal with 9:04 remaining in the game. I needed one singular point over the last 9 minutes of the game. Here are the final two drives...

Marshall went on a 12 play, 48-yard drive that stalled with a turnover on downs and ate up 4 minutes of clock. With UCF up 23, they weren’t using their usual fast-paced tempo to run their offense, which was unfortunate. However, they broke a 38-yard run with just over a minute left but got tackled at the Marshall 2-yard line. I was hoping they could just punch it in with a quick HB dive, which they attempted, and utterly failed, getting stuffed at the half-yard line. And that is how the game ended. 3 total points in the 4th, 73 overall and just a half-yard away from cashing this bet. Bad Beet #5 of the week gave me kidney stones.

1/1/2020

League: NCAAF - Sugar Bowl

Bet: Georgia vs Baylor over 42 (-120)

Units: 12 to win 10

I am not even going to go into how much this one hurt. I was having a rough New Year’s Day of gambling, so I decided I wanted to chase my losses (never a good idea, 10/10 would not recommend). I needed a bailout special just one day into the new year. I won’t go into a description of what happened in this bet because it will trigger me. I’ll just leave this here...

96% chance to cover the over 44 with 4:10 remaining in the 3rd quarter. 20 minutes of the game left, and I had the over 42, not even 44. I surmise that the cover % for the over 42 was closer to 98% at that point in the game. This beet motherfucked me. One of my worst of all time. #6 of the week and the first one of 2020. Definitely not a good omen for what is to come this gambling year.

1/3/2020

League: NCAAB

Bet: Illinois 1H +5.5 (-110)

Units: 2.2 to win 2

The Fighting Illini (my alma mater) basketball team has had a tail of two seasons. They have played like a top 25 team in the country at times, beating Michigan and annihilating Purdue at home, and also have choked away games at home to Miami and away at Maryland. This beet is unexplainable. Illinois hit a bucket with 0:34 left to decrease the deficit to just 5. MSU missed a layup with 27 seconds left and the Illini grabbed the board. There was no reason for MSU to even get another possession. With the shot clock turned off, Illinois could have held for the last shot of the half, and more importantly guaranteed a cover of the 5.5 point spread.

Just by reading the play-by-play, it looks like Trent Frazier committed the dumbest foul in the game with just one second left in the half, fouling a 3-point shooter as time expired. However, it was actually just the single worst call in basketball history (maybe an exaggeration, but my god was it a horrendous call). Take a look for yourself...

I hate how referees aren’t held accountable for their mistakes. The only job in the world where you can repeatedly mess up and have no repercussions. Going to be sending this ref a Venmo request for my 2.2 units back. Bad Beet #7 of the week was just plain assault.

1/2/2020

League: NBA

Bet: Heat 1H -3 (-110)

Units: 2.75 to win 2.5

The Miami Heat are 12-5-1 against the 1H spread at home this season. However, they could be 13-5 against the spread in the first half at home this season, if not for this horrible push. Miami was up 8 with the ball with 45 seconds left in the half. That’s all you need to know. They had no business not covering the 1H spread in this game.

The Raptors very eloquently executed the 2-for-1 situation at the end of the half, made a layup to shrink the deficit to 5, got a defensive board, and then OG Anunoby hit a buzzer-beater 3 to send the game to halftime with a 39-42 score. The Heat went scoreless over the last 2:14 of the half. Miserable push.

1/3/2020

League: NCAAF - Famous Idaho Potato Bowl

Bet: Live Bet - Ohio vs Nevada over 53.5 (-115)

Units: 3.5 to win 3

With a crazy name like the Famous Idaho Potato Bowl, obviously, something out of the ordinary was going to happen to my bet. Nevada was getting trounced by Ohio most of the game, but finally found some life in the 4th quarter, attempting to mount a furious comeback. They scored an early TD in the quarter, but botched the snap on the XP and could only come away with 6. They scored another TD soon after, which made the score 30-21.

*Insert inexplicably bad coaching decision #1*

The Nevada coach decided that he wanted to go for two points, down 9, to get that 2-point conversion out of the way. Literally every statistic screams to go for 1 in that scenario, make it an 8-point game to keep the deficit to only one score, and move on with the game. Obviously, Nevada didn’t successfully convert the 2-point try, so the score remained 30-21 with 8:49 remaining in the game. At this point in time, I only needed a FG to win my live bet of the over 53.5. Nevada stopped Ohio on their next drive, and got the ball down to 1st and goal with 4 minutes left, down by 2 scores.

*Insert inexplicably bad coaching decision #2*

Here is the play call on 1st and goal that the Nevada coach came up with...

WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU RUNNING A DOUBLE REVERSE ON 1ST AND GOAL WITH YOUR TEAM DOWN TWO SCORES?!?! OF COURSE YOU ARE GOING TO TURN IT OVER. FUCK. YOU FUCKED MY BET.

Turns out this wasn’t the play that sent my bet to the grave, although I wish it was because how I actually ended up losing was far worse. After the fumble, Nevada used all 3 of their timeouts and stopped Ohio again. They got the ball back with 2:45. On the first play of their drive, a Nevada receiver broke free down the middle of the field for what would have surely been a touchdown. The only problem was that Carson Strong overthrew him by about 6 inches. Two plays later, Strong aired one out to their best receiver, Elijah Cooks, who hauled the ball in at the Ohio 8-yard line. Down 2 scores, Nevada needed both a TD and a field goal to win the game. After 3 straight incomplete passes, the field goal kicker trotted out to make it a one-score game with 1:54 remaining.

Wait...where was the field goal kicker?

