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rationaliity · 6 months ago

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my turn | gallagher & dr. ratio x f! reader ( 18+ )

requested !! ratio and gallagher are roommates, that's so totally normal right ? ratio takes time to tutor you, and gallagher.. helps you destress about school and work. gallagher may not be able to help you with tutoring, but ratio can help you destress. tags : dubcon in the beginning ( turns into consent ) threesome, double penetration, oral ( f. receiving ), arguing, use of a blindfold & handcuffs, slight possessiveness, dacryphilia, asphyxiation, dirty talking, mean gallagher at points, calls you a bitch, whore, slut, ect but also nicknames like doll, princess, sweetheart, dearest, begging / whining / crying, slightly painful sex, kinda throwing reader around like a doll, implied to be smaller than ratio & gallagher, fem anatomy word count : 5.5k

your relationships with your roommates weren't exactly the normal college roommate situation. of course, in some parts of your life, it was. you three would argue over who did the dishes that day, even with veritas' schedule that he posted on a white board in the kitchen without telling either one of you. he had said that he thought about the three of your schedules and decided which days would work best for all of you. and he was right, he really did think about your schedules and made the best plan possible, which maybe irked you even more than if he had just written down names on the whiteboard haphazardly.

there would be times where you'd all be sat on the couch watching the latest and worst romcom to poke fun of it, and whoever tapped out first had to cook dinner. funnily enough, most of the time it was gallagher, he could hardly ever stand to watch two people pine after each other for an hour and a half without finding himself getting frustrated and yelling ' they should just fuck already ! ' at the tv. he'd stand up, tearing himself from where he was sitting beside you and immediately start on dinner, because he knew that he'd lost the game.

of course there were other similarities between the three of you and regular roommates, but it was the differences that you found yourself hooked on. veritas was in your year, and although he was taking classes far beyond the scope of your own, he still demanded that he helped tutor you whenever you were struggling in a particular subject, no matter what that subject was. you made plans that every thursday while gallagher was out at work all day working a double at the bar, you and veritas would take the living room and study the day away together. whether you were tackling mathematics or physics or literature, if you had a question, veritas usually had an answer. and if he didn't, he had a book that could answer your question.

veritas had a rough around the edges personality, but you could tell that he really cared about people, even if he didn't explicitly state it. or at least, he cared about you and your education. he was always snapping at you, telling you that you should at least go to bed before the sun rises, and maybe stop drinking so much coffee. if he was home, or if you saw him at college, he was always reminding you of things that you should be doing to take proper care of yourself. at college, when he was free from his classes, he followed you around, not because he didn't have any friends, but because he thought you needed someone to look after you with your self destructive behavior. so he says, at least.

and gallagher.. was a different story all together. he went to a technical college on the other side of the city, but he got the weekends off while you and veritas went to school. you would get back at around noon on both days, and veritas had classes pretty much all day until late at night, having stacked up his weekends with extracurricular activities that he didn't necessarily need, but they sure would look nice on his transcript. in those seven or eight hours while veritas was away, you were underneath gallagher in his bed.

you had no idea when it officially started to become a habit to spend your weekend crying out gallagher's name, but neither one of you were complaining, either. you knew that it started out of boredom on your part, and a nasty ex on his part. he had been pissed and frustrated, and you let him vent his anger out to you, and listened to him try very hard not to shit talk his ex because he didn't really want to say anything negative about her, but damn did she make it hard for him to keep calm. keying his cherry red vintage mustang and putting sugar in the tank was his last straw. he eventually emptied out his gas tank and replaced the fuel filter, and repainted his car with a iridescent black / purple coat this time, but damn did it take some work and quite a lot of money.

but through the entire situation, you were there to support him when he needed it. as it goes, one thing lead to another, and what was supposed to be both a celebration toast and a thank you from gallagher ended up with your clothes being dropped in the hallways outside of his room and his body pressed against yours, rushing to finish because you both knew that veritas was going to be home soon. since then, it had become sort of like a ritual of yours.

you trudged through the doors, dropping your bag at the door, completely missing the hook this time where you typically hung the bag. throwing off your shoes at the door, and undoing the claw clip that held up your hair, you were exhausted today. and you knew exactly what you needed, he was in his room probably playing some video game that he really didn't care about and neither did you.

stripping off your college blazer, you dropped it off at your room, already working to unbutton the buttons of your white dress shirt when you walked into gallagher's room, the room itself smelling so heavily of weed it gagged you for a second, but you had gotten used to gallagher's peculiarities by now. exactly like how you expected him to be, gallagher was spread out on his bed with a controller in his hands, playing some gacha game with a blonde traveller and their little fairy companion, a cute little game that you had to make a mental note to check out later after this.

" welcome home, " gallagher said while he sat down his controller, eyeing your slumped form as you stood in front of his bed, " school went well, i'm guessin' ? "

" school sucked, " you sighed, climbing into the bed with him before you could even get off your fully unbuttoned shirt, the fabric just hanging on your shoulders. gallagher laughed a little bit, opening his arms to take you in his arms.

" need something to relieve the stress ? " he suggested gently, holding you close to him. " you know, i was thinkin' of you the entire time you were gone. "

you couldn't lie to yourself and pretend that you weren't thinking about this moment the entire day, either, but you wouldn't exactly be as forthcoming about it as gallagher was. " mm. stress relief sounds nice. "

" you know, sweetheart, " gallagher's voice sounded like he was about to suggest something that he knew you would be on the fence about, but it wasn't like him to just completely ignore what he was curious about. " i was at the store the other day and i picked up a few things for you. mind if we try them out today ? " he picked himself up, still holding you in his arms so you were just kind of following his movements as he opened up his beside dresser and pulled out a pair of handcuffs and a red blindfold.

you raised your eyebrows, a mix of curiosity and confusion on your face. " i didn't take you to be one to try bdsm, gallagher. you always took me as a, uh, no thoughts, head empty, just fucking type of guy. "

" oh, absolutely, doll, " gallagher laughed, fiddling with the silk blindfold, twirling the soft fabric through his calloused hands. " you have absolutely no idea how easy it is to lose myself when i'm eight inches deep inside that pretty little pussy of yours. consider it a.. test, for both of us. "

" ugh, i've had enough tests for today, " you whined at the wording, being reminded of just how shitty your day at college was, but at least you were home now, and in gallagher's arms, which meant that even though things sucked previously, they would be okay pretty soon, and you'd forget about it all when you were crying out for him to stop because it was overstimulating you. " but.. we can try it for a little bit today. we've got a long time until i have to get back into my room, so i guess it doesn't hurt anything if our first few rounds are experimental. "

" i knew ya'd see it my way, baby, " gallagher grinned, shuffling around a little bit so that your back was pressed against his flat pillows, barely giving you any structure, and one day you're going to fuck in your room instead so you're a little more comfortable, but you weren't exactly thinking about that right now. " here, put your wrists together and up over your head, doll. "

you did as he said, feeling the cold metal of the handcuffs as he wrapped them around both of your wrists, hearing them click shut as he tightened them so they fit your wrists.

" you look so pretty like this, needin' me to do everythin' for ya, " gallagher chuckled, mostly to himself, as he leaned down and pressed a surprisingly gentle kiss to your lips. " you're doing so good, doll. " he pulled back to grab the silken blindfold, wrapping it around your head so that it was completely covering your eyes. " can't see nothin', right baby ? "

you felt your heart rate increase a little bit, suddenly the anxiety of not being able to see and touch him getting to you ever so slightly, but it was overshadowed by a surprising desire to continue. " y-yeah, i can't see anything. "

" good girl, " gallagher pressed another kiss on your lips, making you jump in surprise, but he pulled back before you could kiss him back. " i'll be right back, doll. just sit tight, you'll feel good soon. " leaving you with your hands over your head and handcuffed together, unable to see what was going on around you, you could only feel his body weight shift the bed underneath you. you didn't know where he went, the carpet muffling any footsteps that might have been audible to you if it were tile, leaving you in anticipation.

after a few moments of waiting, you could feel the bed dip again as his body get on the bed and in between your legs. " g-gallagher- " you whimpered out softly, finding yourself struggling against the handcuffs that you had honestly forgotten were around your wrists. " o-oh, yeah.. " you mumbled mostly to yourself, biting your bottom lip.

wordlessly, his fingers worked at your pants, undoing the button and unzipping them. he leaned down, his soft lips ghosting over your navel, right above your panties, before he tugged your pants off of your legs. he was sensual with it, his hands trailing down your now bare legs, something that you weren't entirely used to gallagher doing, but you figured that maybe the change in your usual routine was getting him extra worked up.

you could feel his fingers trail up your legs, wrapping two strong arms around your thighs and pulling them apart, so that he had enough room to slot himself in between your legs, close enough that his mouth was so close to your cunt, that was now so lewdly leaking slick that soaked through your panties. gallagher was typically a very vocal man, so it was surprising that he was so quiet now, but by this point you were finding it hard to think straight, especially when he peeled your panties to the side and you could feel his breath fan against your soaked heat.

" n-ngh..! just- get to it already, please ! " you stammered out, sounding a lot more desperate than demanding. as if on cue, finally he gave into you, burying his face into your heat, his tongue expertly working circles around your clit, sucking on the sensitive bud. " f-fuck..! " you cried out, your hips bucking into his face, seeking more friction. he seemed to oblige your needs, his tongue working faster, his plump lips slippery with your slick, sliding through your folds perfectly.

gallagher had never eaten you out like this. yeah, he was good at it, but he opted for a lazier approach, flicking his tongue against your clit, drawing out small, slow circles as his fingers found its way to your entrance. he was not doing any of that right now, instead, the way he ate you out was like he was a starving man who had never tasted anything more delicious. he was meticulous with it, every flick of his tongue, every lick and touch designed and planned to draw out the most moans from you.

" h-hah- fu-fuck, wh-what's gotten into you ? " you panted out through loud moans, your thighs shaking underneath his rough touch. all you could do was buck your hips up into his mouth, the pleasure building inside of you and needing to release, faster than you were expecting. maybe it was just the stress finally leaving your body, or maybe it was just the isolation of two of your senses highlighting your other senses, but you swore this felt better than it typically did. " g-gonna cum- please- " you felt your chest rising and falling heavily, your heart thumping against your torso.

" just like that, yeah, pretty thing ? want his fingers inside of your pretty cunt ? " gallagher asked, his voice coming from your side, making you jump up in realization that something was up. you heard a grunt of annoyance in between your legs, and you gasped.

" wh-wha- ?! "

" who knew the doc could eat pussy like that, huh ? " gallagher chuckled, cutting you off, and you felt a lump form in your throat, slowly coming to understand what position you were in despite the haze and neediness in your head. " you look like you're havin' fun, doll. ain't you to close to stop now ? let him take you over the edge, i think he deserves to hear your pretty lil moans for all his hard work. "

the man in between your legs, veritas, continued his ministrations, and the fact alone that this was veritas ratio in between your legs made your body tense up, the eroticism of the situation only heightening your pleasure, especially underneath his skilled tongue. gallagher was right, annoyingly, you were far too close to actually care who was in between your legs, as long as he was able to make you finish. " v-veri- ah, veritas.. " you moaned out shyly, his name falling from your lips both unfamiliar and yet comforting. " i'm gonna cum- please..! "

veritas didn't say anything, too busy coaxing your orgasm from you to properly address anything at the moment. now that their little secret was out, you could feel gallagher's hand on your chest, the digits slipping underneath your bra to fondle your chest, rolling your nipple in between his two fingers, eliciting noises from you with the added pleasure that you weren't even sure you could make. everything was adding together in such a way that you simply couldn't hold back anymore, the pressure in your body too much until your entire body shook from your orgasm ripping through you.

veritas' tongue didn't stop his assault on you, guiding you through your orgasm, your slick absolutely covering his face. you whimpered softly for him to stop after the sensitivity got to, wiggling your hips in attempt to push him away, which he finally did after he got a few more moments in between your legs.

finally able to think straight, you found yourself speaking up, your voice strained as you tried to regain your composure even slightly, but failing miserably. " i-i think- i think i deserve answers. why is veritas here ? "

" he wanted a taste, why else, doll ? " gallagher chuckled, his hand pulling away from your chest. " you should see him, all covered with your juices and panting. he damn near drowned in there and is still wanting more. " you were honestly a little frustrated that you couldn't see him like that, but that wasn't something you were going to say out loud.

" you're as... candid as ever, gallagher, " veritas finally spoke up, obviously out of breath, but trying to maintain himself. when he spoke again, it was directed to you, " did you not think i was aware of this little routine of yours with gallagher ? you're as foolish as you are naive. of course i would know what's going on in my own home. "

his thinly veiled insults were not lost on you, but you decided not to reply in a mean way and start an argument right now, especially when you were at the mercy of these two men. " how did you find it out then, genius ? "

" you two don't know how to properly dispose of condoms. i found at least four of them while trying to take out the trash because a certain man forgot it was his day to take it out, " you could practically feel the glare that veritas was shooting gallagher in between his words, and you couldn't stop yourself from chuckling a little bit at it. these two were so different, and always at each other's throats. but to be fair, you were often at their throats for one reason or another, too. at the end of the day, no matter how much sexual tension was shared between you, you were still roommates. and roommates are always frustrating, no matter the circumstances.

you were just roommates, right ?

" well my little.. mistake, shall we call it, got you in between the legs of the girl you wanted to fuck for a year now, so.. i think you can forgive me just this once, veritas, " gallagher snickered, clearly not one to be bullied down by veritas' condescension. but before you could say anything back to them to get them to stop bickering with one another, gallagher's arms picked you up into his arms, your locked hands hooking behind his head as he held you up against him, his hard cock rubbing up from behind you through his clothing. " and now we're gonna make her feel even better, cuz i can't wait to be inside this fuckin' pussy again. you had your turn, veritas. thanks for warmin' her up for me, now watch me do what i do best. "

you were dangling in the air, your feet unable to touch the ground, held up by gallagher's strong arms underneath your pits, keeping you completely suspended against him. you knew he was strong, but this was ungodly. you couldn't even feel his muscles straining, it was like it was effortless. he really did have the strength of a bear. was he really going to fuck you standing up, dangling in the air just like this ?

" ..tch, like hell i'm just going to watch. i'm not like you and get off watching others touch what's undeniably mine. " you could hear some movement, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt gallagher grinding against you, bucking his hips up in an attempt to rile you up more than you already were. " sit her down here- " you could hear veritas slapping his thighs, and you could only assume that he had taken his clothing off. " i think i know of a way that we can both enjoy what we want. "

after a moment, gallagher chuckled, his grip on you readjusting a little bit. " i like the way you think, veritas. but do you really think she can handle us both ? "

" i don't think she has a choice but to take it, does she ? "

gallagher finally sat you down, treating you almost like an actual doll, sitting you down on veritas' lap, making sure your legs were spread and straddling the other man's. you could feel the hardness pressing against your still slick cunt, practically begging for entry no matter how calm veritas' words were. " i don't think she's got any arguments, either, otherwise she would've said somethin', yeah ? "

that was his way of getting consent, no matter how slightly convoluted and slutty it sounded coming from his mouth, you knew that much. still, your pride refused to let you give out just a simple answer, still a little frustrated with them for this whole set up in the first place. if veritas wanted to fuck you, he could've just asked. it's not like you would've told the man no. " it's not like you're exactly giving me a choice, are you ? veritas said- "

before you could finish speaking, a hand grabbed you by the back of your head, pushing you down onto veritas' lips, effectively shutting you up. you could taste yourself on his lips from earlier, the salty and tangy taste on your tongue reminding you of his skills with his mouth. his tongue slipped past your lips, and you opened your mouth, slightly caught off guard but having enough time to pick yourself up. his hips grinded slowly into yours, making you both groan into the kiss. your hands, still connected together, rest on his chest, your ass arched up, giving gallagher the perfect view of what he wanted.

" finally, " veritas mumbled against your lips, sounding almost desperate, although he quickly composed himself, " a way to shut you up for good. "

" you just wanted to kiss her, " you felt the bed dip, and a pair of hands grabbed at your ass, fondling the fat in his hands. " but i get it, and i aint faultin' you for it. you just gotta learn how to be more truthful with whatcha want. "

you could tell that veritas absolutely hated that gallagher was controlling everything, but he was powerless to stop it at this time, and instead of fighting, he knew the path of least resistance would give him what he wanted in the end, he just had to bare through gallagher's mouth.

" now, can we get to the good part and fuck her already ? she's wet enough from earlier, she can take it, " his voice was snappy, letting everyone know that he was getting impatient and didn't want to wait any longer, one of gallagher's hands moved from your ass to grab his cock, pressing it against your slit, rubbing some of your slick on the tip before he slowly pushed in, needing to pace himself from absolutely plowing you on top of veritas. he had agreed to share you for now, so he wouldn't do that to veritas. at least not right now.

once he was fully sheathed inside, you gasped, moaning out, your body clenching around him like a vice, begging for more. you leaned your head back, resting it on veritas' shoulder, your locked hands grabbing at his bare chest for some type of support, although you couldn't find any. " g-gallagher..! " you mewled out, already feeling too full with just gallagher inside. there was no way that you were going to be able to fit veritas too- you'd be split in half, you'd-

one of veritas' hands stayed at the back of your head, and the other one snaked in between your legs, pressing his throbbing erection against your stuffed hole. " you can take it, " he grunted out, pushing just the tip in, finding the resistance of your body so irresistible. he wanted to actually ruin you, make you cry on his chest and beg for both of them to stop.

" i-it's too much..! i-i can't, there's no way ! it's gonna break me.. please, veritas- " you whimpered, your incessant babbling just fueling veritas on more. gallagher was clearly not pleased that you were calling out veritas' name instead of his, and decided to punish you with a particularly harsh thrust.

" you're lucky i'm bein' patient right now, bitch, " gallagher spat out, his fingertips digging into the skin of your hips. this was like a complete switch of the otherwise cool and calm gallagher that you knew, but you had to admit that you liked it a little more than you were willing to admit. but your body told against you, clenching around him at his lewd words, only spurring him on to degrade you more. " just fuckin' put it in so we can make this slut cry already, damn. there's no point in bein' gentle with her right now. she ain't gonna take it if you keep tryin' to be gentle. just force it in. "

you could practically feel the anger emanating from veritas, not needing your vision to know that he was absolutely fuming, and you were caught in between their little discourse. you were starting to think that this was less about fucking you and more about proving themselves to each other. " fine, mutt, have it your way, " veritas growled, his hand tightening on your hair, pulling it back so your head was back, giving him access to your neck. with one single thrust, he pushed himself completely inside, causing you to scream out in pure ecstasy.

hot tears bubbled up in your eyes, soaking the red silk fabric, and you felt yourself clawing at veritas' skin, making him groan out from both the pain and pleasure. it was too much, far too much, you were filled up completely, unable to take anymore, but they hadn't even started to move yet. the first movement came from gallagher, lazily rocking his hips in and out of you, clearly pleased with the tightness squeezing his cock. " fuck- she's so fuckin' tight, even more so than usual. "

veritas began to move next, each thrust calculated in time with gallagher so not to overwhelm you completely. you knew that this moment of peace was just temporary, however. now they got a taste, and they were not going to just go easy on you. gallagher broke it first, his hips thrusting up to meet yours so roughly that it took your breath away. veritas followed suit, not to be outdone with the older man.

" gal- veri- " you started, completely unsure which name to moan out, and fucked too stupid to truly be able to say anything coherent through your cries and whimpers of pleasure. both men laughed a little, both fighting to be the name that ultimately spilled out of your pretty lips.

veritas' free hand was in between your bodies, rubbing circles on your sore clit, knowing exactly how you liked it from earlier. you felt your entire body freeze, unable to do anything but cry, shaking as you were sandwiched in between both brutal men. veritas knew exactly what he was doing, he knew how to move inside to maximize your pleasure, his thrusts deep and forceful, while gallagher fucked like a wild animal, only really thinking about how good his cock felt when buried deep inside of you. this mix of logic and pure instinct drove you wild, tears soaking the fabric of the blindfold over your eyes as veritas' free hand pulling your hair, the pain dulled compared to the pure pleasure you were feeling.

it was absolutely brutal, and you could feel your belly bulging from the intrusion of both men inside of you. it was too good, and your head was swimming with only one thought: you had to cum, and soon. it was all beginning to be too much, your body tense and quivering. gallagher's body practically on top of yours at this point, his chest pressed against your back as he breathed in your ear, letting you hear every animalist growl that came from his throat, his little grunts of pleasure as he fucked you like he'd want to be buried inside of you forever.

" g-gonna..- gunna cum.. please, please- " you sobbed, your breath hitching in your throat, your body shaking from the pure overstimulation. veritas' fingers against your clit rubbed faster, and gallagher's hand found your throat, squeezing the sides.

" gonna cum on our cocks, doll ? " gallagher teased, his hips hitting yours with a fervor, " gonna make a mess on top of veritas ? on my bedsheets ? you look so small in between two men like this, huh ? filthy whore gonna lose herself on two cocks ? can't even think straight. he's your tutor, right ? go on, show him what you've learned from me. how to shut up and take dick like a good girl. "

you whimpered, your tongue lolled out, drool slipping from it onto veritas' chest below. " she looks so dumb, the blindfold is all wet from her tears like she can't do anything without crying. it's like all i taught her was for nothing when cock is involved. " veritas agreed, his voice hoarse as he fucked into you. the first time he'd agreed with gallagher this entire time and it was over how dumb you looked while getting fucked by both of them. when you didn't say anything back to either one of them, veritas chuckled a little bit, his eyes taking in your fucked out face. " what happened ? can't even think of anything to say ? too stupid to even remember how to speak properly ? "

" oh, fuck- i'm gonna cum- " gallagher announced, picking up speed and intensity, his teeth grazing against your neck and biting down harshly, making you cry out in pain. it wasn't enough to break the skin, but you could feel his extra sharp canine teeth embedding itself into your skin, surely going to at least bruise you. " gonna fill up this pretty little pussy, gonna make her ours. " at this point he wasn't even saying full sentences, just chasing his high. " mine, ours. yours. fuck. ours, ours. ours. pretty little thing is ours. "

" yours- " you sobbed out, your voice barely more than a whisper, too fucked out to even make noises more than whimpers and moans. your little voice seemed to spur gallagher into his orgasm, his hips stuttering into yours as his orgasm flooded you, covering your walls and veritas' cock with his semen.

" fu-fuck, that's too good, doll, your body is too good, " gallagher groaned, pulling out of you, finally letting go of your neck. he took notice of veritas still embedded within you, and mentally made note of it. " damn, he's still goin', huh ? when was the last time you had any pussy, veritas ? "

" this tight ? " veritas managed to choke out, his thrusting up into you with unabashed roughness now that he was the only one inside, able to fill you up to the hilt of his cock. " i'm gonna cum- and soon, there's no way i can hold back with her like this. can you take it, sweetheart ? can i fill you up too ? "

you nodded, feeling him go harder against you, all of the logic and coordination he had flying into the wind now that he was just seconds away from cumming. he didn't talk dirty like gallagher did, but you knew he was losing his cool, with the way his thrusts got more erratic and rushed, driving him over his own edge.

part of you was honestly grateful that it was done, the other part of you felt empty the moment veritas pulled out of you, the suddenness of no longer have either men filling you up causing you to whimper a little bit.

" aw, she wants us some more, " gallagher chuckled, and you rolled from on top of veritas, content just to sit beside him and rest for a little while. veritas was careful with you, reaching over and taking off the blindfold, being the first thing that you saw when you opened your wet, teary eyes, squinting because you needed to get used to the light again.

" you're so good, dearest, " veritas whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, taking your hands in his and undoing the handcuffs. you knew that they were the just the play handcuffs that you could've easily escaped from, not even needing a lock to undo them, but you also weren't exactly thinking about escaping from them at the time, too consumed with something else.

" thank ya, doll, " gallagher interjected, collapsing on your other side, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a few kisses onto your neck, slightly gentler where he had bitten you. " does it hurt ? "

you paused, your eyebrows creasing together. you couldn't help but be angry at him over this, and veritas for that fact. the sex was nice, but damn, can't a girl get a warning first ? " YES IT FUCKING HURT ?! YOU BIT ME ?? AND MR. RATIO HERE JUST SHOVED HIS FUCKING COCK IN ME WITHOUT A CARE IN THE WORLD ??? " you chewed them both out over this, glaring at both of the men. veritas turned a little sheepish, although he wouldn't show it, while gallagher just gently laughed it off.

" you took it so well, though, dearest, " veritas hummed, turning to rest on his side so that he was face to face with you, his hand cupping the side of your cheek. he was surprisingly gentle, much more than gallagher was. " thank you for indulging the two of us. "

" well, i'll make sure we take care of you extra, now, alright ? to make up for it. " gallagher suggested, and you rolled your eyes, sitting your head on veritas' shoulder, closing your eyes.

" you guys are assholes. and i'm not doing the fuckin' dishes today, so you two fight among yourselves about it since you wanna argue during sex the entire time. like, geez. just admit that you wanted to out do each other and maybe kiss a little. "

" by the way, how did you fare on your physics exam ? " of course veritas would ask that when you had just managed to forget about your day at college.

" OH FUCK OFF, VERITAS. "

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jodilin65 · 26 years ago

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WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 1998 Thanks to Benadryl, I backed my schedule up by 6 hours. I had gotten up at noon yesterday. Too late to make my October 5th appointment with Melanie, but too early to flip it all around by then. I also want to go out this Friday doll hunting, as planned (I have to remember to take Kleenex with me, though, because the outdoors is horrible at this time for allergies). If I hadn’t taken Benadryl last night at 9:00, I wouldn’t have crashed till around 4 AM, but with the Benadryl, I was out before midnight and I got up at 6 AM. Just in time to hear the bitch say, “Huh? No, I…” (I couldn’t hear the rest)

I don’t know why the cock bothered showing up this morning. Bill took the bitch to work/school this morning, then came back here. Then the cock came. I saw someone a couple of times walk around the back of Bill’s car, but couldn’t make out for sure who it was or what the hell they were doing. Then the cock left, leaving Bill to go about mistake-sitting, as usual. But why would the cock come by if it wasn’t needed to mistake-sit or cart its bitch to work/school?

I got a kick out of how yesterday’s horoscope said that a parent who’s aware of one’s concerns is willing to behave differently. Right! Dureen would have to die and come back as a totally different person before she behaved differently. Tom was teasing me with the atoning for my sins thing since yesterday was the Jewish New Year. I’m jokingly thinking - Dureen deary, are you asking God to forgive you for being such a selfish, hypocritical little control freak?

Later…

I’m writing longhand now in the book Mom gave me. The one I’ll take to Vegas with me with the pitiful artwork. The reason I’m using this book now is that I have the computer tied up burning away another CD. I figured what the heck? I’m sure it’ll crash at some point, even though I defragmented drive E and it’s already written 9 tracks.

I had Tom bring me in the scale since I knew my weight was up there anyway (as of yesterday I piled on pounds of water) and so I could begin another test. Tom felt I’d be less hungry if I wasn’t weighing myself daily. Well, I want to see if I remain less hungry because of the mineral pill, or if pulling the scale back out brings the hunger back.

Wow! It’s on track 11!

Anyway, the mineral pill’s been doing so well at curbing my hunger, that I’ve decided that two TV dinners a day plus a snack are too much for me. I’m gonna be cutting out one of those TV dinners.

So, what was my weight? 118 pounds. A surprise because I thought I’d be in the low 120s.

Track 12.

I know why I was so bummed out about my weight for the last year or so. It’s because I was setting unrealistic and unachievable goals for myself. Setting a goal of 100 pounds was ridiculous and totally asking to fail. I’m a nearly 33-year-old non-smoker, so to get under 110-115 pounds is a complete joke. My body can’t handle being that low in this day and age.

So, with these facts in mind, I’ve set a realistic, achievable goal weight of weighing 115-120 pounds. This is perfect for me now and something my body can feel comfortable at. It’s a natural, reasonable weight, so I can continue looking like a middle-aged woman should look.

Holy shit! It’s on track 14 and it looks like this CD may happen after all since it’s nearly done. I only have 18 tracks on this one. It’s like it has a mind of its own and it only creates a CD if it feels like it.

Track 15.

I went into the file box and browsed through the treadmill’s owner’s manual and was shocked to discover two things. One, it is not a weight-loss device, but just a fitness device. Two, all they recommend is 12-15 minutes every other day. Why not 30-60 minutes every day? What’s wrong with that? Why do they recommend a day of rest every other day? I can see a day of rest every other day from target toning or weightlifting exercises, but why from walking? And why warm up and cool down, as they recommend, just to go walking? Lastly, I do more than 12-15 minutes every other day, so if this is supposed to be a “fitness” device, then why am I so unfit?

Later…

Got lucky and the CD was a success. I’m defragging now, then will power down and restart. Should I try another one today? I have a feeling it’ll crash, but we’ll see.

Drive E is now 83% defragmented now.

No stereos today or yesterday - wow! Just the usual sales calls and their harassment campaign.

Later…

OK, I’m trying another CD. If this works, I’ll only have one more music CD I’ll want to make up, then I can decide whether or not the convos/edits are worth burning.

I’ll go get my book now and bring it back here to the back room so I can keep an eye on the computer.

Oh, first - I made up Mary a little get-well card. Well, sort of. It was one of the ones sent from Doe and Art.

OK, gonna grab me a cup of my Café Vienna and my book.

Later…

It’s utterly gorgeous out there right now. Not too cool, not too hot. Perfect weather for the mistake to hang out back and to have doors and windows open. I just heard the mistake, but fortunately, I’m not out back very often. I have no reason to be. From now on, especially since quitting smoking, I don’t go out back but to let the cat in and dump the recyclable stuff.

It’s nice not seeing White Paws for a couple of days. Not since I sprayed her with Raid. She’ll be back, though.

Tom’s gonna pick up a feeder for Blackie for when we go to Vegas. He could get his own food, but not like WP can because male cats aren’t as good hunters as female cats are. I don’t like the idea of knowing that WP is gonna help herself to this food, and maybe daddy cat and the ants (although Tom will spray for ants) but at least Blackie won’t go hungry. We’ll be putting it at the side of the house where the birds won’t find it. I hope not, anyway. If there’s anything that really annoys me about Blackie, it’s that this cat is such a whiner. Just about every single fucking time I go outside he whines and whines till I let him inside. It’s really annoying.

Tom just got up and is going to stay up for a while.

You know, I’ve counted food calories, but I’ve neglected to count my coffee calories. Not regular coffee, but the gourmet ones. I have about 8 cups a day and that’s about 500 calories right there. No wonder it’s been so easy keeping my goal weight. If I eat 900 calories worth of food and no-calorie or low-calorie beverages, that’s one thing. It’s another to have 900 calories worth of food and an additional 500 in beverages. All this time I’ve been figuring myself at consuming 900-1000 calories a day, but I’ve really been taking in around 1400-1500 calories a day.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1998 How utterly amazing - not one stereo’s banged by today. Yet. That drug cruiser’s gonna be by any sec no doubt.

Just like Joebitch sticks to her usual weekend routine of a shitload of cars coming and going, it’s sticking to its usual weekday routine, too. Bill sits the mistake, the cock brings its bitch home. I doubt the cock’s picking up its bitch in the mornings, though.

Guess I really terrorized that cock out of this neighborhood. He won’t even park in the bitch’s driveway. Too bad, Mikey. You came into this neighborhood, you treated me like shit, this is what you get.

Mary had her gallbladder removed today and now they’re checking it for cancer, which I don’t vibe. Evie has to have hers removed, too.

In Evie’s email to me, she wanted to know if we could attend Parker’s baptism. I told her we couldn’t make it, which is probably true with our schedules, but the further truth is, neither of us cares to go. I mean, how fucking boring! She said she hoped she wasn’t offending anyone, but that she didn’t invite Jackie and Jim because she doesn’t like the way they do things. I told her I thoroughly agree with her and that I think they’re spoiled, selfish little users. Don’t want to know them, don’t want to talk to them, don’t want to see them. I also reminded her, although I’m sure she’s heard about it, that Tom’s put his foot down and is gonna live his life. Not spend his time and money on others who are too lazy to do their own work and live their own lives. David and Evie haven’t really been the big users of the family. Not compared to Pam, Jackie, Mary, Evelyn, and of course, good old Marge.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 28, 1998 Yes, it’s been two whole days since I last wrote. That’s because I’ve been tied up with the CD-making task again, and as usual, it’s hit or miss, but mostly miss. I feel, though, that I’ve gotten just about all I want onto CD, so I don’t need to waste my time with it anymore. I don’t really need to have the edits and convos on CD, since those don’t mean what they used to mean to me. It’s a costly and wasteful project since it takes 20 CDs just to make 5-7. I’ve got about 15 CDs made up now, and I had to go through about 25-40 to get them.

From how I feel and from what my measurements say, I’ve gained some weight. I’ve got to be no less than 118 pounds now. Why, I don’t know. It’s a total mystery to me. I’ve been sticking to my diet like glue, thanks to this mineral supplement, I’ve been regular, and I’ve been exercising, so I don’t know what the fuck’s going on. Once again, I cannot deal with this shit year after year. I have to be fat if I’m gonna remain a non-smoker and the sooner I accept that, the easier my life will be. It’s just not in my nature to be thin anymore. Not at this age and not without the cigarettes.

Wish I had my water pills now, but tomorrow I’ll call in a refill. It’s mostly in my gut, although my legs and hips are pretty swollen, too. And I’ve been exercising these areas, too, but like I said, exercising by doing target toning is just a complete waste of my time. It may work for most people, but God sure as hell won’t let it work for me. Initially, I lost weight and began toning up a bit when I first started the exercises and the mineral supplement but then went right back to how I normally am. This is typical, too. Having something work at first, then quit working on me, is nothing new.

Later…

What is it with cats liking abuse? I spray White Paws with bug spray, I kick her, I chase her, yet she keeps coming back for more. Does she really like it, or is she just that stupid?

Caddy Kid’s back. Yeah, I knew it was just a matter of time. It gets worse, too, because now we’ve got some other car cruising the neighborhood for drugs. This same car banged by really loud over and over and over again this afternoon. What? Do they cruise up and down a street hoping someone will come out of their house to offer them drugs? So, since it’s a nightmare again with the stereos booming and thumping by several times a day, I really must have my own stereo on if I want to get any sleep.

Joebitch gets weirder and weirder by the day. Saturday and Sunday nights a red car came to visit. Why are there so many cars in and out of there on weekends? Am I ever gonna get a weekend without having to listen to the constant door slamming?

I just hope that they don’t move till we do and that things will stay the way they have been as far as the music goes. As long as I don’t hear music a million times a day from over there, then I know they’ll be sticking around. I never thought I’d find myself hoping that they don’t move, but I’ve decided that whether or not we go first, they are going to receive the little journal excerpts I put together for them. I’m not gonna waste all that time I put into it and besides, if they’re gonna fuck with the house if they go first, they’re gonna fuck with it with or without those excerpts. In their sick minds, they have enough reason to go after the house as it is. Just the city complaints alone will do it because that’d piss them off enough.

Speaking of being pissed, I was lying in bed one night when I began to fume over Bill. Oh, how I just want 5 minutes alone with him!! Just 5 minutes! Tom says that’d just make him more aggressive. He has a point. For every time my mother would take a pop at me, that’d be 5 more kids I’d pop in school and take it out on, but I still think that all guys like Bill need a good beating from a woman. They need to be put in place and taken down a peg or two. They need to be reminded that there are others out there tougher than them and that they’re not capable of beating on everybody. One day (I sure hope) he’s gonna pick on the wrong woman and that woman’s gonna dog him. I mean, how long can man live with the delusion that if it’s smaller than them and if it doesn’t have a dick, they can beat it? There are lots of big guys out there and lots of tiny women that could kick their asses so bad they’d wish those ladies killed them. That’s not the main point, though, in this sick fuck’s case. Remember, he doesn’t beat Sarah and Becky. It’s because Lisa is part of “the other guy.” Bill’s also a very sick, angry little shit.

It just really pisses me off that now that I’ve put Dureen, Art and Larry totally in the past and am getting over the hurt and anger that they caused for so long, now the anger’s replaced by this fuckaroo. Is there ever an end to the thoughts of past people popping into my head and sending me into a rage? I just want to totally forget these people and move on. It’s the best thing I can do for my mental health. Cutting them off is a start, but I still have a bit of “healing” to do, so to speak. I mean, when it comes to my folks, there really isn’t any hurt or anger left. I’m just numb. They’re old news as far as I’m concerned. It’s the bullies like Bill, Larry, Ronnie, that tend to piss me off at times still, but hey, I don’t ever have to see, talk to, or be hurt or angered by these sickos ever again. And I remind myself of this fact and it helps me to get by. I may have old, bad memories, but never will there be new, bad memories in addition to the old ones. It’s all over. They can’t hurt me anymore. They can’t frustrate or piss me off anymore. They can’t hit me, they can’t lie to me, they can’t pit others against me, they can’t send me to places that treat me like a criminal, they can’t control me, they can’t threaten me, they can’t make me feel like a piece of shit.

I don’t know if I mentioned this, but my last period was the first period in many years where I didn’t need a big pad.

Today we went to the mall to look at a doll store there. They had hundreds of dolls, but only a few of them were nice, and they cost $200 - $400. They were also bigger than the ones I liked in the catalog. Friday we’re gonna check out another small store that’s not in a mall, and this place in Scottsdale that’s supposed to be one of the biggest doll stores in the country. If I don’t like what they’ve got here, or their prices, I’ll just go ahead and order from the catalog in December with my birthday/holiday money. I feel like it’s gonna take me forever to accumulate 3-4 dolls, though, no matter where I get them! Marge, you little user! Why don’t you pay for them?!

Ratsy’s in a fine mood, jumping and running all around. Hope he won’t stay the unappreciative little bastard he’s been! We got him a really cool nest and a half-log to burrow in, but so far, he’s walking on the tops of them, but not going inside them. The next is a hollow ball made of straw-like material. It’s got holes on 4 sides of it to go in and out of. The half-log is a green piece of wood that’s dome-shaped. I think the mice would like these things better. The mice like anything and everything. We got them a toy, too (they all got salt spools and Ratsy got a new pink bottle).

For the mice, we got them a bunch of color cubes you put together. You snap clear pieces into colored frames, then you build them like toy building blocks. It’s pretty cool, but a little flimsy to build, and there’s not much variety that goes into it. Not unless you had many, many pieces. Like 2-3 kits.

Got two palm tree pictures for $5. They’re in gold frames, and I like this size better because it’s easier to work with. These are around 10 x 8.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 26, 1998 Joebitch has been a good girl, but a weird one. Is someone moving from her household? Well, I highly doubt she’s moving, because I’d vibe it, and because there’d be music like hell coming from over there, but what about that teenage boy? Is there a teenage girl living there? I remember Tom once said there was, and he’d see her leave for school in the mornings. There’s gotta be more than just her and the mistake over there. I just know there’s more over there, but if so, why don’t play ball more often for my sake?

Anyway, what I saw was a white pickup truck parked in the driveway with one box visible from the window I was peering out of. It left, then returned with what looked to be an empty flatbed. Then, it left with a lot of stuff in it and returned later emptied out. Then I saw Joebitch and the little clown talking to the two black ladies that Tom said he saw get into the truck one of the times it left, then they left and haven’t been back since. I also saw a large white blazer which left as soon as it came. It could very well be that the mother of that teenage boy, which was definitely her nephew, had to do some jail time, is now out, and is getting its boy back.

Last night at 11:00, I heard voices, and someone left from there, but didn’t see who it was. Then the bitch crashed at 11:30.

It’s just after 8:00 now and when I checked a little while ago, there were no lights on. This bitch doesn’t hit the sack early on weekends, so I’d say it’s out somewhere.

What the fuck is going on, though? Why do so many cars come and go from that place on weekends? No one loves a bitch that much, so what is it they’re getting from this bitch? It ain’t love. Is it drugs? What? Something’s going on. It used to be that the bitch may have someone over once one day of the weekend, but now, as soon as she’s home on Fridays they start coming, and they come and go like bees on both Saturdays and Sundays.

Later…

Well, well. Guess who’s here visiting? It’s Mr. Fuck! I’m not entirely sure since it’s dark, but that’s definitely a car that’s parked there, not a van or truck. And it’s also not white. I thought the bitch had been out with him, till I realized I didn’t hear/see the cock come to get its bitch, and I only heard one car door when I saw the headlights shining in the music room and paused the music to listen. Also, the living room and kitchen windows stayed dark, so it sounds to me like Joebitch called its cock from its bed, and he came running over and let himself in for a good fuck. I’m sure he still has the key, too.

What? Is this bitch afraid to be alone or something? She’s had company come and go now for nearly 10 hours. That’d drive me crazy. I’d be like - give me some space!

I forgot to mention that on Friday, Joebitch should’ve gotten some mail for a “Bill Garner.” Unless her dad opened it, and I hope not, she got a little confetti shower. I addressed it to Bill Garner and put a bogus return address. In the past, I’d never bother with return addresses. So, to the bitch, she’ll be annoyed as all hell, but won’t tie me into it. Not unless she’s one paranoid puppy. It should look like someone addressed it to her by accident, and nothing else. I put the confetti, by the way, in one of those blank cards that Doe and Art sent. I didn’t write anything on the card but a big question mark.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1998 I’m washing the shower curtain right now, and soon I’ll try to scrub our filthy, impossible-to-clean tub.

Later…

I’m on the phone gabbing with Andy now. He’s going through his usual few subjects - Stevie Nicks, work, and going back east to be with David.

He said he’s sure he’s leaving on April 30th.

Sure. Right.

I’m typing as I’m half-listening to his non-stop garble. But he’s my pal and I love him.

He started off by saying, “I didn’t get fired, but I got complaints two days in a row.” I asked for what, figuring he’d say it was for flirting, but instead, he was rude. So, he’s gonna be taking a break from waiting tables, which has really been stressing him out lately, and which he just isn’t into anymore, he’ll be hostessing. Seating the people, instead of serving the people. They’re only gonna pay him $7 an hour, though.

He said that the reason he’s going back on April 30th is so he can hitch a ride with Joyce and Bill. That’s his aunt and uncle and they go to Vegas every year. At least he won’t have to worry about springing the cash to get back.

Later…

After just over an hour, Andy finally let me go. He could’ve easily kept going till he had to go to work at 5:30, though. We talked about the usual - Stevie, Quinn, Dave, Michelle, and work.

He still wonders about what was really going through Quinn’s mind up till he died. He did tell me that some girl was rubbing his face in the fact that his brother molested him, trying to get him to deal with it and that that seemed to cause his mind to snap to the point that the police were called. During the cop’s visit to his apartment, they noticed all his drug paraphernalia, so they returned two hours later with a warrant. It looks like he was gonna be facing some jail time.

He also told me that when he and his sister were going through his things, they found a scrapbook full of all kinds of stickers. Mostly colorful ones that children would have. That was when the sister told Andy that that was part of the pervert brother’s way of rewarding Quinn. Whenever the brother would want a sex favor, he’d give Quinn stickers for it.

He says Michelle’s wasting her time. She met some gay girl online that she’s gonna meet. Well, if this girl shows up (it might not even be a girl) she says she’ll be happy enough to settle for friendship if the girl doesn’t turn her on. That’s what she says, but it’s not that easy, as Andy pointed out. She’s gonna be too pissed if she isn’t attracted to her. You get all psyched up to meet someone, then find them to be ugly, or at least not attractive, and you’re too let down and pissed to want to be all buddy-buddy with them. See, Michelle’s only 24, so she’s now learning the things I learned at her age. She’ll learn, though, and get used to reality at some point. At least I hope she does since she can’t change it.

Later…

Tom went to work an hour ago, but he’ll be back at 9:30. (I hope) It’s just that end-of-the-month bullshit he has to deal with. I say I hope he’ll be in then because rather than eating my second TV dinner, he’ll be bringing in my weekend treat of a small order of fries and a cappuccino shake. The shake may play on my tummy a bit, as is dairy’s favorite thing to do with me, but it’ll be worth it. I just hope he doesn’t get held up at work till 11:30. That happens to him sometimes, so, if he’s not here by 10:30, I’ll just go ahead and eat a TV dinner.

The Lopezs sure did get themselves a hell of a spotlight in their backyard. I was in the back room when I saw light reflecting on the house across the alley and went out to check it out. This light is really damn bright. Brighter than the freeloader’s security light. I think this one’s motion-censored, too.

I wonder if Tom’s back muscle strain will enable us to go back to screwing around till the next thing comes up to bump us out of our plans/schedule. Still haven’t been as horny as I used to be, still don’t want a kid, thank God.

Tom isn’t the only injured party here, believe it or not. I have mild pulled muscles in the backs of my thighs, and major pulled ones in the area in front of the armpits. The muscles that go down into the tits. It wouldn’t prevent me from screwing, though.

Still walking every day, although I do take 1-2 days off a week. Still about 113-115 pounds from what I can guess and the mineral pill’s still curbing 80% of the problem I was having with constant, intense hunger.

It’s Friday night, so the stereos are out. Someone’s been banging by for 3 evenings in a row at around 6:30, but when I run to look, I never see a car. I don’t think it’s Caddy Kid, because I’d see him. Also, Caddy Kid would bang by either three times a day or no times a day. This one’s doing it just once. The music doesn’t last for long and it’s not as loud either, so maybe it’s a block away. Or not driving past both the side and front of the house, since we’re on the corner. Maybe he comes up the side, but then turns the other way and doesn’t go by the front.

Measles really knows she’s my favorite bird. I put some seed on the block wall and she dove right into it. Whenever some of the others tried to sneak a bite at the sides of her, I shooed them away with a wave of my arm. Meanwhile, she didn’t even flinch. It’s like she knew I was guarding her.

Later…

Tom got in early and we just ate our weekend treat.

I cannot believe that I’m just about a week away from my first anniversary of quitting smoking. It’s unbelievable. I never thought I’d see this day. Tom did, though. He said he knew it was inevitable. He also says it’s inevitable that we’ll have a kid. I don’t want one, though, although that’d make me more eligible in God’s eyes. If Tom were right, but I know he’s not, then that’d mean I’d have to get fixed because of health problems. The only way I’d let them fix me is if it were necessary due to health problems/risks, but I don’t see how the hell there can be a connection. I’ve never heard of sterility causing health problems.

Andy said that for the longest time, he’d ask himself what his purpose in life was. Then, he realized that there were two purposes - to show Quinn that a man can love another man, and to lead me out here and to Tom and all that. Well, it sure is true that if it weren’t for him I’d never be out here. God would either have to find some other way to get me out here and to Tom or send Tom back east to me there.

I know Andy won’t move back east, but a bigger part of me wishes he would. He wouldn’t call me as much, although he’s improved with that. But talking once a month would be better for me than once a week. Hell, I could go months, but still, talking once a month would make our talks more special.

He’d also have my letters to look forward to, and I’d look forward to sending them.

Lastly, I’d get to laugh at him in the winter, which he gave me permission to do.

Except for Lisa, he left things behind. There are his parents, his brothers, nieces, nephews, the beach, other people he knows, bars he knows, etc. Although, if he and David hit it off, I doubt they’d go to bars. David lives in a house that he shares with two other guys. These two other guys are a couple, I believe, and they own the house. Or one of them does. As Andy told David (this is totally understandable) he doesn’t really feel comfortable about moving in with people he doesn’t know, so he and David are gonna look for a place of their own when Andy gets there. He says David’s gonna support him till he gets a job.

I hope I’m wrong on two things. I hope he really does go back. And I hope he and David have a great relationship. It’s sad, though, to see Andy have to give up this beautiful weather and his home here, to have the slightest shot at love. A person should be able to find love anywhere, but then again, I sure as hell didn’t find anyone like Tom back there and I don’t think there’s such a thing as a Tom S anywhere else. Not just back there.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1998 Today was a busy, yet productive day. I changed the mice and rats’ cages (did a neat new setup), did a quick little load of laundry for Tom, did the dishes, and made a little booklet of scanned pictures for Mom, Mary, and Dave. That scanner is one of the best investments we ever made. I scanned about 12 pages, each with two pictures per page, of animals and cage setups. Mostly pictures of Gizzy, Teddy Bear, Bunny and Spunky. I let them know I’d soon make a booklet with pictures of the cat, rat, and current GP.

Tom’s mom called while I was in the bathroom and left a message saying she didn’t think he should do any more work since his back’s bad. That was nice of her to consider him like that.

Tom says they’re gonna illegalize unavailable calls. Most unavailable calls are sales and it’s that way so that people will be more likely to answer and get suckered into something than they would if they could see the name/number of these assholes. They’re already illegal in Texas. All businesses must show their name and numbers. When we move we’ll go back to having two lines. One for the computer and for people we have to give our number to, but don’t want to be harassed by, like credit card companies. See, if we give Sears our number, for example, they go and give it to other companies, so since a lot of companies sell their customer list, it just keeps escalating till every sales company out there has our number. Two lines will also be good if Lisa calls and Tom wants to go on AOL while we’re talking.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 1998 The cock came and got its bitch this morning and of course, Bill’s here now. I didn’t see the cock and bitch, but I’m sure the bitch will be dropped off in the afternoon by its cock, too.

Sometimes I want to say I’m around 110 pounds, other times 115 pounds. Well, I don’t know what I am. I just know I’m not below 110 pounds or over 120 pounds.

My allergies are on the fritz again. Bad time in Arizona for that.

Yesterday, I said to myself, my teeth are just now losing their soreness, and in just 12 days, I gotta be made sore all over again. Bummer!

Got some corny emails from Evie. A couple of stupid stories. One’s about hugs and the other is about burdens.

I’m still furious about our daughter. What? I spend 32 years being angry at my family, get over that, and now I have to be angry at his family? Thanks, God.

Maybe Tom could’ve mowed by now, could’ve fixed the back screen door, could’ve done a lot of things that we need to do around the house if he weren’t so busy having to live that asshole’s life for her. Yeah, he’ll be getting off of work in about a half-hour, then he’ll be heading over to her house to do yet more work for her.

I wonder why he stopped over at Mary’s to eat lunch, though? He said he was in the area and stopped there, rather than at our daughter’s house, but I thought he was supposed to have washed his hands clean of that user. Well, maybe he meant he’d still associate with her, but not spend another $4,000 on her or hours and hours of work, either. Hours that add up to months, even years.

The only thing that I believe will absorb some of this hurt, but mostly anger, is just not gonna happen. And that’d be our daughter paying half of our outstanding bills, giving him a few hundred to just blow on whatever he wants, and buying me a few of those dolls I want.

Again, that’s not gonna happen, and I’ll do almost anything for Tom’s family out of my love and respect for my husband (not buy her thousands of more dollars on things, but attend her funeral and things like that), but other than doing anything he may request of me, I don’t ever want to see his fucking family again and I can’t wait for the day that user dies.

Our daughter can’t give us back the time we’ve lost due to her, but she can give us back the money we’ve lost due to her. I’m surprised Tom’s not pushing for her to pay us some of the money back that she owes us and that she used us for. He’d push to get his money back if a company ripped him off of that amount of money, so why not her?

Later…

I had to take some Benadryl which put me out for a two-hour nap since I couldn’t stop sneezing.

Just walked 10 minutes and added those 10 minutes to the 5 minutes I’ve already walked. I’ll do more, too. Walking and playing the tiles game sure beats walking to music or reading while walking. It’s the quickest time-passer. It makes walking a half-hour seem like walking for a few minutes. Of course, I break up that 20 minutes to a half-hour over the course of the day.