*Insert inexplicably bad coaching decision #3*

YOU CAN’T BE SERIOUS - THE ONLY EXPLANATION FOR WHY THE COACH WENT FOR IT ON 4TH AND GOAL FROM THE 8 WITH NO TIMEOUTS AND DOWN TWO SCORES WITH 1:54 LEFT IN THE GAME IS THAT HE BET ON OHIO! NO OTHER EXPLANATION. I NEED AN INVESTIGATION YESTERDAY! FUCK! BAD BEET #8 WAS ONE OF THE WORST BEETS OF MY LIFE!

1/4/2020

League: NCAAF - Lockheed Martin Armed Forces Bowl

Bet: Live Bet - Tulane vs Southern Miss over 49.5 (-115)

Units: 5.75 to win 5

Frankly, I am out of breath after describing that last beet. I placed this live bet early in the 3rd quarter. Tulane scored 24 unanswered in that quarter, leading 30-13 heading into the last 15 minutes of the game.

After a scoreless first 13 minutes of the 4th quarter, Southern Miss threw a pick in the endzone on 1st and goal. Icing on the shit cake. Bad Beet #9 committed necrophilia with the corpse that was left after Bad Beet #8.

Well, folks, I hope reading this blog was far less miserable than my gambling experiences have already been in 2020. Let’s recap:

Bad Beet Count: 9

Unit Swing: 36 to win 31.5 (67.5 unit swing)

Well, that’s all for this week folks. Please Like and Share on https://www.facebook.com/badbeetsblog/ to offset some of my gambling misery. See you next week!

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

This is My Blood

Blood is a fluid of life. And, as with life, we’ve had a bit of an odd relationship. At one time or another, I’ve colorized it, been taught how to drink and stop it, given it, then told I couldn’t.

I was in and out of the hospital a lot as a young child. Sometime between ages three and six, I had blood drawn and wholeheartedly believed it was was orange. Of course there were no witnesses to what I considered a medical miracle. The enthusiasm with which I reported my discovery to my mother and brother was understandably met with great skepticism. Instead of making the rounds on popular TV talk shows of the day like Sally Jesse Raphael, Donahue, or Geraldo, my unwavering conviction became a joke around the dinner table.

I would put on a veneer of calm, but remain seething underneath at the disbelief of those closest to me. I wanted to lash out, “You’ll see! One day, Phil Donahue is going to pick up my story; he just has to finish introducing hip-hop culture to a wider (whiter) audience first. I don’t care if the fainting spells some of his audience members experienced were staged. I’m going to be huge.”

Phil’s call never came. As colorblind as I was to the truth about my blood, I wanted to believe its orange hue was real. Part of me still does. Part of me always will. 

Growing up Catholic meant my faith tried to impress upon me that sacrifice was the highlight of the mass, and I'd damn well better pay attention because my soul was riding on the line. If I blinked, I might miss a process called transubstantiation, whereby bread and wine became the actual flesh and blood of Christ, not cheap knock-offs from a Chinese factory, not symbols, not representations (insert savory pun here).

I can’t tell you how many times I stood nearby an altar as a server and heard a priest say:

“Through the mingling of this water and wine, may we come to share in the divinity of Christ, who humbled himself to share in our humanity.”

Then a big one:

“Take this, all of you, and drink from it: This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven. Do this in memory of me.”

*bell rings*

If translators argued about how Latin should be translated into other languages, or if a translation isn’t valid, the consecration of the bread and wine may not be either, I argued that orange should be added to the words spoken by a priest during the consecration. This way, orange blood could be shed for me and for all, and account for any misremembrance (of me) when I finally got to see what really happened after I’d died. 

Why were we so concerned with the Last Supper anyway? If Christ humbled himself to share in our humanity, surely he had a sense of humor too? There's no way he got everything right on the first try. What if all the other suppers were dress rehearsals? Why don’t we hear about the outtakes and blooper reels that may be buried somewhere beneath the Vatican? A collection of Last Supper fuck-ups could have made my Catholic upbringing so much more relatable. 

Imagine:

“Take this, all of you and uh…. uh… LINE!”

“Cut! Peter! Quit playing with you your food! That’s it! You are no longer the rock upon which I will build my church. You’re going to deny me anyway…” 

“Oops. Can we edit that last prediction out and take it from the top? ROFL!”

“Lord, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this chicken is woefully undercooked. A skilled veterinarian could still save it.”

“Guys… I have a confession to make… I’m not God’s only son… In about 2,000 years, Steve McPherson from Eau Claire, Wisconsin is going to appear on something called television and tell a man named Phil Donahue that he has a shocking revelation to share with the world about his paternity. No one will believe him, but what he’ll have to say is true. It’s all part of the plan.”

I’ve never been much of an athlete. Still, as a native Ohioan and graduate of The Ohio State University, I’ve acquired a strong distaste for the Michigan Wolverines during my lifetime. My lack of athletic ability meant I didn’t have an opportunity to sacrifice my body (or blood) to defeat them on the gridiron. But during my freshman year, which coincided with the 2000 football season, I decided to try to beat *ichigan the best way I knew how: giving blood in the annual battle to see which university could donate more pints to the American Red Cross during the week of the game.

I sat in a chair designed to accommodate a blood donor and began squeezing the little ball I’d been given to regulate the flow of blood from my vein to the collection bag. Someone told me that giving blood wasn’t a race, but I forgot all about that as I watched the bag fill. It took me between six and seven minutes to donate my pint. I thought I wouldn’t need to eat a piece of Adriatico’s pizza (a thick, square-cut campus staple) that the same person said would be available if I felt lightheaded after donating. I stood up, and began to feel dizzy almost immediately. Having a piece of pizza sounded like a good idea after all.

By 2005, I had been to Serbia and back once in search of my next adventure. As much as I tried during and after college to distance myself from my humble beginnings, this was when I discovered the Tridentine Latin mass at Holy Family Church, and began to rededicate myself to the idea of religious piety.

The Tridentine mass attracted a more conservative, hardcore Catholic. I didn’t always see eye-to-eye with the attendees, but I enjoyed the solemnity of the celebration, the music, and the connection to a religious past that I’d only heard and read about; I was born almost twenty years after the guys at Vatican II decided having mass in local languages, instead of Latin, would make the faith more appealing to the masses (ha).

One of the more ardent attendees was Sister Margarita. Originally from Hungary, she’d been a medical doctor before becoming a bride of Christ. She emphatically stated that only males should serve mass, as only the blood of the new and everlasting covenant should be on the altar. I didn’t comprehend what she meant by this until a late-night shower thought I had several weeks later. When I finally connected the dots, I decided it was best to continue my studies and get back to the former Yugoslavia in pursuit of my dreams. I had to worry about my own body and blood after all.

I tried to donate blood again in 2013, while working for one of the largest financial institutions in the world. I’d been to Serbia and back twice more by then. I had a stable income for the first time in years, and lived in a place nicer than anywhere I’d ever been. Still, I never lost the desire to give back to the community that I learned from being a Boy Scout. Among the many things scouting taught me was first aid, including mnemonic devices such as, “If the head is pale, raise the tail” to help with blood flow, and tactics to handle bleeding events.

The bank frequently had philanthropic efforts, including blood drives,that didn’t make the news, which suited me just fine. I jumped at the chance to give blood again. I knew there was always a need, and I remembered how accomplished I felt during *ichigan week years before, despite feeling like I was going to pass out afterward.

I had to fill out a questionnaire before I could donate, so I was directed to sit a table behind the privacy of a curtain. I breezed through most of the questions until I came to one I really had to think about. It asked if I had spent more than four years in any of a list of counties between 1977 and the present. On the list was the former Yugoslavia. It was close, but I didn’t believe I'd spent more than four years there. I seriously thought about complaining that the question was unfair. I hadn’t been born until four years after the date range began, and I couldn’t account for all of my parents' whereabouts as they were carrying the egg and sperm cells that would later unite to create me.

Despite my reservations, I filled in the “yes” circle because I was nervous. A scout is trustworthy, but I couldn’t remember the exact dates of every flight I’d taken to and from the land of southern Slavs. Had I lied, no one would have known about it until well after the fact. I decided not to risk it then, but I still wonder if there’s a support group somewhere for people who’ve been blacklisted by the American Cross after inadvertently fibbing about their donation. If it was up to me, I’d call it: This is My Blood.

I can see the group meeting in a basement of a local Methodist church on Wednesdays to trade anemia anecdotes, AIDS adventures sickle-cell stories, and transfusion tales. There’d be lots of hugs, and somebody would always break down crying during story time. Me? I’d be content to sit quietly with my complementary coffee and doughnut, and have people wonder what terrible things I must have done to end up there because I never shared. 

A guy in scrubs came to collect my questionnaire and left me waiting like a game show contestant who’d given their answers confidently, but instantly regretted not being 100 percent certain once they realized their life could change for the better, or they could fail miserably. Adding to the tension, each contestant would be well aware that their potential elation (or agony) would only be amplified by the reactions of a studio audience filled strangers, and those yelling at their televisions while watching from home.  

Take this, all of you, and drink from it: This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant… 

I knew I didn’t have AIDS or another sexually transmitted disease, so I expected scrubs to return pretty quickly. Early Christians probably felt the same way about Jesus after his ultimate sacrifice. More that 2,000 years later, as my seconds of waiting turned into minutes, stories I’d heard of ancient blood oaths taken on the Balkans started swirling through my head. I’d never taken a blood oath that I could remember, but I do remember watching the scene from My Girl when Thomas J. and Vada became blood brothers. It was disgusting.

…it will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven…

I suddenly longed for forgiveness, not from God, but from the pencil I’d used to mark that regrettable, uncertain response. I couldn’t go back and tell them that while most recently in Serbia, I’d eaten a largely vegetarian diet, consistent with that of my self-described fat lawyer turned yoga teacher. It was too late.

No bells rang when scrubs finally pulled back the curtain after five minutes that felt like five hours. He admitted he’d never had anyone else answer yes to the question that included Yugoslavia, which was why he’d been gone so long. Then came the bombshell: He said answering yes to that question meant I might have Mad Cow Disease lying dormant in my brain, and I shouldn’t donate blood again until a vaccine was developed against Mad Cow Disease in humans. The fail sound from The Price is Right, my favorite game show, played in my ears. 

I don’t know what the symptoms of Mad Cow Disease in humans are, but for what it’s worth, I'm proud to say that I rarely moo with rage or regret. Until I can donate blood again, I encourage those who can to do so whenever possible.

Do this in memory of me.

[camillelafaye]

Can you brief me on the dynamic with Cam and Wood, like what happened she hates him?

i’ma copy paste some snippets from a lil thread @dontkillourvibe  and I did on their background, it’s JUICAAYYYYYY and it’s a good read but it’s pretty long so i’ll put it under a readmore!! 