Speaking of working out, well, I learned two new things about coffee. I learned that caffeine enhances a workout. Something to do with how it affects the central nervous system. It’s also a mild diuretic. No wonder I have to pee so much when I drink it. Even decaf coffee makes me pee like hell.

Tom brought the animals (except the cat) a treat today when he went to pick up sawdust. He got more nibble sticks, and also some Cheetos. There are orange ones and green ones. It said on the bag that it was for guinea pigs, hamsters, gerbils, mice and rats. Velvet and Ratsy didn’t seem to care for the orange ones, but they ate the green ones. The mice seem to like both.

He said he saw the perfect nest for Ratsy there that he’ll take me to see sometime. Right now he’s curled up in dreamland in the old plastic ball. He’s too big for this ball, though. It’s really only good for hamsters and gerbils. The mice never cared for the ball. They just sit there, rather than roam around in it.

Tom’s back is doing better. He said when he keeps moving, it’s OK, but when he’s still, it gets stiff.

He was able to work at our daughter’s house and says things are going as scheduled and he should be done tomorrow. Thank God!

He said he’s determined to get going with doing stuff for us and with living our lives.

We had another chat, which was good, about her and the money and all that. He reminded me that whether or not she knowingly took advantage of Tom for his money (which she never needed because she’s got 100 grand in the bank) or did so due to her illness, that money’s coming back because we’ll be getting about $20,000-$30,000 when she dies. True. And what goes around does come around. I really believe that. At least I do for most people. Someday those freeloaders are gonna make a reasonable request of someone and they’re gonna get shit on for it. Someone’s gonna bother them and stress them out someday. Fortunately, I’ve paid for all the people I woke up with my prank calls and I’ve paid for that child I’ll never have waking me up as I woke my folks up, but it’s gonna be another several months before I pay for the annoying calls I made. Remember, I have to pay at least 4 times over for the things I do. Got lots of more sales calls to be bothered by!

So, as Tom told me he feels he’s paid his debt to his dad, but it was something that he, at least in his mind, had to do. He’d hang out with his father because he was his friend, but when he hangs out with his mother, it’s because he’s being the “good son.” So, he’ll continue to visit his mom, but he’s not gonna give her hours of his time and thousands of dollars. He can at least visit her because what’s gone on with her is a totally different situation than what I went through with my family. His mother doesn’t abuse him in any way.

Later…

The cock’s on the street. Bill’s still here, too, but I expect he’ll slam out any sec. He’s parked outside of the carport, though, so I won’t hear his door so much.

That bitch is just like our daughter. Nothing but a user. Even if Bill has no wife and no life, you think he wants to put in all those hours of work in taking care of that little mistake and getting no money for it? I don’t think so. She’s using him.

Know what else shocks me? The fact that the cock doesn’t approach and leave the house blasting music. I mean if it’s on the street, what can I do, right? I’m surprised that once he gets as close as two houses away when he’s coming and that once he pulls out into the street when he’s leaving, he doesn’t really blast it. Maybe the bitch really doesn’t like the music real loud, because although she’s been with him when his bass was thumping, she’s never been with him when it’s really thumping. That’s basically his thing. Guess that bitch really does want to keep that house bad. Fortunately, I still vibe us moving before they do, thank God, so I can make my little delivery and not have to worry about them damaging the house.

Later…

If Andy really moves in April, though I know he won’t, then either Tom or I am right about moving in March or June. Or somewhere really close to March and June, if old patterns stick. As Andy pointed out, we’d always move within a few months of each other. So, if patterns stick, one of us should be right and I hope it’s him, of course. I just hope that it’s quiet till we split and that we go before our lovely freeloaders do!

Speaking of old patterns sticking, it should be quiet this winter. Normally, I’d get compensated for all this quiet time I’ve been soaking up, but I never seem to move out of a noisy situation. Except for the NHA. I’m not saying there won’t be enough basketball games, but it’s always after I’ve gotten a neighbor to quiet down that one of us moves. Not always, but usually. If things keep going as they have, though, the freeloaders should stay quiet as far as the music goes till they move. Or till we do. If they were moving right now, though, there’d be music like you wouldn’t believe. So, if I suddenly start getting based out, that’ll mean they’re moving, because then what would they care anymore? Not that they ever did care about me. Just themselves. They’ll probably revert back to their old ways after we move if we do move first. I don’t know if the cock will move back in, but it’ll spend nights there, which I’m surprised it doesn’t do now, and the music will be like old times whenever he does come and go. Same with the bitch’s cronies.

Later…

Today and yesterday were easier as far as the hunger goes. I hope that since I can’t be hunger-free every day I can at least be OK most days. I’m walking, doing inner thigh, hip, and arm exercises, and watching the calories. I’d guess my weight to be about 115 pounds now. My guess as to what I’ll weigh when I weigh myself next is 112-115 pounds. Wish I could say I’d be no higher than 110 pounds, but nope.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 22, 1998 This is unbelievable. I expected to remain in the high one-teens to the low 120s until I weighed myself again in mid-October. You know, like 117-122 pounds. When I woke up, though, I was noticeably thinner. Thinner than I ever have been since gaining weight, I think. My hips are down to a 35”! According to what I’ve kept track of on the calendar, my hips were 37” when I was 122 pounds and 36” when I was 117 pounds. After calculating, wouldn’t me having my hips at 35” put me at around 111 pounds? But could I really be down that low? Do I look it? I’ll have to ask Tom.

Meanwhile, I also almost buttoned up a pair of shorts that I couldn’t even come close to zipping, let alone buttoning. I could pull the material at the waist within 2” of touching and that was it. Now, I can zip them up and almost button them. If I tried hard enough, I’m sure I could button them, but not without squashing my kidneys and all that. No thanks.

Lastly, there was a really sexy bikini-like top that Andy gave me that used to belong to a friend of Michelle’s. Her friend was an exotic dancer too, and it’s a gold satin top, with black ribbon straps and black fringes hanging down to the hips. Well, I couldn’t even clasp that top around my tits when I was given this thing. I was a good inch or two away from the clasps reaching. Now - perfect fit!

Picked up five suspense movies at the video store yesterday, and Tom got a computer game in the mail that he was all psyched up about. I’ve seen three of the movies and they were great. I was afraid it’d turn out that I’d seen them before but had just forgotten, or that I wouldn’t be able to get into them.

Tom’s at our daughter’s house trying to finish up the six or so remaining hours of Mrs. Live-My-Life-For-Me’s work. I hope his back holds out during this slavery, which he hurt at work last night. Now all I have to do is hope that Mrs. Do-Everything-For-Me won’t end up worsening it.

Later…

I’m OK with never seeing Tammy again and I probably never will, but I sure miss Lisa. I really believe, though, that she’ll fly out here someday within the next few years. If not to live, then to visit.

She and Sarah are just kind of there in the looks department, but God I hope poor Becky’s looks improve for her sake. She is not only geeky and overweight, but her face reminds me of a little chipmunk. Tammy’s feelings would probably be hurt if I told her that of all three girls, I really see her in Becky. It’s so true, though. She also looks a lot like Bill’s niece Lisa who’d be in her late teens by now. She too, was a homely, heavy girl. I shouldn’t talk, though. I’m not only aging in looks, but I’m also looking like a total geek these days. I always had a geeky look to my face. Not my eyes, but in the mouth and chin area, I look really goofy. And although I’m thinner than I was last January, and although most women would probably swap bodies with me, I’m still fat.

That address label company sent me a few labels. God, I cannot believe people’s persistence! People just do not give up. They are so obsessed. There were 5 sales calls today and I’m sure there’ll be a few more. They’re right back to their old shit as far as the constant calls go. I don’t know anymore if Jenny C is tied in with some of these calls or not, but people sure are pushy.

Speaking of which, I just got an “unavailable” call and the guy asked for David S. Yeah, we still even get mail for him at times. Anyway, I told the guy to fuck off and he said, “Yes ma’am.” Well, we’ll see if this makes him all the more determined to call or not.

Anyway, the labels are seasonal and pretty boring for the most part.

Tom didn’t go to our daughter’s house today because his back hurt too much. He said he should be able to get around to it tomorrow. If he goes there and ends up getting more hurt, I’ll personally kill this woman myself! God, I wish this family didn’t live locally! I love Arizona and want to stay here, but sometimes I think California or Nevada would be nice. Then all these users wouldn’t bother him so much. Hell, I can’t believe Wendy doesn’t call anymore. Haven’t heard from her in months.

Tom’s dad was really big on people not taking advantage of others. He turned his brother away who was a homeless drunk and came to the house one day years ago. Tom said he never saw him that mad. Well, I always believed that if someone was a negative influence in your life, you should get rid of them whether they’re related or not. People need to have self-respect and look out for themselves.

Tom taught me the class he’s gonna be teaching to about 10 people tonight, so he could practice how he’d go about it. It’s that thing they taught him in Vegas about handling change and how the “ending phase” brings on feelings of denial, anger, shock, fear, and frustration. (I’d add depression) And the “neutral zone” brings on feelings of anxiety, chaos, confusion, uncertainty, and miscommunication. The “new beginning” brings on feelings of enthusiasm, anxiety, energy, hope, impatience, creativity, acceptance, and skepticism. Not all people get all these emotions, but some do, and it deals with how to deal with them best.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 21, 1998 The freeloader just got her yard done for free for being the city bum that she is.

Speaking of the little freeloader, I cannot believe the company-freak this lisp bitch is! Fortunately for everyone around here, there was no music. A bald black boy of about 6 years of age began to play basketball, but to my astonishment, it was only for a minute. Also to my astonishment, 3 cars came, and I never even heard doors. You’d think they’d give me a major slamming spree, but nope.

At 11:30, the white car, which seems to be the car that comes the most on weekends, came and took the bitch somewhere. I think this is her sister who drives this white car.

At 2:00 things got really weird. I couldn’t tell for sure, but the two cars in the carport were the white one, and the cock’s car. Out in the driveway, was a red one. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear the cock was living there. He probably did drag over his friends, though.

By 4:00 all cars were gone. Then an hour later, I saw the bitch standing by the red car, which took off shortly after. I also saw someone walking into the house that appeared to be a fat, Spanish woman in her late teens or early 20s. Her hair was wavy, and it was just past the shoulders.

Bill is over there mistake-sitting and given how the weather was this morning, I’d say it’ll be any time now that they’ll pop their windows and doors open and hit the outdoors. It was actually pleasant out, slightly cool. Summer’s just about gone, but the bees aren’t. The bees are still alive and kicking big time, whereas they were gone by mid-August last year.

In good news - I finished the proofreading! Finally, huh? Anyway, I may do some other long-term, fun project, but we’ll see.

Later…

I’m not the least bit surprised to say this, but the mineral pill seemed to stop taking effect yesterday. Yesterday, and today so far, I’ve got my mind on food an awful lot. I’m not back in the 120s like I thought I’d be by now, but I’m definitely still in the 115-120-pound range.

The goddamn phone’s gonna start ringing off the hook any second now. Last Friday by 2:00, there’d already been 20 calls. Lisa, Andy, sales, etc.

I just called and made the appointment with the GYN that Tom and I picked out. The soonest I could get was November 9th, but that’s fine. She’s an OB/GYN and she does infertility.

Now, I know that if I were smart, I wouldn’t even bother. Chances are great that I’m just not gonna get any answers. I don’t know why. It’s just a feeling I get. Also, Tom boldly lied through his teeth last night. I made a comment saying, “You cum more often than not,” to see if he’d go along with it and he did as he said, “Yup,” which is fucking bullshit! Total fucking bullshit!!

After I asked myself if there was any way he could be cumming without my knowing it and acknowledged that the answer was no, I then asked myself why he’d be lying about this. Why is he so afraid to let the truth be known to me? Is he afraid of how I’d react? He obviously isn’t worried about his testing interfering with things or giving him away. Somehow, he knows he can “beat” this testing thing. He seems to be confident about it, anyway. If we do go through with testing, and if he does let them have a sample of his cum, then I was right all along about his “selective cumming.”

Well, as I said months ago, I’m determined to never let the issues of sex or a child hurt, anger, or frustrate me again in any way. I refuse to let these things be a part of my life, and maybe that’s why I’m not hurt that he lied to me, although I suppose I should be. Any other woman probably would be, but because I no longer want a child, and because I got so sick of the whole damn screwy sex thing a long time ago, it doesn’t faze me. Not even I choose to cum anymore when we screw. Although, for different reasons, of course. I’m just not turned on enough, although I would cum regularly if he always went down on me instead of always screwed me. I’d just rather get off myself, but even that’s not so easy anymore.

This is the second out of three vibrators to break on me. So, unless it’s something up there trying to tell me this is a forbidden pleasure, vibrators suck. They’re made so shitty, so I’m just gonna use the last one I’ve got till it breaks, then no more vibrators.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 20, 1998 As far as I know, our little lisp bitch next door’s been behaving. I was only up till 4 PM yesterday, but in all that time, I didn’t see or hear any cars.

Maybe I’ve already mentioned this, but what I don’t get about this bitch and cock is this: If he’s got enough money to have such nice cars, and if he can keep a job steadily, why not marry the bitch and support the bitch and mistake himself? Can’t he take care of them? Why leave them stuck on welfare with all the rules and restrictions that go with it? Maybe the bitch just likes the idea of having something handed to her for free, even if it isn’t much. They’ve all gotta try to get something for nothing.

You know, it still really pisses me the fuck off the more I think of his mom and others on his side of the family. It really burns me up to know we’re out $4,000 and two years because of this selfish woman. Doesn’t she, Mary, Dave, or anyone else have a clue as to how much time and money we’ve lost because of her, Mary, and others? When Tom, who knows money well, told me just how much money we’ve been suckered out of, I was so pissed, and I still am, that I don’t know if I want to even see these people again. It’d just be way too hard to look them in the face and smile and be all nice to them.

I saw on the Caller ID box that Mary called last night after I crashed. Now, I know she didn’t call just to say hi. I’ll ask Tom when he gets up what she wanted from him this time. I just hope he sticks to his word of putting his foot down. I would’ve stopped at the first $100 and the first 10-20 hours of work I put in for Mrs. Do My Work For Me, and when I asked Tom why it took two years and $4,000, he said it was because he felt bad for her. Also, he felt like he owed his dad, who never took advantage of his time or money, but now he’s realized he’s paid his debt many times over. To me, we as children or grownups, don’t owe our parents anything. When they decided to have us, they should’ve known what they were getting into, and they’re not our responsibility. Marge just has no concept of money, according to Tom. Tom’s dad would take him with him to buy parts for jobs he needed and would pay him more than what the parts cost. And he never demanded so many hours, days, months, and even years of work from Tom, and he never played favorites. This woman, though, thinks all jobs should pay $20. He goes out and buys $100 worth of parts, then 5 hours, or days later, depending on how long the job took, she gives him $20, then says she’ll “catch him later.” In other words, what she’s really saying is, “I got what I wanted from you, now fuck off.”

Now, his dad may have given us $10,000 towards buying this house in ‘93, and mom may have bought us a $3,000 AC/heat pump, and given us other things, and we may be doing well financially these days, but with all the money spent on her, we could’ve bought this shit ourselves many times over.

People with younger kids have no respect for others. They think they’re special and that they should come first, and they think they’re owed top this, top that. I’ll bet you anything that Pam raided that house right along with Jackie, Jim, David and Evie.

I wish Marge would just hurry up and drop dead, and I don’t give a shit how mean, selfish, cruel, ungrateful or spoiled that sounds. We’ve lived her life for her long enough. My whole life has been total overkill on taking care of others first and myself last. Or just not being able to live my life for myself and do the things I want to do for whatever reason. Either fate wouldn’t allow it, there wasn’t enough money, etc. I’m not saying no one ever did anything for me or spent money on me. Look at all the help I got from Tammy, Dureen and Art in getting me the hell out of New England. Look at all Tom’s done for me. Nonetheless, my whole life’s been what I was forced to be like, to say, to do, but no more! No fucking more! I have too much self-respect these days to be taken financially or to associate with people like Dureen and Art who don’t love/accept me as I am and who are control freaks. Everything has always been what I can do for others. Not what I can do for myself, but for others. Well, I’m taking my life back now that should’ve been mine the day God gave it to me. As soon as she does die, though, Mary, Evelyn, and others are gonna be bombarding Tom with do-this-and-do-that-for-me requests because they’ll think that when Mom dies, he still won’t want his own life and his own money. Well, they’re wrong!

Deep down, though, I will always appreciate the fact that there was never any violence, verbal, emotional, or sexual abuse in this family as there was in mine. (there was no sexual abuse in mine, though, that I know of) Tom said Ma’s long-dead stepfather was a violent drunk, though. My family consists of abusers, his consists of users.

Of course, I want to do things to please Tom, because he’s the love of my life. Of course, I’ll talk to Lisa. Of course, I’ll tell Andy something in Spanish for him if I can. I’m just saying that Tom and I need to live our lives too, and do stuff for our house, and use our money for us.

In better news, I never knew it when he came into bed last night, so that’s great.

We got our yearly check from SRP for a few hundred dollars, so now we can hunt for the best airfare deals and head on over to Vegas! See, there are two electric companies. APS and SRP. We have APS which is more expensive, so SRP pays us the money we would’ve saved if we’d had them. The people can’t choose who they use, though. It all depends on where you live.

We also picked out a lady OB/GYN (Dr. Wells) for me to call this week for a check-up and to start the testing. I can’t believe I’m finally doing this. Or at least, it looks like I’m gonna be doing this.

I asked Tom if he felt that doing what Andy’s sister Linda did is a form of a black market paying for a person and all that. He said he doesn’t feel paying for fertility stuff/babies in that way is like the black market.

Later…

Tom got up a while ago but has gone back to bed to at least rest. He has to go to work tonight at 7:30.

Mary called to say what she did at Marge’s house. She and Dave went over to play around with the stuff, more so than to help do their fair share of work. Tom has the dumpster till Friday, so at least he’s not too pressured to finish the job, but you’re talking another 5-6 hours’ worth of work he has to do for her.

Thank God there is a Mary and Dave and other relatives because then we’d be stuck with her living here and with 100% of the work, instead of 90% of it. I probably would’ve insisted she go to a nursing home.

Tom was telling me about a disturbing movie he saw that he hopes I don’t see. I won’t want to see it now since he already told me about it. Besides, I pretty much only watch the movies we’ve been renting. I do like commercial-free movies better than TV shows (series) but I hate today’s acting style almost as much as yesterday’s. Yesterday’s was overkill on the dramatics, but at least you could hear what they were saying. Today, there are fewer dramatics, but you can’t hear a damn thing they say, because they talk so fucking soft. And there’s just too much repetition. Like I said, it’s wrong for Dureen and Art to have tried to control/change me like they did, but I can understand how easy it is to get sick of hearing the same things, or things that are of no interest to me.

Being a drama schoolteacher must be easy. I mean, all you gotta do is tell students, “Talk really soft and show no emotion.”

I’m really excited about taking up a new hobby - doll collecting. I’m done collecting mugs, stickers, rodent cage parts, journals and CDs. I wish it weren’t so costly, but I just can’t get over how cute/lifelike some of the dolls in this catalog are! Tom and I are gonna look around the city to see if we can find dolls that are just as nice and compare prices, but I’ll keep this catalog just in case. Hope I win big in Vegas!

I’ll describe the four dolls I’d like to start with getting over the next several months.

The Rapunzel doll, which looks like a small child, is 19” tall with long blond hair, brown eyes, and a dark green dress. If I could change anything about her, I’d make her hair dark and I’d change her dress color to pink.

Katherine Rose, who also looks like a small child, is 14” tall like the Jessica doll I’ve got, with hazel eyes, auburn hair that’s up in a bun with curls hanging down on the sides, and a burgundy-colored dress.

Patrice, who looks like she’s a teenager, is 14” tall and a beautiful ballerina. She stands on one toe, with the other straight up behind her. She’s got dark curly hair piled up with loose curls spilling around her face, dark eyes, and a beautiful, sleeveless, light blue tutu.

Summer Dream is the most realistic and womanly doll of them all, although Patrice is pretty realistic-looking, too. Summer Dream is 19½” tall, and a gorgeous bride with blue eyes and blond hair piled up. I love how her backless gown falls off the shoulders.

I guess I never did describe Jessica, the one I stole in the mail. Well, she’s 14” tall with long blond hair, blue eyes, and is a young child wearing a light blue cotton dress with a matching bonnet and holding a teddy bear.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1998 I have a shitload of shit to update on. First of all, I wouldn’t be surprised if Andy was a pest this weekend. Or at least till we get to talk live next. Red Lobster called me yesterday asking if “Mark” was gonna come in and I let him know that he didn’t live there and that I was just listed as a reference. I gave him his number. Andy left a message later saying he didn’t know why I was called. Guess the kid couldn’t read his file correctly, but Andy’s kind of on-call and doesn’t know from one day to the next whether or not he’s doing lunch or dinner. He hates Red Lobster because he’s making shitty money there. Too bad, because I know he’s wanted to work there for quite a while. Anyway, in his reply message to me, he also said he had some exciting news for me that he wants to tell me live, and I’m thinking - Great. I can’t wait. I’m sure the exciting news is nothing more than a guy he met who he thinks is Mr. Right and that he’ll live happily ever after with, something about Stevie Nicks, or some hot new career he thinks he’s getting into. Nonetheless, I’ll listen to whatever he has to tell me. I’m not a Dureen. It’s not like I don’t care or love and accept him as he is, and it’s OK for him to talk about stuff that doesn’t interest me.

Got up a couple of hours ago and left Andy an update on what’s been going on, which I’ll update here in a sec, but I don’t always expect him to remember or even get what the hell I’m saying.

Haven’t heard from Andy or Michelle about those messages I left. Yeah, I finally got around to leaving some messages with the different voices reading goofy text.

Lisa called me yesterday to fill me in on things. I know that she’ll be calling while she’s suspended. Bill didn’t hit her. That was a relief to know, but she’s still upset with how Tammy appears to be contradicting and she doesn’t like how she’s always talked about. I told Lisa that the sooner she learns that most people are contradicting and that people will always gossip about her whether it’s in a good or a bad way, the easier her life will be (as if Andy hasn’t spent hours and hours talking about me to Michelle).

She said she called Larry’s for the first time in a while and that now she sees what I mean. She said she called wanting to talk to Jen, but Larry answered. She said he sounded very cold. Yeah, I knew it. As I told her, sooner or later, he’s gonna reach his fill and basically wash his hands clean of her. He’s a wimp. Can’t deal with other people’s problems. He didn’t just dump me years ago because of things I said and did to him, Sandy or Michelle, but because I had so many problems back then.

Anyway, instead of thinking - I told her not to call - now she can hopefully learn her lesson from this. She got to see what I was talking about, so hopefully she, Tammy, and her sisters won’t ever contact Mom, Dad, or Larry. They’ll only hurt them. Maybe not right away, but they will. For every good, fun time you can have with these people, that’s 50 frustrating, bad times you get too. They’re not worth it. The bad in them outweighs the good by way too much.

Still haven’t weighed myself in days, and now that my water’s gone and my period has passed, I don’t think I am back in the 120s after all. That trace mineral pill still seems to be making a world of difference, but it’s still too soon to say that it’s because of that. I do have a few days here and there where I’m not hungry every other second, but we’ll see. If I still feel more energized and less hungry a week from now, then yes, I’d say the mineral pill is helping.

If they didn’t make Benadryl, I’d never have gotten to my boring, uncomfortable appointment yesterday. I was in such a foul mood yesterday and I’m sure they all could tell. First, Melanie did her thing which wasn’t too bad. The pressure was only for half a minute, rather than for two or three, but the time I had to spend waiting in between Melanie and the filling, bored me to utter frustration. As well as bitterness towards God. If he’d just let me come into this world normal, I wouldn’t have to go through this shit. Wasn’t just the ear thing alone enough? Obviously not. But at least I get such a great-looking orthodontist out of it.

Novocain is a slow-acting drug. It takes a good 20 minutes or so for it to set in and really numb things up. And it also makes your heart race. It would’ve been fine if Melanie stayed in the room and chatted with me, but I was left all alone in there. I don’t know if it’s because she didn’t want to be around me, or because she had other things to do, but after what seemed like an eternity, the doctor and Oprah came in and filled me.

The doctor may not be such a liar after all. I told him I was surprised I had a cavity since I’d been brushing really well and he said it’s not so much that I have a cavity, it’s that the old filling broke up and left an area of decay exposed that had to be refilled.

Anyway, the soreness caused by Melanie and the doctor combined brought me to tears of frustration when I got home, and I’ve been taking a lot of Ibuprofen. I may have a lot of curses, but boy am I blessed to have such a wonderful, supportive guy like Tom.

Now that my appointment’s over, Tom and I can go back to being “normal” and sleep together.

Later…

What? Are we not working this morning, bitch, or are you back to leaving at 7:30, instead of earlier? Well, I don’t think she’s working. I think it’s some type of training thing. I’ll hear when Bill gets here.

Tom says he doubts the bitch’s cock will move back in again, but I disagree. I hope he’s right, but if I’m right, I’ll just have the cock kicked out again. It’ll only take up to two weeks to boot his ass out of here, and while I’m still here, if you can’t cut it in this neighborhood - you’re out of here! Particularly when it comes to next door.

Those Lopezs are very very lucky that I didn’t know that I’d be here this long back in ‘93 and that I know I won’t be here more than another year. Those dogs have been horrendous lately, and if I’d known I’d be here this long, or if I suddenly wanted to stay here, I’d either take legal action or have those dogs taken away or destroyed. It’d probably be one of the last two since legal action probably wouldn’t do me any good. The courts would tell them to keep their dogs quiet, the Lopezs would say “sure,” then carry on as usual. The only way they could shut those dogs up, anyway, would be to either keep them indoors or debark them.

Here’s Bill.

Later…

Lisa called and we spoke for about an hour. She’s bothered by the fact that people think she’s cutting herself to get attention. I know better, though. Take it from someone who was just like her - it has nothing to do with attention-getting. It’s an illness, and until she learns to channel her anger/depression/frustration differently, this is how it is.

I told her, using the cutting, the weight loss, the ear surgery, the teeth, etc., that it just takes time to solve most problems. They can take years to solve, but if not, they don’t usually get fixed overnight.

I told her that after dealing with two of the three things that I was born without/screwed up, it’s still hard, and it’s taken a long time (she knows about the ear and teeth, but didn’t know about the DES, which I explained to her).

She said she thinks of having a kid, but not at her age, naturally. More like when she’s 27. I told her that in my opinion, not getting married or having kids before age 25 is good. I think that between 25-45 is good. Of course, at her age, she sees 30 and 40-year-olds as antiques. I told her that once she got into her 20s, her 30s and 40s wouldn’t seem so old. Guess it just depends on where you are in life. At 80 years old, wouldn’t the 60-year-olds seem young?

She told me that this 16-year-old from school had a miscarriage, and the next night, she and her boyfriend were out partying. She also feels, though, that it was the best thing since she was so young and since this girl’s parents shouldn’t have been parents themselves from what she told me. I didn’t know God had it in him to kill a child that was inside of another child, but of course, he shouldn’t have stuck it in there in the first place.

She also says she found an old video of me. The one I sent in ‘94 with Tom and I at Castles & Coasters, and with Piggles swimming.

Lastly, she was describing the nuisances of having ADD where you can’t focus too easily on things. I swear that girl and I have everything in common except for two things. I never had the desire to become a meteorologist (not that she’s necessarily gonna end up doing this for sure) and I see nothing to indicate that Lisa’s gay or even bi in any way.

Never have I heard Tom utter one bad word about his father, and never have I heard him utter one bad word about his mother. Until yesterday. He’s fed up with what I got fed up with in ‘95 or ‘96. The constant demands. Do this for her. Do that for her.

See, as much as Tom disagrees with this too, back when his parents got married, it was common for the man to be the boss in every sense of the word. His parents were always the opposite of my parents. With my parents, Doe’s the boss. With his parents, whatever his dad said was what his ma did. So, now he’s not sure if the fact that his mother’s been taking advantage of him has to do with her illness or her own nature. Was she always this way? Is this the true Marjorie S that only emerged after Dad’s death? Although, I think it all started as soon as Dad got sick.

I’m glad that Tom told both his mother and Mary how he feels, and this is what he told me: He’s mainly bummed out by all the time and money he’s put into her, while she just gives hundreds of dollars worth of things to Jackie and Jim, David and Evie, etc. All they have to do is ask and they get. Tom spends 5 hours doing a job for her that costs him $30 worth of parts and what does she give him for it? A lousy $20. Meanwhile, that’s $10 and 5 hours he’s lost that we could’ve spent together, doing things for us for a change, in our house, and that’s money that could’ve been saved towards moving.

He totally regrets giving up his Nissan for her Ford, but Ma felt like she was doing him this huge favor and was all bummed out at the idea of him not taking the fucking thing. He’s spent so much money and so many fucking hours fixing this car. It’s getting better and it’ll be a sufficient enough car to have till we get a new one, but at least with the Nissan, it never wouldn’t go at all. He could put quick fixes on it till he had time to work on it. Not with this Ford, though. He has to work on major, money-eating problems right then and there or be without a car.

As I told him, I always did feel that he was the one who had to do the bulk of her work. He has to be Mary’s fucking mechanic, he has to put in a shower door at her house because Dave’s too stupid to, and on and on and on. He’s his mother’s driver, his mother’s this, his mother’s that, but everyone else gets to get things for nothing. They don’t lose any time or money.

I really think it’s because we don’t have kids. His mother obviously thinks that just because he has a life, he doesn’t mind giving it up for her. Well, she’s wrong, and I’m sick of the demands from that family and I’m sick of the favoritism. They’ve lessened lately, but still. Poor Tom has to spend hours at her old house, after working all night, emptying the stuff into a dumpster, while everyone else gets to sit on their fucking asses and get shit handed to them. I hope he’ll enjoy the memories that the stuff brings, though, because he was very close to his dad.

Years ago I wanted to tell Ma, “Hey! You’re running him ragged and I’m afraid you’re gonna kill the guy! He needs to get his sleep and he needs to live his life, too.”

But of course I never did/would because it’s not my place to. Not unless something serious did happen to Tom. Tom’s not blind, though. Unlike some people, he’s able to see what this has done to him/us, and he knows when to draw his own lines.

So, Tom’s basically had to decide whether or not to wash his hands clean of the situation, which he knows would mean sticking more on Mary, but tough. There comes a time when you have to think of yourself and your own life, too, you know. He’s not gonna dump his family in the way that I dumped mine, but he’s not gonna spend all this time and money on living her life for her.

I still love his mother dearly as well as the rest of the family, but if I were in their company right now, I don’t think I’d be my usual bubbly self. I think I’d be distant with a neutral tone of voice and they may perceive that to be cold, but like Tom said, you can’t control/change what others think.

I’m proud of him for speaking his mind and for making the decision he’s made.

I don’t know if she’s gonna sell the house or give it to Jackie and Jim, who are under the very false impression that they can rent that house out and get money for doing nothing. Well, if they take that house, they’re gonna be in for a surprise when they start calling for Tom’s help with maintaining it because the answer’s no.

I asked Tom if he thought I was using him for rides to the doctor and he said no because that’s part of our system, just like he’s not using me to do his laundry. True. Very true.

Both yesterday and the day before, I just missed the call back from Dr. Brown’s office. Lisa, the secretary called and left a message. Again, was I meant to miss the call? I sure felt like I was.

So yesterday, Tom offered to sit down with me this weekend and pick out one of Intergroup’s GYNs and just go directly to them so I wouldn’t have to go for repeat PAPs and all that BS.

Just a little while, though, Lisa called. It came up as private (private in the back and anonymous in the living room) and I picked up thinking that although it was early, maybe it was Andy. It was Lisa, though, and I recognized the voice right away. She asked how I knew it was her and I told her I was very good with voices. Anyway, she told me the primary doctors allow you to go once to another doctor without a referral and to call her back if there are any problems.

So, I guess it’s off to whatever GYN we pick out.

Later…

Oh, brother! Here we go again. What’s Andy’s wonderful news? Well, in his message to me, he says he’s definitely moving back east in April. David’s gonna pay for it, he’ll be moving right in with David, and he just doesn’t want to be alone anymore. Yeah, right! I mean, I know he’s desperately lonely, but I also know I’ve heard this before from him about moving back east and I know he’s not gonna do it.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1998 Unbelievably, I slept through a power failure. In the past, as soon as the power would fail, I’d wake up to the sound of the fan shutting down, the instant the power failed. I guess that since I’ve become much more relaxed since I don’t have the stress of next door’s old shit on me anymore, I can sleep better, but the power failure had to be only for a few seconds. If it were longer than just a few seconds, I’d wake up to the outside noise. Car doors, dogs, squeaky breaks, the mail going through the slot, anything.

I created new color themes, but I’ve got to fine-tune some of them.

Yesterday morning the freeloaders slammed doors for what seemed like forfuckingever. Looks like we’re back to the old routine - the cock’s taking the mistake for the day and the bitch is going off with Bill. Although, the cock was here longer than usual. At least for 15 minutes. Before, he’d just grab the mistake and split. Also, Bill’s car was here for quite a while, too, even after the cock left.

Later…

Tom brought home natural mineral pills called chromium picolinate. I’ve never heard of it before, but so far it’s a gift from God. I repeat, so far, since things have a way of seeming to do me good at first, then not so good after all.

As I may have mentioned, I’ve really had it with being hungry all the time. It was really taking its toll on me. Tom put the scale in the garage, which I don’t need anyway because I can tell when I lose or gain weight. I’m already gaining back the weight I’ve lost, but that’s OK. Nowadays I’m more into how I feel. Not how I look. I can be a fat person. No one’s gonna shoot me for it, and my husband will love me just the same. Anyway, the purpose of these mineral pills is to curb hunger pangs. It said that low blood sugar causes poor concentration, weakness, and food cravings. Well, I definitely was having poor concentration and food cravings. I took one yesterday with food, as they recommended. I got up at 1 AM and had a few crackers to hold me over. I had decided that I’d have a whole can of bean soup once I fully woke up. So once I did wake up, I reached for the can of soup, but then realized I wasn’t the least bit hungry. So I waited till just a little while ago, but by the time I ate half the soup, I felt stuffed! So, we’ll just have to see what happens.

I’m gonna try to keep up with the walking. It takes just over 5 minutes to play a tiles game while walking, so even if I play 5 games once an hour, it ought to do me good in keeping my stamina built up.

Later…

Just did a little singing for the second time since I’ve been up.

Ratsy really wanted out of his cage today and yesterday. He really likes coming out and being handled now a lot better than he did at first.

Blackie’s really getting healthier. When I’d pat his back, I could feel all the knobs of his spine, but now it’s covered. He’s filling out nicely.

I can’t cry over this one, but I haven’t seen White Paws in a couple of days. I wonder where the hell she could be. I never thought she’d disappear any more than I thought Mama Cat would, but we’ll see. I think she’ll show up soon enough.

Different family members are having their share of medical stuff to deal with. Mary and Evie are having gallbladder surgery, and Mary’s gonna have part of her thyroid removed. Mom’s still shaky and out of it, but there’s a new medication she’s gonna be trying that’ll hopefully help the tremors.

I don’t know if I ever mentioned Tom’s first wife Karen. They were married for two years when Tom was around 20. They were married in Bullhead City, AZ. Karen turned out to be a real nut and Tom said she wanted to divorce so she could be free to do more things alone. According to Tom, she didn’t want kids. If he did, though, then why’d he marry someone who didn’t?

Guess I’ll be chatting with Andy again sometime soon. We were talking about the scandal going down with the president the last time we spoke. I just don’t understand why the public is so shocked. They act as if they’ve never heard of such slutty behavior before. Hey, whores are a dime a dozen.

I typed up a few messages that I’ll leave, in different voices, on Michele’s machine after she leaves for work.

Later…

The blue car came and got the bitch just a few minutes ago. Bill’s car’s over there now, so I guess he’s gonna be here mistake-sitting all day.

As fate would have it, White Paws is alive and well and I just found her outside the door. This goes to prove Tom wrong, though, when he says she is too weak to hunt for herself. I hadn’t fed her in a few days, which was when I last saw her, yet she had to have eaten something since then, or else she’d be dead. She can fend for herself just fine.

God, that’s so fucking weird! It’s raining, thundering, and windy as all hell out there right now, yet the sun is shining brightly.

Later…

My period’s doing what it’s been doing for the last several months. About 4-5 days ago, I had a couple of days of spotting, but nothing since then. So, within the next few days, I’ll have a flow.

You know, I don’t really like the idea of Bill babysitting here. What’s to say that when the weather cools down that thing’s not gonna be out and about screaming its little black clown ass off? I’m sure I wouldn’t notice it for the most part, since I have the air cleaner on a lot or a fan to drown out the guard dogs, and it’s better than bass, but I still don’t like the idea of it. I’m gonna have enough screaming and ball games to listen to this winter as it is. Well, I’ll deal with next door as I see fit. Sometimes I think of propping the music room window open, both when I know they’re bopping around in their driveway, and in the middle of the night, and really letting them have it music-wise, but two things stop me from doing so. One is that I just can’t stoop myself as low as they are and provoke them for no reason like they’ve done to me. They haven’t caused any shit to deserve this in months, save for the usual door-slamming. The other reason is that I know it won’t bother them. In fact, they’d probably enjoy it.

Later…

I wish these next two days would come and go like yesterday! I’m dog-tired already, yet I have a long haul ahead of me. I want to stay up till at least 6:00.

Although the mineral pill is still keeping me from being ferociously hungry, and although I’m stuck, I am so bloated and so watery! Not even the water pill’s helping much, and I’ve got to be back to 124 pounds for sure or very close to it. I can tell you one thing for sure and that’s that I’ve got to be back in the 120s.

I’m waiting for the damn doctor’s office to call me back. Believe it or not, after a talk I had with Tom yesterday, I decided to finally go ahead and take the first steps towards getting tested, and whatever happens, happens. I'm waiting to hear if I should go directly to a GYN, or waste everyone’s time with repeated bloody PAPs at the regular office.

I still don’t want a child nor is it something I could ever handle, but I need to see instead of just suspect and believe how this whole thing will play out. Let’s see how accurate I am when I say they’ll either be able to find what’s wrong, but not be able to fix it, or they won’t be able to find what’s wrong. Let’s see how accurate I am about how uncooperative Tom will be, too. He swears he’ll support me and that he’ll “do his best.” He said to me, “Just because I may not be able to do what they suggest the instant they suggest it, doesn’t mean I’ve got some subconscious fear blocking me.” In other words, he’s already making excuses for what we both know he’s gonna do. If his not cumming isn’t in his psyche, then what else could it be? There’s no such physical problem as a guy who can get hard, but who can only cum once in a blue moon. As long as he can get hard, which is almost every time we screw, he can get off almost every time we screw, but if he doesn’t cooperate, I’m not gonna let that stop me from doing what I have to do. I want some answers if there are any for me at all and you know what else? I just may want to be fixed, if it were possible so I too, could have the choice that every woman should have. God certainly isn’t an equal-opportunity plumber, that’s for sure.

Later…

It’s almost hard to believe I’m still up. Between 10:00 and noon, I was dog-tired. Tom got in around noon, and we agreed I’d take a two-hour nap while he listened for the phone, but by then I couldn’t even nap. Well, I’d like to push it till 6:30 if I can. Then all I have to do is hope there are no storms.

I called at around 10 AM and asked the nurse to ask the doctor if she thought it best that I go directly to a GYN and explained why. I was told I’d be called back between 1:00 - 3:15. Gee, they’re really reliable, huh? Wonder if it’s a sign. Tom says if they don’t call, just make an appointment with a GYN, but I don’t know.

I walked 37 minutes today and it seemed to take no time at all. That’s because I broke it up and played 7 different tiles games once an hour. From now on, I’m going to try to walk/play at least 5 games a day, which will add up to about 30 minutes of walking. I’ll probably eat two TV dinners a day and snack on salad and popcorn in between.

Lisa called today. It was her that tried calling me a couple of days ago. She tried from school. She got suspended for being caught smoking. Back when I was in high school (the real one) they had a smoking area in an outside courtyard, but her high school doesn’t allow smoking anywhere.

Once again, I lectured her on the importance of doing well and following the rules so she can graduate and get out of there. But, as Tom says, teenagers don’t believe a thing grownups say. She’ll just have to live and learn.

She also cut herself after doing really well. I told her that we all have setbacks, but that each time she picked herself back up again, she’d stay up for longer.

Again, this cancer may not kill Bill (if it really ever existed), but he sure would literally die of relief if he knew just how lucky he is that I’m on the other side of the country. I haven’t wanted to kill anybody this bad in years! The sick fuck’s still badgering Lisa about her weight. I told her again to speak up and take a stand for herself. Let him know hey, you’re hurting me when you pick on me like that, and if you truly loved me, you’d see me for who I am and not what I look like. What? Does he think he’s Mr. Stud of the Year? Yeah, he probably does.

She says he scares her with his yelling at her but has kept his paws to himself lately. I told her not to worry about being yelled at, but that if he laid a hand on her, she should call the police.

She says he talks about me and it pisses her off. He’s been saying how weird and crazy I am, and like I told Lisa, it’s true to a degree and I’m proud of it.

You know, I just don’t get that sister of mine. According to Lisa, she’s on Lisa’s side one minute, Bill’s the next. Yeah, that’s my contradicting sister for you. But I mean, it’s like someone saying they hate chocolate, yet going out and buying a chocolate candy bar. How can any mother allow a guy like him to come within 50 yards of any of her kids? No court could stop me from putting my kids in danger like that if I had had kids. Even if Bill’s not hurting Lisa physically, he’s hurting her emotionally and he should be locked up, and if not, he should at the very least be forbidden to go near children. He should be doing jail time for all the times he’s hit and cut Lisa down, but if that can’t be, and it can’t be, then he should be ordered to stay away from her from here on out.

God, what are you doing up there? Where are you when people really need you? Some God you are. We can really count on you.

I asked Tom why he married Karen if he wanted kids and knew she didn’t. His answer was that it didn’t matter to him as much back then and that even though it matters more to him now, it’s not a life-or-death situation. He has preferences, but loves me and accepts me as I am. So, he’s saying that even though he wants a kid, he loves me enough to stay with me and not have one. Well, I know without a moment’s doubt that he’d have been a great father if we had had a kid, but I still believe that deep down, he doesn’t want a kid any more than I do, because just like me, he doesn’t want the hassles of it or his time sucked up by it. The only difference between us is that he could’ve handled it. I couldn’t have.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 1998 The Benadryl ended up putting me out from 11 PM - 2 AM. Tom thinks I'll make it to my appointment Thursday, but I don't know. It's cutting it really close. Maybe the nap will help to push my schedule around, but we'll see.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 14, 1998 Unfuckingbelievable! I’m getting hungry again. Already?! Could there be something else going on with me that mimics hunger pangs? Why is it that some days I just cannot fill up? It seems like half the days no amount of food could satisfy me, but why? Why? Why? Why? Why must I always be fated to swap one problem for another? Can I ever be allowed by God to solve a problem and not get a new one in return for it?

Later…

I am officially off my diet now. No more going hungry all the time and eating barely 1000-1200 calories a day. I need more like 2000-3000 a day. I’m older now, so my metabolism and dietary needs have changed. I’m going to eat when I’m hungry and go back to eating what I want when I want, and I’ll let my weight go where it wants to go naturally.

I had Tom put the scale in the garage so I wouldn’t weigh myself so often. He thinks I’ll be less hungry if I don’t weigh myself so much. He thinks weighing myself a lot triggers a psychological response that enhances my hunger. He’s gonna look into simple, non-dairy diet plans, and appetite suppressants, because if there’s something that’ll allow me to continue on with eating healthy, then OK, as long as I’m not hungry all the time. If there’s something that’ll work for me without side effects, fine. That way I can eat healthily and maybe as an added bonus, I can keep my weight where it is. Remember, if I go into the 120s again, it’ll be hard to rock.

Someone tried to call collect today. The only one I can think of is Paula since Lisa’s been calling directly lately on some plan they’ve got.

I called to wish Sarah a happy birthday in the morning before everyone left. Lisa and Tammy get up at 6:00 and Becky and Sarah get up at 7:00. Tammy’s the last one to leave at 8:00.

Tammy’s fine. She’s still with Mark and happy. She, like Andy, asked if I’d talked to Mom and Dad. I gave them both the same answer - I’ll never talk to them again. It’s over. Period. Tammy hasn’t talked to them, either. We’ve both endured many years of being hurt by these people, that’s for sure.

I’ve come to conclude that these people may have never really even loved me. Just take how they’ve dealt with my sterility, for example. That alone tells me something about these people. Back when they knew I wanted a kid and couldn’t have one, they were so insensitive about it. They didn’t give a shit. They felt not one stitch of empathy for what I was going through and they even told me that they didn’t want to hear about it. No one who truly loves you and accepts you as you are treats you that way, whether they’re relatives or not. If having a kid was something that they felt I should have, then that would’ve been different. Only if it’s something they can relate to, that interests them, too, and that has something to offer them.

There’s only one real mom that I’ll always refer to as “mom” and that’s Tom’s mom. She loves me and accepts me as I am and she wants to hear about my bad times, as well as my good. She wants to hear about things that she can’t relate to and that don’t benefit her in any way, as well as just the opposite.

And speaking of that mom, Tom had to break up his sleep to take her to an appointment today that took forever. Mary couldn’t take her because she had her own appointment to go to. Tom says ma’s not doing well at all.

Here goes another fucking allergy attack. At first I was like - it fucking figures that this has to happen right before an appointment so I can’t take Benadryl, but then I said - fuck that shit. I’m taking Benadryl. I’m not gonna suffer from intermittent sneezing fits till I crash. I’m sick of this shit, you know? And once they start, they don’t stop. I have sneezing fits every half hour or so till I fall asleep. So, now I can forget about enjoying a burger and some fries in an hour when Tom gets up.

Today I didn’t just hear next door’s door-slamming spree, I saw it. I heard a door slam, then went and peeked out and saw the trunk and back doors open. I couldn’t see the front doors, though, because they were too deep into the carport.

I’d say that Bill didn’t watch the mistake today at the house. I’d say that the mistake went elsewhere for the day and that Bill brought home both mistake and bitch.

I saw both the bitch and Bill unload the car, and man is that bitch ugly! Great body, ugly face. The bitch took from the backseat what appeared to be the mistake’s shit. Bags for toys and diapers, although I think 3 years old is a little old for diapers. Isn’t it? I don’t know shit about kids, so I couldn’t tell you for sure. Then she slammed the door as if she was pissed. She’s always pissed. Always moving about in a mad, aggressive way. Then Bill, who moves awfully slow and makes me wonder how the hell he can have quick enough reflexes for driving, popped into view. In slow motion, he took a big box out of the trunk, but I couldn’t see what it was. Then the bitch came out and took a few plastic bags out of the trunk that was probably groceries. Then Bill did this. Then he was gone. What? Do they unload groceries and boxes daily? Is that what all the door slamming’s about (besides to piss me off)?

Speaking of things that piss me off - it’s coming up on 10 PM, and the fucking dogs are going off. They’ve been really, really bad the last couple of days.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 1998 Tom and I just screwed, but he was too tired to get on top. That’s OK. That happens sometimes.

I shouldn’t have bragged about how Caddy Kid hasn’t been around, because he’s back, although I don’t know for sure that it’s him. All I know is that someone banged by at 4:30 AM yesterday morning and at 11 PM last night.

Tom and I played with Ratsy on the bed a little while ago. He really likes Tom. Man, does he stink like hell, too!

Later…

Gonna cool down into the upper 90s by next weekend. Getting pretty pleasant for some ball games, huh Joely? Think you can have your gal pals and their mistakes come over and play for me? You know I can’t legally complain about that. I should be able to, though. No one should be allowed to have basketball hoops in their driveways when you’ve got a house as close as 3’ away from you.

For a minute just now, I missed my cigarettes. I miss having the vice, the act of smoking. Now, all I do is drink coffee and pop Tic-Tacs in my mouth. Although Tic-Tacs are only 1½ calories and I have about 50 of them a day, I suppose I should stop the tics. I will when I get the braces off. I’ll have them once a week or so then, then just chew gum. It’s too much of a hassle to chew gum except after eating because I have my braces waxed. So, I only chew gum when I go to take out the wax to eat or brush my teeth.

Tom left for work a couple of hours ago and good fucking riddance! It’s not that I don’t still love him and want to be with him forever, but I just get so sick of him and he tends to bore me at times. It’s nothing new, though - you can’t always communicate with the guy, he takes things the wrong way, instead of speaking up, he makes excuses, the sex has come to be totally boring and cumless for me as well, and I’m sick of having to compete with and live with that fucking TV!

He says he wants to spend time with me, but then why does he sit down in front of the TV instead? He denies this, but he watches hour after hour of TV, then complains he’s tired. Tom’s not a lazy man. He’s on his feet at work and he does a lot of errands but maybe if he walked on the treadmill himself instead of spending so much time just sitting, he’d have more energy to do more things around here. I thought computers were supposed to be his favorite thing. If that’s so, then why is he at the TV 80% of the time he’s here?

I asked him about trimming the tree out front and the hedges that he said he’d do weeks ago and what was his excuse? That he didn’t want to use electrical stuff if it was gonna rain. It was nowhere near raining today. What he really wanted to do was spend it sitting in front of the TV, but he didn’t want to say so, so he used rain as a lame excuse. To me, this is the same as lying and I don’t like it. He uses having to clear out his ma’s house as an excuse for not stopping to get a carry box for White Paws so we can take her to a shelter. But he wasn’t even doing his ma’s house this weekend. And he sure had time to pick up the new phone and mattress pad. As I told him, why not just come out and admit that he doesn’t want to get rid of that cat? He wants that cat, and he’d never admit this part, but I think he enjoys forcing it on me, too. Well, if he can say one thing and do another, so can I. I said I’d feed her. No more. If he wants her fed, he can feed her himself. I don’t make him take care of Ratsy, he doesn’t like rats, so why should I take care of his cat for him? Let him deal with her because I have my own cat I love and take care of. That we love and take care of because it’s a cat that we both want.

We both admitted we misunderstood each other about when he was to pick up orange juice and that it was OK if I took the water pill an hour before I had some orange juice, but then of course he just had to leave the bathroom sink faucet dripping which he knows I don’t like just to spite me. It’s so childish, too, but these are things I no longer confront him with because I know he’ll just deny it. That’s Tom for you - you don’t want to do something or admit to something - deny it. Just deny it. Or make excuses. Want to know what he’d say if I told him, I made comments saying he’s been cumming all along just to see if he’d be honest enough to admit that wasn’t true, but he went right along with me and that’s lying. You know what this bold, but very bad liar would say as a lying excuse? He’d tell me something like, “But you never gave me the chance.” Yes, Tom S would have the bold nerve to use such a lying, obvious, bullshit, lame excuse like that.

They say that if you can lie about one thing, you can lie about other things. I’ve never felt that there was a chance Tom would ever cheat on me. Most guys who were too afraid to get off with their wives would, but he has close to no sex drive at all, so he’s not missing anything with me. It’d be much more convenient for him to just take care of himself if he got that built up. And remember, he says he has wet dreams. It takes an awful lot to build this guy up, he can take care of himself, but what if I’m wrong? What if he’s getting it on with some young, thin, attractive thing that’s on birth control? What about Wendy (since looks really don’t matter all that much to him compared to most of us)? He’s the sanest, smartest, safest man around, but if he can lie and make excuses for the things he has, why not more things? Why not bigger things?