The beginning…

When Wood was taken in by his Auntie Colleen (Drick’s mother - Detroit) he was a shattered pre-teen and met Camille just from being in the same neighborhood. Block actually. Once they became somewhat friends, he used to sneak out late at night, and jot a few houses down to her bedroom window.  He’d linger outside for hours just talking to her through the screen about things she had experienced and he’d even share personal and in depth stories of his experiences - his mother abandoning him and his brother and sister, the abuse he endured from his father, and the treatment of being in protective services and foster care. And these weren’t things that came easy to talk about from Wood, but Camille was his touch stone. She’d listen without pity or judgement. They had a connection - a solid connection he’s never had with anyone. And this was a huge honor as Wood’s mother ruined him of trusting any girl, or later in life, women.

Sure as to what brushed Camille away was his inconsistency. He was only sweet and sincere when they were alone, but around others, he’d front like she wasn’t anything special. He wasn’t mean to her, just closed off. This would be the start of what drove her mad about Wood. However, she’d still defended him to her friends and say ‘he’ll be all at mah house t’night, watch’. And he would be. She was confident in what they had together regardless of his behavior toward her during school or neighborhood friends. To Wood, he refused to let that guard down publicly but she understood, because she knew what he had gone through and no one else did.

A little later, he would become troublesome at home and in school and Camille would worry and try and speak some sense into him. He’d cool down for a bit, but it never lasted before he’d get into some trouble again. Then finally, Wood was gone. Rumor has it he had beaten a bully of Drick’s near death. Earlier at school while passing each other in the hallway, would be the last time Wood and Camille would see each other as young teenagers.

Drick would keep Camille informed of his case and whereabouts and Wood and Camille would eventually began writing back and forth. But as all good things come to an end, the writing became less and less over time. After all, 6 years in prison is a long time. Wood had been charged as an adult for the assault of the bully. And to this day, the bully has no memory of the incident and is also mentally impaired. Wood and his trusty baseball bat were famous in the neighborhood and no one ever messed with Drick again.

19 and free, Wood is back at Auntie Colleen’s and while he’s tethered, he can still go out for work. Instead, he travels down the street to Camille. They’ve both grown and filled out and immediately, there’s strong physical attraction unlike he’s ever felt.

This attraction isn’t anything less than fully returned by Camille. Even from before her maturing and noting what caught her eye about him physically, there were much more deeply rooted sources of her gravitation toward him. With how unorthodox her own rearing was, Camille was predisposed to male company. It was her norm–as she was reared, and mostly in the company of, men far older than herself. Wood (unknowingly, perhaps) shared far too many traits of Camille’s grandfather for her not to be drawn to him inexplicably, and to the point of a fairly swift-established devotion on her end. His attitude, his reputation, the manner in which he carried himself and looked out for whom he considered his own was all that she’d known the model of a man to be, and with her own paternal connection having passed so early on, she clung–not yet fully matured neither in mind or emotion–to the one boy who seemed to be a living echo of Etienne’s ghost.

But now, with these years gained between she and Wood, physical attraction comes into play. And with her newfound womanhood, Camille was especially careful to keep her entire virtue intact. (Though her grandfather left the most profound imprint on her in some senses, her grandmother’s teachings of chastity, and of the importance of a woman’s “cleanliness” were still branded permanently in her conscious.) Even from their younger days, she knew it best for their talks to take place as JUST they did: she inside and he outdoors. But now, she was careful even with their physical cues as they could be construed by others. ‘Quit standin’ all up on me–! An’ don’t lick yo’ damn lips nea’ me ; folks gon’ think I’m out hea’ bein’ loose witchu!”

It does well enough for her at first. But news of this sort does not take long to travel through the grapevine. Men talk, and she knows men talk. She knows even more so because the word creeps ever closer through their side of Detroit, until it’s on the breaths of those just behind her shoulder. “Nah, she ain’t givin’ up shit.” “–The hell with her ass, then! Man, if I can’t get it from one I’ll damn sure get it from anotha’ one!”

Something in this acts as a trigger. Suddenly, she remembers words vaguely similar to these within her own home. More than once she could recall occasions of Etienne yelling to Claudine, being vehementin the fact that she never “gave him what he needed”. The thought never crossed her mind before then; she hadn’t the first inkling of what the terming could even have meant–not at that young. But now realization hit her like icy lead, and it told her she was quickly approaching a second abandonment by a man she felt she needed.

Days. Weeks. Months of her crying, and contemplating, and deliberating lead up to her finally relinquishing herself to him; making him her first. And then those same days, those same weeks, those same months of her crying followed, mourning what it was that kept her tethered to goodness, and wholeness, and grieving what would drive her into her grandmother’s shame.

She hadn’t known that this advice she’d heard from other men had (evidently) already been taken by Wood. But proof came steadily to her face that he had been getting plenty of “what he’d needed”. It came charging her, almost at a weekly basis, with pretty boots and flowing hair, balling up fists with manicured nails. A single one this Friday, one with her best friend alongside her the following Saturday. All of them ready to size up, and swing for who Camille had claimed as her own, but whom also obviously hadn’t shared this same view. But even then, she held her own with some. And with some, she was dealt beatings the likes of which she hadn’t been given since her Louisiana youth. It still wasn’t enough to turn her away. Not until the last one she would knuckle up with. She’d stricken her down with what no one else could.

“He’s fuckin’ you just like he fuck any other bitch around here!”

Just that. It knocked more out of her than any blow she’d taken. It took the words to cement it to her, but now it’d been spelled out clear. It marked the first chill she felt of Michigan’s winter without a heart behind her ribs to warm her. It was twisted, and wrenched from her with the whipping snow about her ears. And all she could do was come to terms with what she’d done… what she’d let him do… and how she’d given her purity away on a whim: the only trace she had of worth about herself. And to one who ultimately valued the pavement he walked on more highly.

Now a man and without a care, public flirtation and meaningless affection took place from Wood to any pretty, hood-rat that came through sashaying her goods. Though Camille wasn’t one to flaunt, Wood didn’t give in the slightest bit with her. It didn’t matter where they were or what the scene, he was poking at her, tugging on her - clearing over stepping his boundaries.

The funny thing is (not funny at all), Wood never thought Camille would give in to him. She was steady and focused unlike the other hood-squirrels trying to get a nut. But the thirst was real as the ‘try’ and or ‘chase’ fueled him - bound and determined to break her like some damn ‘cruel intentions’ episode.

Then finally, after the longing, it happened. Surprisingly enough, Wood didn’t get scared, or turn cold toward her after the success, but he refused to be ‘tied-down’ - a way of avoiding his feelings for her, in other words. It was also a way of keeping himself protected. Learning from his mother a woman can’t be trusted; the only way to keep that barrier, is to have more than one option on hand. All the while, Camille was his ride-or-die, his number one, his - ‘loving’ touch stone. So the fights with other women were nothing more but comical to him - silently rooting for her. The only time he recognized guilt was when she had lost a match. But she was the one. The only one. He just didn’t know how to tell her, or even more so, show her.

On this day, Wood realized he hadn’t seen or heard from Camille in a few days. They’d have their arguments and not see one another for a couple days, or until Wood could sweet-talk her into forgiveness, but he hadn’t even seen her outside her house. This, was unusual to him. He also wasn’t aware of the dispute that took place between Camille and one of his other, options.

Later that night, after lounging on Auntie and Unc’s sofa, a smile rears to a thought and instantly, he gets up, gets himself together and wanders down to Camille’s bedroom window. Just like he did as a young teenager.

Not only is it dark outside with traces of street light, it’s also dark in her room from what he can see, but that doesn’t stop him from gently knocking on her window.

Notwithstanding her blatant avoidance of him the weeks that followed her confrontation, the second she heard a knock at her window, Camille rushed to snatch it from where it lay locked by its pane. It was better for all involved that she had the time to cool down, the time to drink herself out of the full potency of her wrath. Her physical wrath, that was. Not her scorn.

Her nostrils were flared, her lashes still were glistening, and darkened from where she’d released her lament down the plump of her cheeks. The cold didn’t help, it only deepened the pink heat behind her face and the veins spread in her eyes. Camille has never been able to shake how raw her emotions were displayed over her face, nor through her body language or voice. She was a musician, and a woman who never restrained herself in the sense of her feelings. Hurt, betrayal, heartbreak, lividity, dismay–all blared from just the look she could scream into another, and without a word uttered from her. She did it all then, especially at the sight of him wearing that same ‘I can get away with this’ expression. It would end tonight. It had ended before, truthfully, from that nameless girl. But she’d let him know now that he had destroyed all sense of security, of trust, of any trace of their courtship or her devotion to him that remained.

But she couldn’t limit herself to a ‘leave me alone’, or to even an ‘i hate you’. Those were too light for what damage he’d done and how deep it had gone. Those he could brush off, and play his way around. Camille sought to rip into his chest with what she said, but she doubted she could even do that.

“Why is you hea’? What–she came an’ toldju? That last one you had run up on me!? –so y’all could jus’ sit up an’ laugh at my stupid ass!?”

All between broken inhales and streaming crystal lines falling to her chin, she tried to verbally beat her heart into him.

“MothaFUCK you–I ain’ NEVA’ did no wrong to you! I ain’ did SHIT to you! I’d’a hurt my damn SELF befo’ I EVA’ did somethin’ to hurt you! What’d I do to you!? Except give you all’a me?! YOU’ONT E’EM KNOW WHAT I GAVE YOU. YOU DONE TOOK ALL I HAD TO GIVE ANYBODY–I AIN’T GOT NUTTIN’ ELSE, NOW! An’ all dis time I ain’t been SHIT to you! You had me out hea’ in love witcho ass an’ you out hea’ doin’ me like I ain’t SHIT! An’ now I AIN’T.”

She yelled until her already crackling voice gave out–pointing for emphasis, slapping her hand to bruising extremes against the brick of her wall, punching a fist into her palm to punctuate her sob-racked words, until there were only whistles and airy wheezing to carry her grievances to him.

“Get away from me. Go away, dontchu come nea’ me again–not eva’, do you hea’ me? Don’ come nea’ my house, don’t say my damn name, don’t look at me no mo’–I’m dead to you, nigga. Dis th’last time, you unnastand? You know what–an’ it ain’ nobody fault but mines, you prolly knew I was dumb this whole time. You knew it. You knew I was stupid an’ you played me dirty cause you KNEW I was. You ain’ doin’ it again, this the last I’m givin’ you.– It’s prolly a man out hea’ who might love me forreal one day… an I mean love me. An’ I cain’t give him shit ‘cause you done stole it from me. I hatechu. I hatechu. I can’t even lookatcho ass… you makin’ me sick. I ain’ neva’ thoughtchu would do me like you did. I’da killed somebody if they tol’ me you was doin’ me wrong, an’ you done spat in my mothafuckin’ face. I ain’ nuttin’ to you–I ain’ NEVA meant shit to you.”

That, and her weeping would be all that came before the shutting of her window. And the sight of her hurling ice and her empty glass toward her opposite wall would be the last sight he’d have of her before she retreated to where his eyes could not penetrate her home.