Well, I still doubt Tom S would cheat on me. Whores are a dime a dozen, but Tom S is one in a million. If he did take up with someone else occasionally, it’d be OK, it’s his body, so if it made him happy, OK. If he was a major slut who was stepping out on me left and right, that’d be different, but he’d have to die and come back a whole different person before he’d be that type.

I meant it when I said I was sick of the TV, too. I wake up to the TV, I eat to the TV, etc. Everything I do, I do to the sound of the TV and it gets really fucking old.

Unbelievably, I only have three more journals left to proofread.

Later…

It is so very dark outside right now. The sky’s moonless and cloudless.

The bitch is in bed next door. Gotta get up early. Tom said it was quiet today and that Bill was over there. What? Does this spoiled bitch not only have her poor dad mistake-sitting, but mistake-sitting when she goes out with her stuck-up girlfriends, too?

There are so many things my mind has accepted that are in the past. I’ve gotten over them and basically just put them in the past where they belong and gotten on with life. But it really bothers me that I can’t do that with my anger. It’s like I accept the fact that certain family members have wronged me and are not good people, but I can’t always let go of the anger that goes with all this. I’m not hurt, I’m not sorry, I’m not even regretful, I’m just angry. Not so much with family, as with other people, though. Mostly past and present neighbors.

For the first time in my 32 years, I’ve dealt with my parents and brother the proper way and the way I should’ve years ago. I spoke out and up to these people, then I let them go. So my anger’s been fused for the most part with them. It’s the people I never dealt with correctly that are pissing me off.

Take that bitch next door for example. I never should’ve let her get one word out to me. She had nothing to say to me. Nothing that could benefit the situation. I should’ve grabbed that bitch, clamped a hand to her mouth, and given her three ultimatums. To either walk away peacefully and get rid of the dog and music. Or to walk away peacefully and not get rid of the dog and music and have me get her evicted, or at least rid of the dog and music. Or to say another word and get her ass kicked by me right then and there. She was the problem. She and her boy toy. I did nothing wrong. How dare she come to this door telling me to shut up when it’s she and her associates that have disrupted my life. I don’t know why I let her scream at me. Maybe I was subconsciously afraid that if I did beat her ass she’d have someone come and shoot me and poor Tom, too. Well, lucky for her if she never comes to this door again, because she wouldn’t get a word out of that fat black mouth of hers, and you know what? There’d be no words coming out of my mouth, either. I’d just do what I had to do.

I think back to people like Mary D and ask myself why I didn’t push to fight harder. Why didn’t I try harder to fight her better? Why didn’t I set Hank’s ass straight the moment he stepped out of line on me? Why didn’t I fix his poor drunk ass? He was getting up there in age. I could’ve set him easily straight. Now because I didn’t, I’m left with the anger of what I didn’t finish and of what I didn’t do that I should’ve done. Maybe some other 21-year-old girl, who’s the naïve little sucker I was, is having to listen to his mouth. Maybe this girl wouldn’t have to put up with him if I’d dealt with him, because maybe if I had taken care of him, he’d now be too afraid to step out of line again.

I can think of a lot of people that pushed me around and it really angers me, infuriates me, to know that I never even tried to set these people straight. Yes, some of them would’ve kicked my ass and hurt me for it, but in a sense, it would’ve been worth it, because I would’ve at least tried to get them off my ass in the first place. Not all of these people could’ve hurt me if I’d nailed their asses. Most of them would’ve been no match for me and most of them would not have friends that would’ve shot me for it, either.

Barbara, at the NHA, had a lot of sick friends. Her sick friends would probably have gang-beaten me if I had done anything to Barbara, but maybe they wouldn’t have. Maybe Barbara would’ve kicked my ass if I tried to lay a hand on her, maybe not. I never even tried. I could never have known for sure what would’ve happened because I never even tried. There are some things we know in advance, then there are some things that we just can’t know for sure, till we do it.

OK, it’s just past 10:30 here, so why are the dogs barking? One of them is. Yes, one’s worse than the other. Again, how can this bitch sleep through that?! That dog is right outside her bedroom window for God’s sake! If she stuck her arm out the window, she could practically reach out and touch the fucking dog. She can sleep through this shit, though.

Andy gave me Michelle’s number and said she likes Mary and all those computer voices, so I can feel free to leave her messages with those voices. She’ll be out during regular business hours. My schedule’s a little off for that right now, but as soon as I’m up when she’s at work, I’ll leave her a few messages.

Later…

Where oh where is this ferocious appetite coming from?! I’ve been up for just six hours and since then I’ve had a TV dinner and a can of bean soup, and I’m still starving. Fuck! Is there ever an end to all this fucking hunger? I swear, it’s either be fat and full, or thin and hungry. Although technically, I’m far from thin. Maybe I should’ve just stayed on the cigarettes and not changed my eating habits. Here I am eating healthier and less than I have in a long time, and I gave up my 220-calorie granola bars, but yet I’m a blimp. If I could get my hands on an appetite suppressant that works and that wouldn’t cause me to wake up just a few hours after falling asleep, then maybe I could discipline myself and stick to this diet better, but since I’ve got this constant hunger, I can’t. There’s no in-between here and there’s no being thin and not hungry all time. Not anymore there isn’t. I need to eat at least once an hour, and I need solid foods. Not foods that are like air like popcorn and salad which don’t do shit for me and which leave me starving. I’m seriously contemplating eating when I’m hungry and letting myself get as fat as I’m going to get.

Later…

Just had a hot dog and now I’m making another TV dinner. I’m up to 118 pounds, too, but you know what? I don’t give a shit. I just don’t give a shit anymore. All this slavery over just a few pounds lost? Fuck that shit!

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 12, 1998 Shit! It’s the weekend. What else is new? At least I get more time with Tom. So, weekends are both good and bad.

Just caught Marla online and said hello. She said she’s tired, as usual, but will be in touch. The poor woman has no life between her boys and her job. Never even got the chance to tell me about jury duty.

I had Tom pick me up something new at the grocery store today. Feminine spray instead of powder. The spray is easier to use and it works really well so far at keeping me dry.

I wonder how Lisa’s doing. Hope we can chat soon. Also, hope Tammy’s not using her too much. As Lisa herself said, she doesn’t mind helping her mom out when she goes to work or to be with Mark by cleaning and babysitting, but sometimes her mom really uses her to be her housekeeper/babysitter. She used to do the same thing to me when we lived in Longmeadow. Especially with the housekeeping.

Later…

Tom picked up a few new things today. A skinny microphone on a stand that’s about 10” high in case we want to record whatever. A new mattress pad that may bunch up just as much as the other one does. And a new speakerphone with Caller ID built into it for the back room.

Soon I’m gonna get on with the last of my proofreading. I started up with that again last night and had Mary read to me.

I also condensed the backup floppy disks of my journals and a few other doc files. Instead of having, for example, a disk for all the Oswego Street journals, a disk for all the Woodside Terrace journals, a disk for all the Elm Street journals, and a disk for the Norwich journals, I put them all on one disk and now I have an “east” floppy. I pretty much cut my disks in half and have six disks now.

I think another thing I might do tonight is redo my color themes. I wasn’t happy with the way they came out the last time. Tom’s only making a screensaver and wallpaper changer. Not color theme changers, but that’s OK. I can set the themes myself and change them weekly.

Our lisping freeloader bitch that pronounces the word music as “muthic” has been a good girl today. Most of that was according to Tom since I didn’t get up till 4 PM.

I have mixed emotions about that security light being dead. Can’t believe she didn’t replace that bulb yet! It’s obnoxious as all hell when I’m trying to relax to music. I like to listen to music in the dark. It’s more relaxing that way. There’s nothing I can do about daylight, but I hated it when it’d be nice and peacefully dark at night, then that fucking thing would blare on every other 5 minutes. On the other hand, when someone would come or go at night, it’d let me see the car better since it’s activated by motion.

Been lucky in the shit department. I shit three days in a row. Lucky me.

It’s really beginning to make its transition from summer to fall here (of course our falls and springs don’t last long at all here). The pool is starting to cool down and the bees are starting to die off.

Later…

Maybe being bad once a week and having a cheeseburger and fries on Saturdays isn’t such a good idea. At the end of my day yesterday, right before I had the burger and fries, I was 115 pounds. I would’ve been 117 pounds if I hadn’t shit. Today, though, it’s not quite the end of my day, I’ve shit, and am 117 pounds. But I do deserve a break and a treat once a week, so I’ll probably keep treating myself once a week. I love how it kept me full for hours. When I’m dieting, though, right after I eat my salad, or my measly TV dinner, or toast, or popcorn, I’m still starving and if I’m satisfied, it’s only for an hour.

I had some spots earlier. What? Am I in for another early period? It isn’t due for another week.

I tested out the new phone and called Andy and oh my God! On and on and on he went. I couldn’t even get a word in edgewise, and when I could, he’d cut me off. Never was he like this back east. He was so quiet. I’d always feel like I was rambling on and on while he was quiet. He was quiet because he was uncomfortable with my rambling. Especially since my rambling back then was about what his rambling today is about. He had the same problems back then - he was broke, sexless, loveless, etc., but back then he didn’t really bitch about it and all hell would break loose if you did. Now, though, he’s more tolerant of listening to people’s troubles and he sure is a major talker. Still, I listen to Andy bitch, and as I told him, I’ll listen to him all he needs to bitch because I know what it’s like. At least he has someone to bitch to. Back when I always had something to bitch about, I didn’t have that. Not for the most part, anyway. No one wanted to hear it, or no one was there at all that I could turn to in the first place. I was on my own. All alone. My therapist was pretty much the only one who listened to me.

Anyway, I told him that now that we have Caller ID in the back room and the living room, he can just go ahead and call anytime, any day. This way, it won’t be such a hassle if I’m busy in the back room and don’t want to be bothered but can still see who it is. I also told him that the same rule would apply, though. Most of the time I’ll either be asleep or just not in the mood to talk. I’ll still chat live with him about once a week.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 11, 1998 No blue car visiting the bitch last night.

I’m doing some laundry right now, then it’s off to shower, wash my hair, and shave.

Tom crashed a little while ago and plans to get up towards the middle of my day (I got up at 3 PM) so we can have our Friday fun.

Later…

Blue car’s visiting the bitch right now.

Boy, am I gonna have to make up for the peace I’ve had over the last several months. Not even Caddy Kid has been by in a while. I don’t have any bad vibes in particular for the winter, but I know how it works with me and with most people; we must be compensated and we must pay for life’s blessings. If there’s no trouble with music and I don’t have to have them evicted, then I expect there’ll at least be several ball games. The neighborhood kids, including the Lopez’s, will play ball regularly. I’m sure that on weekends, the bitch’s gal pals will bring their mistakes over to play for me, too. I’m sure these mistakes will want to play ball on their own, but I’m also sure that they’ll be coaxed into it, too.

Thank God this bitch can’t have a pool put in.

Speaking of our infamous bitch, it just left in the blue car, but I couldn’t see who the driver was because I didn’t want to be seen. The bitch looked right at me, too. And that’s not the first time, she seemed to be looking right at me, either. It’s more like the third or fourth. At first I said to myself, I don’t care if they see me. I have a right to look at my window at anything I want, but then I said, nah. The purpose of spying is to be undercover. Also, if they saw you, then did something to the house for it, you know you’ll go over there and beat them beyond recognition, and you don’t need to go to jail or put yourself or Tom through any stress. Remember, these people are crazy. And if I did anything to them, no matter how much they deserved it, these sick fucks could gun me down. There’d be no defending myself against bullets.

This bitch really gets around, huh? So what will its weekend company be this time around? The dark blue car? The light blue car? The white car? Oh, definitely the white car. It seems to be the most prominent visitor around lately. Will it be cool enough for the mistakes to play ball? I kind of think it could be 120º and they’d still play ball if they really wanted to.

Later…

Haven’t seen Mama Cat around in ages. I don’t miss her, either. Daddy Cat still comes around here and there. It’s getting hard to tell Blackie and daddy cat apart, but daddy cat has long fur.

Woke up at 113 pounds Wednesday, 114 pounds yesterday, and 113 pounds today. At the end of the day, I jump up as high as 117 pounds. I knew I would, though, because weighing under 115 pounds is still new and completely foreign to my body. Guess I was right when I foresaw 118 pounds becoming a thing of the past. Not that I may not get up to that a few more times before I sink even lower. And remember, Vegas is gonna set me back. If I go to Vegas at 115 pounds, I can count on coming back at 120-124 pounds. My measurements just don’t go with my weight. At 115 pounds, I have a 29” waist, yet when I was around this same weight in 1986 I had a 26” waist. You definitely don’t look the same at certain weights at different ages. If I ever got back down to 100 pounds again, I wouldn’t look like I did the last time I weighed 100 pounds. I’d be an inch or two bigger.

Later…

I was watching a case of incest on Trial Story on Court TV. There were two daughters and one stepson charging their father with raping them 20 years earlier. The father ended up convicted. It was a jury of six women, though. Had it been men, he’d have gotten off.

I could sort of relate to what the victims were saying, even though the abuse I went through was emotional and physical. You can’t ever have your childhood back and you can never forget. Two of these three victims still love their father, too. How do I feel about my folks? Nothing. Just dead nothing. No love, no like, no hate. Like these victims said - they’re a closed chapter in my life. They were people I once knew, I had many more bad times with them than good, and now they’re in my past and I’m getting on with life.

I feel bad for these people, though. Just like with me, their childhood has affected their adult life, and when it’s not, you’re so busy struggling and working hard to keep it from affecting your adult life.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 10, 1998 I don't believe it. Bill actually got in his car, shut the door once, then left. No 15-minute door-slamming spree leading up to the big leave. Meanwhile, the cock's on the street. Just brought its bitch back, and if things go as they did the last couple of evenings, the dark blue car will be here to visit the bitch for a few hours.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9, 1998 Last early evening, we noticed that dark blue car parked next door as we were on our way out to pick up some videos. On our way back we went by their place and they had their front door open. God, these freeloaders really don’t mind the heat, huh? Bet they never run the AC. Bet they have the cooler on even when it’s humid out. Anyway, I thought I could make out an adult male blackie and a male child blackie of about 8 years of age sitting on a couch that faces their front door. Our front door faces the street. Theirs faces away from our house. You can’t see it from the street. It’s sideways.

The blue car’s here again tonight.

The original freeloader cock’s gray car was parked on the street earlier. Guess instead of bringing the mistake to daycare, or taking care of it all day itself, the cock now brings its bitch back at the end of the day.

You know, I’m surprised this bitch doesn’t have her own car. I mean, why not? She’s broken just about every other rule there is when it comes to welfare/subsidized.

The door slamming earlier was just like old times. I don’t know what the fuck Bill’s doing and why he has to slam a door every 5 minutes for 15 minutes upon coming and going, but it’s pissing me off. It’s really pissing me off.

Later…

Boy, this is a long visit from the blue car. I can tell when a car comes/goes from the freeloaders when listening to music at night. The headlights shine in in a way that I know is next door and not a car going down the street.

It’s taking an effort to push myself to write. I have a slight cold. It’s about the mildest cold I’ve ever had, though, and most of the time I’m not even aware of it. Tom’s going through the same thing right now. No wonder I’ve been sluggish. I had to have two meals yesterday and today to help boost my energy. I feel it in my voice too, and my voice doesn’t seem to be able to go below a middle E. My music sounds funny, too.

Unbelievably, there were no unavailable calls yesterday. There was only one today, but they hung up as soon as I picked up.

Typed up letters to Tammy and the girls. Yeah, I send them letters every now and then, since they don’t seem to want to do letters electronically.

Got 5 videos yesterday. Didn’t see that gorgeous girl there this time. Three of the movies I liked, one I didn’t, and one I discovered I’ve seen already.

Now for my best news of all. I woke up at 113 pounds!!

Later…

The wind chimes are so pretty when it’s windy.

Shortly after 9:00, the blue car left.

When I was chasing White Paws to the side of the house, I noticed something. There was a block wall in a part of the garage that Tom took down. He put the blocks at the side of the house. I noticed that about 5 of them were broken. There were broken pieces of these blocks. I wonder - could it be the freeloader’s doing? Well, if it is, more power to them. What the fuck do we care about some lousy bricks? Ain’t no loss to us.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8, 1998 I’m kind of tired today. I don’t think I slept quite 8 hours, but I’ll live.

When I got up at 9 AM, I found Tom asleep on the couch. I sent him into bed and on his way there, he said he left me a message explaining why he slept on the couch. He said that after my having a stressful day yesterday not knowing what to expect from next door, and since he’s really tired and will probably snore like hell, he’d give us a break while we were doing so well and sleep on the couch. That’s fine, as long as he doesn’t decide for me too much. I can decide what’d be best for me just fine. I want him to worry about himself more often.

Bill’s next door babysitting the mistake.

I made the window that this word processor is in smaller, so I can see the wallpaper changing behind it. It’s pretty cool.

I guess Tom and I are gonna go to the video store later. I don’t know for sure.

Some skanky Mexicans are doing the freeloaders’ yard and the yard across the street.

Anyway, I’ve been thinking of this fertility testing thing and all that. No, I do not want a child by any means as I used to. And it’s not so much the curiosity that’s an issue for me, either. It’s the right to choose that’s the issue. It’s kind of like the way I see abortion. First and foremost, people should be responsible and use birth control if they don’t want a kid or aren’t suitable for handling one, but since they don’t, at least a woman has a right to choose. It’s her body, her life.

I should’ve been born with just as much right as any other woman, but no, I never was born with a full bag of rights now, was I? It should’ve been up to me to say yes to a child like I would’ve been foolish enough to when I first met Tom up till about a year ago. And now it should be my right to say, nah. I don’t want a child. I like life too much and it’s something I could never handle. So, what kind of birth control should I use? The rhythm method? The rhythm method with rubbers used during mid-cycle? Rubbers all the time? Pills? IUDs? An injection?

Yes, it’s nice having a built-in, hassle-free birth control system, but still, it’s taking away my right to choose. I’ve been telling myself I don’t deserve the right to choose, because if I did, God would’ve given it to me in the first place, but that’s not true! That’s just not true! Yes, he feels I shouldn’t have the right to choose because he obviously doesn’t trust what my decision would’ve been a year ago, and yes, he’s looking out for me, but I am no less deserving than any other woman out there. I did nothing wrong to deserve to not have a right to choose just like any other woman. I do deserve to exercise my full rights as a woman. As a human being. If I had kicked some woman in the stomach and sterilized her and taken away her right to choose, then yes, I should have mine taken away too. If I had killed a child, then you bet I should be stripped of my reproduction rights, and I’d totally deserve it.

I try to tell myself, God was just doing the right thing and looking out for you by taking away your right to choose, because you know you’d have let yourself conceive if you could’ve, and therefore, you’d have gotten yourself into something you don’t have the physical or mental strength to endure, and you’d have either ended up dead or in jail for killing the poor, innocent child.

It’s not that easy, though. It’s just not that easy. Whether or not I choose to get into something I can or can’t handle should be my choice. Not God’s. It’s my problem if I bite off more than I can chew. I’m sick and tired of having God, fate, or whatever the fuck you want to call it, decide almost everything for me. Don’t I have some say in my destiny? First I couldn’t be the singer I wanted to be, then I couldn’t have the woman I wanted, then I couldn’t be a mother. Can Jodi be anything Jodi says she wants to be? Don’t get me wrong, a lot of the unplanned surprises I’ve received in my life have been wonderful and I wouldn’t trade them in for the world, but when does Jodi get to pick her destiny? See, I’m OK with not being able to move right now as much as we’d both love to. That’s because I know the choice is ours. We can choose to move, we have chosen to move, and when we can, we will move. If God fixed it so we had no choice but to stay in this house forever, then I’d be pissed. That would be wrong of him.

I guess it’s just a matter of opinion and where we each stand as individuals on different people and different situations. It’s easy to sit and listen to an infertile woman, regardless of her marital status or her financial status, that’s stable and able to handle a child, bitch about how she never got the right to choose, and that if having a kid was a mistake, it would’ve and should’ve been hers to make. But it’s not so easy to sit and listen to a 14-year-old who just had a kid say, hey! I made a mistake, but it was mine to make. That’s just not acceptable. It doesn’t cut it.

It’s not so much that I fear something up there would get me for going against its decision that I be sterile by going to a fertility clinic. It’s Tom. He’s just gonna keep on going along with my statements as to how normal our sex is, and he’s gonna both consciously and subconsciously fuck things up for me if I were to literally get off my ass and go try to seek some answers/rights. Normal? Our sex isn’t normal. It’s improved and I like it just fine the way it is, but even so, it’s not normal. We’re still managing to screw twice a week with him going inside me with no resistance, which is all good and normal, but he hasn’t cum in ages and I doubt he ever will again. Now, he’s welcome to never cum again if that’d make him happy, but that’s still not normal.

Maybe his refusal to cum wouldn’t be an issue, but I don’t know for sure. If they just started by testing me and found that the problem truly was with me, then he wouldn’t need testing, not that he would’ve gladly handed over a squirt of his cum in the first place. If they wanted to test us both at once, then I’m the only one they could test, since he wouldn’t cooperate. I asked him a long time ago and he says he would cooperate, but I’ve heard him say one thing and then do another enough times to know better.

Something tells me to keep my mouth shut, though. I don’t know why. I just know that at least for now, I must never make it known to Tom that I know he really hasn’t cum. Again, I don’t know why. It’s just instinct. I’m also curious to see how far he’ll take this lying about the cumming, too. I suppose it should worry me and make me wonder what else he could lie about, but it doesn’t. In his mind, he doesn’t need to lie about anything else, although if Kim came to visit, he’d have that jealousy all over again, and would lie and try to convince me that we ruined his life, made him oh so miserable, and nearly killed him.

The good thing about all this is, is that it’s not gonna affect my life in any bad way, hold me back, or keep me bitter forever. I’m very happy with my life despite my lack of right to choose and all that. I love my life and look forward to spending the rest of it with my husband and moving. I’ll probably never be thin again and we’ll probably never have an above-average income, but as long as we’re healthy and happy, that’s what counts. I thank God, or whatever may have had a part in the fact that I’ve never been more content with my life than I am now. I don’t miss the fits of rage that used to eat at me, nor do I miss the crying spells I went through. I hope to hell I never return to wanting a kid. That was really depressing, wanting something natural like that that I could never have.

Anyway, if I were to look at the whole thing from a rational, logical, realistic, practical point of view, I should forget about seeing any doctor about my so-called right to choose. There is no right to choose for me. I know they’d either not be able to tell me what was wrong, or that they’d tell me I was unfixable. I know I cannot be fixed. The purpose of being predestined to sterility is so you can never be fixed. The choice was taken away from me before I was even born.

Woke up at the usual 115 pounds, although Saturday’s treat and yesterday’s 400-calorie slice of pound cake, did catch up to me. I weighed 118½ pounds, but then after a water pill, I was 117 pounds, then 115 pounds when I got up. I’m gonna gain soooooo much weight in Vegas!

I finally shot some pictures of Ratsy. I hope they come out good.

From what it looks like after I just did a check, Tom hasn’t cum since around April 1st. Damn! That’s a long time. But actually, he has cum. Just not by me. Well, he knows I’m serious about not wanting a kid (along with the fears he’s always had) and won’t take any chances no matter how sure he is that I’m sterile. What a man, though! How many women could get such a wonderful man like that? One who’s willing to make such a sacrifice for her, and who could still be happy? I know he’ll never stray. He’ll always love me and me only, and if sacrificing orgasms for me is what he feels he should do, he’ll do it. He’d jump off a bridge for me, he loves me that much. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for him, either, if I could.

Later…

Just got done relieving myself with a nice stimulating, yet relaxing orgasm with my vibrator. Yeah, my appetite’s come back. Tom’s not the only one that’s not getting off when we screw. He just can’t be available to get me off the 2-3 times a day I need to get off, and he can’t get me off in the way that I can. I know it sounds mean, but right now, I feel as if I may never get off again with him. There’s just no thrill in it for me anymore, as much as I love him. I wonder if his not getting off goes beyond pregnancy fears. He’s said otherwise, but could he really be sick of me and not turned on by me anymore? I don’t look like I did when we first met, yet he swears to be just as attracted to me. Well, I guess it doesn’t matter because he said that sex is a mental thing for him and that he’s not turned on by what he sees with his eyes.

I dig what someone said in a movie I saw last night. They said, “Sometimes sex is better with people in your head, than with people in your bed.”

I think this is true!

I can’t believe this. How utterly great. It’s already just past 4:00 and no unavailable calls. Maybe letting them have it was the answer after all. At first, it made them all the more determined to get at me, not surprisingly, but maybe they got sick of being told off and maybe they’ll fuck off at least if only for a while.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1998 Although my vibe isn’t that bad right now, it’s still a bit early. If the freeloaders are gonna party, it’s gonna be closer towards the middle or late afternoon.

Later…

So far so good. My guess is that no one’s home right now. If she’d been home all day, then there’d have been a million cars coming and going all day. Probably to deliver the bitch’s drugs to her. It’s still early, though, and plenty of partying time left. Last year, they didn’t start their antics till 6:30 and they didn’t quit till 9:30.

Later…

I don’t believe it. I just don’t believe it! Miss Bitch was a good girl. Not a peep from over there. I was right about her being out all day. Bill brought her in around 5:00, and it’s been quiet ever since. Is it compliments of the cock being out of the picture that called for their first quiet Labor Day here? Or the city letters? Something else? Personally, I think it’s because the cock’s not around. They know they can party and annoy me in ways I couldn’t complain about. I can’t complain about ballgames and door slams.

That I know of, there’s only been music 3 different times, each for no more than a few minutes, since May 30th, and no parties since Easter.

Tom says there’s a new dumpster out back in its usual spot. That’s nice. This usual spot is just over the wall beyond the pool. Before, when it was gone, you had to walk either two houses left or right to get to a dumpster.

I love the proposal Tom made to me earlier. I don’t know if he’s serious, but we just might set up a little surveillance camera and train it on the freeloader’s driveway. He has an old black and white camera and said he can drill a little hole in the outside storage room and put it there. That’d be cool, but like I said, who knows if he’ll really do it?

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 6, 1998 Again we slept together. I think he might’ve woken me up once when I was just knocking off, but so far, it’s going great. What did wake me up was the thunder from the storm at 7:30 this morning. As Tom pointed out, it’s making its transition from monsoon storms to fall storms, which are slower-moving, and come at any time during the day/night. Why couldn’t it pour viciously from about 2 PM on Monday, till about 9 PM?! Not a chance. Not a chance.

Congrats to the bitch next door! It actually went somewhere else two days in a row. It amazingly didn’t get back till approx. 10 PM last night. Can it do it again today and tomorrow? No chance, unfortunately. Well bitch, how bad do you want to stay here?

Anyway, today’s one of those yucky, dreary, damp days where you just want to stay in bed, but it’ll dry up and the sun will be out come prime bitch time this early afternoon.

Got two questions and one favor asked by Andy this last week. I already told you that he wanted me to teach him to type, but he’s gonna use the college typewriter. A few days ago he asked me how to ask, “What is your address?” in Spanish, which I told him. This time, he wanted to know how to ask are you cut? and are you uncut? As I told him, I don’t know slang. Even if I knew the word for cut, which I didn’t off the top of my head, they still may not know what the hell he’s saying.

How can Michelle afford to be so big? This I don’t get. It takes a tremendous amount of food to blow a body up like that. On the other hand, it wouldn’t take much food for me to get big. Not that big, though. It wouldn’t even take the average daily food intake to put me between the mid-120s - 150s. And this girl is no 150-pounder. She’s more like 250 pounds. So, when she had to move out of Andy’s because she was all broke, how was she affording to feed herself so much? You have to eat huge quantities all day and night long to get that big.

Andy’s told me that Laura has her own little built-in birth control system too, and we were talking about how many people don’t feel it’ll happen to them. Yeah, I know there have been couples who tried for years to conceive and couldn’t, then one day they did, but that really does only happen to other couples in my case, and in some women’s cases, thank God.

Later…

As I knew it would, the weather’s drying up nicely and the sun’s poking through.

The first of many vehicles just made it in next door. All I heard was one car door, then I looked out and saw a white car pulling out. Is the bitch in this car? Or did the white car just come to see the bitch? If the bitch has gone out, when will it be back? How many more cars are gonna show up over there today?

Woke up at 115 pounds, but today I’m gonna take a day off from the slavery that goes into keeping my weight at 115-117 pounds to have some KFC.

Later…

Right after I said the sun was poking through, it clouded up again, rained a bit, and thundered loudly for a while again. Guess it’s been cloudy all day.

At noon Tom went to Jack-n-the-Box for us both. I decided that once a week I’d be bad, so I had a cheeseburger, a large order of fries, and a cappuccino milkshake. Here’s the shocking part - I only gained half a pound from it! A half a pound! I thought this treat would put me up to 120 pounds for sure, rather than the usual 117 pounds I seem to end up at lately.

Not too long after I ate, I crashed till 4:00. When I got up, two recliners were here. Mary and Dave brought over two recliners. One’s got a massager in it like the living room one does, the other doesn’t. The massage one’s in the bedroom, the other’s in the music room. I didn’t see Mary and Dave, though. They just dropped the chairs off out back.

Pleasantly enough, there’s been no shit from the freeloader. Tom said the bitch has got her recycle bin out in the middle of the carport. Neither of us has seen any more vehicles come or go since I said I saw that white car just before 11:00 this morning. Now hopefully she can stay out till tonight, then do it all again tomorrow, but fat chance.

Yes, very fat chance, because guess what? It’s back now. The same white car that I saw earlier is there, but I don’t have a party vibe for tonight. What do I vibe for tomorrow? It’s weird because I have both a negative vibe, but then I don’t. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens, but tonight should be clear. It’s cloudy and it’s thundering again. If they’re that determined to party, they will, and storms won’t stop them, but I think they prefer it to be hot and sunny. Anyway, I wouldn’t put it past that bitch to party tomorrow, because even though the cock’s not living there right now, she’s partied every Labor Day she’s been here, but like I said before, she didn’t have city complaints either. So, I guess if you really think about it, tomorrow could go either way.

Later…

The white car’s doing what all cars next door love to do - slamming its doors periodically but not going anywhere. When I peeked out, I saw the bitch, then I saw the animal running in circles around the driveway and screaming. That thing looks like such a freak. I mean a total clown! Its hair is done up in braids. Sort of like Bo Derek, only a pitiful version of that. I’d be so embarrassed if I were that kid.

Looks like the white car’s left now.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 5, 1998 Well, our little freeloaders haven’t been downright naughty yet, but they’ve been annoying. And by the way, it’s our one-year anniversary since we had our little immature screaming match on my doorstep, too.

First of all, the bitch actually went somewhere else last night and today. Does she have to make such a door-slamming spectacle of it, though? Of course! The bitch got in last night at 11:30 and I saw two people head into the house for the night. Was this other person the teenage boy?

At around noon, the first of the door-slamming pals came. I guess something’s going on between her and her cronies somewhere. There were 2 or 3 cars here earlier. Can you believe that many cars came to pick up this bitch? An 8-10-year-old black boy started to play ball, but to my utter amazement, it only played for a sec. At first I thought, well, well, she does have to work Monday, so she’s having her party today. Then all the cars left.

At 1:15 I heard bass for about two minutes, and I swear! I’m gonna blast these mother-fuckers right back if this wasn’t just one of the occasional outbursts they’ve been having these days. It was a dark car that we’d never seen before. Tom thinks it was someone new in the group that came to see if she’d left yet. Well, this bitch better break the new kid on the block in on the rules around here real damn fast, or she’ll be sorry. Anyway, the dark car was only here for a couple of minutes. Tom says it’s no doubt someone new and she’s not there to know about the music. Well, this is only the third music outburst in months, I’ll admit, but it better be a very rare occurrence if they want to stay here.

It’s gonna be a door-slamming nightmare around here when they get back, and God only knows what music and ball games I’m in for. We’re talking 3-5 carloads of this bitch’s associates and their kids. If they’re coming and going like this on a Saturday, Monday’s gonna be hell. Let it be, though, because that’s all the more hell it’s gonna be for them. If they give me 10% hell, I’ll give them 100% hell back. Trust me.

The problem with these sick fucks is that they can slam doors, but not go anywhere. Can these people ever just get in a car and leave? Do they have to make such a door-slamming spectacle out of it first? Well, of course they do. Anything to be heard and noticed by me.

Later…

The 5 carloads of freeloaders haven’t returned yet. With my luck, they’ll come in while there’s still enough light out for ball games. I kind of feel them coming in at around 3:00 - 4:00.

Tom says it’s common out west for several relatives/friends to go to a house in several cars. He says out west, more people have cars because it’s spread out here. In the East, things are more centralized. I’d still like to know why it took 5 cars to come and get that bitch. Can’t just one car pull up, then can’t the bitch just open the door once, then get in, close the door, then leave?

Tom’s now at Ma’s house doing some tree trimming.

As a surprise (ma doesn’t know it yet) Johnny’s gonna be getting her one of those recliners that tilt to help people who can’t get up so easily. Guess we’re gonna be getting her old recliner. Another massage one like the one we have in the living room. I’ll throw it in the bedroom. God only knows there’s plenty of room in that big bedroom.

As for some better news, Tom came into bed after I was asleep and got up before I woke up and I never felt or heard a thing!

Later…

Wow! It’s 6:15 and the freeloaders aren’t back yet. Yeah well, stay out another hour or so, you stupid fucks, because then it’ll be rather difficult to see to shoot baskets in the dark.

Later…

Still not back yet. How shocking.

I went to bed at 115 pounds last night and woke up at 115 pounds, too. Now, I haven’t woken up at the same weight I went to bed at in ages. Yup. Something doesn’t want me under 115 pounds. Well, if this is it, and if I’m gonna bounce between 115-117 pounds for a while - fine. Although, Vegas is gonna put me back into the mid-120s. The question is, though, will it take me 8-9 months to get back to where I’m at now? What’s also helping to keep my weight between 115-117 pounds, of course, is the shitting only every other day. At least I’m regular, if not as frequently as I’d like.

Tom brought out the old, big washer and we washed the comforter. I’ll do it again around the New Year. Every 3 months I try to do it.

I’ve had fun testing out the new wallpaper changer program he wrote. So far, so good. I’ve got a mix of family pictures, journal covers, and pictures of Gloria and Norah.

Tom surprised me with yesterday’s sex. He did and he didn’t. I was surprised he let himself in there, but not surprised he didn’t cum. He seemed to be really close, though, then it seemed the room temperature went up 20º. He was sweating like hell. Unless he felt the need to act and act very well, I think he might’ve let go in cooler circumstances.

I’ve played Gloria’s new CD and have gotten to know more of it. Some songs kind of grow on me. Now there’s a total of 3 songs I like on Gloria’s new CD, but a total of 5 tracks I play. A couple of the songs have remixes of the same songs on other tracks. I like Don’t Release Me, and I Just Wanna Be Happy, but Feelin’ is my favorite. There’s a Spanish ballad I’d like to learn so I can sing it. Some of her songs aren’t great, but it’s how good they sound on my stereo! She uses state-of-the-art equipment, too, but my God! I could never imagine going back to my old stereo. I always used to say that as long as I could hear my music, and hear it loud, sound quality was not so important, but it is now.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 4, 1998 The sun’s finally poking out. When I got up at 9:00, it was drizzling and very cloudy. The pool temp has really gone down. Hopefully, this notorious bee season is just about over. There are bees all year round here, but not like in the summer.

I think I may have found horoscopes to finish off journal 159 with that aren’t so work-related.

Woke up at 115 pounds, and shit twice. What? Am I gonna shit twice every other day, instead of once a day? Anyway, I’ll be between 115-118 pounds indefinitely.

Later…

Fuck! It’s gonna warm up and dry up over the holiday weekend. The weather will be perfect for a certain pack of assholes to make fools of themselves. It doesn’t matter, though. Even if it were pouring out, they’d still do their shit on Monday. Storms wouldn’t even stop them.

Later…

I just realized something. This is a serious long shot, but whatever it is that that bitch is doing during the weekdays, is something it wasn’t doing a year ago. So maybe, just maybe, she’s one of the ones that have to work on Labor Day. I highly doubt it, though, and even if she did, she gets home at 4:00-5:00. That still leaves a few good hours for partying. Even if she had to be gone from Monday morning to late Monday night, she’d just move her little party to Saturday or Sunday.

Later…

Tom just got in and we bought a couple of pay-per-view movies off the Direct TV.

I also had him put the handle back on the music room window. These old, shitty windows don’t slide up and down. You wind the handle to push them outward. However, we couldn’t lay the soundproof panels on the narrow windowsill with the handle there, so Tom had taken it off. Now come Monday, I can really join the party next door and give them a taste of their own medicine by blaring some music out the window. The only problem with that, though, is that Tom will be here, and he’ll be thoroughly against it. He doesn’t believe in fighting back by giving what you get. Well, if I don’t blast them out during their Monday party, I’ll just get them in the middle of the night.

Later…

Tom got me a few bags of different salad mixes. Some have just lettuce, some have lettuce, carrots, and cabbage slivers, and some have broccoli, cauliflower, and carrots. The broccoli and cauliflower are great. I love the broccoli heated up with melted butter, and I love the cauliflower dunked in ranch dressing.

I am not looking forward to tonight. I know I’m in for some serious game-playing due to a certain someone who loves to tease and who has deep-seated fears. The way he was acting earlier was a dead giveaway as to what the sex will be like tonight.

Yeah, you guessed it. I’m mid-cycle.

Now, I know I don’t have to pray to God to do right by me when it comes to a kid. I don’t have to beg him to make sure I don’t conceive. It’s a done deal. What I have to pray for, though, is for God to help Tom get over his fears and his need to play games. Well, maybe I’ll just wish I could pray for this because I know doing so will never do a bit of good. Only Tom, with God’s allowing it, can change his ways.

Nonetheless, just the unusually high amount of talk about how I’m so gorgeous (which is a lame attempt on his part to cover for the truth - his love of teasing me/his baby fears), along with certain comments and attitudes, tells me that he’s more than likely gonna refuse to go inside me tonight. I’ll bet you anything that this will be one of the times he’s in the bathroom for a while before we get together. He doesn’t always go to the bathroom before sex, but he usually does. If he does tonight, though, that’ll kind of strengthen my belief as to why he really goes into the bathroom before sex. He’s gonna go and beat it off so that he’ll be pleasantly spent when it comes time to play his games with me because he gets off on that, and because he’s too stubborn to admit his fears to me, too.

He went to bed a little while ago and it’s just about 4 PM now. He wants me to wake him up in 4-5 hours for sex, then we can go back to bed together, he says, to work on our little test some more. He’s suddenly all the more anxious to work on our sleeping together test. See, I won’t be crashing till 11 PM-1 AM. This way, if he breaks up his sleep, we can overlap our sleeping a bit. Then he says he’ll get up a few hours after I’ve crashed so he can have time alone to finish my program. He said it may have a million bugs in it, but at least I can begin testing it out. He’s a great programmer, but my vibes say yes, it’ll have its share of bugs.

Also, Tom will be going to work at 7:30 on Monday evening. So he’ll be leaving in the middle of the party.

One more thing - I asked him how the hell he could screw after just a few hours of sleep and said something like, “You’re not even gonna be able to get in there, let alone go banging away.”

His response was, “Well, if you have it in your head that that’s the way it’ll be, it will.”

I shouldn’t have said that because now he’ll use that as an excuse to make sex a disaster. I just want to have fun. I don’t want to play games, I don’t want to make excuses, he’s welcome to never cum again, but I don’t want lies and games.

Later…

What the fuck are these weird mother-fucking freeloaders doing now? Is the bitch’s dad trying to take the place of her boy toy’s door slamming? She and her dad, who’s like an old version of Bill Cosby, just packed some shit into his Caddy, or whatever the fuck the silver car is, then split. Since it’s just wishful thinking that she’s going away for the holiday weekend, is the cock gonna bring its bitch back later, or what?

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1998 Woke up at 115 pounds today. I seem to be doing a lot of that lately.

Yesterday, Tom and I ended up going to a video store where we got the new movie Titanic, plus 3 movies I picked out, and two he picked out. I liked all but one of the movies I picked out, but the Titanic - wow! It will make you cry for sure. It’s so sad and so scary. It really makes you hate God, too, for allowing such tragedy. The most terrifying part was when a part of the big ship turned straight upright. Some people held onto railings and stuff like that, but some fell downward and, on their way down, they’d hit things and bounce off of things. It totally brought me back to my jump, because I went down like that. I fell for a while, then flipped off an awning, then continued falling. It was also really creepy how one of the rowboats some of the people got into after the ship sunk, went gliding through tons of dead bodies just floating about.

At the video store, there was this really hot girl. Totally my type. Tall, thin, dark, etc. She had a plain face overall, but her black eyes and black hair were gorgeous. Her hair was a couple of inches from the crack of her ass. Even though she was casually dressed in a black, sleeveless shirt and jeans, and even though her body wasn’t femininely curvy, she looked great. Her boyish shape sort of reminded me of Brenda, but this one wasn’t bone thin.

We also went to that used bookstore. He got a magazine, and due to my building credit, I got 13 books for $12.50.

Later…

As figured, I haven’t shit today. My body’s just doing what it has to do to keep from falling under 115 pounds, I guess, since my body’s not comfortable at a lower weight these days. Not as a middle-aged non-smoker, it isn’t.

I knew this would happen. I just knew it would. One of my vibrators is started to crap out on me. I totally depend on these things. They don’t have screwy schedules, they don’t get irritation, they don’t get tired, sick, sore, or hurt. They’re all I can depend on sexually, and to tell you the truth - they’re better than the real thing. The real thing has too many problems and just doesn’t usually hit your most sensitive spots just right. With the vibrators, though, you’re in control. You hit it just right and just where you want it. It has no fears, no desire to tease or play games. It does what you want. Anyway, Tom said it was just a faulty contact, but that he can fix it if it acts up. I can use it as long as I hold it a certain way. This is the one I keep in the bedroom. I have the other one in the bathroom.

If there’s ever a time when Tom may play games (not let himself inside me) it’ll be tomorrow. That’s the closest I’ll be to mid-cycle on one of our scheduled sex days (he never wants me on the days we haven’t agreed to get together). Maybe he will let himself in there, maybe he won’t, but he sure as hell won’t cum. But that’s good, though, what with the way he’s so easy. Also, I’d bet my life on the fact that he too, prefers to take care of himself. I’m not the greatest in bed, I admit, and when he’s doing himself, he doesn’t have to risk the 5% chance of making a kid, since he’s only 95% sure I’m sterile.

I appreciate his being easy, and his keeping the sheets nice and dry, but I don’t like the lying. Again, I deliberately asked, how he knew the sex would someday be normal. Where he should’ve said, “It’s not because you rarely get off, and I practically never get off,” he said, “I can do anything if you give me enough time.”

Oh. It’s nice to know he needed “time” to be able to get off by his own wife in the first place. Nonetheless, he said what I suspected he’d say and flunked my little test.

Later…

It’s a quarter after 6:00 and at 6:00 I noticed the cock’s car out on the street in front of the bitch’s. It’s still there now, too, and it appears that he’s bringing the bitch home in the afternoons. If that’s the case, then that proves Tom’s theory right. He did move out because of us. Not because they’re fighting. But why are they being so cool about it? Are they biding their time, or what? In fact, I thought it was her come to talk to me about it at 6:00 when the doorbell rang (that’s how I first discovered it was parked on the street). I looked out the window and saw what I thought was the bitch next door. Dying of curiosity as to why this bitch would have the nerve to come to my door, I opened up. It was a Spanish girl, though, of about 13 years old (the bitch is so skinny and barely taller than me, that she looks like a kid when you can’t see her clearly) selling junk food.

Anyway, I know it’s still just a matter of months before that cock comes back, but guess what? As soon as it comes back - it’s outa here.

I’m a pound heavier today than yesterday. Yesterday I shit and was 116 pounds at the end of my day. Today I didn’t shit and am now 117 pounds. I also only had about 800 calories today and walked 20 minutes. I’ll definitely stay right where I am if I keep on shitting only every other day, that’s for sure, but at least I’m not gaining.

Later…

The freeloader has quietly left. Didn’t even hear a car door.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 2, 1998 Just did the bathroom, dusted, vacuumed, and did a little rearranging.

As I was going through my jewelry, I came across a gold band with clusters of tiny diamonds. I can use it as a wedding ring since I’m too big for my original gold band. In fact, this is kind of big on me.

I was so sure I’d awake at just below 115 pounds, but nope. I was a smidgen over 115 pounds since I didn’t shit yesterday. I made up for lost time and shit twice today, which means I really won’t shit tomorrow. If something’s not determined to keep me from falling under 115 pounds, then my middle name’s not Lin.

I called Tammy yesterday to ask about the girl’s first day of school. She said it went well and that they like their teachers and classmates.

Later…

Today I washed and hung out sheets and the tablecloth.

Oh, am I dreading this Labor Day! I know there’s gonna be ball games if not music. They know I can’t complain to the city about ball games. I don’t know what my schedule will be then, but maybe I’ll be at Ma’s house helping Tom while we sweat our asses off. There’s no AC there, and the cooler’s broken. Anyway, with Ma paying for it, of course, he’s gonna get the city to bring over a dumpster so he can dump the remaining stuff. All the stuff that people wanted is out of there. What’s left is junk. It’s $200 for the city to give you a dumpster to fill up that they’ll haul away. He might also rent a truck that he’ll fill and then haul to the dump. We’re in a better part of the city when it comes to big bulky things, like old pieces of furniture, for example. We have alleys here where our dumpsters are, and periodically, they’ll haul away big stuff if you stick it out there. Ma doesn’t have an alley, though, so she has to bring her big stuff to the dump herself.

I was surprised, but pleased, that yesterday I only got one sales call. The day before, there were none.

I knew it was just a matter of time before Andy would be asking for a favor, and just like most favors he asks of me, it’s useless. He leaves me this message all anxious to get over here for me to give him a crash course in typing. I know this is just another one of the many things he thinks he’s gonna get into, but he’s all talk and no action. Anyway, in my message to him I told him that if he’s serious this time about learning to type well, there’s really nothing I can do for him because it’s all a matter of him getting a feel for the keys himself and remembering. Just like you remember the fingering for certain chords on the keyboard, well, this is the same thing. No one can do the work for him. He has to practice and learn for himself, so I recommended he go to a pawn shop and pick up a cheap typewriter.

Now for the results of last night’s sleeping together in the bed test. It went well, and I think I only woke up once when he pulled on the covers. I could feel the covers gliding over me. I don’t remember hearing his alarm go off or feeling him get up and leave the room. Hopefully, I can continue to adjust and hopefully we can sleep together fairly regularly enough, except for when I have appointments.

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 1, 1998 The black bastard is a free soul after all. It dropped its bitch off yesterday at 4 PM. Shortly after, the bitch’s daddy left.

Woke up at 115 today. Of course, I won’t shit today and will be close to 120 by the end of the day. Since there’s an excellent chance we’ll be hitting Vegas this month, I’m not gonna worry too much about how I eat, because if eating so little can put 4 pounds on me, imagine how much Vegas will put on me! I’m gonna have to start all over when I get back because I’ll be coming back in the mid-120s. Maybe higher.

Later…

Same scenario today - the blue car picked up the bitch - the bitch’s dad is kid-sitting.

I’m getting more and more nervous as we approach the 7th. Well, we’ll see just how bad miss bitch wants to stick around here. I’m sure she’d rather not get evicted, but if so, it wouldn’t be the end of the world for her. I’m sure her dad or some other relative or friend that she’s got wrapped around her finger would squeeze her and her kid into wherever they lived. This bitch just can’t go anywhere. Everyone has to come over here for the holidays. The bitch is probably one of the few within her sick clan that has a house, but I’m sure the bitch doesn’t want to go anywhere. Why would she want to go somewhere else when she knows she can invite me to the party too? She’d never not want to include me.

It used to be that she’d go elsewhere for Easter, Thanksgiving, and Christmas, but last Easter, they made a scene here. Does that mean they’ll even stick around for Thanksgiving and Christmas this year?

Yesterday turned out to be a nightmare as far as my allergies went from 7:30 till when I went to bed at 6:00. It just went on and on and on all fucking day. Tom got up after I went to bed and left me a message that I got when I got up this morning saying that he thinks it’s the different brand of sawdust that I used for the mice because it was bothering him. Well, I intend to throw the rest of the stuff out, but if that’s it, then why didn’t my allergies flare up when I put it in the rat’s cage a few days ago? And why haven’t I sneezed at all today? Besides, my allergies went off before I even emptied out the old sawdust, let alone put the new sawdust into the cages.

All I know is that I’m sick of these allergy attacks that I seem to have once or twice a week and sometimes more. Will there ever be an end to them? Now that I don’t have asthma attacks, I gotta have allergy attacks, right God? Well, better to sneeze than wheeze, I guess, but this is still bad enough and I’m really fucking sick of it!

Evie mailed us some family pictures. I wasn’t there that day to be in these pictures, but anyway, they consisted of Tom, Mary, Ray, Steven, Dave, David, Evie, Nickolena, Parker, Mike, Carol, Matt, Ryan, and Mom. She sent a couple of duplicates that I’ll send Tammy so she can see what some of these people look like.

Later…

Fortunately, Melanie didn’t kill me today. I was in and out fast. I didn’t get to get my molar filled because the doctor went home sick, so I’ll be having that done the next time I see Melanie on the 14th. This time, I get to get filled first, yanked second, but I’m gonna be in there for a while. She’s gonna move the bracket on the tooth, so between the filling and the moving of the bracket, it’ll be a long drag.

Melanie still turns me on, but not as much as she initially did. She had her hair swept straight back. I don’t like it as much that way. It’s always nice to see her, though, and I got to have her all to myself.

Afterward, Tom and I stopped at Abco’s. He needed Slim-Fast shakes and hot dogs, and I needed Tic-Tacs, gum, and salad. This time I got Verona salad and an oriental salad.

Here’s something weird - yesterday I wasn’t stuck, ate very little, but gained 4 pounds towards the end of my day. Today I’m stuck, ate a little more, but only gained 1½ pounds throughout the day. Weird.

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evilspiritsgoneloose · 2 years ago

Text

Deal with the Devil Pt.1

(Evil!Reader)

Requested by @sano-lost-connection <3

______ !Warning! Blood, Wounds. Swear words grammatical Errors (please just oversee them, if there are there)

Characters Mentioned Tommyinnit, Dream, Philza,

Summary Tommy escapes his exile and chooses to hide in the cabin from the most feared person on the server, Y/N

Word count 2900 ______ Masterlist | Part 2

Far away from the lively lands was a small dark forest with an empty huge pillager mansion. All the big mushrooms that made the forest magical and friendly were gone. At the darkest spot in the forest was a little cottage. The Cottage was nicely put and looked quite cozy. The total opposite of the creature that lived inside of it. It was snappy and very hotheaded. Many feared them. They didn’t want to get on the wrong terms with them and get their attitude thrown at themselves. As much as they were feared, they were also one of the oldest and wisest persons in this world. Everyone knew Y/N would give very good advice, though with a price. Mostly it’s just an infrequent Item or their deepest and darkest secret. Philza told... some even lost eyes, limbs, or their freedom.

Tommy would never ask them for any advice, even when it was the only way out of something. He was happy in New L’manberg. His friend was the president and he could do almost everything and get away with it. But time changed everything. Dream was upset and demanded Tubbo to exile his best friend.