She might as well have dug her claws into his chest and ripped out his heart in one lashing, because her words were just that. For the first time, the deep, dark depths of Wood that had been closed off from ‘feeling’, had been woken and he was now receiving in return the disappointment and pain he deposits onto another. He had been yelled at, screamed at, called every demeaning word in the book by women and none of it or them, made any difference. His usual response would be nothing more than a crooked smirk or an outright laugh. But Camille, she had shown him the tormenting heartbreak he had wreaked over her.

———-

After the knock, immediately Camille came to light; although, Wood’s dark eyes dimmed slowly as he began to spy the rage in her features and fury in her expressions. He didn’t understand. Even when she flogged him with hints, he still didn’t understand. Not until he witnessed the tiny scratches over her neck and arms, then he realized.

Taking a safe step back, Wood does nothing but draws in all her anger. His eyes are soft, his mouth closed and all he can do, is listen. He wouldn’t dare speak a word or make a move to calm her, nor would he use his reeling techniques of charm to persuade her differently. This was beyond denying and there were no excuses. All the fights she had been in over him, he could assume she knew he was fuckin’ on other women, but he could also assume she had to know where his heart actually lyed. This was something more. Something else happened that has her filled with such hate for him. Maybe it was only a matter of time before she would crack and have enough.

After she had finished and left from his sights, Wood was too stunned to move. All her words repeated, over and over, echoing for miles in his head like he was standing alone in a dark, hollowed cavern. There was nothing he could give to lift this pain from her. Eventually, he found himself back at home and on the couch, flicking through channel after channel but his only visions were the replays of Camille and her suffering.

He stayed away after that.

She’d noticed his absence, too. But it wasn’t enough. It couldn’t have been, now, even if he’d never shown his face to her for the remainder of his living days. She had been tainted by him. Camille wouldn’t be able to know a moment’s peace, not with the knowledge that every pair of eyes she passed in Detroit would know that she had been made a creature unclean. She was haunted here; everyone would know that she was tarnished; she would be little more than object of gossip, and open shame every tormented day from here on.

Atop of this, her short-lived career as a session bassist had bottomed out–the only reason at all that she’d been a resident so far away from her only home. There was nothing anchoring her there, and Camille would have withered to her very death had she stayed a moment longer.

Though now, she hadn’t even the option to retreat, beaten and defeated, to her beloved New Orleans. Camille’s logic dictated that the second she was in her grandmother’s sight, Claudine would know instantly that her baby had no innocence left about her–that she’d allowed herself to sink into and become all that she had taught her against. This wasn’t a disappointment she could live through; and as fragile as Camille proved to be in this state, she doubted her own heart could handle the weight.

So she turned her sights to the place nearest her with reasonable connections to the musical circuit. New York birthed many of the jazz greats she yearned to emulate. Her finances were slim, to put it glamourously, but there were assisted housing projects that she could find, the more she looked… she was certain she could find a place there to settle in. She honestly gave herself no choice. Her days in Detroit were finished.

She packed quietly, kept her intentions under wraps, let no one in on her plans. Though, she had none that she could label ‘friends’ in the area at all to even tell… perhaps a handful of connections, acquaintances. But none too greater than that title.

The night she was to leave, she dug within the remaining decency in her to get Drick on the phone. She would have gleefully left without a trace, had her only tie been Wood, but his family deserved better than to wonder over her fate, or worry that some darker circumstance had befallen her. Though that reassurance that she was well was as far as she offered this decency.

Camille lied openly about her departure–telling him she’d be setting off for New York by the month’s end, when her Greyhound was scheduled to leave in what was less than an hour.

“You can tell ‘im I’m fine, if he get t’askin a’whateva’. You can tell ‘im I calledju, jus’ don’ tell ‘im whea’ I went. I don’t wanna see ‘im again. I meant when I said it.”

She knew he wouldn’t hold to that, even if he assured her otherwise. They were too closely bound, and far too caring for the other for her confidence to have any bearings on. But it was a solid enough way to end the conversation. Camille didn’t want to talk anymore, especially now that her throat was tightening, and now that she felt heat building behind her eyes.

“Thank you…” she offered, like a weepy toddler, squeaking the tears that wrenched in her voice, “All y’all. I ain’ had nobody up hea’… Y’all gave me more than y’all had to. I’ma miss y’.”

She hung up after that. And the hiss of her bus brought the close her life in the Motor City. 

Without asking any questions, Drick himself, knew it was only a matter of time before Wood would lose the one good, solid woman in his life. TJ, Roxie, Drick, Colleen and Cy, all saw it coming. Rauly was too involved with his own young life to pay any attention; although, he looked up to Wood a great deal. Thankfully, Rauly also looked up to his own big brother more.

After the call ended, Drick sat on the front porch steps reflecting on their conversation; glad he told Camille if she needed anything, to not hesitate to call. The family had grown to love and value Camille as their own, and helped her in any way she needed. Something told Drick, even though he told Camille to at least come by and give Colleen a hug before leaving, she wouldn’t. He could hear in her voice she was done.

———-

Nearly two weeks had passed before Wood’s intuition had finally spoke to him, causing him to gain the courage he needed to go down to Camille’s. And just as he suspected, she was gone. His initial thought was he could go on as if she didn’t matter and as long as he had another, he’d be alright. But the truth would set in that she did matter and he’d feel it every time he’d pass her house. And the memories are vivid each time - her bouncing, natural hair; her bright, wide smile and the laughs they shared - all so too damn vivid, he wishes he could forget.

He held back on asking anyone about her, but a night of heavy drinking with Drick, he broke and asked if he was aware she was gone. Drick sighed and nodded, and Wood sat up as if he was hit with sobering bucket of iced water.