Tommy felt miserable and got heavily manipulated by Dream. Sooner or later Tommy realized what he was doing and was able to escape. He first wanted to search for shelter at Technoblade’s house, but thinking twice he realized Dream would search there at first. Tommy hesitated at first but then began walking to a certain dark forest.

Y/N picked up bones from burned skeletons as they saw Tommy striding around the trees looking for something. You straightened your back and called him over “Hey, Searching for something” The boy immediately looked over and walked faster. “Let me guess you are searching for advice”

“Oh no no no. Just let me stay here for a few days. No need for one of your dangerous bits of advice” Tommy stated.

Y/N began to smile sarcastically “So you are asking for a room, maybe with breakfast in the morning and dinner at noon? Even you should know that it is a high demand for someone so young. You’re not family nor a friend of mine”

Tommy thought about the words and spat out “Basically yes”

Y/N rolled their eyes and turned around “good luck surviving” they opened the door to the cottage and looked back to Tommy “I give you an hour after it’s gotten dark” The door got thrown into its frame and now Tommy was alone outside. He looked up and saw the sun setting. Did Y/N mean the monsters? Did they spawn more frequently around their house? He looked around too and for a second he thought to see a little lime green spot. Was he being followed by Dream? How was that possible? No, he was just imagining things. Tommy could hear Dream's voice calling out his name. Is he hallucinating? It can’t be… He walked one step further and something behind him made a sound and chose to ignore it. In the next second, he felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. he looked at it and saw the tip of a sword. “And you thought you could escape me”

It was Dream. He was actually here. Dream pulled out his sword again and Tommy turns around with pain written all over his face “Leave me alone Dream” Little did the both of them know that Y/N looked at them through a little window. Waiting for a specific moment.

“I will never leave you alone Tommy and you know it” “I’m so sick of you harassing me. You’ll rot in hell when I’m free again”

Tommy slowly walks away from Dream and for a second he considered to pay whatever Y/N throws at him. The Green man pulled out his crossbow which was already loaded with an arrow. “Come back with me Tommy. I’m your only friend. You have nowhere to go” Tommy got a little furious “That’s now true. Friends don’t hurt one another and you were never one, to begin with,” He quickly turns around and ran to your door, ready to bang on it. He wasn’t able to land his first knock as the door opened. At the same time Dream pointed the crossbow at Tommy and shot. Y/N quickly pulled the blonde child inside and closed the door again. seconds later the arrow was stuck in the door. Y/N pushed Tommy back further into the cabin and walked to the door again. They took in a deep breath before walking outside. Tommy wanted to hold them back but was too weak for it.

Now Dream and Y/N looked each other in the eyes. “I suggest you leave, Dream” They had a stern look on their face and was completely serious. Dream sighed angrily and left the scene. Y/N walked back into their cabin and could only see Tommy fainting and falling to the ground. They calmly went over to him and picked him up with ease. Y/N then pressed a specific button on their floor and some pistons moved around a lot of blocks. After 5 seconds a hidden stairway was revealed. With Tommy on them, they walked down and entered a hallway out of crimson wood and soul-fire lanterns. Wither skulls were also dangling off the ceiling with some chains and the glass floor was warm due to the lava underneath them. Y/N had one guest room down here and carried Tommy to it. It was almost looking the same as the hallway, it only difference was a chimney inside. Y/N placed him on the bed and left to get a med kit.

Tommy woke up an hour later after Y/N stitched his shoulder back together. He was alone in the room. The chimney was on and he could see blue fire instead of the usual red one. He looked around. everything reminded him of the Nether. Just then Y/N came back and as they saw that Tommy was awake they smiled. Y/N had brought over food for him. “Are you feeling better now?” The blonde one looked over to his stabbed shoulder and could only see a few stitching stings. The wound was already healed quite well. “I’m sorry for the lack of vegetables I have to offer. The only things I have are apples and potatoes” Y/N showed Tommy the plate of food. It was apple slices with baked potatoes. It was basic but way better than what he was back in exile. He began to eat it. It had a bad fade aftertaste but after all, it is very delicious. He blamed the aftertaste on the lack of sun the food had gotten when growing. After all, Y/N lives in the darkest part of the forest. “Thank you very much Y/N. Dream nearly killed me out there” Y/N laughed and turned back to the door. “I guess. I made up my mind after Dream pointed his weapon at an innocent and fragile child” They look back into Tommy's eyes “You can hide here as long as you want, but I suggest you do not come near any windows. The green man will come back for sure” Tommy was speechless. He had never thought Y/N would do this for him. “Oh, what’s with the payment?” They smiled “No problem, Well talk about it later. Take some rest and regain your health back” And so they closed the door.

Tommy ate up and when he finished he immediately went back to sleep. Besides this obscure interior, he felt safe. Y/N first went upstairs and as a few minutes passed They went back to check on Tommy. They again smiled at his sleeping position and went away again, but not before locking the door to his room. They chained the key to a necklace and put it around their neck. Instead of going up again, they walked further down the hallway to another door made out of iron. Y/N opened the door with some keycard and vanished behind the iron doors. The door slammed shut for the next couple of hours.

-----

A loud banging woke Tommy up. The banging was aggressive and very loud like it was coming from his door. He stood up and looked at the doorknob for a second, but then he opened the door with force, and what he saw shocked him. There was nothing. He looked around the hallway. He could spot three more doors. Two were the same as his door and the third one was made out of iron. But Tommy wasn't very interested in it for now. One of the normal doors was elevated by a few stairs. This must be the way up to the cabin. And this way he went. He was very careful when walking up the stairs. The person banging so loud must be very mad at Y/N. He tried to peak a little bit to see who it was. Tommy only could see a little lime green until he got called out. “Tommy, I know you’re there. Stop hiding from me” It was Dream’s voice. “Dream you know he’s with me” Y/N was also there. They must have opened the door. Tommy then decides to show himself and sat down on some barrels. “I’m not going anywhere Dream, I haven’t even paid Y/N” Dream began to laugh very loud and disgusting “Pay Y/N? With what you don’t have anything. I destroyed everything” Tommy swallowed his anger down and said nothing. “Dream” Y/N spoke “You know how my business works” The smiling masked looks at them “Then let’s make a deal. What do you want for giving me that child” They sighed “First ‘this child’ has a name... And second, the price is very high”

“I pay everything for him”

“Give back what belongs rightfully to me” Dream didn’t respond to Y/N’s answer. Tommy was confused. What did Dream steal from them?

Dream looked very thrown back by their answer and just seconds later he stormed out of the cabin, but not without slamming the door shut. Y/N had their arms crossed. They turn around to look at Tommy, but they were smiling. “I should have told you to stay underground for a few days. Now Dream knows you’re hiding here” They sighed. “Anyway, you had a good sleep? hungry?” Tommy thought for a second. He sure was hungry even after he ate before going to sleep. “sure I could have some” Tommy answered and Y/N immediately gave him a plate. Again apple slices with a baked potato. “Again the same?”

Y/N chuckled “Don’t be such a picky eater. I told you I don’t have much” Tommy accepted it and ate it all anyway. He hadn’t much of a choice. “Now go back down Tommy. You’re safe down there” With the plate in hand, going down the stairs and munching on the potato, Tommy looked back to Y/N “What are you going to do this day”

“Exploring and you better stay down there when I’m gone. I don’t want Dream to get you” Tommy sighed “But it’s getting boring down there” he complaint with a whiny voice. “I give you some books to read if you like. Anything more?”

“Oh, can you give me a book and a quill?” “Sure I can” They pushed Tommy inside his room and quickly went to another room. As they came back Tommy had a double chest full of books and also writing utensils. “Good, now stay in your room okay? I’ll be back before the sun goes down” Tommy still nibbled on a potato and just nodded while sitting on the floor with an empty book in hand. Y/N smiled at him and left the cabin very quickly.

Hours and hours flew by and boredom took over. Tommy couldn't hold it anymore and walked to the hallway. He was very tempted to go outside but then he remembered the iron door. He looked at it and walked up to it. He looked around to see if he could open the door. But there weren't any hints. Just then he heard the cabin door opening and closing again. Was Y/N back again? but the steps sounded different. The next second he heard the mechanism that opened the hidden staircase to the basement he is in. Tommy panicked a bit and hid inside the room he didn’t check out yet. Turns out it was just Y/N’s bedroom. It looked like his room, but the bed was strange. It wasn’t used at all. Did they never sleep?

The sound of an Iron door opening woke Tommy out of his thoughts. He opened the door quietly and saw a person going into the room. As they were a little more in the room Tommy quickly hushed over to the iron door and entered before the door closed again. Behind it was another halfway, but this one was dark, very dark. He walked a bit further and saw an enormous amount of stairs going down. The blonde one collected all his braveness and slowly walked down the stairs. It took him many minutes to get down. And what he saw shocked him to his very core. In front of him was a very big room. You couldn’t even see the ceiling. In the middle was a very tall and broad Nether portal. From it came netherrack which elevated it also a little bit. In front of it stood a person. It looked very much like Y/N but he wasn’t sure. Only now Tommy saw that in the walls were massive glass tanks. All of them held onto another nether monster. he also spotted piglings and brutes calmly walking around the room. Tommy began to panic he didn’t wear any gold. And so was the person in front of the portal. Are they friendly to humans? The boy walked further into the room.

“You better stop now Tommy” Ther mysterious person said. His guess was right. It was Y/N. Their head turned a little bit to him. “didn’t I tell you to stay inside your room” Their voice was deep and chilling him to the bones. Were they mad? Tommy didn’t want to make them mad at him. So he straight out asked, “Are you mad at me?” They lowered their head and turned to Tommy fully. The dark light made it very hard to see but the purple light from the portal gave enough light to show their inexpressive face.

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed in you”

“I’m sorr-” “I shielded you from Dream, gave you food and all without expecting you to pay for it. And what do I get… You not following my simple orders” “I’m sorr-” “No, you’re not. You just do whatever you want without thinking about others and the consequences” Tommy knew they were right. He felt bad for his actions. He felt bad for Y/N.

it was silent for a while before Y/N spoke again “Come here” They demanded.

Tommy walked closer to them. As he was close enough Y/N grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards them with his hand in front of them. They grabbed a knife and wounded Tommy’s hand without a warning. It began to bleed immediately. “What the fuck” The child said “What are you doing?”

Y/N held his hand over a steaming hot cauldron. He could see his blood dripping inside the mixture they had in it. After a few drops, they got out a bandage and wrapped it around the wounded hand. They still held onto him on his wrist. Tommy tried to get out of the grip but the more he moves the tighter it got. “What are you doing?” Tommy asked again. but he still wasn’t getting an answer. The longer it took the more panic got into his brain.

After Y/N stirred a bit longer they filled some in a bottle and gave it wordlessly to the blonde child. He looked at it now knowing what to do

“Drink it” Y/N demanded. Tommy shook his head. Never is he going to drink this on his own. A sigh escaped Y/N’s mouth. They got rid of Tommy's wrist but then yanked his head back and grabbed his jaw to force his mouth open. They pour every drop of the liquid into it. As it was empty they let go. Tommy choked on it and fell back a little bit. The potion tasted terrible like it was rotten and very metallic. “What does this thing do?” He asked Y/N filled with panic. They just smiled down at them. Tommy fell onto his butt. He got weaker and weaker with each second that passed until he passed out.

Y/N watched him passing out. By kicking him in the side a little bit they tested if he was knocked out fully. They picked up Tommy and walked over to an empty glass tank and laid the child inside of it before closing and locking it. Y/N sighed. They didn’t want to do it but Tommy gave them no other chance.

____

Part 2

Masterlist

PS: I also take requests.

Leave a heart and follow if you like. It’s free and… YouCanAlwaysUnfollowLater (sry… Not)

#dsmp fic #dream smp #dsmp #dsmp x reader #mcyt x gender neutral reader #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt x you #dsmp x you #gn reader #mcyt fandom #x reader #dsmp x gender neutral reader #tommyinit dsmp #dreamsmp

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years ago

Text

Never Have I Ever - Harry Styles (part 4)

i hope yall enjoyed the last part, we took a sudden and quite dirty turn ther,e but we are heading down romantic street and its all sweet and cute with a little hotness. let me know what you thought about the part!

pairing: Harry x actress!reader

word count: 4.7k

SERIES MASTERPOST

masterlist

Harry Styles managed to leave quite the impression in you following his late night visit after the Emmys. He surely surprised you with not only the unbelievable orgasm he gave you with his talented fingers, but also with how big of a gentleman he really was, so keen on taking you out on a date first before he would kiss you. The timeline got a little messed up and he did apologize before he left at two in the morning for getting too carried away, but you assured him he didn’t do anything you didn’t want him to. To be honest, you wouldn’t have had a word against him kissing you right away, but you liked the respect he had for you, not something you’ve had plenty of lately. The men you dealt with in the past year were eager to get into your pants without the respect part, only hungry to earn fame through you, trying to blind you with sex so you wouldn’t realize their ugly motives.

This was not a threat when it came to Harry, he was just as famous as you, maybe even more. He had his own career, his own money, his own life apart from yours and he clearly wasn’t trying to use you and it was quite a refreshing change for you.

He stayed and the two of you talked so much, just sharing crazy stories from your life before and after fame, enjoying that you had someone who shared more or less the same background as you. Apart from Florence, you pretty much kept your old friends when your career took off, afraid to make new ones, always feeling a little paranoid that new people would have unholy motives when they try to befriend you.

Though you truly love your friends, they don’t really see behind the life you are living, while Harry completely does. His company is the best you’ve had in a long time, he is able to make you completely forget about everything outside the room you two are in.

You tried your best to hide your disappointment when he left that night. After offering him to stay in one of your guest bedrooms, he politely turned it down, and even though you could tell he wanted to stay, the urge to be a gentleman was greater in him, something you admire him for.

He left with the promise to see you soon on a real date and he got you as excited as a little school girl on the day of a fieldtrip.

However, given the lifestyles you two were living, finding a suitable evening for the both of you turns out to be a bigger struggle than you expected. Harry reaches out right the next day after his little visit. A good morning text waits for you by the time you open your eyes in the noon and by the evening he asks you out, however you have to realize the date has to wait a little.

You have two trip outside the city upcoming in the next two weeks and he is also planning to fly back to London for a while, the trips totally crashing in the timeline, not even having just the smallest window that would fit the both of you.

Accepting the fact that it would have to wait a little longer, you keep in close touch, eager to find the date that would finally be suitable for you and him as well. Endless texts, sweet calls and sneaky FaceTimes scatter through the days you spend apart and you find it hard to think of a time when he wasn’t hitting you up all the time.

On a Thursday evening, after a long day of fittings for upcoming events, you find yourself sitting on your couch with a sweet glass of wine, scrolling through your social media feeds when something catches your eyes.

Harry has been away in Los Angeles in the past few days and he mentioned having an interview the other day, but you didn’t think it would be out so soon, but here it was, a short video clip cut out by some random page that had a rather interesting title.

“Harry Styles talks about next album and mystery girl in his life.”

Your curiosity is way too strong not to click on it and have a look at it, so taking a sip from your wine you tap on the link and let the video load.

“It’s been some time since your last album came out, have you been working on new music lately?” the interviewer asked from behind the camera as Harry sat on a lilac sofa, wearing black high-waisted pants with a pink and white floral printed shirt tugged into it, his suspenders topping the look perfectly. His green eyes are fixed on the person asking him as he nods.

“Yeah, I think I never really stop making new music. I do have sessions when I’m trying to put a new album together, but I also write in the meantime as well, whenever I have an idea or inspiration. I don’t hold back,” he adds with a cheeky smile.

“Have you found any inspiration lately?” the question is heard and Harry nods once again.

“I have, actually,” he answers shortly, but his smirk gives it away that there’s a lot more behind his words and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. Is he talking about you?

“Has it been a person?” the reporter inquires, making Harry’s smile grow wider.

“A lot of things and people inspire me.”

“Alright, and is your latest inspiration something or someone new in your life?” the guy tries again, even though it’s well known that Harry likes to give vague answers instead of straight yeses and nos.

“Kind of new,” he simply answers and the reporter realizes he won’t be sharing more about the topic so he moves on with the next question and the video cuts out right there.

Though it wasn’t mentioned that he was talking about someone in particular, his fans drew the assumption that he is definitely seeing someone who has been his inspiration behind his new music. Feeling bold and a little flirty, you open up your messages and send him a quick text.

“A kind of new inspiration, huh?”

His reply comes almost right away, as always.

“Have you been stalking fanpages about me?”

“Would it be weird?”

“From you? It’s flattering. Little scary, but in a good way.”

You can’t help but chuckle reading his words. He never fails to make you laugh, you find his humor your favorite kind, never hurtful, but a little spicy, if you could say that, a lot of irony laced into it.

“Back to the topic: what’s your inspiration? Or should I ask… who is your inspiration?”

“Not gonna beat around the bush and just admit it…”

You wait and wait… and wait, but nothing comes afterwards and you are dying to have him admit that it’s been you, but not even the three dots appear at the bottom, so you take the lead again.

“Well, do it. Admit it, Styles!”

The fucker likes your message right away, meaning he has been in the thread all along, waiting for you to write something.

“Alright, but don’t tell anyone, because she is kinda famous and I don’t want the media to find out about it.”

“You have my silence.”

You watch the three dots dance at the bottom, holding your breath while you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, trying to contain your wide grin that’s been plastered across your face this whole time.

When the text finally arrives you snort loudly, almost spilling your wine, laughing so hard you are happy you don’t like in a tiny apartment anymore with paper walls, because your neighbor would have definitely heard your laughter all the way down the hallway.

“It’s Betty White. Fuck, she is all I can think about.”

You need a minute to stop the laughter and type your reply.

“She is hot, gotta give you that.”

“Right?? I hope she is not afraid to date younger guys though.”

“I’m sure she would make an exception for you.”

“I hope so too.”

There’s a short pause, where you just read back his lines, chuckling to yourself some more. He always has a witty comment or comeback, no matter what you’re talking about and not once has he made you laugh madly on a set, at a meeting or just lying in bed before going to sleep.

“Joke aside, would it scare you away if I said I have definitely written about you?”

“Is this another theoretical question? Like the one you asked me on Ellen?”

You smile to yourself thinking back at the conversation the two of you had on the show when he was trying to figure out if you’d be up to give him your number.

“Maybe. So theoretically, would that be weird to you?”

“No,” you write, but quickly send another text. “But you know, it’s just theory. You’d have to tell me for real to find out.”

“Should have saw that coming…”

“Yeah, you really should have,” you muse to yourself, finishing up your glass and you carefully put it to your coffee table before sliding further down on the couch to get back to the conversation with Harry. You see that he hasn’t sent anything after his last one, so you decide to actually answer his question.

“Joke aside from my part, I wouldn’t find it weird. I think it’s flattering.”

“Okay, because I was ready to burn all my notes if you said it would be too much.”

“What if you’d be burning a Grammy worthy song though?”

“Would be a shame. But I would still burn it for you.”

“You are such a flirt…”

“Can’t help it! Or should I not be?”

“I like it. So don’t change.”

“Noted.”

Your little conversation has to come to an end since he is about to go into a meeting, but when you say your goodbyes and decide it’s time to head to bed, you already know a text will be waiting for you when you wake up in the morning.

Days and even weeks go by and you start to have a little too much on your plate. No matter how much you love your job and that it has always been your dream, sometimes you just need a breather. In the past week you’ve been in and out of auditions for a movie they keep top secret, you didn’t even get a script, just a few pages you had to memorize and they’ve been asking for more and more tapes from you with kind of absurd requests, but your agent told you it’s something major, that’s why they are so secretive. However, when they ask you to come in for another reading for the fifth time in seven days and you still don’t know what you are really auditioning for, you are kind of starting to have enough with all your other projects running at the same time. Your days start at six in the morning and rarely end before eleven in the night.

An entire month after the night Harry came over to your place, you kind of lose patience. The frustration that’s been building up inside you just simply bursts when your agent texts you on your way home that you’d have to go in for another casting in the morning for the same mystery movie.

“Have they not seen my face enough?” you snap, hands meeting the wheel as you keep your eyes on the road ahead of you.

“I’m sorry, Hun. I know it’s annoying, but they requested you, that means you are still an option for them.” Mona’s voice comes through the speakers of the car since your phone is connected to it.

“Do they need me to read the whole fucking Bible in front of a camera or what?” you growl.

“I have a good feeling about this last one, alright? And if they still can’t decide after that, we can always just say that we want out.”

“Then I would be labelled as the problematic little princess,” you sigh, knowing well how this industry works. Just one mistake and you can easily end up in a theoretical ditch.

“Just hold on a little longer, okay? I’ll send you the details in email and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Bye, girl.”

Mona is an angel. She’s been your agent for about five years now, she is the one who gets you into castings, well, at least that’s what she was doing before you managed to reach your breakthrough. She got your name on lists you couldn’t even dare to dream of and she is the reason why you are here today. Now she mostly handles requests for you to go in for castings, creators started to reach out to you a while ago, though Mona still works her magic sometimes to get you into castings that are still out of your league.

By the time you get home, you are desperate to do something. Anything. You’ve been nonstop working these past weeks and you just need to get out of this loop that sucked you in. Before you could even think through what you’re doing, you dial Harry’s number.

He is back in the city, that you know of because he texted even before he got home. You both ditched the idea of having your date today, because you just knew it would be a long day for you, and it’s the truth, it’s past ten, so not quite ideal for a date, but you ran out of fucks to give.

“Y/N? Everything alright?” he asks, noticing that you called, which is not what you usually do, or at least not without checking in if he is free to talk.

“Yeah, sorry I called so randomly. Are you busy?” you ask, feeling a little out of breath, even though you definitely didn’t do anything physically hard. You just can’t help but feel anxious since you are about to ask him out on a spontaneous date.

“No, just… packing and all that. What’s up?”

“So you don’t have anything to do right now?” you clear up.

“No,” he chuckles.

“Alright, so then… what do you say we have that date now?”

Even with him always being so blunt and open about how interested he is in you, it still makes you perfect to ask him out. The silence that comes from his side doesn’t necessarily help either and you are already preparing yourself to get rejected.

“You know it’s ten pm, right?” he then asks, a little unsure if you really thought it through.

“I am aware, yes.”

“Don’t you have work in the morning? I know you always start your days so early, I don’t want to be the reason why yo—“

“Harry,” you stop him midsentence. “I do not give a fuck about what I’m doing in the morning,” you bluntly tell him and you can tell he is smiling on the other end of the call. “So the question is still the same. Do you want to have that date now?”

He doesn’t ask anything else, just simply say the following: “I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

“Make it twenty,” you tell him and end the call before he could protest.

Ignoring the adrenaline rush you that just washed over your body you quickly make your way to the bathroom to take the quickest cold shower before putting on some clean clothes. You really don’t want to overdo it, knowing well since it’s so abrupt he wouldn’t be taking you anywhere that would require you look spotless. You choose not to put on any makeup, not just because you don’t have the time, but also because you feel a weird urge to just be bare, be yourself around him. The same goes for your outfit. You put aside all designer clothes and opt for a simple pair of jeans, a black tank top and a bright yellow knitted jumper over it, looking awfully casual, but feeling rather comfortable.

It takes Harry 22 minutes to get to your place, but you choose not to comment on those two extra minutes when you get into his car. Luckily, he isn’t dressed to impress either, wearing a simple pair of jeans with some kind of washed out, vintage printed tee shirt with his Bode Jacket he has worn in his famous SNL episode. His hair looks a little mess and even wet, making you wonder if your call caught him in the middle of a shower or he showered after you agreed to meet up.

“Long time no see,” he smiles at you, his boyish smirk making your heart flutter so easily as he eyes you while you buckle yourself up.

“You had plenty of paparazzi photos to look at in the meantime, Mr. Styles,” you smirk at him teasingly as he starts the car and leaves from in front of your complex.

“My favorite was the ones of you where you were walking out of a restaurant wearing that silk dress and the coat.”

“So you did see pap pictures?” you ask chuckling, you didn’t mean it entirely, but you find it funny that he actually saw pictures of you.

“You know, it’s been hard to avoid you online, especially because I keep liking all your posts so my phone thinks I’m interested in you. Which is true, and I’m not complaining about the content I’ve been seeing about you lately,” he admits chuckling and your eyes wander down to his ring clad fingers on the wheel. Your thoughts take you back to when they were touching you at places you haven’t been touched in a while. How they felt inside you and how desperate he could make you with just his hands.

You force yourself to look away from his hands and focus on the present time before your arousal becomes way too evident.

“Sorry I’m everywhere,” you smirk at him, enjoying the situation maybe a little too much.

“Don’t be,” he chuckles, glancing in your way for a moment, his green eyes meeting your gaze. “I don’t mind it,” he adds and those damn butterflies as quick to act up again in your stomach.

You don’t try to get him to tell where you are headed, wanting it to be a surprise yourself, so you just stare out at the night city as it runs past you, still quite a lot of people walking on the streets even though it’s now nearing eleven.

What you know is that you’re still in Manhattan and it seems like you won’t leave it either. Harry navigates his way through the city easily, he is not even using GPS, something you could never do. No matter how long you’ve been living here, you’ll always get lost in this jungle some call New York City. About fifteen minutes after leaving your complex, Harry parks the car down in a spot he found along the road, and looking out the window you’re trying to figure out where you are, but it doesn’t ring a bell. Seems just like a usual part of the Upper West Side, so now he has you curious about his plans.

“Where did you bring me, Mr. Styles?” you ask him as the two of you meet on the sidewalk and he glances at your with a sly smirk.

“Since you gave me such a short notice about our date, I thought I would show you one of my favorite places in the city and I hope you haven’t it.” “Well, I can assure you I don’t know it, because I have no idea what could be here,” you admit.

Harry nods at you to follow him and you walk side by side until the next corner.

“I think you already know that I’m English,” he starts off, making you chuckle.

“Yeah, it’s pretty evident,” you nod.

“So, in the past decade I haven’t spent as much time in the UK as I wanted, and a few years ago I discovered a little piece of my home in the city.”

Trying to figure out what he meant by that you don’t even realize where you just took a turn to. Harry stops and you snap out of your thoughts, looking up and seeing a charming little street ahead you, looking totally out of place in the city’s fashion. The townhouses all the way down look like they’ve been placed here straight from England, the Tudor style complex is a refreshing change in the fast paced, busy streets of Manhattan.

You can’t help but gasp at the sight in front of you, taking in every tiny detail with your eager eyes as the feeling of being in a fairytale takes over your mind. If only it weren’t for the busy noises of the streets around the micro-neighborhood, you would completely believe that you’ve been magically teleported to England.

“It’s called the Pomander Walk. Always makes me feel like I’m home away from home whenever I miss my family and my hometown.”

Harry starts walking down the narrow pavement that runs between the houses, lined with quite some greenery, something you noticed right away. There are just so many plants and flowers down the street, it’s pretty clear the residents keep them in good care.

You catch up with Harry, eyes still taking in the pleasant contrast Pomander Walk has to offer for any visitors.

“I feel like we are invaders,” you tell him. It looks so secluded, makes you feel like you weren’t even supposed to be here.

“Don’t worry, it’s totally public. The people who live here are pretty nice too. Love it when someone comes around.”

“How did you find this place?”

“A friend told me about it and just came to see it for myself one day,” he tells you as the two of you slowly make your way down the street, slow enough so you could see everything. “There are 61 units and they were built in 1921 by Thomas J. Healy. He originally wanted to build a hotel here, but didn’t have the money to just yet, so he built these instead to make some cash for the hotel. He never got to do that though, died a few years later, so Pomander Walk stayed.” You listen to him, soaking in every word that leaves his lips, finding his oddly specific knowledge about this place quite exciting and… kinda hot. You could listen to him talk about historical facts for days without getting bored.

“The whole complex was renovated in 2009, they restored a bunch of architectural details that lost through the years.”

“Looks fantastic. I wonder what they look like on the inside,” you muse, your eyes wandering over the colorfully painted old school window blinds on most of the townhouses.

Walking down the pavement you realize there’s not a single soul around here, something you don’t get to experience too often in the city.

“It’s not too well-known, right? I don’t see any tourists and all that.”

Harry shakes his head, eyes ahead of him as he hides his hands in his pockets.

“No, ‘s quite hidden, not often listed in sights to be seen in the city. That’s why I like to come here so much.”

“Easy to stay unnoticed,” you add with a smile as your eyes meet his gaze and he nods, returning the smile.

You walk back and forth on the street at least five times, just talking and sharing and laughing, finally falling out of the misery of your everydays. He still amazes you with how good of a company he is, with his broad view of life and many experiences, you can truly connect with him on a level you haven’t been able to reach with anyone in a long time.

It’s way over midnight when you head back to his car, holding hands that happened at a point earlier, but you can’t tell who reached for who. It was kind of mutual, but now you didn’t want to let go of him… ever. You let your fingers play with his S ring on his pinky while he keeps running his thumb over the back of your hand whenever he has the chance. It’s a little disappointing when you have to let go of each other when you climb back into his car and head back home.

“I know this date wasn’t much, but I hope you liked it,” he smiles at you shyly before his eyes snap back at the road ahead of him.

“Shut up, this was literally the best date I’ve had,” you tell him making him chuckle. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

“Now it’s your secret place too. Maybe we’ll run into each other here one day.”

“I’ll definitely come back,” you admit smirking.

The city lights pass by you faster than you want them to, and you arrive to your complex way too early. Well, not according to the time, because it’s way past half past midnight now, but you just don’t want the night to end. However, you know Harry would not come up if you asked. He is way too big of a gentleman and he wouldn’t want to make you miss your appointment in the morning, but you are definitely collecting that kiss he promised a month or so ago.

“Walk me up, will you?” you ask him softly when he parks down in front of your building. He nods and follows you inside without a second thought.

You both know it’s about to happen, the air thickens between you two in the elevator and neither of you can hold back the small smiles on your lips. Harry walks next to you until you reach your front door and you turn to face him, his green eyes already examining your every move.

“I’m happy we finally got to do this,” you tell him, feeling a blush warming your cheeks from the way he looks at you now.

“I’m glad you called. Was starting to think we would never meet again,” he chuckles making you laugh as well. It really did feel like the universe was plotting against you, but you bet it didn’t expect your sudden move tonight.

There’s a longer pause where neither of you knows what to say or do next and your patience is running low, especially when you see him run his tongue over his pink lips. You just can’t wait any longer to taste them.

“Harry,” you breathe out, the frustration and desire at an all-time high now in your system. Never in your life did it take this long for you to get to a kiss with a guy you were clearly interested in and who returned the feeling as well.

“Yeah?”

“Swear to my lost Emmy Award if you don’t kiss me right now I’ll—“

You don’t get to finish, you don’t even know what you’d have said, but it’s all forgotten when Harry kisses you hard, hands cupping your jaw on both sides, angling your head to grant him the best access to your lips. You return the kiss without a second thought, hungrily tugging and pulling on his lips, your tongues meeting in the middle and fuck! He really knows how to make your toes curl with just a kiss. You grab a fistful of his t-shirt at his stomach, pulling him close and the cold touch of his rings on your skin makes you shudder. Everything about him makes your legs turn into jelly and you are willingly offering yourself to him without a doubt.

He pushes you against your front door, one of his hands wanders down to your waist and he gives it a gentle squeeze that makes you open your mouth more for him. You are a mess and so is he. You have no idea how long you make out, but when you eventually pull back, your chest is heaving and your lips feel swollen. Harry pecks your lips two more times before forcing himself to let go of you.

“Good night, Y/N,” he murmurs in a low voice as he starts to back towards the elevator.

“Good night, Harry,” you say a little out of breath. He smirks at you one last time before walking into the elevator and the doors close, officially ending your first date.

PREVIOUS PART

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#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles never have i ever #never have i ever #harry styles never have i ever series #never have i ever series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fiction #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x actress!reader #harry styles au #harry styles fluff #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot

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monsterenergysimp · 4 years ago

Text

Permanence

corpse husband x fem!reader

summary: you meet corpse on a stream and you’re surprised when he reaches out to you

warnings: cursing, mentions of tattooing

word count: 1.9k

notes: This is proof read but could have missed some stuff. This is my first corpse fic and my first time writing fanfic since I posted that super cringey book on wattpad when I was like 12 or something. I’d appreciate feed back so please reach out to me :)

main blog @itsmysleepover

read part 2 here!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You were cleaning up your station so you can get home and stream. You loved your day job as a tattoo artist but you also really enjoyed streaming. It started as a way to promote yourself as an artist and the shop you worked at but it eventually became a really fun way to destress at the end of the week (or day if you were really itching to stream). “Hey Y/N was that your last client?” your boss, KC, asked as she walked to the front of the shop and put new flash drawings on the walls.

“Yes ma’am!” You said back excitedly. You finished cleaning your station and tossed your black gloves in the trash. “And you can’t trick me into staying and taking walk-ins,” you joked with her. She rolled her eyes and walked back into her office “It was one time,” she said as you slid on your jacket. As you walked out your phone buzzed in your pocket and you checked to see who had texted you. It was a message from Sean asking if you were free to play Among Us with him and some other streamers. You replied that you were on your way home right now and totally down. You were excited to see who was playing this time around since their Among Us streams are super entertaining and have gotten really popular.

On your way back you tweeted and posted to your Instagram story that you’d be streaming soon and set up all your stuff once you made it home. After a few minutes, you had a couple of thousand people watching. You entered the discord chat and Sean spoke up. “Everyone this is Y/N she’s sensitive so be gentle.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you guys and I’m not gentle, I'm ruthless,” You say into your mic and notice the chat calling you a liar. Everyone was in the lobby waiting for the game to start. “You sound way too sweet to be ruthless,” Corpse said. The countdown started and you were imposter with Charlie.

“This should be fun,” you told the stream. Yout tried playing strategically but after such a long shift your brain was mush. You saw Poki in nav and killed her then vented into shields. Not long after the body was reported and you were sure you were going to get voted out or at least sussed.

“Where was the body?” Felix asked. “Nav and I didn’t see anyone near there so whoever is imposter must have vented,” Corpse responded. Felix spoke up again. “I think I saw Y/N walk that way and I haven’t seen her since.”

Shit, shit, shit shit. “I’m in shield right now so-” you said trying to defend yourself but Charlie spoke up. “I was doing tasks with her earlier and I saw her walk into shields so she’s safe but I’m still not sure about Rae.” Everyone discussed a bit more and some people, including Corpse, voted for you but Rae got the majority vote and was ejected. You released your breath and kept playing being extra careful.

“Okay, guys that was super close. Corpse knows and is out to get me,” you said to the chat. You were eventually voted off but one round later victory was written across your screen with your ghost and Charlie’s avatar. “Good game guys,” Corpse said.

“I told you guys I was ruthless!”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat at your station doing nothing because a client had canceled a four-hour session. You were listening to music and sketching some stuff but you were bored out of your mind and you didn’t want to leave in case you got a walk-in. The music got quiet as you received a twitter notification saying someone had messaged you. You reached for your phone and saw you had gotten a dm from Corpse.

C: hey :)

You didn’t know what to respond. You were mostly confused as to why he decided to message you out of the blue. Did he want something? But what would he want?

Y: Hii! This is sudden

C: was i bothering you?

shit sorry!

Y: Youre fine I wasn’t doing anything rn

C: how has your day been

i dont usually do stuff like this

Y: Im glad you did im doing better now I was so bored

C: what were you doing that was so terrible

Y: NOTHING! thats the problem :(

C: im sure youll find something to do

You stared at his message. Unsure what to respond.

Y: Im gonna give myself a tattoo

C: what?

NO!

You tossed the needles you used for your tattoo into the sharps box. “Oh my god you didn’t,” KC said. She noticed the wrap on your calve from the tattoo you just gave yourself out of boredom. “It’s not my fault I didn’t have anything else to do!” You said trying to defend yourself. She sighed and just shook her head. “Just go home business is slow today.” It was raining so the shop probably wasn’t going to get a walk-in anyway and you didn’t have any more clients for the day. It was only 2 pm but you drove home and after making lunch for yourself decided to stream. You weren’t expecting too many people so it was bound to be super chill. Your leg felt sore reminding you of the tattoo. You snapped a quick pic of the fresh jack-o-lantern on the side of your calve and messaged it to Corpse.

Y: [image] it came out nice!

C: thats super cool actually

i was concerned why you would just give yourself a tattoo but i found your instagram and youre super talented

Y: Thank you!

For some reason, it felt strange to just have that be the end of your response.

Y: Im about to start streaming if you wanted to watch

[link]

C: ill be watching ;)

What’s that supposed to mean?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You sat in your apartment watching tv, hand lost in a bag of Doritos, and scrolling through twitter. You had stopped paying attention to the anime playing on the screen since you’ve watched it a hundred times and knew you wouldn’t miss anything. It was Saturday and you usually take those days off. Take the time to do chores or meet up with some friends but today you felt like not doing any of those things. As you continue your endless scroll (not helping the twitter addiction you told yourself you’d try to get a handle on) you got a message from Corpse.

C: wanna talk?

You looked down at the message unsure of how to answer. It was a simple yes or no and the obvious answer was yes. You and Corpse had started talking more regularly. You still didn’t have each other’s phone numbers but it was fine. Your conversations weren’t too big-- just you sending him memes, tiktoks, and telling him how much you liked the songs he would drop. Or him complimenting a tattoo you did. Sometimes he’d message you during streams telling you funny stuff his fans would say in the chat and you’d do the same. You learned a bit about each other but nothing too deep or serious. Like how you two lived a few cities away and you both really liked Donnie Darko. When Sean first invited you to that game out of everyone else there you were most excited to meet Corpse. He’s just so sweet and funny. Of course, you’d love to talk to him but you were also itching to talk to him and the last thing you’d ever want to do was make him uncomfortable.

Y: Yeah id love to talk

Here goes nothing.

Y: Wanna facetime or something?

No pressure or anything it could even be a regular call

I think facetime is just my default lol

You sent those last two messages quickly after you had sent the first. You wished you could know what he was thinking. It was killing you to think you had turned him off from talking to you completely. You put your phone down on the couch and went to wash your hand of Dorito dust. When you got back from the kitchen you turned off the tv and tossed yourself onto the couch.

Still no message.

Why am I so fucking stupid?

Just as you were standing up to stretch from sitting on the couch all day your phone buzzed. You reached for it fast and looked to see that it was him. You became super excited still not even knowing what the message said. It could have told you to never talk to him again for all you knew.

C: sure lets facetime

xxx-xxx-xxxx

You had his phone number. You added him to your small but growing contact list and called. You sat on your couch waiting for a response when he finally picked up the screen was black. It didn’t upset you; you kind of expected it and didn’t care what he had to do to make himself more comfortable during this call.

“Hey,” he said. His voice was raspier than usual.

“Did you just wake up?” You asked and looked at the time. It was about a little past noon and you had only eaten Doritos all day. Shit, you should probably make a decent meal.

“Not that long ago but yeah,” he responded and giggled. That giggle.

“Well, I’ve eaten nothing but Doritos all day while rewatching Ouran High School Host Club, so you’re welcome to join me as I make myself something to eat.”

“Sounds like fun; what are we eating?”

“I don’t know yet,” You said as you stood up and made your way to the kitchen. You opened the pantry and looked. You noticed a can of diced tomatoes and reached for it then checked the expiration date. It was still good. On your counter were some onions and garlic. “How about some tomato soup?”

“Sounds delicious.” you smiled at Corpse and your phone screen not knowing if he was also looking at his screen or not. “You’re really pretty-- you know that?”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to--”

“I’ve already told you what an incredible artist you are so many times I bet you’re tired of hearing it, but you already know what a talented artist you are.”

“That is very kind of you Corpse,” you said to him bashfully as you chopped the onion and opened the can of tomatoes. “But once again you don’t have to reach so far to compliment me.”

“I’m not reaching you are talented and beautiful and--”

“I thought I was pretty.” You could hear him chuckle with a smile on his face. “You’re both,” he said. You could feel your face getting warm from blushing.

“Fuck you you’re making me blush. My face is all hot and stuff.”

He laughed at how flustered you got. “That’s the cutest thing ever.”

You didn’t know how to respond so you just put some olive oil in a pot and tossed in your onions. It became silent but it was a comfortable silence. You turned the stove on and watched the flame for a few seconds. “If it was dark we could pretend we were together and having a bonfire or something,” you said to the phone as you turned the camera to show him the flame (still not 100 percent sure if he was looking at you or not).

“I’ll put it on the list of things to do when you visit me someday.”

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband imagines #corpse husband x y/n #youtubers #caffeinated ramblings

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years ago

Text

Into The Unknown, Part 6

First

Marinette woke up because of a whack to the face. So that was fun.

She blinked her eyes open and was met with a scowling, squirming baby.

She sighed and considered letting the baby squirm for a little so she could get another few minutes of sleep…

Oh. Right. He cried in the morning. An unfortunate thing to forget about.

She grumbled a quiet “fuck” as Damian started screaming.

“Tim, your turn.”

Tim grumbled incoherently and attempted to disappear in the plush mattress.

She considered kicking him to wake him up but decided against it. She was feeling nice that morning.

(Also, she figured that kicking a half-awake vigilante might end badly for her.)

She shrugged Tim’s arm off and then tumbled out of bed, baby securely wrapped in her arms. She laid flat on the ground, baby raised in the air above her like a less cute version of That One Scene from The Lion King. She squinted up at the screaming child, struggling to get her brain to function, and then sighed.

“Right, let’s get you all changed, huh? Clean diaper? Pretty new clothes? Will that calm you down?”

She really didn’t know why she was talking to him, she doubted the kid really understood what she was saying, but his wailing was starting to die down a little. She hoped it was because she was using her nice voice and not because he was straining his vocal cords.

She smoothed out his hair and then pushed herself to her feet.

After she had changed the kid’s diaper, she spread all of his clothes out on the floor in a loose circle (it kind of looked like an egg, but at least an attempt was made).

She set the baby down in the middle of the egg and stepped back.

He looked up at her, confused.

She motioned to the clothes. “Go ahead. Yakhtar.”

There was a few minutes where the baby continued looking at her, clearly expecting something but she had no clue what.

Then, finally, he looked around at the clothes.

He crawled over to a yellow shirt with a cartoon bee on it that she had paired with some black and white striped leggings and slapped it a few times. He babbled angrily at her.

… did that mean he wanted it or that it was out of the running?

… she was going to assume that he wanted it.

She picked up him with one arm and the outfit with the other -- something made very difficult by the fact that Damian was now slapping his little fists against her shoulder in an attempt to be let down -- and then started the process of getting the kid into the clothes.

“You know, he probably would have been fine with anything you picked.”

She glanced up from where she was trying to shove Damian’s pudgy little baby arm into a sleeve. Tim was sitting up in bed, legs crossed criss-cross applesauce and head propped on his hand. An amused smile played at his lips.

She rolled her eyes and looked back down at Damian so she could complete her grueling task. “Probably. But I’d just keep dressing him up in red and black and, apparently, he doesn’t want that.”

“Don’t know why. Red and black are objectively the best colors.”

“Totally,” she said.

Damian babbled angrily some more and attempted to punch her arm. She tried not to show on her face just how much it had hurt.

“I guess yellow is pretty okay,” Tim said, grinning.

“Eh. Yellow is like… the fifth best color. Green is where it’s at.”

Tim made a face. “Ew. Green?”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re not allowed to talk about what looks good. You had a completely brown suit for ages. Terrible, isn’t that right, Dami?”

Damian clearly had no idea what was going on, he was busy trying to help Marinette pull his pants up (he was accidentally pushing them down but it was the thought that counts… she was pretty sure, at least), but he nodded decisively.

Marinette turned her head away from Tim and Damian, lips pressed together thinly to keep her laughter under control, before she turned back and finished the kid’s outfit.

“See, Tim, even the baby agrees.”

Tim scoffed. “He agrees with everything you say.”

“Because I’m always right.” She leaned forward to nuzzle her nose against Damian’s with a bright smile. “I can already tell you’re going to be the best kid. Isn’t that right?”

Damian giggled.

Tim held the baby as they checked out at 10:55. Usually, he would try to be earlier, but… baby.

Yeah. That was all he needed to say about that.

(If you want to know: Damian had finally managed to succeed in his attempts to fall from a high place, effectively scaring the shit out of both of the teens who were taking care of him. They’d checked him over for any injuries -- it was more difficult than usual, they couldn’t tell him to clench and unclench his fists to make sure they weren’t broken. When they were sure he was okay they took a few moments to hug him and assure themselves that it was fine and that babies were flexible for this exact reason… unfortunately, this ended with the kid learning that falling from high places=hugs and was now, somehow, even more determined to do it.)

Marinette turned to him with a smile.

“Do you want to get the car or do you want to get the baby’s carseat?”

Tim thought for a minute before sighing. “Would you make fun of me if I picked out a stupid-looking carseat?”

“Absolutely.”

He rolled his eyes and handed off the baby like he was a baton in a very weird relay race. “No thanks. I’ll get the car.”

She grinned. “Probably a good idea. Right, see you.”

“Get some baby formula while you’re out.”

Marinette looked down at the kid, eyes wide. “Still?” Then she shrugged. “Sure, I guess.”

He tossed the bag of diapers and stuff to her and, with that, they started off in separate directions.

He picked up a rental car from Enterprise. They offered the ability to pay a little extra to leave the car at another location. He doubted that that was in place for things like moving across the country but he wasn’t about to complain.

But, when he picked up Marinette and Damian outside the door and caught sight of the carseat she’d gotten, he absolutely would complain.

“Spiderman?” He said.

“Technically, he’s ArachnidKid, here.”

He raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her.

She had the decency to look a little sheepish. “He screamed every time I tried to choose anything else.”

Tim sighed and knocked his head against the top of the steering wheel a few times before turning around.

“I’ll deal with the kid while you figure out the thing.”

… or, at least, that was the intention. It turns out that baby carseats are… difficult. They’d pulled into a spot and gave Damian his stuffed cow and a phone to distract him and they’d gotten to work. There were two adults and two magical beings trying to figure it out and not a single one of them had any idea what they were doing. The instructions made absolutely no sense, they may as well have been written in Greek -- except they all knew how to speak and read Greek because of magic. But this shit? Illegible. It was like the written version of baby language. No one knows what was going on, he was beginning to think that the people trying to give them instructions didn’t even know. Tikki was puzzling over the instructions despite this, Marinette was having a breakdown, Tim wanted to be back in his world so he could punch someone, Kaalki was in the process of being eaten by Damian. It was chaos.

They were on the road. Marinette lazed in the passenger seat, feet up on the dashboard as she half-listened to the audiobook Tim had put on -- something about a kid who stole lightning or something (she didn’t see the big deal, it wasn’t like it was hard or anything). Tikki and Kaalki were using her headphones to listen to music. Damian had fallen asleep and was now peacefully sucking on one of the horns of the cow plush.

(He’d, apparently, dubbed the plush ‘Cow’. It was a fitting name, she supposed.)

Tim glanced over at her. “If we get in a crash you’re going to fly through the windshield.”

She lifted the cheap heart-shaped sunglasses she’d bought on impulse while waiting for Tim to show up out of boredom. Just so he could see how unimpressed she was.

“Maybe you should drive well so I don’t have to worry.”

He sighed and rolled his eyes. She saw the speedometer drop a bit regardless.

They stopped for food pretty soon after they started on the road. Funny how quickly a day could go by, it was already noon.

They ended up at Carl's Sr., because that was what they had found first.

He bounced Damian on one knee absently. The kid wasn’t thirsty, it seemed, so they were just trying to keep him entertained while they ate. He didn’t know why they bothered, the kid was currently entertaining himself with nothing but a rubber duck.

Marinette nibbled the last of her sandwich. “I wonder if he can have fries.”

“Fy!” Said Damian, who had apparently learned that ‘he’ usually meant him.

“Well, he’s convinced me,” she said.

Tim rolled his eyes. “The book I read said that if you give him regular food he’ll realize ours is better and won’t go back to the baby stuff.”

“Good for him if he stops eating it. I got curious and tried it, it sucks.”

He shrugged a little. “He only needs to keep eating it for, I think, another year…?”

“Two whole years of that stuff? That’s evil. I’m giving him a fry.”

“Fy!” Said Damian again, this time slapping the table to punctuate the word.

Tim sighed and pulled out his phone to check that that was allowed. Apparently, despite the fact that kids can breast feed up to two years (or even longer), they can start with ‘table foods’ around a year. That made exactly zero sense to him but okay.

“... I guess that’s fine,” he said, eventually.

Marinette beamed and tore off a piece of her fry for Damian.

The baby was enlightened.

Despite the fact that they’d originally agreed to split the driving evenly, with long shifts so they could go straight to Gotham without any major setbacks, Marinette ended up doing most of it.

It turns out that Tim got car sick.

She didn’t say anything about it. He seemed embarrassed enough as it was, especially since Marinette and Damian were wholly unaffected.

It was… fine. She used the extra stops to get coffee each time. And, whenever it came time to feed or change Damian, she glared Tim into submission. It may not be entirely his fault that his stomach was protesting the car ride but it inconvenienced her so fuck him.

… she did feel a little bad, though, so she always held his hair out of his face and made sure to give him water so he was fully hydrated.

They arrived in Gotham and collapsed in the hotel bed pretty much the moment they could. They’d done hygiene stuff, of course, neither of them were eager to lay in their filth for the night after an almost day-long drive (there had been a lot of stops)… but once they had bathed and brushed their teeth? And cleaned up Damian? Straight to bed.

Tim had finished up first since his showers were quicker and he rested an arm around Damian to make sure he wouldn’t leave. He needn’t have worried, Damian was apparently just as happy as they were that they were in an actual bed again because he was in dreamland almost the second he’d touched it.

He closed his eyes and relaxed.

The bed dipped a little as Marinette crawled in and he let go of the kid so she could wrap around him per usual.

Tim hesitated here. He’d wrapped an arm around them before, sure, but that was different. That had mostly been a thing he’d done in his sleep.

After a few moments, Marinette sighed and scooted closer, tangling her legs with his.

He flushed red. “Uh?”

“It happens every night anyways, I’m resigned to my fate.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or frown.

She opened her eyes a little and smiled. “Relax. Chat Noir is super touch starved, I’m used to platonically cuddling with people.”

He relaxed a little and hesitantly rested an arm around the pair.

Marinette nuzzled her face into Damian’s hair and closed her eyes again.

He smiled at the scene and started to close his eyes… but then Kaalki caught his gaze.

He gave a small puff of laughter.

“You know, I just remembered something.”

Marinette hummed to say she was listening.

“My power is the ability to create portals.”

“... god fucking damn it.”

~~~~~

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#kaalki: i just wanted to see what it was like to drive in a car :(#into the unknown #maribat #timari #timinette #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

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zintranslations · 4 years ago

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 114

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 114: Found

The numbers on the sticky notes Sun Yuanzhou passed out were different for each person.

Ruan Nanzhu got eight, Lin Qiushi got seven, and Liang Miye got six. These notes could distinguish which person opened which chests. Sun Yuanzhou had done this as a precaution, but now it had come of unexpected use.

In order to eliminate Sun Yuanzhou as a potential mole, Lin Qiushi had told Sun Yuanzhou in private the day before that he'd found the Doll Mary[1]. But the Hako Onna never used the "My Doll Mary" power until Ruan Nanzhu once again made the announcement in front of the entire group. This proved that Sun Yuanzhou wasn't on the Hako Onna's side, or the Hako Onna would've used the fastest method to eliminate Ruan Nanzhu. If he were dead, after all, they'd be down one powerful rival, and the group would be without a leader.

According to everybody’s behaviors these past few days, Ruan Nanzhu also guessed that there was a limit to how many chests the humans could open in a day, and they couldn't just open however many they liked. This was likely a rule to restrict the Hako Onna's partnership with the humans—she knew where all the Hakobito were, after all, and after avoiding all the Hakobito, that player could open every chest in one go and then destroy all useful items. This would be akin to a dead end for the human players.

Judging by their progress these past few days, the mole definitely could not just open however many chests they wanted. As for the mole's identity, Ruan Nanzhu also already had a guess.

After discussing matters with Sun Yuanzhou for another little while, he finally returned to the dining room.

Lin Qiushi was just about to ask after Ruan Nanzhu when he noticed Sun Yuanzhou looking at him oddly. It was a look a bit like disdain, flavored with some envy.

Slightly bewildered, Lin Qiushi wondered what exactly Ruan Nanzhu said to Sun Yuanzhou out there.

"Darling," Ruan Nanzhu said, leaning his head on Lin Qiushi's shoulder. "I want to talk to you about something."

"Alright," Lin Qiushi nodded.

So the three left the dining room and found a random empty room on the second floor to talk.

In order to confirm that the Hako Onna wasn't around, Lin Qiushi used the pen immortal in the hallway. It made sure she was on the first floor and couldn't hear what they were discussing.

Inside the room, Ruan Nanzhu gave them a simple rundown of Sun Yuanzhou's sticky notes.

"Oh he's good," Liang Miye complimented afterwards. "If he hadn't snuck in such a move, then we'd really have no other solutions."

If they couldn't even distinguish which chests were opened up by their people and which by the mole, then that would truly be the worst scenario.

"Mh. So now the problem is, who is the mole?" Ruan Nanzhu said.

Lin Qiushi gave it a thought.

"I think if the mole isn't all that brilliant, they're bound to leave some clues."

Ruan Nanzhu propped his chin up in his hand.

"I currently have a suspect. If it really is that person, then they really aren't all that smart."

"It's best if they aren't," Lin Qiushi said. "We only have to count up the number of chests that person's opened to confirm their identity."

They'd been here for three days. The number of opened chests per person, therefore, would not exceed three. Honestly, putting aside extenuating circumstances like the first day and possessing items, the number of chests opened per person ought to be between one and two. Since the mole was working with the Hako Onna, however, they'd definitely open as many chests as possible. Everybody's sticky notes were blank at a glance anyways—they could choose to write down the content of the chest, or they could not. The mole didn't know that Sun Yuanzhou had put his little trick on the sticky notes, and so in order to prevent the other players from opening unopened chests and gaining more items, they very well might have stuck on more sticky notes than one or two.

Had it not been for Sun Yuanzhou's precaution, then they truly might have been helpless against this kind of move.

"So do we know what the count is on that mole now?" Liang Miye asked.

"Let's count up every number on the chests first, and keep an eye out for number thirteen." He'd already gotten the number of the person he suspected, but they still had to do the confirmation work.

So the three took out the notebooks and pens they carried on their persons, along with the ultraviolet light Sun Yuanzhou had given them. They began combing over every single opened chest in the mansion.

Liang Miye was in charge of technicals, Ruan Nanzhu stood guard, and Lin Qiushi was the one who looked. The three worked together in clear capacities and very quickly gathered detailed records on every single number on the chests.

It was indeed as Ruan Nanzhu guessed: the number of chests most people opened were between one and two, but there were two numbers that opened three chests each, thirteen and seventeen.

The owner of number seventeen was Xiao Ji. Plus the chests he opened up on the first day, he'd opened six in total. The number checked out, because on day one alone, he'd single-handedly opened up three chests.

The owner of number thirteen, however, had also opened three chests.

"She put three sticky notes," Liang Miye said. "But it's currently noon of day four. If we give it a count...three's still reasonable, right? If this person is brave enough…"

"No," Ruan Nanzhu said. "It's her."

"How so?" Liang Miye asked.

"If she did open three boxes, then aside from the first day, she must have eaten every single day," Ruan Nanzhu said. "But not a single person got to eat on the first day. Day two, the number of people who could eat was small too. Most of the newbies chose to hold out."

Lin Qiushi said, "is it who I think it is?"

He too had a faint guess as to who the person was.

"She introduced herself as Tian Guxue," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Tell you the truth, she's had so little presence that I'd nearly forgotten her name. It's Sun Yuanzhou who wrote it down." Cocking his head, he thought back for a bit. "But I can recall a few of the things she's said. They were all dumb as hell."

Lin Qiushi asked, "is it the girl who suggested you put the key back in the safe?"

Ruan Nanzhu nodded.

The Hako Onna wouldn't dare to ask an experienced veteran to be her partner, because veterans typically came in groups, and those who came into the tenth door together were usually partners in life and death. The moment they turned their backs on her for their teammates, her plans would completely fall through.

That was why the Hako Onna chose a weak and timid newbie. The Hako Onna had likely promised Tian Guxue that she would be the last survivor, and then made her into a mole to provide intel.

Unfortunately, Tian Guxue didn't seem to be a very qualified agent at all. At least, before all the old foxes like them, her identity had been quickly discovered.

"Fuck her, she's really something else," Liang Miye groused. "Now that you mention it, wasn't there that girl who wondered if you'd forged a hint slip? If she can say something as stupid as that, then the way I see it, that person's got about the same IQ as your mole."

The hint slip was impossible to forge—there was no way of knowing the specific situation before entering the door, so a hint slip could only be faked once inside. Once inside, however, there were no conditions to do so[2]. The hint slip, then, was the optimal proof that Ruan Nanzhu wasn't the mole, and so had successfully convinced everybody.

Now that Lin Qiushi's conjecture had been confirmed, he spoke: "So it really is her. Should we reopen every chest she's already opened now?"

"We'll see," Ruan Nanzhu said. "I do think we can go search her room though, see if there are any other clues."

"Okay," Lin Qiushi nodded. He agreed with Ruan Nanzhu's thinking.

Ransacking someone else's room was unethical behavior outside the doors, but inside the doors, with their lives on the line? It was really nothing.

But they first had to be sure that Tian Guxue wouldn't return any time soon. Liang Miye happily volunteered to go stall Tian Guxue, so that Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi could go do the search.

With a nod, Ruan Nanzhu and Lin Qiushi came to Tian Guxue's room, unlocking the door with a hairpin.

Tian Guxue lived alone. Though she kept the presence of others when she opened chests, at night she slept by herself. This was truly inconsistent with her professed timidity, but because they didn't know the newbies well, Ruan Nanzhu’s group hadn't noticed.

Now though, all the oddities were surfacing one by one; Tian Guxue was the mole they were looking for.

Once inside Tian Guxue's room, Lin Qiushi inspected all the chests there and said, "all these chests have probably been opened."

"Mh," Ruan Nanzhu said. "She'd be scared to open those in other places and attract attention, so she opened all the ones in her room first…But the number of chests she can open must be limited by the day as well."

"I just hope she didn't find any important items," Lin Qiushi sighed. "Let's have a look first."

Together, the two searched throughout the room, and very quickly hit pay dirt underneath the bed. When Lin Qiushi's cell phone flashlight came upon something odd there, he reached in, felt about, and pulled out a card. When he saw what was on the card, he couldn't help but curse.

It was a hidden power card, and on it was written two words: Moving Things.

Moving Things was one of the Hako Onna's powers. It allowed her to inspect the contents of every chest in one room and also move them as she liked.

"Moving Things" wasn't particularly potent, but it was another brick boosting up the foundations of the Hako Onna's strongest power "I'm Behind You"—it brought them one step closer to unlocking that power.

Once they opened up two more of the Hako Onna's powers, then the Hako Onna could unleash "I'm Behind You." By that point, eliminating the entire group was only a matter of time.

They didn't think that Tian Guxue would've opened up such a power and then kept it hidden from public knowledge.

Lin Qiushi exhaled noisily, emotions quite complicated.

"What do we do now?"

Ruan Nanzhu said, "let me think about it."

Tian Guxue was actually a double-edged sword; she could help them open the chests, but she could also help the Hako Onna. Because the Hako Onna didn't know what was actually inside the chests either, whatever they opened up was based on luck.

They searched the room again, but didn't find anything else. Tian Guxue could be carrying something on her, or she might have already destroyed things outright.

"Why didn't she keep the card on her, but in the room instead?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"Who'd want to keep this kind of thing on them?" Ruan Nanzhu replied. "Plus she doesn't look very brave at all."

Lin Qiushi nodded.

Ruan Nanzhu said, "put the card away for now. When we tell them later, we'll leave it in the dining room. It's about time we asked her if she's opened up anything else."

Lin Qiushi put the card in his pocket. Once in his possession, the card carried a sort of chill that seeped into the bones—it was indeed uncomfortable to keep around. It was an item that had to do with the Hako Onna, after all.

With the power card in their hands, the two headed downstairs. They saw Liang Miye and Tian Guxue in avid conversation in the living room.

Liang Miye looked up and saw them. Lin Qiushi gave her a nod.

Seeing this, Liang Miye smiled and stood. Ruan Nanzhu took the time to make an announcement to everybody seated in the living room.

"Let's all go have a meeting on the second floor. There's something I want to tell everyone."

"What is it?" After killing Wei Xiude, Xiao Ji and Xiao Mei had stuck together. He asked casually, "have you found the mole or something?"

Ruan Nanzhu just smiled, not answering. During this dialogue, however, Lin Qiushi noticed Tian Guxue's face go pale beside them.

Everybody arrived in the second floor study, waiting for Ruan Nanzhu to make his announcement.

Straight away, Ruan Nanzhu tossed the power card they'd found in Tian Guxue's room onto the table. The first thing he pronounced was: "We found this in the mole's room."

Everybody looked toward the card—and instant hubbub. The smile Tian Guxue had managed to keep had completely disappeared as well; she was pale as a sheet, watching Ruan Nanzhu with a look of panic. Her body even began to unconsciously tremble.

"Fuck, who the hell is it!" Sun Yuanzhou had a temper to begin with. The instant he saw that somebody had hidden a power card, he exploded.

Before Ruan Nanzhu even spoke, Tian Guxue broke down. She began to sob and heave: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, it wasn't on purpose—I'm so sorry, she forced me to do it! I had no other choice!"

At this, everybody turned to Tian Guxue in astonishment. They didn't think a newbie with such little presence would be the mole who'd been selling them out.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Tian Guxue continued to apologize under the unfriendly gazes, but nobody said anything about forgiveness. After all, had Ruan Nanzhu not unearthed her identity by force, then they would all likely be screwed. They didn't even know how many powers she'd opened up for the Hako Onna.

"Oh shut the hell up," Xiao Ji snapped. "Why didn't you apologize when you were fucking screwing us over? What's the point of saying sorry now, huh? Tell us, what else have you been hiding!"

After being yelled at like this, Tian Guxue was trembling, but she didn't dare try to refute any of it. She looked pathetically at Ruan Nanzhu.

"Zhu Meng-jie, I only hid that one power card, I haven't kept anything else from you…"

"Oh," Ruan Nanzhu said faintly. "Well, since you haven't hidden anything, then you wouldn't mind if we searched your body, right?"

"On what basis?!" The moment she heard they wanted to search her, Tian Guxue panicked. She got up to run, but was immediately pressed to the ground by the people standing ready around her. Even when she was on the ground, she was yelling, "how dare you try to search me—this is illegal!"

At the word "illegal," everybody only scoffed. If there was such a thing as legality inside the doors, then would they be doing any of this? It really did take the contrast to understand that it was heaven outside.

"Go on." Ruan Nanzhu gestured for Liang Miye to search her with the lift of a chin.

Had Tian Guxue been a guy, Ruan Nanzhu would've done it himself already. She was a woman though, and despite having done such a thing, Ruan Nanzhu's group still let her keep a last bit of dignity.

Tian Guxue cried and struggled, but they held her down. Liang Miye inspected her pockets and backpack, very quickly finding something useful.

"It's an item!" Liang Miye exclaimed in excitement.

"Which item?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"The wooden stake!"

Liang Miye fished out a white stick of wood from Tian Guxue's pockets. It had one end sharpened to a point, and looked like the wooden stakes used to put down vampires.

This was a very critical item in the Hako Onna tabletop game, about as important as the gasoline.

In the game, there were only three items that could stop the Hako Onna. The first was the gasoline, the second was the rusty chain, and the third was the wooden stake currently in their hands.

"Aaaaah, give it back, give it back!!!"

When Tian Guxue saw the wooden stake in Liang Miye's hands, she began to scream like she'd gone crazy.

"Give it back," she said, "give it back to me! That's mine!"

"Shut your mouth! If I hit women, I'd've beaten you to death by now!" Xiao Ji yelled, already very irritated by Tian Guxue's screaming. "You have the nerve to ask for an item? We're already goddamn saints for leaving you alive!"

But Tian Guxue wasn't listening to Xiao Ji at all. She only continued to wail, and in the end, someone couldn't take it anymore—they ripped off a piece of tablecloth and stuffed it into her mouth.

"Uhhh…" Tears continued to stream down her face, and Tian Guxue could only keep moaning.

The gasoline could kill the Hakobito while the wooden stake and rusty chain could kill the Hako Onna. The precondition to using the items, however, was that they had to know which one was the Hako Onna's Weakness. If they used the wrong one, they would die immediately.

"She must have hidden something else." Disregarding Tian Guxue's muffled wailing beside him, Ruan Nanzhu continued to calmly analyze his current conclusions. "She's hidden the rulebook, at least."

But seeing Tian Guxue in such an unstable state, nobody wanted to release her. They got a rope from somewhere nearby and tied her to a chair.

They were going to wait until she'd calmed down to continue questioning her.

The atmosphere in the dining room was quiet. Beside Tian Guxue's moaning, everybody else had sunk into silence.

Then all of a sudden, Sun Yuanzhou spoke up.

"Say…Do you think there's only one mole?"

"She seems like the only one for now," Ruan Nanzhu said. "At least that's the case based on the evidence. Of course, let's not rule out extenuating circumstances."

In the numbers they recorded, only Tian Guxue's count was off.

"Let's just hope there's nobody else," someone mumbled.

Tian Guxue cried for well over half an hour. Finding no pity, however, she finally quieted her sobbing. She seemed to understand her position, eyes becoming lifeless and despondent before she finally gave up struggling, falling silent in her chair.

Ruan Nanzhu saw that she'd stopped crying and yanked the cloth out from her mouth.

"I know I'm in the wrong, but I had no other choice," Tian Guxue spoke lowly. "I was scared, I was so, so scared…"

"Who's not scared?" Ruan Nanzhu said. "We're all human. Go on then, where did you hide the rulebook?"

"In the furthest bathroom on the first floor, under the water tank," Tian Guxue said. She seemed to have truly given in, fessing up the location of the rulebook with honesty. "It's all Wei Xiude's fault, it's him!!! If he hadn't lied to us, we wouldn't have come in here, uwaa…"

Outside the door, Wei Xiude had promised to protect them and bring them through the tenth door.

But in reality, on the very first day they entered the door, they'd known they'd been lied to. This was the tenth door—Wei Xiude could barely protect himself, how could he possibly protect them? Tian Guxue had gotten through her first door on luck alone. She couldn't imagine that her second door would be so immediately difficult—difficult enough that she couldn't see any hope of surviving.

Then there came a voice from the chests to tempt her.

Tian Guxue had been possessed. In the end she became the ghost that lured in passersby for the tiger[3].

Ruan Nanzhu sent people to where Tian Guxue said, and indeed found the rulebook that Tian Guxue had hidden underneath the water tank.

"Why didn't you destroy the rulebook?"

The rulebook was wrapped up in a plastic bag and perfectly preserved. Xiao Ji flipped through it as he asked the question off the top of his head.

"I was scared I couldn't remember it," Tian Guxue answered quietly. She seemed quite stunned; being exposed like this had clearly been a huge shock to her. "I was so scared…"

Evidently, she didn't completely trust the Hako Onna, or else she wouldn't carry the wooden stake on her. Tian Guxue was neither brave nor very smart—she was indeed an easy target to manipulate. The only shame was that unclever people easily exposed their flaws. Lin Qiushi counted their luck that the Hako Onna hadn't set her eyes on anybody else.

Had it been one of the old guards like Ruan Nanzhu who'd been tempted, then the whole house might very well have been killed without knowing anything.

The rulebook was pretty much the same as the tabletop they knew. With this, the group had a much clearer understanding of the game.

"Are you hiding anything else?" Xiao Ji asked.

"No, no, I'm really not hiding anything else," Tian Guxue rushed to say.

But the way everybody looked at her was still filled with suspicion. She was currently bankrupt of all trust.

Then Ruan Nanzhu thought of something else.

"How many chests can you open per day?"

"Three," Tian Guxue answered. "I've only opened twelve so far…"

Twelve was a lot.

Ruan Nanzhu sank into silence.

"What are you thinking about?" Sun Yuanzhou asked him.

Ruan Nanzhu looked toward Tian Guxue, and replied placidly, "how to repurpose some trash, of course."

A look of fright appeared on Tian Guxue's face. She'd always been scared of Ruan Nanzhu. Now, after hearing what Ruan Nanzhu said, she started trembling like a mouse under the scrutiny of a cat; she looked like she could faint at any moment.

Translator’s Note:

RNZ had been the one to tell SYZ that, but it’s what the text said.

I suppose this means that if they wanted to fake a hint slip, they could only do it once they knew they situation inside, and once they were inside, they had no physical way of forging it. Is it because it’s printed? Or because they’d have no time/opportunity? It strikes me that someone like RNZ could forge a hint slip (unless it’s computer-printed, but that feels ironically anachronistic; if it’s a typewriter, then couldn’t they bring a typewriter in with them?), and that’d actually come in handy for a door like this one. Had RNZ come in alone, for instance, and partnered up with Hako Onna, he could hide the rulebook and fake his authority via a fake hint slip. But anyways, I assume the potential benefits of bringing in everything you need to forge a hint slip is too abstract; it wouldn’t actually be useful in any other door, so he’d have no reason to prepare for that. (Then again, does SYZ have any more reason to prepare the hidden numbers on the sticky notes? :thinking-emoji:)

There are a ton of different classifications of “ghosts” and “ghouls” and “monsters” in Chinese cosmology. This one is particular is 倀鬼 / chāng guǐ, and one of the myths about this classification of ghost is that people who are killed by tigers become changgui, which in turn help tigers lure in more prey.

Names in this chapter:

Tián Gúxuě / Tian(2) Gu(2) Xue(3) / 田穀雪

[Ch. 113] | [Ch. 115]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒 #WHOOP WHOOP #WE'RE GETTING HYPED FOLKS #one more chapter today

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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

Text

Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 10

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

From: [email protected]

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:46am

To: [email protected]

Subject: Coffee?

Hi Monica,

It’s Dana, from pathology. I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee tomorrow around lunchtime? I have a break in classes from 11-2, so anywhere in there would be fine.

I hope things are going well with VICAP.

-Dana

From: [email protected]

Sent: April 28, 1997 10:48am

To: [email protected]

Subject: Wednesday/Thursday

Hi,

I’m mildly shocked that you hadn’t already emailed me before I got in today. Are you alive?

If you’d like to meet up for lunch or coffee this week, I can do Wednesday or Thursday, sometime in the 11-3 timeframe. Let me know which works for you and I’ll block the time out so nothing else ends up on my schedule.

From: [email protected]

Sent: April 28, 1997 11:12am

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:Coffee?

Hi Dana,

I’m so glad you reached out. I’d love to get coffee tomorrow; I can meet you just outside the autopsy bay at 1pm, if that works?

I look forward to it.

-Monica

From: [email protected]

Sent: April 28th, 1997 12:16pm

To: [email protected]

Subject: RE:Wednesday/Thursday

Hi Scully,

I see that my exceptional self control has paid off in spades. I am alive, and have resisted emailing you this morning through a combination of sheer will and a two-hour budget meeting.

Wednesday sounds perfect, I’ll be there at noon. Don’t ask me how many hours that is from now because I haven’t calculated it and I have no idea.

———

About an hour after returning from her coffee date with Monica, which was very pleasant and is something she hopes to repeat, she starts to feel just a little bit achy. She pushes through the rest of her work for the day and by the time she slumps through her apartment door at six, there’s no denying that she’s sick. She takes some Tylenol and goes to bed, hoping it will have passed in the morning, but when she wakes up it’s even worse. She calls in sick to work and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes again, the phone is ringing. She ignores it, only for it to start ringing again the moment the machine picks up. Dragging herself out of bed with a pained moan, she trudges to the hallway, retrieving the cordless phone and walking back to her bedroom as she answers.

“Hello?”

“Scully! Are you okay?”

“What? Yes. Mulder?” She burrows herself back under the covers with the phone tucked against her ear.

“Yes, it’s me, you didn’t answer my emails all morning and never showed up for our coffee date. I was worried.”

“Shit, Mulder, I’m sorry. I came down with something yesterday and called out sick. I totally forgot we were having coffee today.”

“You’re sick?” he asks, clear concern in his voice.

“Yes, just a virus or something, I’ll be fine.”

“Can I bring you something? Soup? Juice? Bad movies?”

She chuckles a little. “No, you don’t need to do that.”

“Who's gonna take care of you?”

“Mulder, I’m a grown adult with a cold, I can take care of myself.”

“Are you sure?” She can tell by his tone that he wants to do this more for himself than for her.

“Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want you to see me all sick and disgusting, Mulder. It’s too soon to ruin your image of me,” she says somewhat sarcastically.

“Seeing you sick is not going to change how I feel about you, Scully,” he says very tenderly, and she knows he means it. Still, she doesn’t like the idea.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? Sorry to make you drive an hour for nothing. Rain check?”

He sighs noisily. “Okay, fine. I think you inadvertently left ‘stubborn’ off your list of flaws, though.”

“Well, I didn’t want to ruin all the surprises,” she replies with a smile.

He reluctantly says goodbye, and as soon as he hangs up, she calls the first number on her speed dial.

“Hello,” calls Missy in her typical singsong greeting.

“Missy, can you come over?” she whines, little sister mode in full effect, “I’m sick.”

Missy arrives forty five minutes later and fusses around, gathering a glass of water, Tylenol, and the thermometer that is buried in the bottom of a bathroom drawer. Dana has relocated to the couch, and makes a face around the thermometer propped under her tongue when Missy sets four crystals of different shapes and colors on the coffee table, along with two herb-filled capsules. The thermometer beeps angrily and Missy plucks it out of her mouth, shaking her head.

“One hundred and two,” she says with a frown, “here, take these,” she holds out two Tylenol and two of the herb capsules with a glass of water.

Dana takes the Tylenol and leaves the others.

“Whatever those are, I’m not taking them. And you can pack up your crystals,” she says to Missy as she pops the Tylenol and chases them with a big gulp of water.

“They’re just echinacea, Sis, they won't kill you. And neither will the crystals.”

“But they also won’t help,” Dana says dryly, setting her water on the coffee table and burrowing back under her blanket.

“Well, I’ll just leave them right here,” Missy says, standing and going to the kitchen. “Why’d you call me, anyway? Shouldn’t playing sick maid be Mulder’s job now?” She’s looking through cupboards, pulling out a pot and a can of soup.

“It’s too soon for him to see me all congested and disgusting,” Dana replies, stifling a shiver. “He wanted to come over, but I told him not to.”

There’s a knock at the door. Dana sits up, exchanging confused looks with Missy.

“Did you order food?” Dana asks, and Missy shakes her head, moving to the door.

Dana watches from the couch as Missy opens the door to find no one on the other side. She looks at the floor, then down the hall one direction and the other. She stoops down and picks something up, then walks back to the couch with a paper bag.

“What is that?” Dana asks, and Missy shrugs, setting it on the coffee table and sitting at Dana’s feet. There’s a sheet of paper stapled to the bag, and Missy plucks it off, opening it while Dana explores the contents; a carton of tom kah gai soup.

Missy’s face is a mask of confusion as she reads whatever is written on the paper.

“What does it say?” Dana asks, and Missy hands it to her.

Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still.

Dana’s chin puckers as her bottom lip sticks out in a pout. “Oh my god,” she gushes, “it’s Mulder.”

“What the hell does this mean?” Missy asks, taking the paper back and reading it again. “Does he write poetry or something?”

“No,” Dana answers, pulling the lid off the container and breathing in the spicy coconut smell, “it’s a quote from Jane Eyre.”

“Oh my god,” Missy says with a disgusted look, “you two really are meant for each other. This is sickening, Dana, you realize that, right?”

Dana is smiling, taking sips of the hot Thai chicken soup that he somehow knew she needed. “Yes, he’s also a giant nerd, if that’s what you’re saying. But beyond that, I don’t think we have much of anything in common, actually.”

“You both work for the FBI,” Missy offers.

“Yes, but in totally different areas. And he’s an atheist, and believes in unverifiable phenomena like aliens and spontaneous human combustion. And he’s impulsive and easy going, and he makes decisions with his gut,” Dana lists off Mulder’s attributes like she’s describing the trim level on a car. He’s cute, and he has a leather interior.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t use any of those words to describe you,” Missy says pointedly, setting the note on the table, where Dana plucks it back up and reads it again. “But there’s something to be said for being with someone who’s different from you.”

“I don’t really buy into the idea of ‘opposites attract,’” Dana says flatly. “I think that’s just a lie people tell themselves to justify horribly mismatched partnerships.”

“I think ‘opposites attract’ implies that your qualities clash, like the odd couple. One is messy and the other is clean,” Missy replies, propping her elbow on the back of the couch. “But I heard about this idea of ‘perfect opposites’ which is more like someone who complements you, or helps kind of level you out. So perhaps you lean to the extreme in some areas where Mulder leans to the other extreme, and you learn to meet somewhere in the middle.”

Dana gives her a doubtful look. “What is the middle between believing wholeheartedly that Bigfoot exists, and knowing that he doesn’t?”

Missy takes this under serious consideration. “I think,” she says without a hint of sarcasm, “that the medium would be accepting that it’s possible that he exists, and possible he doesn’t, but there's no way to know for sure.”

“So a Bigfoot agnostic?” Dana asks, and Missy nods in confirmation.

Dana shakes her head. “Maybe you should have gone out with him, I think you two might be better suited.”

“Don’t give me any ideas,” Missy says with a coy smile. “Speaking of which, does he have any single friends?”

Dana shrugs around a gulp of soup. “I don’t know, I haven’t met any of his friends.”

“Well, when you do, keep an eye out would ya? Now that I’ve lost my single buddy, I may as well get back out there. God knows it’s torture enough hearing your lurid tales from the bedroom.”

“Missy, I haven’t told you a single lurid tale,” Dana chastises.

“I know, what’s up with that?” Missy retorts in mock offense, “speaking of, what happened when he took you out to dinner Sunday night?”

Dana shakes her head.

“Oh come on, Dana. I have no life, let me live vicariously,” Missy whines.

Dana shakes her head again. “The only thing I’ll say is; maybe don’t eat off the kitchen counter,” she says before giving Missy a guilty look.

Missy’s mouth drops open.

“Wow, I’m not sure if I’m more grossed out or jealous,” she says as she stands, “I’m gonna get out of here, if you’re good. I think I need to go pick up a guy at a bar for some meaningless sex.”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for coming by. If you need a condom there are some in the bathroom,” she adds with a sarcastic smile, and Missy sneers at her.

“Ha, ha,” Missy replies as she slips on her shoes and opens the door, “last time I checked, you can’t get pregnant from a vibrator.”

Dana gives her a sympathetic pout and Missy pulls the door closed behind her.

———

It’s a quarter past eight when the phone rings, and he pushes Priscilla onto the floor to retrieve it from his desk.

“Hello?”

“I can’t find it,” says a garbled voice.

“Hello?” he asks again, “who is this?”

“It’s really cold. It’s also too hot,” the voice says around a sound like fabric moving over the mouthpiece.

“Scully?”

“Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

There’s a pause. “Mulder?”

“Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?”

“Mulder, where are you?”

“I’m at home. You called me at home. Is Missy there?”

“No, she had to take her vibrator to a bar,” she answers, and it’s clear that she’s completely delirious.

“Scully, I’m coming over,” he says, standing up to find his shoes and wallet. “Hey, Scully, I need you to do something for me, okay?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can you stand up, and walk to your front door?”

She sighs. “That’s very far.”

“I know it is, but I need you to unlock the door so I can get in. I don’t think your super would be very happy if I broke it down.”

He hears her groan and her voice becomes quieter, then disappears. He waits, and just when he thinks she may have hung up, she picks the phone back up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, did you unlock the door?”

“Mulder?”

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Mulder, where are you?”

He snickers a little. “I’m on my way over, did you unlock the door?”

“I...I don’t remember,” she says, and she sounds exhausted.

“That’s okay, go back to bed. I’ll figure it out. See you soon, okay?”

“Okay, bye, Mulder.”

He waits but the line doesn’t go dead. He hears her shuffle around a bit and then it’s quiet for a long time. Setting the phone on its cradle, he drives over to her apartment.

The door is, thankfully, unlocked, and all the lights are off.

“Scully?” he calls out, not wanting to scare her. “Scully, are you awake?”

When he gets no response, he slips off his shoes and makes his way to her bedroom, calling out her name intermittently. He finds her twisted up in her sheets, and one touch to her forehead has him jerk his hand away with how hot she is. He strips the blankets off of her, finding her in only a T-shirt and panties underneath. Next he finds a washcloth in the bathroom and soaks it with cold water, then grabs two Tylenol and a glass of water. When he returns to the bedroom and drapes the cloth over her forehead, she starts and opens her eyes momentarily, but then closes them again.

“Scully,” he says softly, shaking her shoulder, “I need you to wake up, honey. I need you to take these.”

Her eyes open slowly and she blinks at him with heavy lids.

“Mulder?” she asks groggily, and he gives her a sympathetic smile.

“I’m here. Can you sit up and take these?”

He helps her prop herself up just enough to swallow the Tylenol and a sip of water before she collapses back against the pillows.

“I feel like shit,” she complains, but her eyes are already closed and she’s on her way back to sleep.

“I know. Get some rest. I’ll be here.”

———

She wakes up to harsh beams of sun pouring directly through her eyelids. Her first thought is that Ethan forgot to close the blinds again, but then she remembers that she and Ethan aren't together anymore and he doesn’t live here, so she must have forgotten to close them. She moves to roll out of bed and is met with the shock of aching muscles, and remembers that she had been raging with fever last night. She probably shouldn’t have let Missy leave, but thankfully the fever seems to have broken during the night. She rolls away from the window, no longer motivated to get up and close the blinds, and finds herself nose to nose with a sleeping Mulder.

“What the hell?” she says out loud, and he opens his eyes and smiles at her.

“Hi,” he says softly, “how do you feel?”

She gives him a perplexed expression. “Confused. How long have you been here?”

He chuckles “I knew you were out of it, but I didn’t think you were that far gone. You don’t remember?”

She shakes her head ruefully.

Mulder rolls to his back and stretches, then turns back to face her. “You called me last night, totally out of it, and I came over to make sure you were okay.”

“How did you get in?” she asks skeptically.

“You let me in.”

Her eyes widen.

“You were burning up, I just force fed you some Tylenol and kept an eye on you. Around 3am you started shivering, so I think that’s when the fever broke.”

She is quiet for a moment, taking in her surroundings. “Mulder...am I not wearing pants?”

He holds up his hands in self defense. “That’s how I found you, Scully, Scout’s honor.”

“What time is it?” she asks, feeling disoriented.

He peeks at his watch. “A little after nine.”

She sits up too quickly and gets dizzy. “I’m late for work,” she says, one hand to her head.

“Scully you were delirious with fever six hours ago, you’re not going to work. I called for you,” he says, sitting up too.

She gives him an incredulous look. “You called out sick to work for me?”

He nods.

She sighs and looks away from him. “I got the soup, and the note,” she says, “thank you.”

“Of course,” he answers, rubbing a palm over her back.

She looks back at him, taking in his sleep rumpled hair and second day stubble. She furrows her brow, a slight scowl on her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” she says with a defeated tone, and he laughs.

“I’d sure like to be, if you’ll have me.”

She groans and slumps against him, sighing as he wraps his arms around her, petting her hair.

“Okay, fine,” she says flatly.

“Well don’t sound so excited about it,” he teases, and she pulls back and smiles at him.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she says softly.

“Thanks for letting me,” he replies.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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dulafer · 3 years ago

Text

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

#twin #stolen identity #imposter #body switch #male body swap #body swap #bodyswap #gay men #impersonation #transformation #transform

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pathofcomet · 4 years ago

Text

and it’s just around the corner

fandom: stardew valley

pairing: sebastian/player (female)

summary: She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back.

rating: explicit // word count: 25k // AO3

She cannot remember the farm per say, just the proof that she’s been there once: a dusty, yellowed photo of herself, smiling in a pink sundress under the shade of a gigantic oak, 4 years old and beaming. She can vaguely bring back the savour of cranberry jam on her tongue, the authentic, slightly sour taste that only meant home-made. She thinks they had a gray cat, and she can feel the smell of gasoline in her nose, from the long car ride there as a child. That’s all she remembers about her grandparents’ old farm; and anything of that lifestyle is completely lost upon her, or her memories of her grandpa. They haven’t been crazily close either: she was busy pursuing her education too far away to allow proper visits, and the phone signal failed the old man too much to allow even constant communication. When he died, they buried him in the city, next to his wife, and everything about the way he lived his life became hazy and forgotten in the lives of the living.

Which is probably why it is so hard to comprehend what she’s reading now, in her cubicle at work, defeated under her 16th time this month of overwork. Her grandpa was known for being eccentric, which is why she expected to see a card with hey, we all die in the end! or something written on it, and not the dreams of her childhood offered on a plate to her. She stares at the paper, reads and rereads it for 7 times before she’s convinced it’s actually real.

She’s touched at the care in his words, at the oozing affection on that piece of paper. It’s something that she didn’t know she was missing until now. A care sent across generations, to reach her – and when she feels like she needs it most. She doesn’t know if she should scream or cry or laugh.

She looks around: there are only a couple of other workers left in the office at the moment, in the late hours of the night. There’s delivery food all across the others’ empty desks, and a few of the girls switched their shoes, from heels to sneakers. And yet, as she stops, the clanking on the keyboard never ends around her, and the neon light remain buzzing above her, the static noise of her real life nightmare. The sigh coming from a co-worker several seats away is deafening in her ears. As she’s writing her resignation letter, for her boss to find on his desk at the first hour in the morning, she can’t help but notice how her vision shakes, how she can’t quite straighten her back under the pain of hours and hours of being hunched at a desk.

It’s not even the irony of it all, dying in a storm of unfair overworking while those above her wallow in money, that upsets her more. But rather, the way in which she cannot have any satisfaction out of it anymore. As a graduate, she thought she’d find happiness in a corporate job that pays well, but now the comfort of money means nothing when she doesn’t have the time to even spend it, and she can’t even recall what her hobbies are, let alone when’s the last time she did anything else but work, do house chores and sleep.

She cannot recall the last time she met up with some friends, visited new places or ordered online something else but a new pair of heels or a new shirt for work. Gods, now that she hit the brake on her wreck of a life, she can’t stop noticing how pathetic she’s been.

Her hands tremble as she signs the paper, as she tosses her meagre office belongings into her bag, as she pushes the elevator button. She’s already overthinking the decision, but it’s already made and she can only worry about what’s to be done next now. She’s 100% sure she’s not made for this, she has zero knowledge of how to take care of a farm and she still screams when she sees a spider in her apartment. But she’s tired, there’s a tiredness that never seems to let loose, and no matter how much she sleeps on Sundays, she wakes up feeling like she has her hands and feet tied. Even if to only rest for a while, and the whole ordeal would still have been worth it.

Sleep doesn’t come easily to her that night. She reads the letter over and over again, she measures the weight of the keys in her palms, she tries to put puzzle pieces together, from old photos she brings up from hidden boxes. Nothing tells her she made the right decision, though in her old photos, everyone looks so happy while on the farm. Maybe she didn’t even truly get to the end of her patience, just a bad day, maybe she still could have taken it for a while. After all, it’s not like she had that bad of a life. But then, it’s not like it was that good either. And once she started thinking of it, the idea of change became hauntingly tempting. The potential in this new place is infinite, and so, so terrifying.

But a change nonetheless.

She spends the next couple of weeks in a frenzy: selling most of her belongings, keeping only the strictly necessary. She keeps the pictures, of course. A few books, only those that she read during university and she felt like they changed her life, though she hasn’t revisited those stories since. Maybe she’ll finally have the time to, now. She sells or donates all her office clothes, expensive shirts and bags – all gone, because they remind her of some kind of work she never wants to do again in her life.

When she stops to count what’s left, looking at her near-empty apartment, two suitcases and a backpack put aside, she’s overwhelmed at how pointlessly she lived her life up until this point. She has nothing to show for all the efforts she’s made, and she can feel the skin all over her body itch with the realisation, itch for something else to do.

She doesn’t look back, as she’s returning the keys of her rented apartment. She has been paying expensively for the chance to live on her own in the big city, and there’s nothing but bitterness towards that idea anyway. She waits in the bus station with music playing at the highest volume, drowning out an incoming panic attack – as she’s struggling to count up to 10, reassure herself that she’s a grown fucking adult and that she can do something as easy as just moving someplace new.

Still, the scenarios roll in her mind, unperturbed, and she almost throws up thrice before she reaches her destination – and then she almost throws up again, as she’s watching the bus pull away, leaving her alone in the middle of nowhere. The sun is bright, but too bright and her clothes are sticking to her skin, even if it’s barely early spring, and the air is fresh. A fairy-tale start to her new adventure, and yet she feels like crying right then and there, a fain headache booming at her temples from all the anxiety she had to push away.

She’s already exhausted and it’s barely noon. She starts pulling at her suitcases, though the road makes it a tricky and tiring job. Then, just as she’s ready to take her first break, a hand grabs the handle, and she stares up in the face of a kindly looking old man.

Mayor Lewis; she still remembers the face, as he is the kind of person who probably always looked the same. They’ve last seen each other at her grandfather’s funeral, so there’s a bit of awkwardness hanging between the two of them, as she’s allowing him to help her with her luggage.

A redheaded woman is waiting for them in her truck, a bit of a distance away, and she helps them with her stuff. It’s easy to make conversation when friendly people are pushing it forward, and they seem way too enthusiastic about her presence. They don’t even comment about her sneakers, totally unfit for most of the roads in the town, or her outfit, that would rip or get dirty the second she’d encounter a field.

She already has a room prepared at Lewis’ place, there’s no way her old house can offer her proper living conditions just yet. That’s not a jab directed at her, rather at the passing of time and the overgrown state of her courtyard. But there’s nothing mean behind their comments, and they’re even offering all the help they can.

She’s trying to come up with a list of things that she might need, but Robin is already writing one of her own.

“She’s our architect,” Lewis whispers, winking at her in secrecy.

It’s weird and scary and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. Back in the city, she could have crumbled on the sidewalk and nobody would have cared. Here, it seems everyone jumps at the chance to do just that, help and care, and she’s terrified out of her skin. Her thanks are muffled by the weird knot in her throat. When balancing things out in her head, there’s nothing she can give them in equal measures.

The key in her hand feels foreign, but yet it’s that thing that grounds her to the moment, doesn’t let her slip away in that part of her brain that makes her forget things even happened. The house is, of course, a disaster, though someone had the good thinking of covering the furniture. The place is small, and it needs a good dusting, maybe even a new coat of paint. Robin, by her side, is still doing her job.

“Is there anything you want in particular?”

“No, not really. I don’t think so?”

She’s lost and overwhelmed. She’d like to just sit somewhere and start unpacking, maybe go and switch all of her things again actually, because there’s no way she can fit in with these people. But Lewis’ arm is around her shoulder, urging her back the way they came, promising her his special vegetable mix and green tea.

Once finally out of his sight, and comfortably settled in his extra bedroom, she squeezes a pillow close to her chest, hiding her face in it, and starts crying. She sobs – for the grandparents she didn’t properly appreciate while alive, that still left her with so much. For the chance that not many have to switch things around. For the state in which the farm is, and the immense effort she’ll have to put in building it back together. For the pain in her arms, the burn so unfamiliar that it must be only the sign of something new. She’s overwhelmed and scared, and hours pass before she finally falls asleep,

The next morning, she refuses even the breakfast, and immediately heads towards her place, luggage in tow. Mayor Lewis promised he’ll solve the problem of electricity and water running back to the place, so at least she can forget the administrative part.

She greets everyone she passes by, because otherwise the staring just gets too unbearable, and though they’re curious, they also remain polite too. But her courtyard and house are truly disastrous. She’s glad it’s still so early in the year, so the weeds didn’t grow yet on the path towards her door, so at least she can focus on dusting off the room, polishing the floor. She unpacks with nostalgic music blasting from her phone: plates in one drawer, her clothes in the other two. She builds herself a nightstand out of all the books she brought with her, and she washes the curtains by hand, letting them dry out in the sun.

She goes to the town for bedsheets and even more cleaning products, buys a basil plant for the windowsill. The place is small, smaller even than her city apartment, and she has nothing of her own to properly decorate it with, give it a specific charm, so she allows herself to get lost between the small isles of the store, and pick whatever piques her fancy. But this is fine, she thinks. This is, after all, the true definition of a new start.

She watches the sun set from her porch – she thinks she’d like an armchair for the place, it’d make a lovely reading pace if it’s not rainy, and there’s a soft lull from the TV inside, where the weather prognosis for the next day rattles on.

She finds grandpa’s old gardening books, and she starts reading them. She cleans up a small portion of the land, plants some seeds she picked based on Pierre’s recommendations. Gathers wood from the end of the forest that runs almost up to her house, practices splitting it in smaller branches, that she can carry and gather in the small tool shed, for the winter.

During the first night that it rains, she opens her door to a stray, lost dog. She hugs him close to her all through the night, as he whimpers and warms up – and in the morning she names him Max, and buys him dog food and a colourful bowl. She stops feeling so alone, so lost, a purpose forming, even though she can’t quite name it.

When too many days pass with her cooped only at her place, letters and requests for visits start pouring in her mailbox. Sometimes mayor Lewis comes pick her himself, walking around the town with her, stopping to present her to any villager they encounter. She feels like a circus freak being paraded around like this, but she smiles, wonders if Max is getting bored at home or if she could walk through the forest in search of some fruits.

***

Then, when the weather prognosis tells of many sunny days in a row, Robin shows up at her doorsteps, can of paint in one hand, brushes in the other – and her son behind her, to help her out.

She watches him, fiddling on the spot, looking like he certainly doesn’t want to be here and she smiles. Well, that’s at least a feeling that she can relate to, even when in her bed after a tiring day, she still sometimes yearns for everything that this place is not. Max helps. In this case as well, as he runs to the door and immediately jumps on him.

“Max, no!” she chides, though he settles calmly on panting up at the man for pats. Luckily, he hasn’t slammed him to the ground, as he tends to do with her, but that’s still no proper way of greeting strangers. “I’m so sorry…”

“Sebastian,” he says. “There’s no problem, really.” He’s scratching the dog between his ears, absentmindedly looking in through the door, at the small place she now calls home. There’s nothing much in there, but she finds herself growing protective over it anyway, at his gaze.

Max, the traitor, is now cuddled down at his feet. From the side, Robin laughs.

Her and Sebastian move the furniture, as Robin tapes newspaper on the wooden floor. She prepares fresh lemonade for her visitors and helpers before they start painting, and she takes a short break just to water her crops. They do the work in silence, mostly, just her phone turned on to fill up the space – and without mayor Lewis’ fast mouth, she isn’t certain what she could possibly talk about. From time to time, Robin asks Sebastian something – regarding his sister, or some things she asked him about before, which sounds a lot like nagging so she prefers to stay out of it.

She thanks them many, many times before they leave for the day. Especially since it was the weekend, and she’s sure they just threw away a perfectly free day on helping her put together her house. She just feels more and more indebted towards all these people. Even if Sebastian didn’t look her way even once.

***

She starts going to the local library, borrowing books and learning more and more things about the farm. She accepts the quests from the bulletin board, and in exchange she asks for fishing tips or some town history. She starts taking evening walks, with Max, picking up acorns. She gets stronger and better at all the farm work. She places various orders, starting to gather syrup from the trees near her house – and one lazy day, she makes jam, that she then sells.

She starts counting the money, making plans for the farm. She buys two chickens, and the one day when no one in the town sees her, it is because she struggled all the time to build a fence so that they won’t step all over crops and no fox would reach them during the night.

***

Everyone is friendly, showing up at her door with gifts for her new move: a handmade mug from Leah, a beautiful seashell from Elliot, an actual functional first aid kit from Harvey. She suspects the mayor’s doing behind all these kindness acts, and yet it’s with a reverent kind of gestures that she finds a place for all of them in her small house. She starts adding some kind of adjectives to this cast of characters that enter her life.

But with Sebastian, something’s different. She doesn’t know what makes her notice him again; that something that made him stand out from the mass of people she met in the past few weeks. Maybe it’s not even just one single thing, but a mix: like how he is the son of the kindest lady, paler than the farmers or football players, how he doesn’t want to stand out at all, how she has to go out of her way to find him, instead of the other way around.

Most of all, it’s the desperation she can feel off of him. There’s a force in him that cannot make peace with how things are for him at the moment – and it’s the familiarity of it that pulls her in, lets her gaze linger on him for a bit longer, makes her ask about him while smiling in the most innocent way, sipping tea in Robin’s office.

***

They’re not that different; she’s easy to fit in the village life, mostly because she’s so pliable for others, knowing the memory of her grandpa is attached to her as well. She sometimes feels like the older residents of the town look through her, instead of directly at her, and see the ghost of someone else they used to know. And the days pass, things fall together, and yet in her chest, there’s a clock ticking away, counting down the time spent here, because if she was looking for something like belonging, it seems this town buried it away with her grandpa, and things don’t seem that different from how they used to be. She just has dirtier nails now, and some decaying make-up skills.

So she never visits without a purpose, doesn’t get too friendly with most of them. She spends days in a row on her farm, ploughing the land, watering the plants, feeding the animals. Task upon task, she goes through all of them, grateful for how it’s silencing her mind, giving her the time and space to breathe. If she finishes early, she likes to go fishing, the breeze nice against her sun-warmed face, especially as the dusk approaches.

It’s the simplicity of life that lulls her into wanting something more, eventually, tentatively. She visits Robin, as she’s closing the store, so they can share some fresh-picked fruits while watching the sun set. She meets up with the mayor for chess during Sundays, stories of two best friends half a century ago embedded in every sigh, and she wins every time and that’s how she knows he just lets her. When she passes by to drop something for the museum, she spends the remaining afternoon in the library, browsing the collection, reading for the children fresh out of classes that ask her to do so.

But if anyone in Pelican Town would be asked, they wouldn’t be able to tell people that much about their newest villager. In truth, even for those closest to her, there’s an aura of mystery: whatever her life was before, she doesn’t go into details. Whatever and for however long she might remain in their lives, she doesn’t say.

To Sebastian, that’s what makes it easy. He doesn’t expect her to tell him anything, since she’s not pressing her curiosities either. Probably why she opens so willingly, why she creates a routine around his. She always stops at the edge of the river, where she knows she’ll find him in the evenings. They never talk for long, or of important things – but she thinks, the magic is in staring together at the same scenery, feeling much of the same things. After the third time, she asks for a cigarette from him, and she winks at him when he looks just a tiny bit surprised.

This is how it begins. The rest she almost doesn’t even notice.

***

She remembers the Egg festival; she’s sure she took part in one of the hunts back when she was little, though the details are foggy in her mind. She doesn’t remember any of the villagers, but she’s been a very shy child, and not even the promise of bunny chocolates was enough to persuade her back then.

Still, she worked for so long in a corporation, at this point the spirit of competition is embedded into her. She wakes up early, and she wears one of her dresses from before, even if she has to match it with grandpa’s old jeans jacket. She even puts on make-up, manages to water her plants as well before she’s walking towards the town.

She officially meets Maru and Demetrius, as they’ve been so busy during her past visits. Marnie clasps her in-between her arms, exclaims how pretty she is when not trying to imitate her house’s looks, and loudly kisses both her cheeks. Gus waves at her, and keeps presenting various plates to her, and by the time she can excuse herself, she’s glad she hasn’t eaten any breakfast. Jas and Vincent come at her yelling tag! and she spends the next half an hour running around, followed by the sometimes annoyed, sometimes happy smiles of the other villagers.

She buys strawberry seeds, more on a whim, because she was craving for some, and gets herself a cute bunny plush, since she’d had trouble sleeping, and she’s sure Max would appreciate her hugging a non-living thing more. She feels like she fits more, now, that she’s surrounded by everyone else, and she realizes that she knows them all, that they know her back – and there’s no outright hostility.

She greets Sebastian, and meets his friends. She compliments Abigail’s hair, Sam compliments her instead. He’s friendly and outgoing, compared to the other two in his group, but she notices Sebastian’s fleeting smile at the toy in her arms, so she straightens her back even more.

As soon as mayor Lewis starts his announcement, Abigail immediately seems more excited, especially since she is presented as the winner for the past decade. However, by the time the day ends, Pelican Town has a new Egg Hunt winner.

The straw hat doesn’t fit her outfit, and it’s not quite yet a necessary accessory, but she’s beaming at every villager that comes to congratulate her, even if she’s already so old and she shouldn’t be so happy about beating a few 10 year olds. Even Abigail is a good sports and promises she will beat her next year.

Next year – she wonders if she’ll even be around for that long. Her saved-up money is slowly trickling down, as she keeps buying things that she needs, and she has no idea yet how much profit she’ll be able to make at harvest time. She feels better knowing her doubts don’t show to others.

She walks part of her way home with Robin and her family. Maru is happily telling her something about her research, though it goes over her head and she doesn’t understand much of what’s going on. Demetrius and Robin walk several steps ahead, arms linked, and it’s a sweet sight to see, that they can be so close even after so many years.

Then, before she takes her turn to her farm, after everyone else said their goodbyes, Sebastian looks up at her.

“It suits you,” he says, so low she almost misses it, nodding his head at her hat. She blushes under the street lamp, but he’s already turned his back on her and he can’t see, so she can go on her own way and pretend it never happened.

***

She starts going to the mines, even if everyone tells her she better not. But she needs better tools, more resources and something to do on rainy days, so she goes anyway. She comes out late into the night, dirtier than she’s ever been, spider cobwebs stuck in her hair, but her backpack heavy.

The next morning, she struggles packing some presents for Robin and Lewis, for all the help they’ve showered her in ever since she moved. She doesn’t have much to offer, some syrup and a jar of jam, a few eggs. But as she’s going into town, there are three presents that she’s carefully carrying around in her bag.