“Wat? You tellin’ me you knew she gon’ an’ didn’ say nuttin’?”

“Wat was I ‘posed ta do,” he says with a set of high, shrugging shoulders. “She asks me not ta.”

Wood turns down, shaking his head. “How lon’ she been gon’?”

“A whi’e now.”

“Where she go?”

Another sigh from Drick. “I dunno– she didn’ say. But she tol’ me ta tell ya… she fine. F’you asked.”

Wood huffed. And that was the last he spoke of her - pretending to move on as if something (someone) wasn’t missing.

[ramblesandreblogs]

car crash or fake relationship

i’ve written a car crash thingy but i can’t remember if i’ve ever done fake relationship…so i’d have to go with fake relationship. 

(i also have a fake relationship thingy in the wip folder but i’ll put some random thoughts about it under the cut if ppl want to read)

okay. so, i want a fake relationship au but it’s not one of those “you’re my neighbor/coworker/bff and i convinced you to fake it with me in front of my family for a weekend.” (although, those are AWESOME!)

i want a fake relationship au where they are exes. 

like, they’ve been broken up for a good long while now and are both theoretically trying to move on (spoiler alert! they aren’t moving on. like AT ALL! they’re both still all pining. these annoying fuckers). 

anyways, they are broken up and connor’s half convinced he’s going to die alone when he gets a call from his mom. his grandmother is throwing herself a 95th birthday party and wants all her grandkids there. ALL of them, including certain people’s exes. 

“but he’s not her grandson!” connor insists. “we broke up mom!”

“i know, baby. i know,” his mother says. “it’s just…well, you know your grandmother.”

and connor sighs because he does. he’s fucking screwed. 

so he downs half a glass of jack daniels and calls the former love of his life. the conversation goes about as well as connor thought it would. better actually. because oliver actually agrees to do it. 

“you know we’d have to pretend to be together,” connor says, feeling dangerously sober. 

“i know,” oliver says after a beat. then, to cover his tracks, he adds in, “you’re paying for everything though, right?”

connor laughs but agrees. yeah. he’ll pay. 

so there they are on a flight to michigan. they leave late after work on a friday and oliver falls asleep on connor’s shoulder like eight minutes after takeoff. connor doesn’t move the whole flight in fear of waking oliver. he doesn’t consider why not waking oliver was so important. 

they fall into old, familiar habits as they collect their luggage and get their rental car. they’ve taken this exact same trip countless times over the years to visit connor’s family. 

since he slept on the flight, oliver offers to drive and connor takes him up on it. all he does is remind connor that they’re staying with his sister (not is parents) before leaning the seat back and falling asleep. oliver knows where he’s going and doesn’t need connor telling him which exits to take so they don’t miss a turn. 

it’s really late when they get to gemma’s and her husband is the only one still up. the three of them hug hello. kurt pulls oliver in for a long one and says, “missed you, man. glad you two worked it out.” 

both connor and oliver let the comment slide. apparently the whole faking it thing didn’t make it’s way to kurt (which is probably for the best really. kurt is TERRIBLE at keeping secrets. like he’d blown his whole plan to propose to gemma when she innocently asked ‘how was your day?’ one night and he answered ‘real good. found a ring for you.’)

kurt nods at the stairs. “put you guys in matty’s room. he’s in with the twins.” he points at the door, “i gotta lock up if you want to head up.” 

they head up in silence but connor can nearly see the anger in the straightness of oliver’s spine. they make it into matty’s room and close the door. 

oliver eyes the full size bed. “i thought your sister knew what this was.” 

connor shrugs. “i thought she did too.” he eyes the floor and grimaces but opens his mouth, “look. i’ll take the–”

oliver holds up a hand. “it’s fine. it’s late and–” *long sigh* “–let’s just get some sleep.” 

they’re silent as they undress and ready for bed. it isn’t until they slip under sheets that connor remembers how freaking small a full size mattress is. bunking in matty’s room never felt this uncomfortable before. granted, he and oliver were never not a couple before so….

they both stiffly lay there before oliver sighs again. “let’s just get some sleep.” 

it takes a long time for both of them to fall asleep but, in the morning, oliver wakes first. 

they’re curled into each other. his fingers are linked with connor’s, his nose is tucked into connor’s neck. they’re one again, sharing space and air. he doesn’t want to move. he’s afraid to. 

he should never have agreed to this weekend. he should never have agreed to fake this when he wants the real thing back so badly. 

(obviously there is more but i’m not sure what happens next…)

[actual-leia-organa]

Hey Indy! Since you get so into the head of your fave characters, I thought it would be cool if you did something I've seen going around on tumblr- pick a random playlist on your iTunes/phone/whatever, then assign each song to one of your chosen otp. I'd love to see what you come up with!

oh wow anon thank you! Also this is one of the coolest asks I’ve ever gotten, cheers to you xx

Because I’m such Huddy trash they’re gonna be the OTP for this, and the playlist that came up on random shuffle was “I Miss The 80s” (appropriate). 

The playlist is really long, so I’m gonna hide it and the 50 million headcanons behind the cut…

With or Without You - Whilst I feel like Cuddy would be the U2 fan (something House would mock her mercilessly for), this song is 520% House.

Don’t You Want Me- skeezy skeezy song. I’m gonna say this one is on Cuddy’s playlist, but she only really got into in because it was a hit at the time. 

Love Shack- well its canon Cuddy is a B-52′s fan, so this one definitely goes to Cudds. 

Karma Chameleon - again, because of its dance-ability this one goes to Cuddy and the perm we all know she had. 