She stops by Lewis first, sits on his stairs with a steaming mug of coffee between her hands, as he waters his small garden – and they chat about the weather, the fishing days that Lewis has programmed, their favourite Stardrop meal. The days get warmer and warmer, as they’re slowly rolling towards summer, and she’s feeling peaceful, listening to the mayor’s chatter, his grunts as he digs around, his yelling when she offers to help him around.

She drops by Clint to let him examine some of the stuff she found underground, and by the time she reaches Robin’s place, the older woman is taking her lunch break. She’s exclaiming happily at the gift, and invites her to stay for lunch. She helps her with the plates, and while Robin goes to gather the rest of her family, she sends her to get Sebastian.

She has to breathe deep, count to 10, before she has the courage to knock at his door. There’s the sound of something tumbling to the floor, and she winces; more shuffling, and the door finally opens to reveal a somewhat sleepy looking Sebastian. It looks like he hasn’t brushed his hair yet, as it sticks out in odd directions, and in his own space, he’s wearing some old, washed-out t-shirt that is several sizes too large, and sweats. She stares at him, entirely endeared, but also deeply aware that there’s a line she has just crossed by seeing him like this – and she’s not sure she was allowed to.

“Hi,” she says, at the same time he says “Shit”, closing the door on her. She opens and closes her mouth several times, trying to come up with a proper way to reach to this, but her mind coming up blank.

Eventually, she lamely says “Robin said lunch’s ready,” before she leaves for the kitchen again. Demetrius is already seated at the table, looking up at his wife like she hung up the sun on the sky. Maru refuses to show up, as she’s too invested in her research, but there’s the slam of a door from downstairs, and Sebastian eventually shows up, just as his step-father takes his first bite from his plate of spaghetti. Their guest has not yet picked up her fork.

Sebastian is now wearing actual jeans, and his hair looks a bit more tamed. He sits next to her, and the four of them eat in relative silence, though she’s obsessively thinking of her knee, against Sebastian’s, under the table and she wants to fucking swear at herself, for acting like a fucking cowardly high-schooler.

“So, why did you move to Pelican Town?” Demetrius asks her, in the end. She notices him wincing immediately after the dull thud from under the table, and she imagines that was Robin kicking him from asking a question that no one had dared poise to her until now.

She finishes chewing the food in her mouth, swallowing a bit more painful.

“I needed a change,” she says eventually, entirely too vague.

“From? You should tell Sebastian about your city experience, because he’s obsessed with leaving the town.”

There’s a disapproving tone in his voice that makes her wince, but her head snaps up at Sebastian, who looks both entirely annoyed and disappointed. She’d like to press her finger to the frown now so obvious on his forehead.

“Really?” she mumbles lamely instead. Sebastian’s now looking at her, and although across the table his parents are bickering with each other in low whispers, he doesn’t break the eye contact. He just nods at her question, grabs another bite of food – the words won’t make it any better.

She always thought that the people in this town are happy to live here, heck even she’s trying to understand the charm of the place and why her grandpa never left it. She always thought that if there is someone to leave it, that’d be her, in an example of another of her life’s failures. But here’s Sebastian, burning with a yearning for a city just as hers to leave it was.

He takes her back home, assuring her that his lunch break is long enough to allow him to do that. They’re walking side by side in companionable silence. Sebastian, unlike his father, doesn’t ask her anything, so when they reach her property, she hands him her last package.

“Can I?” he asks, a hand already tugging at the ribbon, and she smiles at him. Inside, there’s an assortment of minerals: quartz, obsidians. She’s found them during her time in the mines, and the only thing she somewhat remembers from her dialogue with Maru is that her brother loves this stuff.

“What’s this for?” he says, voice a little chocked, laughing at the end, embarrassed and overwhelmed.

“Thanks for that day,” she says. Then, more unsure… “And good luck for the future?”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

She’s already turned around on her feet, a hand up in the air in goodbye.

The next morning, even if Sebastian never eats breakfast, he makes toast and eats it with strawberry jam, from a jar cutely decorated in stickers, where in cursive, their newest villager wrote for Robin and family <3.

***

She goes to JojaMart to buy an electric kettle; she can’t quite yet afford to get her kitchen built in, so she’s been eating at the Stardrop Saloon or lived on oatmeal and salads. But the mornings are dreadful with instant coffee and cold tap water, so she’s finally investing in something to make her life a bit better. This lifestyle reminds her of being a student in the dorms, and it’s not something she thought she’ll ever return to.

Sam looks around for his managers, and when there’s none around, he stops next to her and they chat by the vegetable stall. She’s frowning at the price, way higher than what they can find in the town and what she sells her own products for.

“Capitalism,” Sam says brightly, tugging at his employee lanyard, and she laughs at him.

“Oh, trust me, I know all about that.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her, which makes her snort. Shane, his co-worker, turns to stare at them, but he’s not telling them on, so she moves one step closer to him.

“I’ve worked in customer care for Joja Corporation.”

Sam mimics throwing up, turning serious again only when she’s elbowing his side. She’s painfully aware of all the cameras in the store, after all this time away from anything of the sorts.

“But for real, you’re way better in Pelican Town,” he says, even if she’s not yet quite convinced.

But he doesn’t continue pressing the matter. Instead, Sam invites her the next Friday for an evening at the Saloon, where him, Sebastian and Abigail are supposed to play live a few of their songs. She clasps her hands together, and agrees immediately. She used to love this kind of thing: but it’s been so long since she allowed herself to take an evening off, both in her life back in the city, and the life here.

***

She’s already a regular, so Emily nowadays greets her with a hug. Though this time she whistles suggestively at her outfit. Since it’s supposed to be a more special night, she chose a low cut blouse to go with skinny jeans, and she’s no more a formless body buried under work clothes. The only make-up is a very dark lipstick. Her… friends, she supposes, are already on the side, tuning their instruments. Sam grins at her, waving her at the table Gus saved up for them, where he ordered pizza for everyone.

They’re not playing for a long time, maybe half an hour, but by the end, everyone is loudly clapping at their performance. She’s the only one whooping, and Sam is loudly laughing at her embarrassed grin afterwards, runs to fall into her waiting arms and twirls her around in the air, feet not touching the floor.

“Who knew our biggest fan would be you?” he says, helping her pat her hair pack into place.

“I did. I mean, your band has Abigail.”

The girl in questions frowns a bit at her, suspicious that it’s less of a compliment than she tried to make it, turns on her feet as she moves to the music box, tosses a coin in and picks a song. It takes a few seconds for her choice to start loudly booming in the saloon, but as soon as she does, she moves to grab at Sebastian’s arm, dragging him to the dancefloor, though he looks like he’s a lamb taken to sacrifice.

Sam laughs at the two of them, then turns back to his new friend.

“Do you think these two will ever hook up?”

She chokes on the slice of pizza that she’s eating, punching at her chest so she can breathe again. Someone slides in the chair next to her to the table, a hand slapping her hard on the back until she can breathe properly again. Then, frowning, she turns towards the newcomer, because she can’t bear looking at Sebastian and Abigail, together, dancing. She doesn’t think she can look at them without imagining them doing exactly what Sam asked her about, and it’s a shaming thought that she burns down. Shane, the one sitting next to her now, has already picked a slice of his own from their order, and nodded in greetings at Sam.

Sam leaves to talk with Penny, spending enough time as it is in Shane’s company, so Shane moves even closer to her, so he can be heard over the loud music. He’s a bit of an asshole, as he’s looking nowhere else but at her cleavage and the skin she’s showing with her choice of clothes. He’s not even trying to hide it, licking his lips, speaking without even trying to lift his eyes.

“Didn’t know the sunshine and the emo buy are hiding such a beauty between themselves,” he says, snaking an arm around her waist, shoving the second pint of beer he arrived with in her direction. He already smells like the stuff though, which means he’s at least tipsy, if not outright drunk yet. There’s offense in the way he said those nicknames, horrible on their own as well, but she’s sitting between the wall and his body and he’s a man showing interest in her, clearly going out of his way to make it obvious.

She takes several big gulps from her beer, and then turns towards him, smiling. He can’t tell it is strained.

“Well, I’m here now,” she says, and the hand around her squeezes in response. She lets him talk, mostly shit about the town, then shit about himself, and she keeps drinking and drinking, glass after glass of alcohol, because then at least she doesn’t have to reply. In the dark, they must look pretty cosy to the others, because no one else returns to the table – and by the time she remembers she is supposed to have friends around, and looks around for them, her vision is unfocused and she can’t make out the shapes and figures all around.

But she can notice the slightly grown stubble on Shane, how he’s now so, so close to her, his lips brushing against her ear each time he tells her something. She feels like she’s about to suffocate. But he tells her about how beautiful she is, how hard he makes her – and he guides her hand to his pants, where she indeed can feel her effect, and it’s a surge of pleasure and power. She squeezes him through his pants, and he groans in her ear. Her nipples perk up. And then his lips move closer, to her neck, where his tongue is lapping at her skin, sucking against the space. She feels hot all over, in a way that she doesn’t know if she likes or not. His other hand is now fondling with her breasts through her blouse, and she gasps – which only makes him to go at it harder. His mouth finds her, his tongue moving against hers immediately. She’s lost in time, doesn’t know for how long he does it – her body becoming lighter and lighter with each swipe of his saliva against her lips.

Then, a cough from behind Shane. She snaps out of her daze, looks up. Makes eye contact with Sebastian, which feels as effective as a cold shower to her fogged mind. She yanks Shane’s hands off her, but he’s unbothered, turns to look at Sebastian with something like disgust and boredom.

“Can we help you?” Shane says. She hates how the word we sounds from his mouth.

Sebastian doesn’t bother to even look at the drunk guy, instead addressing her only.

“Do you want to go home? The others left already, but it’s getting pretty late…” He stops to stare at Shane, and she wordlessly nods at him. He starts moving instantly, shoving Shane away so he can grab her wrist and help her out of her chair. She needs a few seconds to stabilize herself on her feet, stop the dizzying headache that hit her at the sudden movement.

“Come on, man, what do you think you’re doing?” Shane asks, though he also has troubles standing on his own feet. He makes do with leaning against the table, doing his best to look as menacing as possible.

In his arms, she shudders at the sound of his voice, clutches her fingers around Sebastian’s leather jacket. He doesn’t move away, but he doesn’t want to touch her either, so he just stands still.

“She’s coming with me,” is all he says, and when he starts towards the door, she follows silently. He offers her jacket, which he picked up earlier, before checking on her, and she hangs her head even lower in shame. The cold, outside air is quickly sobering her up, and she really can’t believe she lost herself, just as if she were a college freshman. She burns with embarrassment.

Once out, Sebastian moves a bit away from her, offering her space, though he always extends an arm in her direction when she stumbles on both existent and imaginary obstacles. The silence now is excruciating.

“Say something,” she croaks, her throat hurting from all the alcohol.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is soft, and he stops, looks at her for the first time since the start of all this situation. She knows she probably looks like a mess, lipstick smeared all around her mouth, clothes hanging awkwardly, but his eyes just search hers. She suddenly feels like crying. He must see it too, because he’s moving closer to her.

“Can I-” he tries, sighs, moves a hand through his hair in frustration. “Can I touch you?”

She nods, but he doesn’t move.

“I’ll need verbal confirmation.”

“Yes.”

She’s outright staring at him now, as he makes his way to her, cups her face in between his hands. His fingers are cold against her flushed skin, but it grounds her to the moment. Sebastian’s eyes are moving now, across her face: stop at her jaw, her neck, where Shane sucked painful love bites against her skin, visible even only in the light coming from the street lamps. He hesitates before moving his gaze downwards, where similar marks were left by his fingers against her tits. She feels like used goods, even if there is no judgement from Sebastian.

“Did you want that?” he asks again, sounding deadly serious, so she’s trying to think equally as seriously about his question. It’s hard, her thoughts all jumbled up, a soft kind of edge to everything going on in her head.

“I don’t know,” she answers finally, her head pressing more firmly against his palm. Sebastian’s thumbs are now moving softly against her jaw, and she wants to purr, just like a cat, maybe hang on to him for more of his warmth.

“God,” he says, and it sounds like a swearword. He unglues himself from her, extends an arm that she gracefully takes as they continue on the road to her house. He doesn’t say anything more until they arrive on her porch, though he looks like he’s thinking very hard. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

Max is happily snoring on the warm ground, and she lets go of Sebastian to run the short distance to her dog. She goes on her knees, grabs Max’s head in her hands and coos at him like she would to a baby, talks lovesick nonsense to the dog, pats him all over.

Her voice sounds fucking cute, Sebastian thinks, but instead he fishes something from the pockets of his jacket, bends down so he can press it in her palms. She immediately turns to look at him, eyes big and questioning.

“Take those in the morning, okay? You’ll need them,” is all he says, raising a hand and waving it in a goodbye.

***

Sebastian is right. She wakes two hours later, empties all the contents of her stomach, tears burning at her eyes, and when she wakes again, she thanks all the gods that outside it is raining, because she only gets up to get a glass of water and swallow the pills. Her head is killing her, and her heart aches in embarrassment at the way she acted. She hangs between screaming out in frustration at her own self and complaining about being hangover the whole day, hating herself so, so very much.

She still shoots Sebastian a text, thanking him for taking care of her, in so many ways, the night before. He leaves her on read.

For the next week, she busies herself with work on the farm. She makes another batch of jam jars, which she sends to Lewis for selling. She plants a new tree sapling, harvests strawberries, even builds an ugly-looking scarecrow out of an old broom. She cuts down wood, saves up stacks of it for when she’ll eventually afford Robin’s services. She goes in the mines, once or twice.

Then one of Lewis’ invitations is waiting in her mailbox, for another festival. Spring is coming to an end, already a sweeter, warmer breeze in the air, so the whole town is to celebrate the exact thing.

***

But Pelican Town is a small place, and so it never forgets gossip too easily. On that evening, enough pairs of eyes saw her fumbling in the dark with Shane, and so enough pairs of eyes are now watching her suspiciously as she greets the mayor. She’s wearing some city dress again, though more modest, and ribbons in her hair. She’s forcing herself to smile at everyone she encounters, trying not to seem so affected by the outright cold shoulder.

Sam still greets her, though, grabbing her in his arms.

“Oh, handsome!” she says, and laughs when he’s looking around, to check if anyone else heard her. But he is wearing a suit, his hair is gelled down and he smells like his mother. His eyes are searching hers though, and she thinks Sebastian might have said something to his friend. But thankfully Sam mentions nothing.

She looks behind him, at Sebastian, dressed in a costume as well. Her heart starts beating faster in her chest; his hair is pushed back, and his forehead is now uncovered. He sits relaxed, his hands in his pockets, like he doesn’t really want to be there and she hasn’t seen someone look that heartbreakingly gorgeous.

“You too,” she says. Sebastian raises an eyebrow at her. “Look good, I mean,” she clarifies, and she clears her throat before the awkwardness chokes her.

It’s a big understatement, but it’s the best she can do right now. There’s a small smile that she gets in reply. On the other side of the field, by Robin’s side, Abigail, Penny and Maru look absolutely stunning in their festival dresses, with the flower crowns on top of their heads. They’re laughing at one of Abigail’s stories, and they’re just beautiful and young and entirely enrapturing. She wonders if she didn’t fuck it up so badly earlier, she would have been invited to be one of them.

This time around, there’s not as much mingling with the people as earlier in the season; people are a bit warier, though she supposes she deserves it. She’s busy setting down a mat under a blossoming tree, preparing some kind of picnic and viewing spot at the same time.

“You look beautiful,” she hears from behind her, and she turns around to find Shane. A bit behind him, Marnie is engaged in a conversation with the mayor, and by his side, there’s Jas, who immediately shoves her sandals away so she can step on her mat and sit next to her.

She offers her tea and strawberries, places her own hat on top of the child’s head to protect her from the sun, who squeals in delight that she can show off the winning prize of the egg hunt. Then, she turns back to Shane:

“Is she your daughter?”

“Gods, no. She’s my goddaughter.”

She sighs, relieved a bit. In the morning, Shane looks just scruffy, some kind of sober, but his face is still red and puffy, sign of alcoholism. She knows Jas lives with him and Marnie, and it can’t be a good environment for a child, but she’s heard the rumours that he’s not that much at home anyway. She’s worrying for the young girl, but she also trusts Marnie to handle the subject, not really her place to say anything anyway.

Shane moves closer, his hand grabbing the end of the scarf she’s wearing around her neck, tugging so it comes undone between his fingers. She gasps, palm gluing to the skin there, reaching out for him.

“Give it back,” she all but growls it out, eyes frantically looking around, hoping no one is actually looking their way, since everyone is focused on preparing for the dance.

“I did that, right?” he asks, finally stopping, and she takes back her scarf, hangs her head low, so that her hair can cover her movement, as she ties it back in place.

“Yes, you fucking asshole,” she spits, but doesn’t move away from him.

“I was honest, you know. About you looking beautiful. Then and now too.”

“Thank you,” she says, and stays in place even as Shane gets closer to her. He’s also dressed up, wearing an actual shirt and everything, his jaw freshly shaven. He even looks somewhat attractive, and just like last time, she’s grateful for the attention. Back in Zuzu City, no one bothers with any kind of dating, no one bothers to notice someone else at all – no sweet lies, no prelude, just a dick and a cunt. So this feels new and flattering at the same time.

She sits down on her mat, reluctantly serves Shane too with some of her freshly picked strawberries. Jas moved over to Vincent and Jodi, her hands carefully holding on to the hat that’s still a bit too big for her, so it’s only the two of them in this corner. The music can’t start soon enough, because she can feel stray eyes looking to them.

The dance starts, and she watches, transfixed as the pairs walk towards each other, meeting in the middle in an embrace. Almost immediately the dresses flutter in the air, twirling. There’s an admiring exclamation from somewhere in the crowd, Jas happily clapping along to the rhythm. She looks at Sam, all but drinking up Penny’s laughing face. She looks at Abigail, tightly holding on to Sebastian’s shoulders. She looks at her friends dancing with the girls they have a crush on, and something in her chest rips apart.

“Hey,” Shane says. “Wanna get out of here?”

She nods wordlessly, and he takes her hand. No one looks at them, as they discreetly make their way behind everyone else. Once out the field, Shane breaks into a run through the woods. They stop in a clearing, both breathing hard from their run, and Shane grins at her, before straightening his back, walking purposefully her way and deciding to kiss her. It’s hard and rough, much like he’s been handling her until now too, but she still moans.

His hands are already moving at pulling his belt apart, and he takes her hands and moves them towards his dick.

“Come on, play with it,” he whispers breathlessly, as he’s pulling apart her scarf for a second time today, mouth finding the tender skin, reinforcing the fading marks. She’s feeling needy herself, she’d like him to shove down her panties and eat her out, but she makes do with moving her legs one against the other, seeking some kind of friction, as her hands are moving from his tip towards his balls, slower at the beginning, and faster once he starts grunting in her ear, pumping into her hands.

Then, he grabs at her hair, and she has to bite her tongue to stop from yelping.

“On your knees,” he says, already pushing his weight on her shoulders, and more or less willingly, she gets to the ground. The uneven dirt hurts her skin, and yet she has to ignore it, because Shane is already guiding his dick with his hands towards her lips. She forces herself to open her mouth, hopes he’ll better get down to do the same thing for her.

Her mouth is warm, and she’s fucking good at what she’s doing, sucking hard and taking him all in, like a good bitch, even if tears are forming at the corner of her eyes and her throat is burning. He pulls out, just to slam, hard, back inside her wet, welcoming hole – and in just three shoves, he comes undone, half coming in her mouth, half out just so he can have his fantasy of his cum leaking on her face.

Her dress is stained, and almost all her arousal is out of her. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, presses a palm against the painful strain in her jaw. Shane hurries to put his now flailing dick back inside his pants, and he’s not helping her back up.

“Gotta go,” he says, and he’s patting down his pants, where she held onto and left some creasing.

“What?” she asks, suddenly annoyed. “What about me?”

“Solve it yourself, princess.”

He starts walking away. She screams after him.

“Oh, fuck you!”

“My pleasure, next time!” he shouts back, but he doesn’t stop, as he’s making his way back towards the festival.

She shoves the middle finger up in the air, stomping her feet at the same time, shrieking.

“You fucking asshole!”

He chuckles at her tantrum, but he’s spent and satisfied, while she’s there frustrated and fucked over, so he’s not bothering to take her too seriously.

There’s no way she can go back there without everyone else figuring out exactly what she’s been up to. Of course, Shane looks no different than his usual, maybe he’s even surrounded by some post-orgasm glow, but there’s some bleeding from one of her knees, his now dry cum on the front of her dress, and her hair is nothing but a mess. She can’t believe how fucking stupid she can be, and how she fell again in the same old game of “I give you some attention, you give me some sex” that she’s been playing for ages now. It seems like habits don’t change, no matter if she’s in Zuzu City or Pelican Town.

And for what? Just because she felt lonely and jealous, because she felt like no matter how much she’ll try, she’ll never be anything but a passing fancy to these people that know each other inside out?

She makes her way towards her farm stomping her feet, swearing at Shane and mumbling curses all the way. Once back, she draws herself a hot bath and, in the tub, finally somewhere safe, she touches herself, moans out into the air a name she doesn’t dare to even say out loud, and thinks of someone who never even looked at her in any way to indicate she might want her too.

So, she must make do with fucking Shane?

But as she succumbs to her orgasm, moving lower into the water, maybe she can just order a dildo online and leave it at that.

***

On the first summer days, she takes up fishing. She buys a bottle of mead, because she’s heard from mayor Lewis that’s the favourite drink of their local fishermen, and she goes down the beach to beg.

She wants to learn fishing, she says. Just a couple of lessons, whenever he can leave his store and he’s willing to – she really just wants some new hobbies. It’s dreadfully awful to have only three functional TV channels, and only a dozens of books. Even Max is just a dog, and there’s a limitation to what he is capable of. Willy is funny and wise in the way only old men who love the sea can be, but he’s patient in his explanations – and sure enough, very soon, she catches her first fish.

She takes a picture of it on her phone, proud of her achievement. She sends it to Sam, to boast a bit and to annoy him, because he’s currently stuck at his part-time job. Then she goes shell hunting, because she’s too giddy to do any actual work. The villagers recently rebuilt the small bridge on the beach, and it’s lovely to get to take a walk like this. She wants her house to have the same fresh feeling, so she visits Robin for an upgrade.

And she knows she’s paying for the work, but with Robin, she feels like she’s asking for a favour, so she must give something back. And because she feels guilty, for having thought so angrily and jealously about Sebastian and his life, she wants to say sorry in a way, even if he has no way of knowing why she’s doing it in the first place.

Robin’s outside the house, just having come back from an exercise class at Caroline’s. She greets her visitor just a bit more strained than usual, and well – there’s no doubt that if there’s a gossip mill in the town, that’s probably the weekly gathering of middle-aged wives.

The farmer sighs, agrees to wait in the house while Robin takes a shower, before they can discuss about work.

“Is Sebastian home?” she asks, and the older woman makes a dismissive sign with her hand, which means she can go and check for herself.

The door to his room is slightly open, and he actually asks her to come in when she knocks. She greets him from the doorway, suddenly shy when he speaks, suddenly guilty that she’s interrupting him. She sits down on the couch, starts by watching him work, and then eventually she gets distracted by the posters on his walls, and the huge book collection he is showcasing on his shelves. It’s work that she’s familiar with, the stuff she liked to read before, when she used to have time for her hobbies, about worlds that she could escape to only by reading about them in books, featuring magic and dragons and robots.

He doesn’t seem to mind her looking around, as long as she’s quiet. Then, he eventually finishes, and sighs, stretching out his arms.

“Sorry about that, had to finish what I was working on.”

“Ah,” she nods. “And what is that?”

“I do freelance programming,” he answers. “I just want to save up enough to move from here. You know, if I’d gone to college, I’d probably be making six figures right now… but I just don’t want to be part of that corporate rat race, you know?”

“As a rat,” she says, a smile already on her face, “I totally agree with you.”

He looks at her; this is the first hint he gets – of something more about her. He’s heard from Sam, of course, about her actual job in the city, but it’s different to know it from her, to know he has her trust, to hear the defeat behind her voice, even as she tries to hide it with humour.

Then the moment is broken, the ping from his IM breaking the companionable silence between them. Normally, he’d have to explain to people why he is not in the mood to meet up with others, his introversion something out of a freak show with the villagers, but she just nods at him in understanding.

But the next interruption is almost brutal, Robin returning to pass on Abigail’s message, so filled with dismissal at his work, and indifference at his preferences. The easy air about him, as he was talking about a work he clearly loves and his dreams, is now entirely stifled – and instead he, defeated, just accepts all of this, even if he complains. She’d like to press her finger to the frown on his forehead.

This situation makes her blood boil, though: because she’s been in his exact spot. She’s had people look down at her choices for as long as she’s decided to walk her path, out there in the city – and now that she knows what it’s like not to, she can’t take to be the witness to it happening in front of her. Of course, some people will always have something to say, but it should be different with those considered friends – considered family, no?

From the kitchen upstairs, Robin is calling out her name – now, suddenly, she doesn’t really want to go, especially when she knows her presence is soon to be replaced by someone else’s. So, she acts daringly. She touches his arm, as she raises to go:

“You know, I think you’re doing an amazing job, especially considering your conditions. And trust me, it really is better than being a clog in the corporate system, and your work is important, even if it’s important for you only.”

As soon as she came, she’s gone and he loses his chance of asking for more. She left behind another sloppily packed present on his desk, a piece of quartz inside. He gets up, moves to put it up on his shelves – and shit, he wonders if she noticed the other stuff she’s given him, up there.

***

So Robin starts coming around with her carpenter tools, sometimes so early in the morning that she’s welcoming her still in her Disney pyjamas. They drink instant coffee, warm this time – and they discuss recipes that she’d like to try in her new kitchen, or the kind of animals she’ll grow in the barn. She learns that Robin loves goat cheese, and she shares that she absolutely hates peppers. She asks about Sebastian and Maru’s childhoods, she tells of her grandpa’s favourite magic trick.

The sound of Robin’s hammer accompanies her through her motions, as she’s ploughing the land for the summer crops. She didn’t really understand how lonely she has been all these months, just going through what she has to do. It’s nice to have someone to talk to, even if just for a few stolen minutes.

Sebastian drops by during his breaks sometimes, to bring his mother’s lunch, and both women nag at him so much that he ends up eating with them, Max nestled at his feet under the table.

Once, she walks back with him towards the town; she needs to drop by Pierre’s, to order some kitchen utensils – and by Lewis’ house, to leave him a note with info on her next batch of syrup and honey, that she sells for some good prices. He strains himself to walk in a pace that matches hers, even if he just wants to hurry home and take a nap.

She noticed, how tired he looks lately: hair more dishevelled, the slight stubble on his chin, the dark under his eyes. She knows, from Robin, that he spent even more time than usual in his room, refusing to meet even Abigail or Sam. She’d like to press her palm on his forehead, check for any signs of sickness.

“Are you working a lot these days?” she asks, fumbling with the edge of her t-shirt, feeling shy and worried that she might be overstepping.

“Had a tight deadline, but it’s over now.”

He pushes the hair out of his eyes with his hand, pats the pockets of his jeans with the other. He takes out his cigarettes, and then swears.

“Shit, do you have a lighter?”

In fact, she does. Sometimes, when she goes to the mines, her flashlight flickers and dies out, so she started the habit of carrying candles on her expeditions, and always a lighter in her pocket. She offers the fire; she has to stand on her tiptoes and he has to bend down to make it work.

Sebastian looks at her; she’s determinedly staring at the ground. They’re so close that even in the summer heat, she can feel his breathe on her cheek. Once the cigarette is lit, she almost scrambles away, pressing her palms to her cheeks, complaining about the hot weather.

She starts walking faster, afraid of what she might do if Sebastian looks into her face. There’s a small smile on his face that she can’t notice.

***

Pierre’s store is more of a general hangout spot for his daughter, though – Maru is eating her lunch with Abigail in a corner, and she waves at the two of them as she turns towards the counter. Of course, Pierre convinces her to buy several types of flower seeds – and she walks around the town with those in her arms. She thinks she might actually be his best customer. Or easiest, which in his case, it is one and the same thing.

That’s how she meets Evelyn: in the town square, taking care of the flowers. In truth, she never stopped to think about who maintains the town, and now she seems to have her answer. There are many people around; Penny with the kids, playing in the water fountain. Mayor Lewis and Harvey discussing in front of the clinic, Gus sticking a request on the board.

But the old lady spots her shopping, and sits her down on a bench, where she lectures her on the proper way to take care of them.

Then, the tone shifts – and the older woman asks her about the animals she’s growing (they’re well), how she finds Pelican Town (nice) and what’s her favourite flower (hyacinth).

“You know,” she laughs. “I almost married your grandpa.”

She sputters, unsure how to take this wild what-if she’s presented with. Of course, if Evelyn would have ended as his wife, she wouldn’t be here at all. And still, her curiosity gets the best of her.

“What happened?”

“Oh, George – that’s my husband, dear – bought an old farm here in town and moved one day. The next thing you know, everyone was smitten with the new farmer, me included. And by then, your grandpa was already in the army.”

And when he returned from the army, he returned with a wife – that’s a story that she knows. Grandpa met her grandmother at one of the dance evenings organized for young soldiers, and if the story she was told as a child is to be believed, he danced with no one else that night, the next and all the other ones that followed.

“How was he like?”

Sometimes, when it comes to someone you love, it’s hard to consider them from another point of view than the one you were always familiar with. He has always been just her grandfather to her, yet Evelyn here has seen him growing, becoming all those things to all those many people: son, neighbour, husband, father.

“He always worked hard, stirred trouble wherever he went and loved this town like no other,” she says, a faint smile on her face, lost in memories.

That sounds like the old man alright.

“Th-thank you, Evelyn.” Her voice sounds a little chocked. Just a little.

“Psssh, please. Call me Granny.”

The old man takes her hand, squeezes her fingers in hers – and pats her butt when she gets up to go home.

***

“Hey, mom,” she says, pressing the phone closer to her ear. It’s the first phone call she’s making from the landline, and there are jitters all over her skin. She hates that she has to stay still, glued to one spot the length of the phone’s cable. Her brain goes in override.

“Darling!” her mother exclaims from the other side. There’s some shifting, the sound of a door closing, then a sigh. “How are you? How’s Pelican Town?”

She tries not to sniffle outright, tries not to cry that she wants her mother when she’s a fucking grown-up adult, but that really is how she feels. It was all okay, the construction almost to an end, her crops growing beautifully – and then Max gnawed at her only good pair of shoes, and the thing sent her into a spiral of self-pity. She really has no idea what on earth she is doing here.

Instead, she asks: “Did you like living here?”

She is grandpa’s only living child. After her older brother’s death, she simply packed her stuff and moved to a shitty dorm in city, got married in two months and had her almost immediately after. Nowadays, her father is drowning in alcohol and her mother is drowning in work – and she wonders if the first coping mechanism may be more useful than the latter, though her last experience seems to point to a no.

“No,” her mother says. “But depends on what you’re chasing, or what you’re running away from. So, do you like living there?”

She tugs at the phone cord, shifts on spot, looks at Max sleeping a few feet away.

“M-maybe? I don’t know.”

“That’s not a no,” her mother says, ending the call immediately afterwards.

She sits on the same spot, with the tone dead in the background for a very long time, just staring out the window at the setting sun.

***

With the new barn built, she visits Marnie about filling it with the appropriate animals. She’d like a sheep, just because she thinks knitting would be a useful hobby to pick up by winter. Maybe a goat, so she can make cheese and thank Robin properly for all the overtime work she put in finishing her house so early.

Jas is out with Vincent, but before discussing the price of the animal, Marnie hands her the straw hat and her picnic mat. She burns as she takes those from her, not knowing what to say. It’s been two weeks since she ran from the town’s celebration, and even now, she burns with the shame of that day. She starts looking around.

“He’s not-”

“At work, dear,” she says, and finally she starts calculating and writing down something at her desk.

“So you know.”

“Everyone knows,” she says and sounds forcefully cheerful, although she must understand what weight her words have, because the farmer is slouching in a chair, head hanging in her hands.

“There’s nothing going on,” she wails, looking up at Marnie, begging her to believe her – even if she’s just a stranger, asking for a bias against her own blood relative.

“Nothing going on anymore?” Marnie corrects, moves to pat her on the shoulder, signalling at the same time for the young woman to follow her. She nods her head, defeated, and Marnie has to wonder what exactly did this hard-working farmer see in her drunk nephew. She feels relieved to know that she put an end to it. Maybe exactly because she got involved with her good for nothing boy that she feels a bit more forgiving towards her.

She talks her in getting another chicken too, as an apology for having fucked around with her nephew. She doesn’t have the heart to correct this motherly woman that it was, in fact, the other way around. But either way, she’s forgotten.

She knows that because the next day, Penny calls her and asks her to spend the day together with the kids on the beach. She shouldn’t be that surprised to see Sam there too.

***

She asks everyone she gets along with over, after the house expansion is finished. She spent most morning just preparing various recipes, to fit everyone’s taste. Penny arrives first, dropping an apple pie on her kitchen counter and moving around the house to admire Robin’s work. She’s been thinking of doing something about her trailer-living situation for a while.

Abigail and Maru arrive together, with a plate of Robin’s spaghetti. Her and Demetrius decided it’s better to skip the evening, seeing how everyone else there is the same age as their children. She learns that Abigail is supposed to start her second year of university in autumn, and that Maru is going to do her master’s in astrophysics.

She whistles appreciatively, makes fun of her literature degree on the way. The two then huddle together in a corner of the porch, feeding Max stray bits of food and cooing at him when his tail starts wagging.

Sam and Sebastian arrive the last, each carrying a board game in their hands. It’s smart thinking on their side, because she’s not sure what she would have entertained her guests with otherwise. They huddle around the table, filling up plates with at least five different food recipes, passing iced tea and lemonade around. Abigail has this perfect skill of being able to imitate Lewis’ announcement voice perfectly, which in turn makes Sam snort his drink out of his noise. It makes everyone else lose it, and afterwards there’s no awkwardness hanging between them.

Penny helps Sam clean up in the kitchen, and they’re gone for way longer than necessary, though everyone else at the table is polite enough not to comment on it. Abigail and Maru, sitting one across the other, keep looking at each other while the other is not looking, and Abigail might be eating so much chocolate cake that she risks getting sick.

Sebastian sits next to her, smiling softly at a story that Penny is telling, from their time together in high-school. She should, technically, feel left out of the loop, but each time she mentions someone unknown, or a habit they used to have as a teenage group, Sebastian leans over closer to her, and whispers explanations into her ear. His voice, low and smooth, makes her feel like she’s melting down her chair.

Sam and Sebastian go out for a smoke, and she’s following them too, asking for a cigarette from Sebastian, letting her lighter pass around in a circle. The sun has already set, and there’s only the soft buzzing sound of her lamp in the air. The boys are talking about their rehearsal schedule, ask her over sometime, which she happily agrees to.

“Hey,” Sam says, kicking at her leg with his shoe. “Are you single?”

“What the fuck?!”

Sam raises his hands in the air, talking with his cigarette between his teeth. “Don’t shoot the messenger!”

She was ready to punch his elbow, but is now lowering her arm, frowning at him. Behind Sam, Sebastian continue smoking, refusing to get himself involved in this mess.

“Whose messenger?” she asks, though there’s a teasing edge in her voice, clearly proving that she doesn’t believe anything else but his own curiosity brought him to this rudeness.

“Look man – uhm, woman I guess, we’re all friends here, no judgement zone.”

“You just laughed at Maru for liking math two minutes ago!” she points out, this time her kicking his leg.

“You can just not answer the question,” Sam says, pacifying, turning towards Sebastian to offer him his lighter, as he’s already on his second cigarette.

“No, it’s fine.” She feels embarrassed for causing a scene, when it’s not even such a big deal. “I am single.”

She starts walking a bit away, making it seem like she’s inspecting the shrub just next to the stairs.

“So no Shane?” this time it’s Sebastian asking, which is surprising because she did not expect him to care.

“No Shane,” she confirms, her voice a bit weaker than she intended it to be.

Sam punches the air in a victorious movement, grinning at her.

“Thank God, that guy’s a fucking asshole.”

He shivers a bit in the cold night air, wearing only a t-shirt, and with a goodbye thrown over his shoulder, he goes back inside. Sebastian moves his hand in the air a bit, gesturing to his unfinished smoke, but she’s still not making a move to go back.

“But him and Penny… totally a thing, right?”

“Totally,” Sebastian says, and they both burst out laughing.

***

When Abigail phoned to tell her about Luau, she actually mostly whined that summer festivals are the most boring ones, because everyone is so busy tending to crops and making the most out of the long days. The farmer herself was actually taking a break, at the height of the summer heat, with a glass of iced water, but counting down the minutes before she’d be back in the garden, pulling out the weeds and gathering ripened fruits.

She still gets invited to Luau with everyone else; somewhat of a temporary, potentially forever fixture to their group. There’s a gaping hole opening in her stomach when she thinks of this, anxiety bubbling all inside her body making her feel sick. She feels like something terrible surely must happen soon, considering how much joy she gets from all these people.

She has sent some stuff to mayor Lewis, to add to the potluck soup: fresh tomato, some mushrooms, basil. But still, the thing looks completely inedible.

“Are we trying to kill the governor?” she asks, as she’s carefully looking at the bowl in her hands.

Sebastian laughs, turning his upside down in the sand. She’d really like to do the same thing.

“It’s tradition!” Maru explains, frowning at her brother.

“Are we choosing governors based on the quality of their stomach?” she tries again, this time sniffing at the stuff. Its consistency looks absolutely… gluey.

Sam joins the laughter this time, and Sebastian pats Maru’s shoulder in some attempt at an excuse. Abigail is the only one who actually eats the stuff, though her face turns somewhat pale as soon as she is done. The governor looks like he is perfectly fine, and even praises their soup, which makes everyone visibly relax.

***

Maru’s birthday was a solitary thing; just another ordinary working day, celebrated only with chocolate cake in the evening with the entire family. Robin builds her another bookshelf, Demetrius and Sebastian get the money for a new telescope. No other guests are invited, though random gifts still find their way to her mailbox: a stray astrology book, a new case for her glasses.

Sam’s not that different, though they all heard the rumours that immediately after his shift, he visited the museum, and spent a very, very long time there. They meet on Friday night at the Saloon though, so that the band can play and the others can cheer. They’re spectacular, as usual, and when doing something they love, all three of them look younger than she has ever seen them.

Penny is at her side, an arm looped around her waist, and they’re both swaying their bodies on the rhythm of the music. Sam winks in their direction, though the redhead pretends she doesn’t see it.

***

On one of their river discussions, Sebastian mentions frogs to her once; something she’s been terrified of for as long as she remembers. But there’s just such a soft smile on his face, and his voice is so calm: and as such, she thinks to give it a try. Which is exactly why he finds her one day, as he goes to visit Sam, by the river bank, on all fours, staring into the water.

She yelps when he hears him calling out to her, fluttering her arms in the air in a panic. It’s that movement that makes her stumble forward in the water. She doesn’t know how to swim, but the water is low enough to not be a problem, but as she gets up, sitting on her ass in the middle of the river, she scowls at him.

“I hate you,” she says.

He smiles, and with the sun at his back, it’s the most beautiful sight she’s seen. He offers her a hand, which she accepts gratefully, trying to remain as dignified as possible, considering that her clothes are now stuck to her body and there might be some mud on her butt.

“What were you doing?” he asks, and she immediately reddens under his attention.

She mumbles her answer; she’s a terrible liar, so she doesn’t even try. This time, Sebastian actually laughs at her, and she crosses her hands at her chest, both indignant and cold.

“I hate you,” she says again, this time accentuating each of her words. But there’s no fire behind it, so he ignores her remarks. Instead, he unzips his hoodie and, slowly, places it on her shoulders.

“But-” she starts, already moving to remove it, give it back, refuse the help, her natural instinct kicking in. He hasn’t stepped back, and having him so close, she notices the subtle smell of his aftershave, the dark marks under his eyes. She wants to get on her tiptoe and let her fingers run through his hair, so soft from up this close. Then he speaks, the magic breaking, and she moves her eyes down to her shoes, shy all of the sudden.

“Sam’s living real close, so it’s really no problem.”

He’s trying very hard not to move his eyes away from hers, face burning red with embarrassment – and only then does she realize she’s wearing a white shirt, and she’s wet –

“Oh,” she says, lamely, moving her arms through the sleeves and zipping it up. “I… I’ll wash it and bring it back to you.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” he says, before awkwardly saying his goodbyes. Sam will chew him out for being late, and Abigail will frown at him for not letting them know about this ahead of time.

But their new farmer will stand by the river bank for a long time still, looking down at the water, even when Vincent passes her by and laughs at the wet pool that dripped at her feet.

***

She likes taking the mountain path, especially during hot summer days: less people to stop and chat with under the sun, more shade from the trees, chances to see a wild bunny or a squirrel, maybe picking up some wild fruit. She learnt to enjoy these things, that felt like such a chore back in the day, when she was simply a child helping out her relatives. Maybe because, from start to finish, in everything she does for her farm, she leaves a part of herself in there.

She’s as familiar with Robin’s garden as she is with her own, and that’s why it takes her brain a bit to catch up with what she is seeing.

She didn’t even expect to see Sebastian at all, and especially not like… this. Sprawled under his motorcycle, the picture perfect of her dream boy from high-school. It’s then when it dawns on her that she might have some other reasons too, for visiting Robin today, for picking the mountain path, for going to the mines so often, even if she’ll never admit it to anyone else.

For a second, she hates him so much for having been so kind to her, for having taken care of her, for his beautiful smiles and his unending understanding. For having made her like him so much, when this recluse and silent man seems to dislike everything that she is starting to like lately.

She crushes the feeling coming up in her chest; the despair and the need to go and run as far away from him, before they make eye contact, before her beating heart goes into override.

Sebastian heard her approaching footstep though, and as he’s coming up, t-shirt clinging to his chest, she closes her eyes. God help her not to jump this man right here and now.

“Hey you,” he says, the corner of his lips lifting up a bit seeing her.

She waves, taking a deep breath as she approaches him, taking a seat on the outside bench. He picks up the tool that he needed, and goes back to work. She stays put right where she is, watching him.

“You know, it’s fascinating to watch someone do something I know nothing about,” she laughs, thinking of her useless literature degree as well, her dirt stained nails and her dead-end job back in the city, so opposed to his programming skills and the coppery smell of his motorcycle.

“That’s how I feel when you talk about farm upgrades with mom,” he says, and then asking her for another tool – it’s the round one with a yellow handle.

She shifts closer; he gets out from under the metal labyrinth of his bike enough to nod at her in thanks when she hands it to him. But he understands her feeling better than he manages to put it into words, especially since he’s been an outcast in the village for so long; heck he’s not sure anyone else but her even accepts what he’s working, let alone understand it.

But if there’s someone who can get it, it’s certainly the city girl who gave up everything to become a farmer. Much as he wants to drop everything here just for a shot at the big city. It’s the same strangling hope in his voice, that she’s detected the first time they met, when he talks about his short escapades.

He gets up, wiping his hands on a dirty old rag. There’s a dark stain on his cheek that makes him so incredibly cute, and yet the contrast couldn’t be more obvious with his muscles.

“You could come with me next time,” he says, and he purposefully looks at her, digging out her reactions.

She blushes, all red, prettily and opens her mouth to say something, closes it again. Then, with a bit too much eagerness, that makes her seem just a bit too desperate to do the right thing, she says:

“I’d love to.”

“Great,” he says, and this time it’s a full smile that he graces her with.

They move to enter the house now, the sun setting at their back, and he holds the door open for her. She has to squeeze by him, so close that she can feel the smell of oil mingled with his sweat, and the always present soft aroma of soap.

Robin is in the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate for everyone; Abigail is over too, in Maru’s room, the two’s laughter loud enough to be heard from downstairs. Demetrius is in his office, researching something in one of his biology tomes.

She immediately moves to help Robin; now familiar with the layout of her kitchen, with everyone’s favourite mug. His mother yells at Sebastian to go and take a shower before even daring to enter her kitchen, which is exactly the reason why he moves closer to her instead, loudly kissing her cheek.

Robin shrieks, hitting him with the spoon she’s holding in her hand. Their guest watches the scene with a soft smile; she likes it when there’s no bitterness between the two, which is something that comes way easier when no one else in their family is around.

She presents Robin with her first goat cheese; it’s experimental yet, really I have no idea if it’s any good, but she gathers her in her arms anyway, thanking her from the bottom of her heart. She carefully places it in her fridge.

And while Robin goes to Demetrius’ office, forcing a break out of this man as they plan to drink their hot chocolate together, she’s tasked to bringing up the girls’. She knocks, but it still doesn’t feel like sufficient incessant to stop whatever they were doing, because when she opens the door, Maru’s in Abigail arms, having a somewhat lost look on her face. Abigail’s lipstick is all over Maru’s neck, and smeared around her lips, and both their mouths are pulsing red with the pressure of shared kisses.

She blushes under their eyes, hates to have interrupted what she just did. It’s worse than if they were having sex, because the tension in the air is so thick she can choke on it.

“R-Robin said-” she tries, but she’s so embarrassed that she just leaves the tray on the desk, and all but bolts down the stairs.

Shit, she thinks.

“Shit,” she exclaims out loud as well. She’s so wind up she doesn’t hear the footsteps following her, and she almost screams when Abigail’s hand comes down her shoulder.

“Hey, look, let’s be chill about it and keep it a secret, yeah?”

“Of course,” she nods her head. “And I’m really sorry…”

“Our fault for being daring enough not to lock the door. But in our defence, we didn’t think that would happen,” Abigail says, winking at the other woman, before moving upstairs, probably to calm down her lover.

The theme of her life is that she is a big, stupid, idiotic fool. She’s been jealous for months on a relationship that didn’t even exist, and now she feels guilty and embarrassed all over again for what she did when overcome by those emotions. She stands in the middle of the hallway, hating herself so much that she would burst into flames if she had magical powers.

Sebastian finds her eventually, grounds her back to reality with a soft touch against her elbow and a soft call of her name. She startles like she’s been shot, almost jumping out of her skin, before things start refocusing around her. Sebastian, after his shower, smells like pine and mint, and he’s wearing shorts.

“Come on,” he says, slowly guiding her back to the kitchen, where their drink probably went cold already. At the back of his leg, Sebastian has a tattoo: a man lying face down, ten swords hanging above his body.

“That’s cool,” she nods her head at the design, sipping from her hot chocolate.

“Thanks. Sweet sixteen present, teenage rebellion and everything.”

“I ran away from home when I was sixteen,” she says, and Sebastian rises his eyebrows, clearly sceptical.

“For real!” she laughs. “I came here, to gramps.”

“Can’t remember you ever being up here,” he says, but now he’s curious.

“Well, of course, he called my mom the second I entered the house, and next morning she came to pick me up, but still.”

Sebastian snorts at her story, and she’s beaming at him with the largest smile possible, having gotten such a reaction out of him. It seems like it’s so easy for her to rile him up, or to get him involved enough in what she’s doing that he can’t filter his reactions anymore.

He walks her home that evening; she insisted he didn’t need to go through the trouble, since she’s out even later all the time, but Robin pushed, especially since Abigail was to sleep over, so she didn’t need Sebastian to walk her home.

In the end, she had company on the way home.

“Sorry for the trouble,” she says. Sebastian is smoking again, and only shakes his head. They continue their conversation from earlier, about how they used to be as kids and teenagers, periods in time that feels very far-away. Then she tells him of her past job, how she used to want to kill herself every time she entered the building, how there was no more city around her, and just the clutch of overwork and need for money.

She breathes easier here, she says. She hasn’t seen the stars in years, she adds.

She’s looking up at the sky, but Sebastian is looking at her.

She’s seemed lost on that first day, overwhelmed as she looked around at her inherited plot of land, and he’s given her two weeks maximum to survive in there. And here she is, rounding on six months, looking like she’s always belonged.

She hands him his sweater, thanks him again, in that sweet voice that matches her face, but not her personality when she’s swearing. He wishes the road between their houses was longer, longer than to Zuzu City, so long that they could have the entire night at their disposal.

***

“You’re late,” she says, from where she sits on the pier, her feet just a few centimetres above the water surface.

She’s barefoot, and she’s wearing a thin and short dress, and showing so much skin that Sebastian is a bit distracted at first. Technically, they haven’t set a meeting time, but he is indeed the last of the villagers to arrive on the beach for the dance of the moonlight jellies. By now, the others are also grouped together, leaving her alone.

She pats the space next to her. He sits down, yawning.

“Sorry, I was up until 3am reading a new book.”

She lights up then, shoots question after question at him: about his favourite authors and books, hints at the volumes he knows she’s seen on his shelf. They decide to buddy read a book together, and the next day he finds her favourite novel in his mailbox, he sends his instead. His are in pristine condition, while hers are underlined all over, notes scrambled over the margins that he spends a lot of time trying to decipher, corners dog-eared. The first few are a hit and miss, then slowly, as they go through the volumes, writing long texts and handwritten note with their thoughts on it or calling each other late into the night, they start to figure each other’s state, collections growing on each side.

On Penny’s birthday, no one can find the young woman almost the entire day. For that matter, they had the same problem with Sam too.

On Abigail’s birthday, she knocks on the farmer’s door in the middle of the night. The other woman is sleepy, bleary eyed, and she knows that something serious is going on because Abigail doesn’t even make fun of her pyjamas. She opens the door, wordlessly. Makes some tea, as Abigail plops on the rug on the floor, nuzzling Max.

She passes her a steaming cup of tea, sits in front of her in much the same manner.

“What happened?”

It takes Abigail a long time to reply, and when she does, she stumbles over words.

“I-I came out to my parents. Let’s say they didn’t take it too well. Sebastian lives with M-Maru so it didn’t feel like the smartest move, and Sam’s mother already has enough things to worry about. I had no-nowhere else to go.”

She shouldn’t be this surprised when the farmer leans closer, wrapping her arms around her, squeezing her close. Abigail reaches up her hands, tugs at the pyjama top and starts sobbing. There’s a large wet mark on the other woman’s shoulder when she is done, though she doesn’t seem to notice it as she’s running around her house, pulling out a rolled up mattress and building a make-shift bed in the middle of the room. She’s gentle as she moves Abigail to her bedroom, helps her in bed, petting at her hair, and chanting it’ll be okay over and over again.

Abigail’s already asleep when she moves to the kitchen, scrolling through her contacts list. It takes a few seconds before the person at the other end picks up, and Sebastian’s voice sounds muffled. She imagines him for a second, face half-hidden in his pillow, dishevelled hair. Then:

“It’s Abbie.”

The next day, Sam and Sebastian show up on her doorstep at 6am with chocolate cake, and they barely even greet her before moving inside, slamming open the door to the room where Abigail’s sleeping, essentially waking her up. But they also jump on the bed, squeezing themselves in the small space, peppering her face with kisses, even as she screams at them to stop, that they’re gross. But she’s laughing.

Over breakfast (eggs and salad and chocolate cake), they discuss what they should do next. There’s enough space here for two people, and it makes most sense to have Abigail live here for a while, until things calm down a bit.