What’s Love Got To Do With It - gimme Cuddy drunkenly belting this one out whilst clutching a solo cup at a college party ok. 

Walking On Sunshine - Again, a super boppy song. Has to be Cuddy. 

Time After Time - Both. This is their song. I literally just watched Known Unknowns and now I want to both cry and scream. 

Kiss - whilst I feel like House would definitely appreciate Prince, this is another one for Cuddy. 

Counting The Beat - This is a secret guilty pleasure on House’s list - sucker for some banging tunes, even if they’re cliche 80′s

Careless Whisper - fuck I love this song. Cuddy is 213% a George Michael fan, but gimme House and Cuddy getting roped into dancing to this at that party. 

New Sensation - I’m actually gonna give this to both of them. Cuddy because she’d crush on the babes of INXS, and I feel like again House would kind of hate himself for liking trashy pop music but get sucked in. 

Tainted Love - Again, gimme Cuddy and her perm rocking out to this song. 

Relax - shit. This one is tricky. I don’t think its pop-y enough for Cuddles, and I think its too Pop-y for House, haha. Gonna say its a generic background party song, not one particularly liked by either of them. 

Alone With You - House. So so House. 

Jump - House confirmed for Van Halen fan. This one is totally going to him. 

Africa - Both. Everyone fucking loves this song. Cuddy is the Toto fan though. 

Sweet Child O’ Mine - that guitar opening. House AF. 

Down Under - song that confuses the shit out of them both. Like Relax, I feel like this one doesn’t go to either of them. 

Beds Are Burning - Gimme House as the Oil fan. 

All Night Long - Again, please give me House and Cuddy dancing to this song. In my mind there were way too many slow songs at that infamous Michigan party. However, I’m gonna give this one to House- its his seduction song, because he knows the chicks dig it hahaha

Thriller - Cuddy is the MJ fan. Secret skill- she can do the entire Thriller dance. 

Love Is A Battlefield  - Cuddy driving down the highway blasting this on the stereo of her shitty old car. File under: things I need in my life. 

Video Killed The Radio Star - House secretly loves this song, he doesn’t even know why because the whole sound of it irritates his ears, and he denies it vehemently when Cuddy discovers his weakness for it. 

Just Can’t Get Enough - Even though it’s electronica and dance-y, gonna give this one to House. Why? I don’t even know, I just feel it. 

Push It  - This one is on a tape Cuddy has in her walkman for going on runs, and somehow it stays on her workout playlist for like 20 years. She doesn’t even really know why. 

Summer of 69 - House. His lame college band covers this song so he has it memorised on guitar. 

Don’t You (Forget About Me) - Cuddy. She loves The Breakfast Club, it’s in her top 10 movies. 

Another One Bites The Dust - House confirmed for Queen fan. 

Let’s Dance - Cuddy loves Bowie. That’s just a match made in heaven. 

Rock The Casbah - it’s The Clash. This is beyond obvious. House all the way. 

The Power of Love - date idea- House takes Cuddy to a midnight screening of Back to the Future, a movie they both love. 20+ years later, they both introduce Rachel to it. Man I could write a whole fic around that. But as to which one of them gets the song? Neither. BTTF is something they get to share. 

Eye of the Tiger - Tacky song. But let’s be honest House would have watched all the Rocky movies so this one goes to him. 

Money For Nothing - definitely can see House as a Dire Straights fan. 

Girls Just Want to Have Fun - Cuddy, obviously. 

Livin’ On A Prayer - Cuddy has the biggest crush on Jon Bon Jovi (hey don’t we all girl) and its one of the few songs House won’t roll his eyes out of his head listening to. 

I’m Gonna Be (500 Miles) - This song comes on the radio when House and Cuddy are in the car together and he has her in hysterics with his Scottish accent (which in typical House fashion is perfect). So I’m gonna give this one to Cuddy because of the memories she has associated with it. 

True - Cuddy for Spandau Ballet fan sorry I don’t make the rules. 

Our House - trashy brit pop-rock? House, of course. He can deny it all he likes. 

Gypsy - that moment when House and Cuddy discover they both like Fleetwood Mac…ahhhh, young love. 

Vogue - This one is clearly Cuddy. 

You Shook Me All Night Long - Gonna give the acca dacca to House. In years to come, he uses his bizarre knowledge of Aussie rock to bond with Chase. 

You’re The Voice - (sidenote: this playlist has a lot of Aussie tracks). Look this song is only appropriate when you’re really drunk, waving your beer in the air and screetching in a shocking accent “ya the voice troi an undastaaaaaaaahnd eeeeet” so I’m gonna award this one to House and Cuddy being at some frat party smashed off their respective skulls and waving their cups around to the magic that is Farnsy. 

Throw Your Arms Around Me - House. This song is totally sappy but I can see House having some Hunters & Collectors vinyl stashed somewhere. (Also “and we may never meet again / so shed your skin and lets get started” HELLO)

Sexual Healing - again, House is gonna have this stashed away. You know it. 

I Wanna Dance With Somebody - again, gimme permed Cuddy, beer in hand, dancing the night away at some dodgy af college party with her roommate, getting loose to Whitney. Quality headcanon right there. 

Jessie’s Girl - ahhhh, another song House’s band that he kind of hates covers. So again, he has it memorised on guitar. His hatred of playing this song kind of disappears when he plays at a party that Cuddy also happens to be at, and she and her girlfriends were really getting into it. Made it worth it. 

To Her Door - man, if House knew who Paul Kelly was he’d be a fan. 

That…was actually really tricky! But I’d actually love to do it again, maybe for Han/Leia next? idk.