“Did,” Abigail starts, unsure, playing with a tissue, “Maru tell your parents?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian says, and he feels like he really needs a smoke.

“I guess it went well.”

Abigail ends with a laugh that resounds dry and bitter in the room. Sam’s leaning towards her, holding her hand.

“Your parents will come around,” he says. “They just need to get over the initial shock.”

Except Abigail, everyone else nods. It’s hard to imagine Pierre staying mad at anyone, let alone his own daughter. But Pelican Town is a small enough place that such a thing might take a long time to forgive in the eyes of others. After the guys leave that first day, Abigail spends the entire day in bed. The next one, she joins her host for coffee, asks about the pumpkin patches.

When the Stardew Valley Fair rolls around, she helps the farmer fill Robin’s truck with her products. The older woman hugs Abigail that day like she’s a long-lost daughter, which makes her cry all over again.

***

The Fair itself is nice; the trees around had already started to turn orange, and it gives the place a really cosy atmosphere. Almost everyone in town buys something from her stall, and Marnie even comments that she fits right in. She enters Lewis’ competition with her pumpkins, but she loses to Shane’s chickens, which is a totally deserved win on his side, though she hates to admit.

Abigail makes up with her family that day, because the second she steps in town, her mother drops a crane of jars, swears, and runs up to her baby girl to hug the life out of her, cry and apologize. Pierre is sniffling at his stall, next to her – and she passes him her handkerchief.

Then, because Abigail is Abigail, she kisses Maru in front of everyone. George whistles, loudly and everyone laughs, which ends any discussion on the topic. With this scene, the farmer thinks she has just fallen a bit in love with the man herself.

Shane approaches her, to boast his win.

“Congrats,” she says, though she is pointedly not looking at the bow pinned to his chest. Jas has already been over, stopping everyone and showing it off.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he says, and she’s glad the stall stands between them, because she knows he would have liked to be much closer than this.

“Glad you took the hint.”

“Is the freak gang that entertaining, little girl?”

There he goes again, with his horrible nicknames and that shit-eating grin. She hopes he’d choke on all the bullshit he’s spewing, some day.

“Yes.”

She sounds firm, serious and soft at the same time. There’s a small smile on her lips as well, and probably it’s that combination that makes Shane realize she’s entirely truthful. So, he laughs. For sure, he must find her stupid and foolish, and yet she only feels relieved as he watches him walk away, shaking his head like he’s disappointed.

As evening approaches, Sebastian stops by her stall. It’s almost empty now, most of her products sold earlier in the day. He sits next to her, smoking, looking at Sam winning the big prize at darts for Penny. She all but swoons.

Sebastian gets up, throwing his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it.

“Do you want to walk around?”

She nods, he helps her up. She asks Pierre to watch over the rest of her stuff, and when they move from stall to stall, her and Sebastian are so close that their shoulder almost touch, though none moves to put more space between them. She keeps stealing glances at him, as he explains to her about his favourite stalls, and how it used to look like back in his childhood.

They eat Gus’ famous burgers, and her heart almost stops beating when he leans closer, pressing a tissue to the corner of her mouth. He starts by looking her in the eye, but then her own eyes drop to the flutter of his eyelids, the curve of his nose, eventually settling on the plumpness of his lips – and his gaze follows suit, tracing the same path on her face. They sit in silence, staring at each other, until Gus’ boisterous laugh makes them both startle.

She mumbles her thanks, looking at her plate, too afraid to look at Sebastian.

They play darts too, though she only manages to hit the target only once, and only on its furthest ring.

“Sam rigged this game, didn’t he?” she asks, which makes him smile.

Sebastian pays for his turn, raises his eyebrows at her when she’s expectantly watching him. He throws the first dart while still looking at her, and it hits bull’s eye. She screams in delight, clapping her hands together.

He moves his hand to the back of his head, embarrassed at her reaction, even if he so desperately wanted it in the first place. He asks her if she wants any of the prizes, but she shakes her head. As cheesy as it might be, for her it’s enough that she can enjoy the fair, and that she can do it alongside him.

***

When she counts her savings the next day, it’s not as much as she would have liked. So she starts going to the mine again, because she can sell well everything that she finds in there, and for a couple of weeks, it works out just fine. Until it doesn’t anymore.

She knows the place is old, but the crack of the stair giving way under her weight was not an expected problem. The lurking animals and the unmapped areas, sure. But not the wooden step of the stairs.

It takes her by surprise, and she doesn’t have fast enough reflexes to find another footing, so she falls all the distance to the ground. She lands on her side, and there’s a terrible crack in the shoulder that makes getting up so, so painful afterwards. She’s bleeding heavily from one of her knees as well, and several bruises are already blooming on her legs and arms.

Her flashlight also went out on impact, so at first she is disoriented, her head booming with the sound of her fall. Then she gets scared, her heartbeat in her throat, and before she can even think more of her wounds, she forces herself to count up to 100, as slowly as she can, bringing her breathing back to normal, forcing her body to refuse the incoming panic attack just yet.

No one knows she’s in the mine right now, so technically even if they were to notice her disappearance, it will take a while until they find her. And it was already dark outside, judging from the last time she looked at her watch, which makes searching for her unsafe until at least tomorrow morning. She can’t just stay here and wait for someone to find her, even if that is all that she truly wants to do.

She winces when she finally raises to her feet. She’s unstable and everything hurts, but she’s most worried about her arm. She tried to pick up her discarded flashlight, but the movement hurt so much she left out an agonized wail.

Tears start biting at her eyes when she bumps into the stairs, after fumbling through the dark for it. She tries not to think of all the steps until the surface, and then her walk back home – and instead tries to take it one step at a time. She can support her weight only on one arm, and her legs hurt each time she raises them, the skin at her knee ripping open a bit more with each move of her leg up. She takes it one at a time, stops often to breathe deeply, give some part of her body some respite. She struggles even more when she finally gets to the broken stair, and she has to cover twice the distance.

When she eventually collapses on the ground at the entrance to the cave, she can smell the fresh night air, and she can hear the rustling of the leaves, and she starts crying. Somewhere down there, where the mine caved in, trapping workers under the stones and dirt and in unending hallways, is the body of her uncle. Of course, she could have easily shared the same fate today, if she would have been a bit higher, if she would have fallen on one of the sharp stones littering the lower floors instead.

She forces herself, again, to just breathe. But even as she makes herself stand up and walk the long way home, her mind is drifting further and further away, the pain now more dulled at the edge.

That’s why she doesn’t catches when someone calls out her name, doesn’t realize she’s not alone anymore until said person catches her arm to make her stop. Unfortunately, it is her hurt arm, and she shrieks, tears pooling at her eyes, as she’s stumbling away.

Sebastian stares at her, mouth agape, looking like he’s just seen a ghost. He moves his eyes over her body, taking in her state, though he’s unsure in some spots, if the stains on her clothes are blood or dirt.

“Shit, you need to see a doctor,” he says, moving closer again, but she flinches upon his approach.

He passes a frustrated hand through his hair. Dumbly, she wonders what he is doing out here, by the river, in the middle of the night.

“Can I touch you?” he asks. He’s still keeping his distance, though he’s looking at her in a strange way, like she’ll fall off her feet at any moment. Although she nods, this time more aware, more in tune with her surrounding, this time around he approaches more slowly, careful with his movements.

She leans onto him, sighing in relief.

“This will hurt,” he says, and before she has time to think about it, he gathers her in his arms, head at the crook of his neck, her good arm around his shoulder, as he starts carrying her. She just whimpers pathetically, at his chest, blushing furiously and trying not to overthink the gesture, or her weight, or the fact that they’re stopping in front of Harvey’s clinic at fuck knows what time.

Harvey answers on the second knock, looks at the state she’s in and simply mumbles I need my coffee, allowing them inside. Sebastian is still carrying her the flights of stairs up, before finally setting her down on a bed. He’s breathing hard by now, but he’s not complaining. In the light, she can see how wild and panicked his eyes are, how deep his frown is as he searches her body for wounds.

Now that they can see, her shoulder is at a weird angle.

“I’ll have to set it back,” Harvey says, sipping loudly from a fresh cup of coffee, sitting on a chair next to her bed. He looks up at Sebastian, checks the time on his wrist watch. “You can go if you want to.”

“I’ll stay,” he replies almost immediately, making her shiver on the bed, a movement that both men catch. “If that’s okay with you.”

She nods, pleading with Harvey to let him stay, to which he agrees. His job is not made any more difficult, since Sebastian looks perfectly healthy, the weird sleep schedule aside. She doesn’t notice when Sebastian moves, shifts so he can sit next to her on the bed, wrapping his fingers around hers.

Harvey descends like a shadow above her, snapping her bones back in place. She squeezes Sebastian’s hand in her good one, so hard that his bones crack, her fingers digging in his skin until they draw blood. But she only inhales sharply, letting out a string of soft curses, teeth grinding together in pain. When she looks at them, she feels only betrayed, because they both clearly knew what was to come, and did their best to make it as fast as possible.

Harvey hands her a glass of water and some painkillers, and only then does she realize she’s still holding onto Sebastian’s hand. She lets go slowly, smiling at him, patting his hand in silent thanks, though Sebastian cannot smile back at her.

“So what happened?” Harvey asks, moving on to cutting open the leg of her pants, cleaning up the cuts, disinfecting her wounds.

She speaks, evenly, though her panic shows through in some parts, and Sebastian rubs calming circles on her back with his palm. She leans into his touch, swaying in place, eyes fluttering closed, opening them again at a slower and slower pace.

“You should sleep here tonight, so I can monitor your condition,” Harvey says, and Sebastian rises, helping her lay down on the bed, covering her with the blanket, as she’s already fallen asleep.

The two men move downstairs in silence. The clock on the wall shows 4 a.m.

***

She wakes to Granny knitting on a chair next to her bed. It’s such an odd image that it takes her a while to recall all the events of the night before. Then, she startles upright.

“Easy, darling, all’s good,” Granny says, though she didn’t even look up at the younger woman.

She learns that Marnie visited her farm earlier, feeding her animals. Abigail took Max to her place, Penny came by with pie. And Sebastian is downstairs, on his 3rd coffee of the day, not having gone home since he first dropped her at the clinic.

Granny smiles to herself when the patient looks longingly at the door, her skin on fire.

***

Harvey keeps her for one more night, though she is feeling alright, and she insists so to everyone coming around to check on her. She thought Robin will pick her up, something that she agreed to after much pestering from the woman, but instead the one waiting for her in front of the clinic, leaning on Robin’s truck, is Sebastian.

“Mom had something come up,” he says, moving to get her backpack, filled with the stuff from the mine and some clothes that Abigail picked for her. He opens the truck’s door for her.

“I could have just walked,” she says, though her leg is still stiff.

He shuts the door on her, and until he joins her in, she has time to mull over what exactly she wants to say.

“Thank you,” she beings. “For everything and I’m sorry.”

She fidgets on the spot, as he starts the engine and begins driving.

“Why are you apologizing?” his voice is soft, the corner of his mouth tilted up just the tiniest bit.

“For all the trouble?”

It sounds more like a question,

“You know I’d gladly be troubled for you.”

She does not know that, in fact. She turns to look out the window, at the stretch of trees on the road to her farm, and she wonders when she became such a person to others.

When they arrive, she invites him in, but he politely refuses. She needs to rest. But he does walk back to the car, fiddling with the gloves compartment, coming back with something in his arms. He presents it to her, carefully wrapped, and watches attentively as she opens it, catching her reaction.

In her hands, she has the first volume of what she knows is Sebastian’s favourite comic.

Abigail will tell her, later on, that before he came to pick her up, he drove all the way to Zuzu City so he could pick a copy for her. So on an autumn rainy day, she makes herself a cup of tea, and curls in her bed, opening the book.

She takes her sweet time, searching every detail in the art, rewriting particular quotes in her journal. Then her thoughts fly without her even wanting to, to a particular someone she’d like to have next to her, to explain her favourite parts. She’d like to have him by her side more than that though, as she wakes and works, a person that makes it so much easier for her to just be.

She’s a fool – she tries to tell herself, hugging the book close to her chest. There’s nothing she can offer Sebastian that would make him stay in this village he so obviously loathes. She’s just dumb enough to have fallen for the man she cannot even bring herself to ask to love her back. But the image is now stuck on a loop in her mind: stray sun rays filtering through the curtain, and Sebastian in the door frame, with her mug of coffee in his hands, offering it to her as she wakes.

She tortures herself with thoughts like this afterwards, whenever she finds a moment of respite in her work, as she hurries to sell the last of her crops, to preserve the mushrooms, fill the sill with grains for the animals and the storage outside with wood.

***

The first time she gets out of her property after the accident is to attend a dinner on Robin’s birthday. In the town here, it’s not a big deal, so she feels particularly honoured to have the older woman invite her.

However, Robin sends Sebastian to pick her up. She’s on the porch, bundled up in her favourite sweater and a shawl, petting Max, when he pulls up in her courtyard on his motorcycle. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and as he moves to get her helmet, she’s only staring at the way his muscles are straining under the material.

He helps her put it on, clasping it under her chin, his fingers lingering on her skin, and they stare in each other’s eyes for a few long seconds. Then, he holds out a hand, helping her get up, and guides her arms around his waist.

She’s basically glued to his back, and she wonders if he can hear how loudly her heart is beating. He tightens his hold against her arms, signalling that she should hold on tighter, and she does, even though she closes her eyes to will the embarrassment away.

Robin welcomes her with an enthusiastic hug, and she’s delighted to see Abigail has been invited as well, and she’s now sitting next to Maru at the table, discussing something with Demetrius. She’s sent her present in the mail earlier this day, more goat cheese and a few quartz pieces, and the redhead thanks her happily.

When she passes Sebastian on the hallway, she stops for a few seconds to thank him for the ride, warmly clasping his hand in hers. Then just as quickly she lets go, joins everyone else in the kitchen.

Most of the conversation is just the parents dotting on the newly formed couple, though there is a passing comment of the pumpkin soup currently served being Sebastian’s favourite food, so she makes a note to ask the recipe from Robin the next day. There’s an anecdote about how Demetrius and Robin first met, though it makes both their children cringe at how young and lovesick they still sound recalling it. Abigail talks about her studies, Maru continues, though their degrees are vastly different.

The farmer turns to look at Sebastian.

“What about your work?”

The conversation stills, a bit awkward. No one ever asks what Sebastian is doing, since freelancing is such a grey area in their mind – though they fail to see that almost everyone in this town is the goddamn owner of their own work.

“Well,” he starts, playing with the food on his plate. “Actually I’ve got a promotion recently and a really big project coming up.”

She clasps her hands together, beaming up at him.

“That’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

Everyone at the table nods politely, Robin even congratulation her son. But he thinks of her question, and lately the answer seems to be no, because each of his successes brings him closer to leaving Pelican Town, and he’s not sure he wants to anymore.

***

By the end of the evening, everyone is more or less tipsy, made soft by the drink and the warmth of the house. Robin insists that she should sleep over, afraid to let her return home this late. She almost puts Sebastian and Maru in one room, but the daughter refuses so vehemently, that Sebastian instead just tells her he’ll take the couch. Their mother stares for a long time after both of her children, as each turns to their guest, and instead decides to retire for the night, together with Demetrius.

That’s how she ends up sitting on Sebastian’s bed, as he’s searching for a towel and some clothes for her.

“Maru is leaving next spring for a research program,” he explains. “That’s why-”

“She wants to make the most out of it,” she continues.

“Yeah.”

He understands the feeling; it’s why he’s more often than not out of his house these days, afraid that one day he’ll have to root himself out of this place, and he will leave many things behind to regret. And many people he will miss.

He throws the clothes in her direction, points her to the direction of the bathroom.

She’s feeling more awake after the shower, and she’s drying her hair with a towel as she enters his room again. She wears one of his hoodies, but on her it looks almost like a dress, coming down halfway to her knees, sleeves rolled several times over. The sweatpants are equally as large.

“I like your socks,” she says, wiggling her toes, an ugly, green gooey face dancing with the movement.

She’s way too freakin cute, Sebastian thinks, though he only smiles at her as he passes her to go and take a shower. When he returns, she’s snuggled in his bed, a comic book in hands, the sequel to the present he’s given her before. She doesn’t hear him come in until he plops on the couch, and then she looks up at him, cheeks immediately flushing.

“Aren’t you cold?”

He’s wearing a tank top, loose enough around the chest area that she can see his collarbones. She knows she’s staring, yet she can’t tear her eyes away from the skin of his arms, or the taut stretch of his top against his chest. When eventually, finally, she moves her gaze up to his face, he’s smirking, clearly having caught her in the act.

“I never get cold,” he replies, shrugging, though he tenses the muscles on his arm, and her gaze immediately snaps back there.

He’s outright laughing right now, which makes her turn her back to him, pulling the blanket over her entire body and mumble an embarrassed good night.

But she has a very, very hard time falling asleep.

***

“I don’t wanna go,” she whines at Sam, pulling at his clothes, dragging him away from the maze.

He just laughs, tugging her harder instead. His little brother scared her as soon as she arrived for Spirit’s Eve, and since then she refused to leave his side, on edge all the time.

The town is decorated in skulls and supersized spiders, and Abigail took to walking around with a witch hat on and a sword in her hands, which everyone agreed was cool but also relatively worrisome.

She swears, loudly, clinging even closer to Sam’s arm, when Sebastian joins them, carrying two glasses of punch. He chuckles, but still passes one of them to her.

“You don’t celebrate Spirit’s Eve in the city?”

“Well,” she says, taking a large gulp of her drink. “There it’s more about getting shit-faced in a club, and less about your heart going for a run when you turn the corner of the street.”

“Amen, sister,” Sam yells, grabbing her glass and downing it all in one go.

“Hey!” She punches his shoulder.

“It made you laugh though!” he says, leaving so he can get her a refill, and well, he’s not wrong, because now she feels way more at ease than before.

Sebastian shifts closer to her, for which she is grateful.

“Is it really that bad?”

“I just hate jump scares,” she whines, again. “And I’m sure the maze is filled with them.”

“You know you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, right? We can just sit on a bench and watch the skeletons.”

“We?”

He’s pressing his palm to his neck. “Well I’ve cleared the maze every year, so.”

So they sit, together.

***

Back in the city, she can never tell when it will snow anyway – but here in town, the air is crisp and cold for days before. Robin shows up one early winter morning, and helps her isolate the house as much as possible, around the windows and the doors, so that no cold seeps in, so that all the warmth stays. She might need to renovate the house next year, but for now, it will have to be enough.

Robin sips at the coffee she’s been offered, and pretends not to see Sebastian’s books sprawled all around the farmer’s house, on the kitchen counter, on the bed, next to the TV. She also equally doesn’t comment on one of Sebastian’s jackets hanging on the back of the chair that the young girl is currently occupying. Robin takes another sip, and smiles in her cup.

Back in the city, when it snows, it never piles; part car fumes, part all the people walking around doing their business. But here in the town, when she wakes up one morning, all she can see around her house is a wide expanse of whiteness. Max runs past her, jumps into the snow, comes back in so wet but so happy, that she doesn’t mind having to towel him near the fire from the fireplace.

But she’s left with too much time on her hands; she watches Queen of Sauce almost obsessively, following along in her own kitchen, surprised when her food is actually good. She starts knitting, phoning Granny each time she stumbles through a row. She reads, almost obsessively. And she does go to the mines, but for shorter periods now, scared of not repeating her injury, even if the Adventurer’s Guild repaired the broken stairs.

Then Sam calls her over one day and welcomes her to the world of DnD, him and Sebastian more or less forcing everyone else to start a new campaign with them. It’s the happiest she’s seen them both, so she tries to keep up with the characters, stops to ask about plot holes. They explain things in tandem, finishing each other’s sentences, for almost an entire hour, because you see, this race can’t have this magical power. Sam pulls out his guide, passing it around so that everyone can look up the kind of character they want to create.

That first evening together, that’s all they do in fact: filling stat sheets, searching reference pictures on the internet. And they eat Jodi’s delicious snacks, gossip a bit about Marnie and mayor Lewis’ affair, that the whole town knows about but somehow only the two of them missed this detail.

They turn it into a weekly meeting, rotating their meeting place through all their houses, sometimes the Stardrop Saloon in the days when they know it’ll be more empty and calm. They fight imaginary battles, Sam’s voice guiding them through cities and enemies and friends, saving each other’s asses and forging alliances. It’s the best fun she’s had since arriving in the town, though if anyone were to tell her this a year ago, she would have laughed directly into their faces.

They break the tradition only once, when instead they decide to go ice-skating. Each winter, if the temperatures are low enough, the lake freezes, making it a perfect rink. To be fair, it’s her favourite sport – probably only sport that she’s so excited to do, that she jumps on the spot as she waits for her turn to lend a pair of skates.

She’s looking a bit ridiculous, wearing 3 different layers and one of her grandpa’s padded vests, a beanie on top of her head. Sebastian finds her just really cute. She skates around holding one of Maru’s hands, Abigail the other – because she’s the only one who doesn’t really know how to do it.

Then Sam starts a game of tag with Jas. So they start chasing each other around, yelling when they’re caught only to start again. Penny almost trips, but Sam’s catches her hand and stabilizes her, even if he’s it now. Abigail and Maru skate around holding hands, working more like one person than two separate ones, though Abigail lets go only when it’s her turn to chase someone; and she’s fast as a flash, her turn over in under a minute.

She touches the farmer’s back, and she’s left in the middle of the frozen lake, trying to think who to go after. Her intention is to go after Vincent, his voice shrill with happiness when he realizes he has to run away from her, but her skates catch in the ice.

She only has time to gasp out a swearword, preparing to fall flat on her face. But there’s an arm around her waist, though the angle is awkward and her weight too heavy, so both of them fall to the ground.

She blinks, trying to make sense of the new position. She didn’t hit the cold ice, instead Sebastian’s body cushioned her fall. She’s on top of him, hands on either side of his head, and she’s staring into his eyes. She’s so close that she can feel his chest heaving.

“You good?” he asks, a hand moving to settle around her waist.

It snaps her out of it. “Shit, I’m the one who should be asking that.”

She’s trying to get up, though she’s embarrassed and fumbling, and her first movement just positions her ass on Sebastian’s thighs and crotch area. He shudders, inhaling loudly – and she can feel him stir under her.

“Oh,” is all that she can say, eyes blown wide catching his. Though there’s something more there: curiosity, and a growing interest.

“You guys okay?!” Sam’s voice is distant to her ears, though she waves a hand in the air, to both show that they’re okay and ask for a break from their game. Sebastian says nothing, looking up at her like a man found guilty of murder, face flushed, though he hasn’t moved his hand from her waist.

She grinds her hips, pushing harder against Sebastian’s body, watching in fascination as he’s squeezing his eyes shut, a frown on his forehead.

“Stop,” he says, sounding wound up and chocked.

So she does, rolling from on top of him, pulling herself to her feet, smiling when offering him a hand up. Though he’s not smiling back, he takes her hand.

***

“Happy birthday!” she shouts, when Sebastian opens the door to his bedroom, holding up her present to him.

Behind him, music plays loudly, and she can see Sam and Abigail arguing about who gets the last slice of pizza. She’s the last to arrive, but that’s also partially because outside there’s a real blizzard. Penny comes to hug her in greeting, and she high-fives Sam. Most of the time, they just drink and joke around, chatting about random things, his oldest friends telling tales of Sebastian.

After a couple of hours, Sebastian catches her eyes, motions towards the outside. Sam has given up smoking, being more of a social smoker, just like her. But since he got together with Penny, a fact to which they finally admitted after merciless teasing from Abigail, he quit.

They stop in the hallway, putting on their coats – and she hands him the present again, though he hasn’t noticed her coming up with it.

“You might find useful what’s in here.”

So he opens it to find a matching hat and scarf, in a dark navy. They’re clearly handmade, and handmade by her he suspects – and he’s touched by the time and care she had to put in her gift. Nestled between the material, there’s also a frozen tear.

“God, I-I love this. Thank you.”

She beams at him, obviously relieved. He puts the frozen tear carefully in the pocket of his jacket. She helps him with the scarf and the beanie, her hands lingering on his shoulder for a second afterwards, admiring him.

Outside, in the courtyard corner where they’re smoking, there’s a snowman. Sebastian almost feels like kicking it when she mentions in passing that it’s cute.

“I built a snowgoon but Demetrius made me get rid of it, yet Maru’s cute little snowman still stands…”

He didn’t mean to sound this bitter. She shifts, coming in closer, taking his empty hand in hers.

“If I just disappeared, would it even matter?”

He means it like a rhetorical question, just for himself – but she’s strengthening her grip on him, forcing him to look at her. She wants him to understand that she’s entirely serious.

“It would matter to me.”

***

It’s drizzling, a mix of snow and rain, weather suddenly warming up. On the beach, anyway, snow never piles up, and when Sebastian turns around, he finds her standing a few feet away, staring out into the sea. She is drenched, shivering lightly with each gust of wind, and now that her concentration has been snapped by his movement, she’s staring at him instead.

He gestures her closer, and she stops by his side. Now, closer, he can see that she’s shivering more violently than he initially though, and she’s certainly not dressed properly for the weather.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, softly, pushing some of her hair behind her ear. She closes her eyes, head leaning toward his touch, and he finds himself cupping her cheek without thinking too much about it.

“What are you doing out here?” she counters, blinking up at him.

Maybe it’s the absolutely pathetic state that both of them are into that makes him answer honestly to the question. Or maybe it’s the fact that it’s her.

“Looking out at the bleak horizon… It makes me feel like it’s worthwhile to keep pushing on.”

He shrugs, trying not to look as serious as his statement. Lately, he’s been having more reasons to believe that same thing, but old habits die hard, and there’s a particular calmness in being somewhere where no one else is. Or, he thinks, looking down at her, almost no one.

“I just like the sea,” she says, and any awkwardness that he still felt dissipates with her admission. The water is raging, stirred on by the storm, crashing violently against the pier, and they stand in silence, his hands carefully petting her hair, pulling her closer when she shivers again.

“Fuck, do you want to catch your death?”

He undresses quickly, placing his jacket over her shoulders. It doesn’t make much of a difference, but it’s more waterproof than what she’s wearing, and also carrying his warmth. He pops open the umbrella he’s carrying, and with an arm around her shoulder, pulls her to his chest.

“You know,” he starts, his palm rubbing circles on her back. “I would normally feel anxious doing this with anyone. But somehow, you’re the exception.”

Her head turns, chin resting on his chest so she can look up at him.

“I want to kiss you,” she says, and Sebastian chokes on whatever he wanted to say before. “Can I?”

She’s on her tiptoes now, her lips so close to his that their breathes are mingling, yet she’s giving him the choice of covering the remaining distance. Which he does, hungrily, almost desperate for it, both hands cupping her cheeks as their mouths clash. The umbrella falls into the water, and yet they don’t care enough to notice it.

They stop for a moment, coming up for air, and then they’re back at it, and despite the fire growing at the pit of her stomach, the kiss is languid, exploring, tongue pressing against tongue. Slight movement, a change in their position to deepen the kiss, her fingers now playing in the hair at the nape of his neck, his hands at her waist.

He kisses her like he never kissed somebody else, and went hungry for it all this time. His fingers move under her sweater, and the sudden cold touch makes her break apart. His touch turns comforting, pressing against her skin, and she sighs. Their foreheads meet.

“Fuck, I wanted to do that for so long,” he breathes and she laughs.

“We are two idiots, right?”

“Big idiots,” he nods, and she takes his hand in hers, starts pulling him in the direction of her house.

***

She starts the fire in the house, as he’s slowly undressing layer after layer. In the bathroom, the bathtub is filled with hot water, waiting for him. He’s down to a t-shirt and his boxers when he cups her elbow in his hand.

“Join me?” he asks, voice a bit strained, but firm.

She can only nod, dazed, not trusting that this is not just a dream, afraid that speaking will ruin the moment. He sits down on the edge of the tub, gesturing for her to come closer. She’s standing in front of him, and he’s gentle in guiding her out of her clothes, letting them drop to the floor. He strays from his purpose sometime, to press a kiss against her hip, or at the tip of her fingertips.

When she eventually ends up stark naked, his eyes are hungry, but his touch not, as he guides her inside the hot tub. She sighs in pleasure, closing her eyes. She opens them again when she hears the rustling of clothes, to watch him undress. He’s a bit slow, a bit shy, joining her inside the tub. The water almost spills over. She tries not to think of his cock, the precum leaking. She tries to ignore the uncomfortable heat growing between her legs.

She helps him shampoo his hair, he washes her back. They go off track from time to time, kissing lazingly for a long time, his hands massaging her breasts, her teeth grazing his neck. Until she moans, a loud sound. Until he gasps, her name caught between his lips.

Then, with ease, he helps her out. They share one, large towel, huddling together until they reach her bedroom, giggling like children. They’re almost to the bed when he stops, looks at her.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

He’s a liar, because his cock is pulsing with want and she can feel him against her hip. She pouts.

“But I want you.”

He kisses her pout away, pushes at her shoulder until she falls to the bed with a yelp, hands wrapping against him, taking him down with her. She’s laughing, pleased with having him on top of her, when his mouth moves downwards on her body, kissing against her collarbones, sucking at the skin, biting at the skin, until there’s a dark mark behind. He throws her a pleased grin, moving lower yet again.

Sebastian takes one of her nipples in his mouth, a hand moving up to tease the other. Her hands immediately wrap in his hair and she gasps. He pulls at the sensitive area, with his teeth and his fingers, licking it better immediately afterwards, and she writhes under him. He kisses his path downwards, though his lips kiss at her hips, he bites at her thighs, always circling around where she most wants him.

“Seb,” she whines. “Please.”

He stops his ministrations to look at her, frowning and pouting, hair dishevelled against her pillows, her body flushed all over, his marks so obvious against her skin. He feels himself growing at the sight, though he smirks at her.

“Please what?”

She blushes.

“Please eat me out?”

It sounds like a plead and a question and a prayer and a command all at once, and he’s on her in the blink of an eye, tongue lapping at her folds. Her back arches, but his hands are keeping her in place – and he maintains a constant, slow rhythm.

Until he doesn’t, one of his fingers entering her in full, with ease. Sebastian chuckles.

“You’re so wet, baby.”

Her walls squeeze at the nickname. He adds another finger; watches, transfixed, as it disappears inside with the same ease. He starts pumping them inside her, and the sound of her wet pussy taking it all in is so hot, that he groans.

Buried down in her to the knuckles, he opens his fingers apart. She moans, pushing down, searching for more, more, more. He scissors her, spreading her wide – and his head moves lower yet again, lips kissing against her clit at first.

Then, he adds a third finger. He can feel her stiffen under him, so he pulls her clit in his mouth, rolling his tongue around it, just as he starts pumping his fingers inside her. Now her hands are holding on to her sheets, and she’s mumbling some curses, halfway lost to her pleasure, moans louder and louder as he speeds up.

He raises his head just for a second, to chuckle against her heated pussy.

“Come, baby.”

So she does, and he continue pumping inside of her, letting her ride her orgasm. She still sighs when he pulls out his fingers, immediately missing the feeling of being filled up with him. He moves to pepper her face with kisses, petting at her now sweated forehead.

“You did so well, baby.”

He’s teasing her, knowing how much she likes the nickname. So instead she looks down between their bodies, his cock against his navel, leaking – and looking like the most beautiful dick she has ever seen in her life. It’s not the biggest one she’s seen, but he’s thick and she’s never wanted to taste something more than the cum that’d spill out of it.

Still staring, she moves her hands to grab it, her fingers dancing over it, starting with his leaking tip, spreading his precum all over his length, before stopping with a slight squeeze at its base. Sebastian shivers over her, eyes closed, mouth open in an unspoken prayer, because he’s not sure even god can help him now.

Holding his dick in her hands, she helps him adjust at her entrance. At first, he teases against her cunt, pressing his cock between her folds, rocking his hips back and forth as they both moan in tandem. She’s already dripping over the sheets again.

He grabs at her hand, fingers entwined.

“You ready?”

“For that dick? Born ready,” she says, chuckling, but not moving her eyes away from where he’s starting to push inside her.

“Fuuck,” he says, just as she moans, only the tip in. The stretch is painful, but so fucking delicious and she’s a blabbering mess begging for more, pulling him closer with her free arm. He slams inside her, forcing the rest of his length inside in one go, and she swears. He kisses at her eyebrows, at the tip of her nose, apologizing softly.

“Tell me when to move again,” he says, and true to his words, he seems content to just kiss her, tongue at her neck, words whispered and lost in her hair, but making her shiver nonetheless just because there’s the hot breath so close to her skin. She’s trying to adjust to his entirety of him inside her, not hurtful but not entirely comfortable just yet either, and his mouth now licking at her hypersensitive nipple seems to slowly do the trick.

“Move,” she says, and he does.

He’s slow at first, almost frustratingly so, pulling out almost entirely, before slowly filling her up again. She moans, drawn out sounds, with each movement – and she almost doesn’t notice when the speed picks up, when she starts moving her hips to meet his actions. They’re a mess of grunts and moans, gasps and swears – and he squeezes so hard at her hip when she comes again, the orgasm washing over her with an intensity that it’s almost blinding, that she’s sure he’ll leave bruises.

Sebastian looks like a man in pain, inside her as she’s coming back to herself after the orgasm. She kisses his cheek, hands rubbing against his chest muscles.

“Do you want to cum all over me?”

He almost trips with the haste that he’s pulling out of her. She’s waiting, on her back, tongue lolling out of her mouth. Sebastian rises on his knees – it’s embarrassing that he only needs two more pumps to come. Most of it falls on her tits and neck, though she’s happily licking every bit that she can reach with her tongue, swallowing it all like a good girl.

“Fuck,” Sebastian says, falling next to her on the bed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

She beams at him, getting closer. They kiss for a while, bored and tired and messy, teeth clanking together, tongue at the corner of the mouth. There’s a string of saliva between their lips when they separate.

She gets up, goes to the toilet, returns all cleaned up, before coming back to the warmth of the bed, dragging the covers over both of them. Sure, the sheets are dirty, but that’s a problem for her future self, because right now, all she wants to do is snuggle at Sebastian’s back, an arm draped over his waist. So that’s what she does.

***

When they wake, they fuck on the kitchen counter, the angle hitting her just right. Truthfully, half of her butt is in the air, her legs wrapped around Sebastian’s torso, as he snaps his hips up in her, deeper and deeper each time. She’s never been so glad she doesn’t have neighbours in her entire life. Maybe because it’s been so long on her part, or because Sebastian is really just that good, she’s loud – and she loves to feel him stirring inside her, with each of her moans and praises.

“So good,” she gasps, fingers digging almost painfully in his back, and he proves his point by ramming into her, ripping a sob of pleasure out of her.

He’s wearing a condom this time around, so there is no mess to clean up, and they drink their coffee afterwards – talking about this and that, not even skimming the topic of what they’re doing, or why.

He kisses her goodbye though.

And on Winter Star, while she’s getting ready for the feast with everyone else, Sebastian comes by. He welcomes him warmly, and he sits on the side of her bed, watching her finish her make-up and doing her hair, and though he doesn’t move, she keeps catching his eyes in the mirror, looking at her every movement hungrily.

“We’re not fucking after all this effort I just put in,” she says, pointedly plucking her lips and applying a bright, red lipstick.

“I want to take you out on a date,” he says, ignoring her childish theatrics, but shaking his head with a soft smile.

“Sure.”

She tries to sound nonchalant, but her heart is beating in her chest. As much as she’d like to have him bend her over the table and take her like a bitch in heat, she’d much prefer him being her boyfriend while he does so.

“Good, let’s go then.”

“Now?” she yelps, when he grabs her hand and walks her towards the entrance.

“Now,” he says. He helps her putting on her beret, she straightens the scarf around his neck. “I’ve already called Sam and told him we won’t make it to the feast.”

“You did? What did he say?”

“To have condoms on me,” Sebastian says, face serious, which is why it makes her snort.

“And?” she’s wiggling her eyebrows at him. “Do you?”

He slaps her butt as she’s getting out instead of a reply. She turns at him, the slightest darkness in her eyes.

They go for a ride, promise not forgotten. They drive for a long time, and when they finally reach their destination, he tells her to keep her eyes closed, keeps his palms against her eyes as he guides her steps.

When he moves his hands away, she gasps. Spread ahead of her, the lights of Zuzu City against the usual darkness of the night. Sebastian moves next to her, grabs her hand in his.

“I come here when I want to get away from everything and just… think.”

He’s been doing this a lot lately, ever since she came to the valley, became his friend. Torn between his dreams of the city and the familiarity of home, he came here often thinking about what he should do.

He’s fumbling with his cigarettes, before eventually lightning one. Leaning against his motorcycle, she’s still looking out at the landscape in front of them.

“It gives such a strange, sad feeling…”

She’s almost saying it to herself. She doesn’t understand why he is showing this to her, and she can only think of how much he wants to be a part of those lights shining in the distance. She knows, if he is to walk that path, there’s nothing she will do to stop him.

Sebastian gets close to her, slings an arm around her shoulder. His gaze is still fixed to the city out in the distance, but when he speaks, it’s all just for her.

“The city used to draw me in… but now I’m finding myself happier at home in the valley.”

Her head snaps up so fast that it almost hurts. She doesn’t trust herself to say anything, afraid she’s overstepping, afraid she actually misunderstands whatever is going on, afraid to hope too much.

He turns to her, knuckles slowly caressing her cheek.

“You’re the only one I ever brought to this place. You know what I’m trying to say, don’t you?”

She shakes her head; wants to hear it. He leans down, pulling her close with his other arm, covering her sound of surprise with his mouth, kissing her. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to his kisses; he’s a passionate but patient kisser, drawing out the movements for as long as possible, biting and licking at her lips, smiling smugly and lazily at her when he is done.

“I want us to be together. For real.”

She jumps in his arms, the move making him stumble a bit, but they’re not falling. She looks in his eyes, the gaze as touching and passionate as it’s ever been.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“Wha-”

But she kisses him.

***

She’s obsessed with saying those three words. Now that she has the right to say it, it blooms out of her at his every gesture. She says it out loud without embarrassment or care as to whoever else can hear it. She says it as good morning and as good bye. She says it when he stays the night, and when he asks her over to play a new game together. She says it in front of Maru and mayor Lewis. She says it when he comes inside of her. She says it when he lets her borrow his sweater. She says it when he calls her in the evening after work.

It makes him dizzy with how wanted she makes him feel.

It’s the middle of the night and they’re waiting, alongside everyone else from the city, for the clock to strike exactly 12, and the fireworks to blast into the sky. She’s holding onto his arm, chatting happily with Sam about a cover song they’re planning. Her weight, next to him, is something new to get used to – but she’s always fitting herself right there with so much ease, that it seems almost natural.

The countdown begins, mayor Lewis’ voice booming across the square. At 8, she joins in. At 3, he does too. The fireworks blast with a loud noise, and she squeezes herself closer to him, her eyes to the colouring sky, her lips to his ear.

“Make a wish, babe.”

She closes her eyes, thinking of everything she wants in the upcoming year. He looks at her.

“So, what did you wish for?” he asks.

She tugs at his jacket, kisses him.

“You.”

#stardew valley #stardew sebastian #sdv sebastian #sebastian x farmer #sdv farmer #sdv fanfic #i think this is the first part and i might do a 2nd one with them being domestic pieces of fluff #i'm so tired i 'm so glad this fic is DONE #hope you enjoy ~#my writing

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silvysartfulness · 3 years ago

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I got tagged by @ameliarating and @veliseraptor to do this writer meme thing!

How many works do you have on AO3?

Six. I only started posting fic on AO3 last year. Before that, many long years ago, I used my own websites and LiveJounal.

What’s your total AO3 word count?

177481. The absolute majority of which is of course Heaven Has A Road.

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On AO3, only The Untamed.

But before that, I've written for Disney Afternoon's Aladdin, Slayers, Kingdom Hearts, Assassin's Creed, and one-shot fics for my own original verses as well as my friends'.

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Heaven Has A Road But No One Walks It at 1194, unsurprisingly. It's my magnum opus on AO3.

Blanket Statement at 302. The first fic I wrote for the Untamed, and the first thing I posted on AO3 (Thank you, Lise, for holding my hand and walking me through it!)

And To Many More at 169

High Noon In Deserted City at 96, which is sort of funny, since it's just a picture and about 1000 words. But the premise is fun! Still hoping for some hungry writer to adopt it and write something for it. :)

Self-Inflicted at 75.

Which checks out, I guess – the longest fic with the most readers comes first, then the fluff, then the funny and finally the angsty and fucked up. XD

I still suspect The Plotbunny of Doom / The Renegades for Kingdom Hearts would score as my all time highest, though, if LJ likes and comments translated to the AO3 format. That fic took me and two friends three whole years to write together, was 104 chapters long and over 300k.

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I really try! Comments mean everything to me, and I want to reply to them all! But when I'm low on spoons (which is unfortunately often) I fall hopelessly behind, and then the catching up becomes an impossible-looking chore in and of itself.

I should really set some time aside every day to catch up on the last few chapters' worth of comments... I do love the interaction and discussion a good comment can spawn!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Hm... I write a ton of angst, but only a few actually have sad endings. I'd say Eaten counts, as does Self-Inflicted, I guess. TPBoD had a very open ending that was still definitely on the somewhat hopeless side.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Mm, it's not usually my favourite genre (though I mean, the whole Kingdom Hearts verse is a crossover in and of itself) but it depends a lot on the source material. I guess TPBoD might soft-count, since we tossed in a bunch of non-canon references with all the world-jumping.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not as such? Oh yeah, I do recall getting a very upset comment on a non-con fic I wrote back in the KH days, by someone who couldn't conceive how you could claim to love a character and then write such horrible things happening to them. But you get those occasionally. Look, crushing my favourite characters is therapy. Doesn't mean I don't love them.

The Russian fandom are loudly aggressive in their comments on some chapters of Heaven Has A Road, but that's more focused on the characters, not me personally.

On the whole, I've been pretty spared. But then, there's little point in sending hate; I just block.

Do you write smut? if so what kind?

Oh, absolutely. Haven't really gotten to that point in the posted chapters of Heaven Has A Road yet, but we're about to unleash it aplenty in the upcoming ones.

What kind? Most kinds, I guess? Soft and fluffy, aggressive and snarly, consensual, dubcon, non-con. Mostly mlm but I've written het, too. Can't remember if I've written wlw, but I've certainly headcanoned/drawn it. A bit of kink is nice.

I prefer focusing on the chemistry and sensations when I write porn, rather than detailed physical smacking and squelching and body fluids, but that's just my personal preference and writing style.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of? Not that I can remember? I have my art stolen regularly, and I've had my online identity stolen, but I don't think anyone's stolen anything I've written...

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Heaven Has A Road is being translated into Russian, and I'm insanely honoured and flattered!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes – TPBoD aka The Plot Bunny of Doom, aka The Renegades, for Kingdom Hearts. I wrote it over ten years ago together with a friend and my now wife. It was a monster of a fic, I think about 320k, and the fact that we were three people helping and pushing and encouraging each other really helped keep it going!

I don't know if I would have the focus for something like it now, but it was an amazing experience I'll always treasure.

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oh man, that changes with each hyperfixation... I may have to say Marluxia/Vexen for Kingdom Hearts, simply because it's a ship that's been around in my life for so long. I still occasionally go back to read favourite bits of the fics I wrote for them, including TPBoD.

Currently it's SongXueXiao from The Untamed, of course, and a very strong contender overall! I've dabbled a bit in poly ships before, but this is the first time I have one as my main, and I'm love them.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Uh. I don’t really have any? Because of my burnout-brain, I can only really focus on one major project at a time, and that's currently heaven has A Road. And I'm really, really hoping I will be able to finish it!

It's all plotted out, I just need to write the stupid thing. Working on it.

What are your writing strengths?

Hm, I'd say that I've developed a voice/prose over the years that I'm actually quite happy with! And I'm good at conveying/invoking emotion, if going solely by how many people comment that I've made them cry. :D

I enjoy writing dialogue, and I love working with layers of symbolism.

What are your writing weaknesses?

The actual writing process. 🙄 I'm extremely uneven and unstructured in getting the actual words down. Also convoluted and inflated text at times - sometimes I write a lot of words without actually saying anything. And English is my second language, so just nailing the correct phrasing and grammar can be a headache at times.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

If it impacts the plot – like the POV character not understanding it, then maybe. And using terms that can't be translated, absolutely! Other than that, there's little point in making a text harder for the reader to grasp by tossing in whole sections in another language for clout. Is my personal view, at least, of course other writers may disagree.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

My first online fandom that I wrote fic for was Disney Afternoon's Aladdin show. Before that, I wrote original fic. And before that, before the internet was A Thing, I'd write and draw for stories that captivated me, just for my own entertainment. If you count that, I'd probably say Phantom of the Opera was my first – I had a whole ”everyone is a horse because that's what I know how to draw” AU when I was about 10 or so, that I'd draw lots of pictures for. When I was even younger, I used to make up stories for my younger brothers, based on movies and series we had watched together. I've always been a storyteller, one way or another, if only in my own head. I wouldn't know how not to.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

I would have to say Heaven Has A Road, even though it's still unfinished. It's the first work of that sheer scope I have ever attempted by myself, and I'm honestly insanely proud of myself for what I have accomplished already!

Second would be TPBoD – The Renegades. Even though that was a shared effort, it's a very long fic that we managed to bring all the way to its intended conclusion, and I'm very proud of that, too!

Plus there are bits of both these fics I really like, and that I will go back and read for my own enjoyment occasionally.

tagging: @orodrethsgeek, @ebonykain, @fromaliminalspace, @chigrima, @soawen

#asksilvy #i guess #long post

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captainjanegay · 4 years ago

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Summary: Bucky is a single dad coming back from a work trip with a very bored, very whiney 7-year-old girl. A mysterious stranger with a kind heart and a notebook full of doodles comes to the rescue.

A/N: It's been... so long since I've updated this fic. I'm sorry but life got in the way and I couldn't bring myself to write anything. Here I come with apologies and hopes that you haven't forgotten about the adventures of Bucky, Alex and Steve. I'm gonna treat you with the longest chapter I've ever written (it's like 5.3k). I hope you'll like it, I got a bit carried away and my space-nerdiness is showing every now and then.

The chapters will probably come very irregularly from now on but I'll try my best not to have too long gaps between each update. I love you all and — as always — thank you so, so much for your continuous support. I cherish every single reader, every single like and every single comment you leave here :')

Chapter 7

(5.2k)

When Monday rolls around, Bucky faces New York’s chilly morning as he makes his way to work. It’s been only a few days since he got sick, but he feels significantly better now. His nose might still be stuffed and his throat might feel a bit scratchy, but he is mostly fine. No more coughing fits, no more fever. And it’s not like he could say no when his boss called him to check how he was doing and ask if he’d be able to come by before Christmas to do some required maintenance work.

But it’s fine, since the work at the Institute has slowed down, many people have already taken their days off for the Christmas break. It’s calmer than usual and Bucky can do whatever he’s supposed to do in peace.

It's a bit past noon and Bucky's mindlessly staring at the progress bar on his screen and enjoys his coffee. The peace and quiet — excluding his Christmas playlist playing in the background — is disturbed by the ringing of his phone. Slightly startled, Bucky looks around, searching for the device. After a quick glance at the screen, he answers the call.

"Hi, Buck!" Steve says, his voice soft and warm. "I hope I didn't wake you up or anything. Just wanted to check up on you, see how you're feeling."

"That's very sweet of you," Bucky says, his lips spreading in a smile. "And I'm fine, thank you. Currently waiting for the data backup to finish so you've disrupted my staring contest with the progress bar."

Steve doesn't appreciate the joke. Instead, he asks, "You're at work?" After receiving an affirmative hum, he lets out a slightly annoyed huff. "Why? You should still be in bed! Three days ago you've been barely able to get up for longer than 10 minutes. You should still rest, Buck."

"It's been six days ago, thank you very much," Bucky answers. "And I'm fine, Steve. I promise. I wouldn't come if I was still feeling sick, but the fever's been gone for a few days," two but Steve doesn't have to know that, "and I'm not coughing anymore. I'm as fit as a fiddle."

"I can hear you sniffle."

"It's the allergies," Bucky lies and that makes Steve laugh, although a bit exasperated.

"You're horrible," he says. "Bet you haven't even eaten breakfast or drink enough water or like... didn’t even wear a hat even though you’re sick."

"I did have a toast while I ran to catch the train. And now I'm having coffee for lunch. And it’s not even that cold."

An honest-to-God gasp escapes Steve's mouth after he hears that. Of course he's a Mr. Healthy Lifestyle, Bucky shouldn't even be surprised.

"How are you even functioning? You gotta take care of yourself, Buck."

Bucky's heart skips a bit. It's nice to have someone worry about him. Even if he's being dragged in the meantime. And it was nice when Steve took care of him and Alex back when Bucky was too sick to do this. Of course, he has people who do that. Clint, Tasha, Scott -- he can always count on them. But somehow it feels different with Steve. Steve hasn't been around for years like the others, he's known Bucky for just a few months and he still decided to offer his kindness and care. This thought made Bucky's heart do somersaults in his chest.

So did the fact that Steve had a nickname to Bucky's nickname. And he's been using it a lot. Bucky really likes it.

"I'm functioning very well, thank you. And so is Alex, because I'm not as hopeless in taking care of her, luckily," Bucky chuckles. Before Steve can't say anything, Bucky adds, "Besides, I've been able to survive 28 years like this so don't be overdramatic. No need to go all mother hen on me."

"Oh, you think this is overdramatic?" Steve asks, amused. "You clearly don't know what me being overdramatic is, pal. This is just some simple, friendly check-in."

"Okay, now I'm kinda curious," Bucky says. His cheeks hurt from smiling so much. "Hypothetically, what would one have to do to see what is Steve Rogers's definition of overdramatic?"

It makes Steve let out another laugh. "Careful what you wish for, Buck." It sounds like Steve wants to say something else but there's some noise in the background and his voice becomes distant and inaudible for a moment. When he comes back, he says with a sigh, "Sorry 'bout that. I need to go back to work. I'm glad you're feeling better but eat a proper meal or I'll hunt you down."

"Oh, so no mother hen anymore, were going straight to threats, okay." Bucky nods to himself and Steve huffs out a laugh. "Thanks for the call, Steve. It's very sweet of you. Have a nice day."

"You, too. Say hi to Alex from me."

"I will. Bye, Steve."

A small smile is still present on Bucky's face when a few hours later he's picking Alex up from school. It grows bigger when she runs towards him down the stairs, her haphazardly wrapped scarf fluttering behind her. He takes a moment to tuck it properly and then takes Alex's backpack from her.

“How was school today?” Bucky asks as they head home.

“Fine. We played soccer and I scored once!” Alex answers proudly. “Even Adrian didn’t and he’s very good. Maya didn’t want to play ‘cause she says girls shouldn’t play soccer.”

“Jokes on her, because we have a women’s national soccer team and they’re the best. They’re the world champions.”

A gasps escapes Alex’s mouth. “Really? That’s so cool! I want to be a soccer player when I grow up!”

“Not a ballerina, anymore?” Bucky asks, with a small smile.

“No, I’m gonna be a ballerina but I’m gonna play soccer sometimes, too. But that’s after I’ll fly to the moon!”

Bucky only nods and grins at her. He wouldn’t be surprised in the least if she actually pulled that off in the future. There weren’t many things that could stop her since she decided upon something.

“How’s space?” Alex asks, swinging their hands back and forth.

Bucky chuckles. It’s a bit of a tradition at this point. He doesn’t really remember how it started but now she never asks him “how’s work” but it’s always “how’s space?”. Personally, Bucky loves it. It makes him feel like he’s doing much cooler things that he really does.

“Pretty boring, sadly,” he admits. “Didn’t have much to do today and many people are on their breaks so no fun space facts to share today. I chatted on the phone with Steve and he wanted me to say hi to you.”

“Oh, is he coming over today?”

Slightly confused with the question, Bucky shakes his head. “No, he’s not. We just talked on the phone. Why?”

“I don’t know, I thought you liked Steve.”

“Well, I do. I like uncle Scott too but we don’t hang out with him every day, either. Steve has his own life and stuff to do, so we shouldn’t bother him all the time.”

Alex makes a small hum and Bucky’s not sure if it’s a dismissive or an agreeing one. After a moment, she adds, “I bet he wouldn’t mind though. He told me he really likes you.”

“What? When?” The revelation almost makes Bucky stop in the middle of the pavement. The biggest surprise is not that Steve likes him, Bucky has figured out this much after all those times they’ve hung out together. What really takes him aback is that apparently his daughter and Steve are having conversations about him when he’s not there.

“When you were sick and Steve went to ballet class with me. I told him he’s cool and I’m happy you have him so you’re not so lonely. And he said he thinks we’re really cool too and that he likes us a lot.”

This time Bucky slows down and eventually stops. There’s a furrow between his brows when he looks at Alex.

“Why would you think I’m lonely, munchkin? I’m not, I have you and mama, uncle Clint and Scott. And now Steve. I’m more than fine.”

“Well… Okay, maybe I didn’t mean lonely. But sometimes when you have a lot to do and you worry and mama or uncle Clint are busy you do this—” Alex furrows her brows and pouts, apparently imitating a worried Bucky “and you’re quiet and worried. And now you smile even more than you did. You smile all the time when you text Steve.”

For a moment, Bucky only gapes at her, not sure how to react. That’s a lot of information coming at once from his 7-year-old daughter.

“I’m— Well, I’m okay, even if I worry sometimes. And I couldn’t be lonely, having such a sweet little munchkin by my side,” he smiles, bopping her on the nose and getting a smile in return. “But thank you for caring about me, sweetheart. I love you to the moon and back.”

“And I love you to Jupiter!” she answers.

“But not back?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Nah, it’s already so far away, it’s enough.”

The conversation with Alex stays in Bucky’s head for the rest of the day. It’s gnawing at him enough that before he goes to bed, he takes out his phone and calls Natasha.

“How’s my favourite co-parent doing?” she greets.

“Do you have any more co-parents?” Bucky asks instead of answering.

“Nope. That’s what makes you my favourite.” Bucky only sighs so she continues. “Did something happen? You’re usually in the mood for late night conversation when something’s on your mind.”

There’s no point in denying it since Natasha would see right through him. “It’s nothing bad. Apparently Alex thinks I’m lonely.”

“Well, she’s not wrong.”

“What? Tasha, no. I’m not lonely, where did you two get that idea?”

“James, it’s not my fault that you’re an idiot. I know that you have people who love you around. You know that, too. But I know and you also should know — but here’s the ‘idiot’ part — that it might not be enough sometimes. And I’m pretty sure we’ve had a similar conversation like a month ago, so I don’t know why you act all surprised now.”

“Remind me, why did I even call you?”

“Because I am incredible and you value my opinion like no one else’s and also you love me deeply,” Natasha explains dutifully.

Bucky huffs out a laugh as he sits heavily on the side of his bed. His eyes land on the comic from Steve, still laying on Bucky’s bedside table, propped against the lamp. “Sounds fake, but okay.”

“Did our daughter have any more revelations for you?” Natasha asks.

“Well…,” Bucky hesitates for a moment. “She and Steve gossip about me when I’m not around. And apparently I’ve been smiling more lately. But that’s about it.”

Natasha hums but even through the phone Bucky can hear that she’s rather amused.

"What?" Bucky asks.

"I didn't say anything!"

"I can hear you laughing, just say whatever mean thing you're going to say and let's get this over with."

"I'm not gonna say anything mean! I was just wondering when we'd mention Steve in this conversation," she chuckles. "But really. Even your daughter can see that a relationship would be good for you. And that you like Steve a lot. Why not kill two birds with one Steve?"

Bucky sighs. "Because one Steve is also enough to kill this friendship we have."

"Why do you always just automatically assume that things will get fucked? It doesn't have to be the case. I'm serious, you'd better take a grip on yourself and ask him out or I'm back in three days and I'll do this for you. And I'll be as obnoxious and embarrassing for you as I can."

That's actually a pretty horrible threat. She would do that. And it would be both mortifying and horrible to experience for all the involved parties — maybe except Natasha. Bucky laughs, trying to imagine it, but the laugh is short-lived.

"Come on, Nat," Bucky starts after a moment, getting serious. "Steve is great and it's great having him around. But what if I make a move and he's not interested? I don't want to freak him out. Or remember that message I accidentally saw on his computer? He might be seeing someone already or be interested in someone else," Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. "Plus, I know from experience that no matter how much he might seem to like me, a guy with a kid can turn out to be a bit much for people. I don't want to get hurt. I don't want Alex to get hurt. She adores Steve and I don't know if I can risk it."

"But I'm telling you, nobody's getting hurt anytime soon," Natasha chimes in. "You're overthinking, Yasha. Those are all valid concerns but you know what the counterargument is?" She takes a small break but she's not expecting Bucky to respond. "Steve's a good guy. He likes you. He likes Alex. He came to a primary school dance recital after knowing you for like a week just because you and Alex asked him to. Even if he doesn't want a relationship, it doesn’t mean that your friendship has to end. From all you've told me, he doesn't seem like the kind to trample on your hearts like this. Give yourself some time, but promise me you're gonna think about it, okay? And call me if you work yourself up into an anxious mess again, okay?”

“I will try not to be an anxious mess, but I’ll let you know. And I’ll think about it. Thanks, Tasha.” Bucky says.

“I love you no matter what, you dumbfuck. Bye.”

Bucky barely manages to say it back before she hangs up. He shakes his head with a small smile and retrieves his charger cable from behind the bedside table. As he plugs his phone, he accidentally knocks down the drawing from Steve. He picks it up, staring at the soft lines for who-knows-which time. His thumb gently traces the “Get well soon, Buck! x” scribbled at the bottom.

Looking at it, Bucky imagines the moment when Steve was writing it down. In his mind, he sees both Steve and Alexandra at the kitchen table, both leaning over their respective pieces of paper, focused on whatever they’re drawing. They are smiling, chatting about whatever common interest they’ve currently discovered. It’s a very nice picture. Enough to make Bucky’s heart ache.

Because Natasha is right. This is exactly what Bucky craves and what he’s been ignoring for years. That domesticity, that warm feeling one gets when looking at someone they care about. That happiness. He can almost imagine himself joining the picture he’s created in his head, walking over to that table and dropping a kiss first on Alex’s head and then on Steve’s, before he starts preparing the dinner. It feels right.

Maybe it’s not usual to imagine this calm, family life with someone he’s not even in a relationship with. Most people probably think of tons of other things, things that are not so… settled. Not as serious. Sometimes they never reach this part. But Bucky has figured a while ago that it doesn’t really work for him. He already has a family. And this family means everything and more to him. If he ever was to date, he has to make sure that the person would fit into his and Alexandra’s life. He has to skip ahead to make sure it’s worth going through the dates and the passion and all the work a relationship requires, without it all ending in a heartbreak. But Steve…

Steve fits so well into this picture, it scares Bucky a bit. Because this would be even harder to let go, if things didn't work out.

It's pretty clear, now that he allows himself to think about it, that he has some feelings for Steve. Besides the friendliness and sympathy, that is. They're the romantic kind and they're still fresh and shy but they're here. And Bucky has absolutely no clue how to deal with them. It's not even that surprising, he realises. Because how could he not catch feelings for Steve? For the kindest, most thoughtful and most selfless person in the world? For someone with his heart made of gold, who always knows how to make Bucky laugh? Someone who gets so passionate about the things he loves and just as much about the ones he despises? Who cares deeply, laughs with his whole body and who next to all this softness and kindness, is also a stubborn little asshole? Who — and this is the most important of all — adores Alex and whom she adores just as much?

Bucky's heart was a lost cause from the start.

Steve has a lot of qualities that Bucky would fall for if he looked for a partner. And that he accidentally might have fallen for anyway. And that's all without even mentioning that Steve is so ridiculously attractive that it might've skewed Bucky's view on beauty forever.

The point is — Natasha is right. That this could be a good thing. They could be a good thing. But what they have now is already good and Bucky really values this friendship. He isn't sure if pursuing a hypothetical picture in his head is worth putting it at risk. Because he still can't be sure if Steve's interested. For what Bucky knows, he's kind and caring towards all of his friends. It doesn't mean that Bucky and Alex are special.

He can almost hear Natasha's voice in his head, calling him an idiot and yelling that he won't know until he tries. Which is right, since Natasha always is. It doesn't help him stop the — partially excited but mostly terrified — somersaults his insides make. With a small sigh, he puts the drawing on its place by the lamp, flicks off the lights and burrows himself under the covers. He doesn't have to have everything figured out straight away. Letting himself even consider it is a big enough step for now, he decides as he drifts off to sleep.

The next day is Bucky's last day at work before the Christmas break. He doesn't really have much to do, just finishing some last updates and dealing with whatever paperwork he was putting off earlier. Most of the time, he chats with Scott, who has been wandering aimlessly around the institute for the lack of work and eventually landed in Bucky's tiny office. They've been chatting about their Christmas plans — nothing too elaborate for both of them, just simple time at home with their families — and now they started discussing where they should go to grab some lunch. Just as Bucky almost convinced Scott that they should go to this sushi place down the block instead of the Italian place, there's a knock on the door.

Bucky sends his friend a confused look.

"It wasn't me," Scott raises his hands in defence.

"Come in," Bucky calls after another second passes. It's probably someone having a last-minute computer problem or one of his co-workers wanting to drop by with Christmas wishes.

Except, when the door cracks open, Steve's head pokes in. Its hair is messy, its cheeks reddened from the cold and its lips spread in a smile.

"Hi, Buck. And hi Scott, it's nice to see you again," he says. "I'm not interrupting?"

And because Bucky's brain is still processing the fact that for some reason Steve's come to visit him at work, Scott's the one who says, "Not at all, come in."

Steve hesitates for another second. Bucky's brain finally kicks in and he smiles which is apparently the invitation Steve needed, because he finally fully walks into the office.

"Hi, Steve. I didn't expect you here," Bucky says, his smile growing bigger.

"Well, you should. Because after our talk yesterday, I decided to bring you lunch," Steve says, proudly showing a big paper bag in his hand. "I told you you haven't seen shit, and especially not overdramatic me."

This makes Bucky laugh out loud as he shakes his head in disbelief. How is Steve even real?

Scott is watching them with a slightly confused but endeared smile on his face. Before anyone can say anything, he gets up from the chair, slapping his thighs as he does.

"Okay then, I'll leave you to it," he says, walking towards the door.

"There's plenty to share, if you want to join us," Steve offers, because of course he does. His gold-heartedness wouldn't have it any other way.

But Scott only shakes his head at that. "Nah, I'm in the mood for some sushi today. Thanks, though."

"Asshole," Bucky narrows his eyes at Scott. "I hope you'd choke on it."

His friend only laughs at that, "Enjoy your lunch date! It's been great to see you, Steve. Merry Christmas."

"You too, Scott. Say hi to Hope and Cassie from me."

With one last grin aimed at Bucky — and a very pointed look behind Steve's back — Scott leaves them alone. Bucky tries not to dwell on the fact that Steve didn't even bat an eye when Scott called it a lunch date.

"Why should he choke?" Steve asks with a chuckle.

"I've been trying to talk him into going to that sushi place for almost twenty minutes before you came," Bucky sighs and then notices that Steve is still hovering by the door. "Come on, take your coat off and sit down. I can't believe you've brought me lunch."

Steve shrugs off his coat and leaves it on the hanger by the door, next to Bucky's. Today he's wearing a maroon sweater that really suits him and a pair of dark jeans. He pushes his sleeves up before he digs into the bag and Bucky tries not to stare too obviously.

"Someone's got to make sure you eat, since after yesterday I've gotten an idea you're not good at it yourself," Steve says. "Guess it wasn't necessary. Sadly, I don't have sushi but maybe you're in the mood for Thai?"

"Depends on whether you've brought me the dumplings or not," Bucky answers.

Steve laughs in response and takes out one of the boxes and hands it to Bucky. "I did. I also have green curry for you? I hope I remembered correctly that you like it? If not, I'm sorry, we can switch—"

"Steve." Bucky says solemnly, placing his hand on Steve's forearm, to stop him from fumbling with the food. "You not only brought me food but you remembered my favourite after I mentioned it one time. You are an angel. You should hide it better, because you make us mortals look bad."

He's only half joking. Steve does seem like a higher being of some sorts and it's unfair that Bucky's poor heart is supposed to handle it. It doesn't do a great job. Especially not when Steve laughs, his eyes crinkle so much they turn into thin slits.

"And I am the overdramatic one?" Steve asks, unpacking the last things and finally sitting on the chair across from Bucky. He's still smiling but there's a blush colouring his cheeks and creeping down his neck.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek to contain a grin but the truth is, he's immensely proud of himself for pulling this reaction out of Steve. To stop himself from saying something stupid, he digs into his food.

"By the way, how did you find me here?" Bucky asks, his tongue sticking out a bit in concentration as he fishes for a dumpling with his chopsticks.

"Clara let me know where your office is, she was very helpful."

Bucky furrows his brows. The surprise makes him drop his dumpling back into the container. "Clara, as in Clara Oswald, our receptionist? How do you know her?"

"I don't. We've chatted for a few minutes and I explained why I'm here and she told me how to get to you."

"Ah, of course it took you about five minutes to charm her and get into a government building just like that," Bucky chuckles.

"I didn't charm anyone! I just politely asked and she helped!"

If it wasn't Steve, Bucky would take it as fake modesty. But the truth is that Steve really seems to be completely oblivious to the effect he has on people. It’s endearing to see him do this.

"So here's when you do your cool space stuff?" Steve asks, changing the subject.

"Here's when the real scientists come searching for help when there's some IT-related issue," Bucky corrects him. "I don't do anything cool. I make sure all the data is where it's supposed to be and that whatever equipment they need is ready and working properly. Or part of it, Scott's an engineer and he takes care of the rest. I do get to read some space facts first hand, though."

"That's still cool space stuff for me," Steve shrugs with a small smile. "What kinds of things are you researching here? Like some particular aspects of outer space, or—?"

Normally Bucky would just give the shortest answer possible. People usually get bored quickly when he starts talking about it. But something in the genuine interest on Steve's face, the way he is looking around the office — which is nothing special, the only nice things are the sky maps and some spaced themed art — makes Bucky think that maybe Steve wouldn't mind getting the longer answer.

"Well, we mostly study the weather. Both the Earth's and the one in the solar system, like the solar winds and magnetic storms, stuff like that. We study exoplanets and try to discover or guess as much as we can about them," Bucky says. "I helped to create simulations that predicted how they could look like and develop, to see if there's a possibility to inhabit them. We did it by basically dumping all the data we have into an elaborate computer programme and waiting to see what comes out." Bucky laughs and Steve does too, but he has the look of utter fascination on his face as he listens. "And all this helps with some more down-to-earth stuff — pun not intended. Like, we've done tons of studies in climate change."

"That's—," Steve starts when he makes sure that Bucky's done. "All of this sounds incredible. And you're a part of all those amazing things, how great is that?"

Bucky feels that his cheeks start to burn. There's another reason he usually sticks with the short answer. As much as he's proud to be working here and as much as he loves it, the impostor in him always makes sure that he understands the difference between his work and the actual research, analysis and all the heavy lifting that the astronomers do. He helps, of course he does. He does a great job at it, but there's still a difference. And such praise usually makes him squirm uncomfortably.

"And don't even try to get all modest with me again," Steve warns as if he's been reading Bucky's mind. "You've said that you don't do cool space stuff and then admitted that you've helped to create a program to imagine how exoplanets can look and change. So I know you're full of bullshit."

Steve raises an eyebrow in what's supposed to be an unimpressed look but it's not even close. The smile and the curious, bright eyes that are stating right at Bucky are destroying the effect. The blush on Bucky's cheeks only deepens, especially as Steve adds. "I've been impressed before but— Wow. Really, you guys are doing such incredible things here, I can’t wrap my head around it."

"We really do," Bucky agrees, eventually.

The beaming smile Steve sends him feels like a reward Bucky didn't know he deserves.

"So you've always liked space? Or was it an accident that brought you here?" Steve asks.

"No, I've always loved it. It's just so fascinating and there's always so much more to learn about it," Bucky doesn't even try to hide his excitement. "I've never fully understood all the science behind it but I loved staring at the sky, trying to find all those constellations and planets and galaxies. I've figured a way to somehow connect it to what I was good at and make it my job. Which is amazing. But now I mostly stare at the computer screen instead of the stars. "

He doesn't want to sound ungrateful but he must admit that it does kill some of the fun. But not even the astronomers simply state up at the sky to admire the view.

Steve only nods in response. "Alex mentioned that you guys went on a trip out of town to watch the stars. It must've been great."

"We did! It was like… almost 2 years ago, I think? I borrowed one of those fancy telescopes they have here. I needed to pick Alex up every time, cause she was too small to reach it," Bucky laughs as he brings out the memories. "It was fun, we should do that again, sometime. But I don't have much time now, so it’ll have to wait."

"It does sound great," Steve smiles that soft smile again. "I hope you'd find some time as it gets warm enough for such trips. I bet Alex would be delighted."

"Yeah. I'll let you know if that happens, in case you'd like to join," Bucky says before he can think better of it.

There's more of the childlike excitement on Steve's face as Bucky mentions it so maybe it wasn't that bad of an idea.

An actual bad idea comes out of Bucky's mouth a bit later, just as Steve is getting ready to head out. Bucky's lunch break is long gone and forgotten, because it's been two hours that Steve spent here. He apologises for staying so long and the assurances that Bucky didn't have any more work to do doesn't help.

"I'm sorry for taking your mind away from your responsibilities, but it was great spending time with you," Steve says.

So of course, because Bucky's heart doesn't get any chance to regroup, he doesn't have time to think before he blurts out. "We should have dinner together."

It's certainly not something Steve was expecting to hear. He just stares at Bucky. Before he has a chance to say anything, Bucky continues, "I mean. You should come for dinner. Clint and Nat are always around for a dinner, sometime between Christmas and New Year's. If you don't have any plans, it would be great if you came. But it's okay if you can't or don't want to."

Another moment passes and Bucky tries not to squirm under Steve's gaze. Luckily, Steve finally blinks and smiles as he says, "No, Buck, of course I'd love to come! I don't have any particular plans, will probably hang out with Sam for most of the break but I'll have plenty of time."

"You could take Sam with you," Bucky adds. He desperately tries to regain the control of his own mouth. "It'd be great to finally meet him."

"I'll let him know, I bet he’d be happy to come, too. Thanks again for the invite," Steve smiles as he cracks open the door. With a little wave, he walks out of the office. "Bye, Buck. Have a nice day."

"You too, Steve," Bucky says to the already closing door.

When Steve's gone, Bucky exhales heavily through his mouth as he leans back in his chair. Both of his hands go up to thread through his hair, tugging at it lightly.

Apparently, he has a dinner to prepare.

taglist: @steverrogers @till-the-end-of-the-line-punk @buckyshappyending

#where i'm meant to be #stucky #stevebucky #stucky fic #stevebucky fic #stevebucky fanfiction #stucky fanfitction #chapter 7 #my wrtiting #wimtb #sorry it took me so long!#i really hope you'll like it :')

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wickxdangels · 4 years ago

Text

Bucky Barnes Imagine; Secretly in love.

Hey guys! It feels so good to be finally back! I haven’t written anything in so long so, sorry if the imagines suck :( i’m trying my best to get back to writing and all. Also, please remember that English isn’t my first language, so if there are any grammar or spelling mistakes, please let me know! Thanks for reading and I hope you like it!

Pairing; Bucky Barnes x Reader.

Warnings; Just fluff.

Request; Hi lovely! I’m so glad you’re back :) can you please write a Bucky x reader where they’re best friends and are secretly in love, so when reader makes a joke that Peter is basically their child, Bucky gets all flushed and leaves quickly. He asks Steve what to do and he says Bucky should flirt with her for real and make it obvious he likes her. He does, but reader is oblivious so Bucky just flat out tells her and they end up cuddling and watching readers fav movie? Tysm, I hope it makes sense! 💕

It was around noon when Y/n woke up, she went to bed late last night because she’s been obsessed with this show and she wanted to watch the entire season in one night, that had her going to sleep at 5 am.

While walking to the kitchen to grab something to drink, she heard the voices of Peter, Samuel, Steve and Bucky.

She smiled as she finally saw them, Peter and Samuel both in the kitchen, while Steve and Bucky were sitting down behind the stool, laughing at whatever Peter and Samuel were doing. As she got closer to them, she could see with more clarity Peter’s face, which was currently filled with flour, his eyes concentrated fully on his masterwork as he made sure to massage the dough on his hands, probably making pizza, she guessed.

“I wake up a bit late and you guys have already messed up the kitchen.” she laughed as she stood a few feet from them, her hands on her waist as she looked at the mess that the kitchen was, obviously a work from Peter. She knew that him, being the youngest of them all, wanted to have some fun around the place, and probably Samuel saw him struggling and tried to help him.

“I really take no part in this whole mess, we are mere spectators.” Steve said as he chuckled, Bucky who was sitting besides him didn't say anything but rested his eyes on her, softly gazing at her as she rolled her eyes and smiled. It was clear to say that both of them liked each other, yet they were not aware of each other’s feelings. In her mind, it was better for them to remain friends than to get in a relationship with the probability of breaking up and damaging their friendship, she didn't want to jeopardize that because of silly feelings that may not be reciprocated.

In Bucky’s head, he thought that she wasn't interested in him as more than a friend, even though Natasha has always told him that she acted different around him, but he just brushed that off, thinking that the reason lied in the fact that she felt more comfortable around him than with the rest of them. He didn't want to create false scenarios in his head.

“It’s actually quite funny to see how Peter gets himself into messy situations all the time.” she smiled as she walked towards him, Y/n then proceed to wash her hands and help Peter out. “You’re supposed to knead down on the dough, not slap it or whatever you’re doing..” she let out a laugh along with the rest of the team, her hands already cleaned started to knead down on the dough as Peter followed her actions, Samuel just let out a deep sigh and gave up. “Yep, that’s my cue to leave, finally.” he said before leaving the kitchen.

“Hey! What did we say about quitters!?” Peter cried out when he saw Samuel, making him laugh shaking his head and placing his hands up in defeat as he walked towards his room, probably tired.

Steve stood up from the seat as well. “Well, I’ve got stuff to do as well, so good luck with that.. pizza?” he said before leaving with a chuckle on his lips.

“How come you’re making pizza from scratch? You know you could’ve easily just changed into Spidey and go out to get some.” Y/n said to Peter as she helped out with the dough, making sure it was smooth enough to proceed with the next steps.

“I told him that already, or that he could’ve asked me and Steve to bring him some while we were out in the city.” Bucky agreed with her as he stared at both of them, shaking his head with a chuckle ready against his lips. “I thought teenagers from this generation were supposed to be bit smarter..” he exclaimed, making both Y/n and Steve laugh as Peter rolled his eyes to him.

“Now, where would be the fun in that? Look how fun it is to play with the dough thingy! It brings back memories of a simpler life before Spiderman.” Peter slowly finished the sentence as his smile slowly faded from his lips, longing the times when he was just a normal boy from Queens.

Both Bucky and Y/n stared at each other, feeling the sadness radiate from Peter as Y/n then talked. “It’s okay to feel sad sometimes. It’s okay to miss things how they used to be, but just remember of all the good things you’ve done so far, all the lives you’ve saved. Remember all of the things you’ve accomplished and the things you’ve yet to do.” she said in a soft voice as she looked at Peter. The smile on his lips slowly returned as he stared up at her, his eyes filled with adoration, the kind you’ll see in a little kid looking up to her mother whenever she did something that amazed him. “You can always come to me if you’re feeling sad or need any advice, you know. I’m here to help, and I’m pretty sure Bucky feels the same way.” she said as her eyes landed on Bucky, he smiled at her and nodded at Peter.

“Totally, kid. I’m here if you need anything... well, only if you give me some extra slices.” he joked, leaning towards the stool and messing up Peter’s brown hair before sitting down again. Peter laughed as he nodded before kneading down once again on the dough, Y/n could only stare at the two of them with a silly smile on her face, it reminded her of the way her dad used to mess her brother’s hair.

In a way, she felt, Bucky and her were like Peter’s parents. He always came to them whenever he got exciting news or just to show them new funny memes.

“You know, in a way, Peter’s like our child...” Y/n exclaimed, Peter was too busy trying to figure out how the oven works to hear what she had just said, but Bucky on the other hand, flushed a bit. His cheeks slowly turned red as he let out a shaky chuckle at what she had just said, scratching the back of his head. “Bucky...did you just...blush?” she slowly asked with a chuckle, walking towards him to then get closer to his face, inspecting the faint red color against them. “You did!” she giggled, it’s been some time since she’s seen Bucky blush at something, it made her heart warm and just added a bit more fuel to her crush on him.

“Okay! I think I figured out how to turn on the oven!” Peter exclaimed with a victorious smile on his face, lifting his arms up like he had just won the olympics, making both of them realize they were not completely alone.

“I.. I think I'm gonna let you guys finish your pizza, let me know when it’s finished..” Bucky quickly spoke before standing up from his chair, he didn’t even wait for a response before walking in a fast pace towards

Y/n raised her eyebrow at his behavior, watching as he quickly walked away towards Steve’s room. Bucky was sure acting funny.

She just shrugged, and looked back at Peter. “Okay, chef. looks like it’s just you and me. Let’s get this pizza done, i'm starving!” she gave Peter a smile as they both tried to finish what they started.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Avengers Facility, Bucky paced around Steve’s room as he waited for him to come out of his shower, his arms crossed as he walked from side to side, taking his metal hand through his long raven hair from time to time as he was getting kind of impatient. So when he heard the bathroom’s door being opened and Steve walking out of it with just a towel around his waist, he breathed in relief, scaring Steve for a minute.

“Holy! Bucky, you do know that you have your own room, right?” Steve asked as he looked at Bucky, just now taking in his weird composure. “What’s going on? Is it Y/n?” he asked as he stared at his friend in front of him for a bit.

Bucky, on the other hand, was kinda surprised when Steve brought up her name, he hasn't said anything about her to anyone, wanting to keep his feelings to himself. Guess he wasn't that good at hiding things from his friend. “How did you know it was about her?” he asked curiously.

Steve let out a small smirk. “Oh, so it is about her!” he looked at his friend as if they were small kids and one of them had asked the other to help him out with a mischief before rolling his eyes at the question he had just asked. “C’mon, Bucky! I’m not that dense, you know.. I know when my best friend likes someone, and even more so when he’s too bad at keeping it to himself..” he chuckled, walking to pick out some clothes as Bucky ket pacing around the room. “Bucky, I swear you’re gonna make a hole in the floor from pacing around too much! What exactly happened?”

“Okay, so! We were out talking with the kid, how he missed the way his life was before the whole Spiderman thing, and she then said something along the lines of ‘Peter is kind of like our child’ and I blushed, Steve! I fucking blushed! Like a ten year old!” Bucky huffed out, throwing himself to the bed as he covered his face with his hands, groaning.

Steve, meanwhile, was laughing out loud, it was so funny for him to imagine the big and bad Bucky Barnes, the ‘Winter Soldier’ blushing because of what little Y/n had said. He knew his friend really had it bad when it came to her, he hasn’t shown interest in a female in so long, so he knew it had to be something serious. “You know, you should just tell her you like her. Flirt with her, for real. You both are grown adults, you should try and make it work and if it doesn’t.. like I said, you’re both adults, you two can handle a simple thing as a break-up...” Steve explained, making it sound so easy. “Of course, I wouldn’t take myself too seriously cause as you know.. I really don’t have the best experiences with relationships..” he shrugged and ran his hand through his damped hair.

Bucky gave it a long thought as he stared at the ceiling on top of it, thinking hard as if it was a mission and they had to come up with a plan rather quickly. “You know what, I think you’re right.” Bucky lifted himself from the bed, sitting down as he looked at his friend.

“I.. am?” Steve asked kind of surprised, looking at Bucky as he still had this ‘I'm in deep thought’ face.

“Yes! I can’t stay my whole life wondering wether she likes me too or not, I can’t keep my feelings bottled up, we both know life can be tricky and we’ve got to grab the opportunities whenever we’ve got them in front of us.” realization dawning on his face, the Winter Soldier breathed out, standing up from the bed as if someone had poured cold water to his face and he suddenly had all of the answers for the world’s problems.

“Okay, then? Good luck, buddy. Looks like you might need it.” that was the last thing he hard from Steve as Bucky walked outside his room, his mind filled with thoughts on how he would exactly tell her he liked her as more than friends.. Maybe he’d just start with some simple flirting, trying to make his intentions clear but not coming off too strong.. he just hoped it worked out, he’s not experienced in thsi field.

Later that night, after eating the pizza Peter and Y/n have made with the rest of the team, Bucky decided to walk towards the living room, knowing he would find Y/n sitting down watching some of her Netflix series she’s been obsessing with lately, she would stay in the living room watching them until she saw all the lights off and then she’d go to her room to keep watching, not wanting to wake up anyone in the facility with the noises that came from the TV. Even there she was so considerate with everyone else, one of the reasons he was in love with her, because she always cared for everyone else, putting them before her, just how she did with Peter earlier, she really had such a warm beautiful heart, more than her physical appearance, her heart was the most beautiful thing about her.

Y/n was indeed sitting on the couch in the living room, her arms wrapped around her legs as she stared into the screen in front of her, completely unfazed by the outside world because she didn’t hear to his steps approaching. “Hey, Y/n..” he spoke as he walked closer to her, her eyes still fixated on the TV screen.

“Oh, hey Bucky!” she said with a smile, not taking her eyes off the show. It must be a pretty good one, Bucky thought.

“I just wanted to say that I think you’re really beautiful.. And I'm not only talking about your body or face, but your personality and soul! Don’t get me wrong though, you’ve got a really a gorgeous face and incredible body! Not that I stare at it everyday-well, I kinda do, but that’s not the point!” he was feeling all flustered already, his cheeks even more flushed than they were at noon, like if his face was on fire. “The point is.. that I think about you a lot, you know? You’re always so nice to everyone, always wanting to make sure everyone’s doing okay and letting them know you’re here for them whenever they might need someone, just like today with Peter! And any guy would be so lucky to have you in his life, cause I’ve known you for a while and you’ve brought nothing more than happiness to mine...” a smile slowly crept its way to his lips as he thought about all the times she would make him smile, even in the most desperate situations ever or when times were rough around the facility with the rest of the team, she would always be there for him.

“I’m sorry, Bucky...” that right there made his heart stop, his face slowly fell as he heard those dreaded words and what might follow them. “What were you saying? It was the last episode of the season, so I was really into it, I didn't quite catch what you were trying to say... I’m sorry...” she said with a apologetic smile on her lips, she paused the show as he stared at him, completely focused on what he had to say now.

Bucky let out a sigh of relief, that almost freaked him out. He wasn't ready for a rejection, he had in mind that it could be a possible response from her but he didn't want to really accept it. He just wanted her to know once and for all..

“Look. What I was trying to say it’s that...” he took deep breaths as she stared at him in confusion, trying to figure out what he was trying to say to her. “I like you. A lot, like a ‘crazy amount’ lot.” he chuckled nervously as he took a deep breath before continuing. “I.. I- think I'm in love with you.” he sincerely confessed to her, sitting down besides her as he took her hands in his, feeling the smoothness of her palms compared to his calloused ones. He heard her suck in a breath, clearly not expecting what he had just told her. “I’ve been trying to bury these feelings because, I was scared of what would happen if I ever told them out loud, scared of what you’d say or do.” he looked at her eyes, there was a small glint in them, a little spark he hadn’t seen before. “I just realized I can’t do that anymore, I can’t keep it to myself cause life is short, and I have this second chance at living it the fullest, and I want to do that with you by my side. If you’d allow it, of course.” he explained, he wasn’t about to force her to do anything she wouldn’t like to do.

“Oh, Bucky. Just shut up and kiss me already.” she answered back with a smile that could lit up the whole city and without any second more to waste, their lips collided.

It felt like being embraced by the most warm blanket in a cold and snowy day, like their lips were meant to be together. His hands softly wrapped themselves around her waist, pulling her closer as he wanted to feel more of her warmness against his body, the grip on her waist tight, not wanting to let her go anytime soon as their lips played a beautiful ballad against each other, dancing to the oldest song there is.. love.

“It was beautiful.. all of what you said. It left me speechless..” she confessed, pulling away from his lips for a moment, her warm eyes looking up to his as her hands softly caressed his cheek, giving another ounce of warmth to his face. “What I want you to know it's that.. I feel the same way. I think I’ve always had. You make me feel different than anybody else has ever made me feel. Whenever I'm around you, I'm myself. No filters, just me. I was also afraid.. afraid to damage this friendship we have but I realized I do not want to live my life wondering ‘what if’.” she softly told him, a smile forming on her lips as she stared at him, lovingly.

He just felt like the luckiest person on earth, he had no exact words to explain how he felt, just that he loved it. He loved feeling like this.

“How about you introduce me to your show, huh? I bet it must be really interesting. That way I can cuddle you all night long, cause I'm not really planning on letting you free anytime soon to be honest.” he gave her a sheepishly smile as she nodded in agreement with him, she didn't want to be away from his arms either, so they accommodated themselves on the couch.

“Just with one condition..” she said to him.

“What condition?” he asked with a chuckled.

“That you kiss me every time I tell you to.”

“Oh, doll. Believe me, that won’t be a problem.” he smirked as he placed a tenderly kiss on her lips to start.

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thebestpersonherelovesbucky · 4 years ago

Text

Hidden Stars

Summary: A year ago, biker and mechanic Steve Rogers reluctantly did a repair job for Brock Rumlow, a member of the biker gang, Hydra. As a bonus for a job well done, Rumlow insisted on sending his boyfriend, Bucky Barnes, over for a night. What Steve never expected was to fall hopelessly in love with the guy.

((this can totally be read as is but it’s technically a continuation of an earlier biker au of mine which can be found here: Part One Part Two))

Characters: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 3.2k

Tags: abuse, hurt/comfort, pining, hopeful ending

written for @captain-rogers-beard‘s Flex Your Writing Muscles Challenge

Prompt:A late night bike ride under the stars

The text comes in shortly after six in the morning. Steve’s phone buzzing on the nightstand wakes him. He groans softly and feels for it without picking his head off the pillow. Several things fall as he does.

When he finally grabs it, Steve grunts some more, smacks his lips together, and figures it’s nothing more than a group text from Tony or Sam. Maybe even just a stupid telemarketing text. Something about him winning a gift card from Amazon.

It’s not.

It’s anything but.

It’s from Bucky, and Steve is suddenly wide awake.

His breath catches as he shoots upright and quickly clears the screen, fumbling with his passcode three times before he finally gets it. Steve, breathing so hard he might have an asthma attack, clicks on the message to read it.

Can we see each other tonight? Midnight?

The answer, of course, is yes. Even if Steve did have plans, which he doesn’t, he’d cancel them. He hasn’t seen Bucky in six weeks. Not since their last trip upstate to the flea market.

They have a complicated relationship. Complicated in every sense and meaning of the word. All because Brock Rumlow aka Crossbones, a higher-up in the Hydra biker gang, walked into Steve’s garage with his bike last year, and thought Steve did such a good job, that he offered him a bonus--a night with his boyfriend.

Steve hadn’t wanted to take that job. He’d spent the past few years building up a decent reputation, converting the garage of his family home into a business after the sudden death of his mother. The last thing he wanted or needed was for the local biker gangs thinking he was readily available for their use.

Luckily, that didn’t happen. Even if it did, Steve wouldn’t change a thing. Without that job, he’d’ve never met Bucky.

Steve is fairly sure he fell in love with Bucky that night. A few hours. That’s all it took to fall head over heels for the kind, gentle, witty, beautiful boyfriend of that lowlife creep, Crossbones. If there’s anyone less deserving to have Bucky by their side, it’s him. To be honest, Steve isn’t quite sure he’s all that deserving either--what with the way he’s closed himself off from his closest friends after the accident--but, at the very least, he’d never mistreat him the way Brock Rumlow does.

He’s controlling and manipulative and cruel, and even though Bucky won’t admit it, Steve is sure that he gets physical with him. He’s seen the evidence--fading bruises, the way Bucky sometimes flinches if Steve lifts his hand too quickly, the excuses he makes for his behavior.

This past year, Steve has tried everything he could think of to get Bucky to leave him. It won’t be easy, he knows that. Leaving Hydra isn’t as simple as walking out the door but Steve is very willing to risk everything to help Bucky do it. Because, yes, he’s that worth it.

Only Bucky doesn’t see it. Or, rather, he’s too afraid to.

So they’ve kept their relationship a secret. Completely. Brock Rumlow has no idea about their clandestine meetings. Stolen moments once a month where they ride upstate together to go to that flea market. A night hidden in heat and passion, and few others snuck in here or there when they can manage.

But then, two weeks ago, on the Sunday they were meant to meet for their monthly ride upstate, Bucky didn’t show.

Sure something horrible had happened, Steve sent message after message, panicked and terrified. After two days of worrying, he finally got a response. Just one thing.

Don’t ever contact me again.

Then, nothing.

Not until this text this morning, and Steve doesn’t know if he should be worried or excited.

Midnight can’t get here fast enough.

Which, of course, only means that the entire day drags. Seconds tick by like minutes. Hours go by like days.

Steve doesn’t hear from Bucky again and he’s actually too nervous to try texting him first. He tries throwing himself into his work. He’s got a few quickies today. One bike here for an oil change. One for an inspection. Another that needs some more attention since it’s sputtering. It’s hot today. Humid. The air conditioner in the wall cools his garage off a little, but since he keeps the door open during business hours, it’s not exactly refreshing.

Sweat drips down Steve’s face as he works. Dirt and grease stick to him more today because of it. When he gets a little dizzy, Steve realizes that it’s well past noon and he’s had nothing to eat other two slices of toast with strawberry jam right after he woke up. Dehydrating and ending up in the hospital instead of meeting with Bucky is not what he as planned for today, so he takes a lunch break and sits inside to cool off a bit.

Of course, cooling off just makes all that sweat and filth and grime stick to him even more. Steve doesn’t really mind. He never really did. There’s something almost comforting in his work getting him so dirty. Like physical proof of what he’s done.

Before going back to work, Steve checks his phone. He pretends that he’s checking for any work calls or one of his friends--since he’s been trying hard to reconnect with them this year--but he’s really hoping for another message from Bucky. When he sees none, he sighs and heads back to work.

Once he’s finished with the business side of his garage, it’s still only four o’clock so he focuses on his own project. Fixing up a Harley Davidson-WLA, the very same they used during World War Two.

Not that that holds his attention for very long since all he can think of is those amazing moments he’s shared with Bucky sitting here next to him. Them working on their bikes together. There’s something intimate and sensual about that. The way Bucky’ll let him work on his, handing him tools and getting his hands dirty right along with him. Working on another person’s bike, Steve knows, is a very personal and private thing. He’s honored that other avid bikers trust him with theirs, but Bucky’s trust makes him glow.

Before Steve knows it, he’s sitting on his couch staring at an off television screen. Nerves tap dance through his belly, fast and offbeat. He’s already showered--scrubbed off the grease and grime as best he could. At least he doesn’t smell. Well, maybe of motor oil but he doesn’t think Bucky’ll mind very much.

By the time it’s eleven, Steve can take it anymore. It’ll only take about twenty minutes at the most to reach their usual meeting spot under the bridge, but he’d rather be on his bike, be outside, watch the stars while waiting for Bucky than pacing back and forth in his living room.

The fresh air actually does do him some good. The feel of the wind rushing by him, the world nothing but a blur of colors. Clears his senses, so instead of heading straight to the bridge, Steve decides on just taking a ride to keep his mind focused on the world from the view of his bike.

When he finally does get to the bridge, it’s just a few minutes past minutes and Bucky’s already there. He’s leaning on the guard rail, looking out across the Hudson River. He doesn’t turn when Steve gets there. Not even after he dismounts next to Bucky’s bike and goes over to him.

“Hey,” Steve greets as he approaches. “Bucky.”

Bucky sort of turns a little more away from him. He’s wearing his leather jacket and his hair is actually down instead of pulled back in his normal, messy bun. From what Steve can see of his face, he’s chewing on one of his toothpicks.

“Hey, Steve.”

“I was, uh, I was worried,” he admits, not moving any closer to Bucky though he sure as hell wants to. “When you didn’t show and then...”

“Yeah.” Bucky sniffs. “Sorry ‘bout that. Things got...a little hectic.”

“You don’t have to--” Steve clears his throat which is suddenly too thick with emotion. “Are you all right?”

Only answering that with a nod, Bucky, who’s been holding himself tense and rigid, allows his hand to slide on the railing toward Steve’s. They touch, just barely, but it’s enough to burn.

“Thanks for meeting me,” Bucky murmurs just over the soft blow of the wind.”I just...needed to get out for a bit but I didn’t wanna be alone.”

“Okay,” Steve answers, growing more concerned with each passing second. “You’re not alone. I’m here. If you need to...to talk--Bucky, why won’t you look at me?”

Yanking his hand back as though worried Steve might force him to turn his way--he wouldn’t, of course--Bucky wraps his arms around himself like he’s desperate to keep from falling apart.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he whispers, mostly to himself but Steve can clearly hear. “If he finds out...he’ll kill you.”

“Who?” Steve asks. “Brock? Is that what you’re worried about? Did something happen with him?”

Head lowering with a shake and a dark chuckle, Bucky lets out a disgruntled sigh and fully turns his back to Steve.

“He doesn’t know,” Bucky murmurs. “About us, I mean. That Sunday I was supposed to meet you, he ended up...wanting me...elsewhere.”

That could mean a lot of things. For all Steve knows, it just means that Rumlow wanted to spend the day with him. It could also mean that Rumlow sent him to someone the same way he sent him to Steve that first time. Either way, whatever Bucky had done that day made it impossible for him to answer any of Steve’s texts.

“I was so worried,” Bucky continues, “that he’d notice all the texts I was getting that day. He didn’t but...”

“That’s why you told me not to contact you again.”

It’s an assumption, but Bucky sighs again and nods, so Steve takes that as meaning he’s right.

“I’m sorry, Steve, I just didn’t know what else to do. If he hurts you--”

“I don’t care if he hurts me,” Steve interrupts. “I care about you, Bucky.” He might not respond well to Steve saying how much he loves him, not now, maybe not ever, but Steve needs to make him see how much he means to him. “If anything ever happened to you, I’d never forgive myself.”

This time, Bucky scoffs as though morbidly amused by what Steve’s said. Like he can’t imagine that could ever possibly be true. As if too tired and exhausted to keep arguing about this with him, Bucky spins around and tries something else.

“I can’t possibly be worth that to you, Steve.”

Steve knows that Bucky’s just said something to him. Something about lack of knowing self-worth and Steve’s feelings for him, and that’s important. It’s all important. But at the moment, all that Steve hears are the bruises screaming at him across Bucky’s face.

His right eye is swollen. His lips are busted. His forehead is dotted with bruising as well.

“Jesus, Bucky!” Steve exclaims, and he knows it’s too rough...it’s too loud... too much...and Bucky flinches from the words and volume. “What happened?!”

All the color drains from Bucky’s face. It’s almost like he’d forgotten, just for a moment in his doubt of Steve’s feelings for him, that he’d intended to keep this hidden.

He takes a hurried step back--maybe out of fear, maybe out of something else--and shakes his head.

“It’s nothing!” he cries. “It was my fault, I know better than to mouth off to him, I should’t’ve...” He stops there like he’s his words’ve hit a brick wall and bursts into tears. “He’s never...”Bucky heaves in a big gulp of air and staggers on the exhale. “Not like this...”

Steve, not sure if it’s better to reach out and hold Bucky or not even try to touch him, is ready to tear across the entire world if he has to so he can rip apart Brock Rumlow piece by piece. But, right now, Bucky’s more important.

“Bucky, it’s...” How to comfort him? With big, strong arms? Soft words? Steve doesn’t know what might make this better and what might make this worse. It’s a fine line between the two. “It’s not your fault. No matter what happened, it’s not your fault. It’s his. A-and...and you’re safe. Right now, you’re safe. He can’t hurt you. Not when you’re here with me.”

Hoping to offer more reassurance than that, Steve opens his arms. He stays where he is, though. Wants this to be Bucky’s choice.

Bucky, sniffling and still teary-eyed, dives into his embrace and holds onto him so tightly that Steve can feel him trembling.

“I was gonna leave,” he weeps into Steve’s shirt. “I had a bag packed. Hidden in the back of the closet. He found it. And he...” Did what he did. Steve gets it. “He said if I ever tried again he’d break both my legs. Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry, he’ll kill you if he finds me with you but I’ve been so scared and I needed to get out for a little bit so when he left tonight I just...I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers over and over. “It’s okay, Bucky, you’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m here, baby, I’m here.”

They stand there together, with Bucky tucked in Steve’s arm, for an unmeasurable amount of time. The world goes on around them. Cars moving over the bridge. Clouds passing overhead. People out for a late night stroll. Here, with Bucky, times stands still.

Eventually, Bucky’s tears dry and his breaths even and even his trembling comes to a stop. He doesn’t move, though, so Steve keeps him in his arms, gently petting a hand over him every now and then.

“Bucky,” Steve whispers a long while later, “Bucky, please, let me help you.” Already rejecting the idea with fevered shakes of his head, Bucky starts to pull away. “Please, Bucky,” Steve implores, “please. I have...I have friends who can help get you away. Get you somewhere safe. I promise, he’ll never hurt you again.”

Though he’s pulled away, Bucky remains holding onto Steve’s arms, as though not willing to part from him. He still shakes his head.

“N-no. No, Steve, I can’t. I...” He looks across the river. “Just...ride with me? Tonight? Please, we can go to that little bed and breakfast we stayed at right after Christmas, remember?” Bucky, eyes filling again with tears, gives him a weak, unconvincing smile and a nod. “Please? I...I know I can’t leave him, but I can’t go back there tonight and he’s gone for the rest of the week. Please, say you’ll come with me.”

“Bucky...”

“Please.” His voice is so soft. So pleading, and it rips Steve’s heart in two. “Just a late night bike ride under the stars and a good night’s sleep. That’s all I need. Please, Steve.”

“O-okay,” Steve agrees. He’ll agree to absolutely anything to comfort Bucky right now. “Okay, we’ll go. We’ll go right now, baby.”

The way Bucky smiles at him now, so hopeful and desperate, it makes Steve want to drop to his knees and beg him to let him help. That won’t do now. He’s not going to listen to any of Steve’s good-intentioned begging. Not his offers to help him. Right now, the only thing Steve can do to help is bringing him some place to rest. A place to feel safe.

That, Steve’ll do.

A late night bike ride under the stars. The world fading to just the two of them as they ride separately but together. Last-minute check-ins at a quaint, little bed and breakfast that, fortunately, still had a vacancy.

“Thank you, Steve,” Bucky whispers when Steve locks the door behind them. “I know you didn’t really wanna come here. I’m sorry I made you.”

“You didn’t make me do anything, Bucky,” Steve murmurs, approaching slowly, cautiously, so that he doesn’t startle him. “I wanted to come with you.”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “You didn’t. But thanks for comin’ anyway. I’m...” He points over his shoulder with his thumb. “I’m gonna take a shower. You won’t...go anywhere, will you?”

“Mm-mm.” Steve sits down on the king-sized bed. “I’ll be right here.”

When Steve hears the water turn on and the shower curtain pull closed, he grabs his phone and, despite the late hour, calls his oldest friend in the world, Peggy Carter.

She works with victims of domestic abuse. Both counseling and trying to help them escape toxic relationships. Maybe she can give Steve some advice.

Amazingly, after only three rings, she answers.

“Hello? Steven? Is everything all right?”

“Uh. hey, Peg, I’m so sorry for calling so late,” he says. “I’m okay. But...”

After listening to Steve hurry and tell her everything he knows and making her aware of the current situation, Peggy’s first piece of advice is plain and simple.

“Okay, first of all, you need to keep calm. That’s most important right now.”

Because they have a limited amount of time to talk before Bucky gets out of the shower, Peggy does her best to help. She tells him to remain supportive and be friendly but not preachy and not to blame him for anything that’s happened.

“Be open to just listening to him,” she says. “He needs to know that you’re a safe person to talk to. Don’t criticize. You can offer him my number or any other abuse hotlines this way he can talk to a professional anonymously. You have to remember, Steve.” The way her voice changes slightly is proof that this part is important. “You can’t make him do anything. This needs to be his choice. If he’s not ready and you try to force him, you run the risk of him closing off from you altogether.”

“Right,” Steve whispers just as the water turns off. If he’s going to help Bucky, he needs to listen to Peggy and do what she says no matter how difficult it might be. “I...I gotta go, Peg. Thanks for your help.”

“Anytime, my darling,” she says. “I hope to hear from either of you soon.”

Steve would give a better farewell, but the door to the bathroom starts to open, so he quickly ends the call. Not quite quick enough, though. Towel around his waist and locks of wet hair hanging down to his chin, Bucky glances at the phone in Steve’s hand and then up to his face. Twice.

“Who...” His lips set in a line. “Who were you on the phone with?”

“Just a friend,” Steve tells him honestly. “Peggy. Don’t worry. She doesn’t know where we are or who you are or anything like that, I promise.”

At first, Steve’s not sure if Bucky believes him. Looks as though, for a moment at least, that he’s considering making a run for it. He doesn’t. Instead, he heaves a sigh and, after plucking a toothpick from his jacket’s pocket, sits down next to Steve.

He turns that toothpick over in his hands for a moment or two before finally sticking it in his mouth.

They’re quiet as they sit together. After a few minutes of silence, Steve slowly reaches up and sweeps some of Bucky’s hair away from his face. He leans in and presses a tender kiss to his shoulder. Over soft skin covered in beautiful tattoos. Gently, he coaxes Bucky’s chin from side to side so that he could get a better look at him to make sure those bruises haven’t gotten any worse. He might wanna get him some ice for that eye.

Steve cups Bucky’s cheek and when he does, Bucky’s eyes softly fall shut. He hums and leans into the touch.

“Do you wanna talk about it, baby?”

Eyes opening again, Bucky, placing his own hand over the top of Steve’s to keep it there, shakes his head.

“No. Please, don’t make me.”

“Oh, no,” Steve whispers and breathes a kiss to Bucky’s brow. “Never. I just wanted to offer.”

“I’m just...real tired, Steve. I wanna go to sleep.”

Steve nods and peels back the covers. Bucky, still only in that towel, crawls beneath them, tugging on the sleeve of Steve’s T-shirt to bring him along. Steve obliges and gets into the bed with him.

As soon as he’s settled, Bucky curls against him with his head practically in his lap. Steve pets a hand over his head. Whispers soft words. Things about how he’s safe. He’s here with him. No one can hurt him now.

And Bucky, Steve thinks, falls asleep within minutes.

Steve, on the other hand, stays awake. Just in case Bucky wakes and needs him. He’ll stay awake all night if he has to.

And he’ll still be here in the morning.

Whatever the sun might bring with it, Steve will see this through until Bucky’s away and safe from Brock Rumlow.

Even if that takes him the rest of his life.

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #stucky #biker au #flex your writing muscles challenge #kellsficlet

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janvangouden · 4 years ago

Text

CHRYSANTHEMUMS

a hunter investigates a ghost in the woods that has been plaguing the village & terrorizing the other local hunters, only to find it to be a long lost friend. longer short story, about 20 pages in normal format. written by jan van gouden.

The hunter Genjirou liked to fancy himself a bit of a local celebrity, as he brought in the majority of the food for the village– fat pheasants, meaty rabbits, even sometimes a wild boar. The village was one that did not so much pride itself on its inhabitants’ individualism as it did their sense of community. They didn’t care to have the claim to fame of any famous actor born there, nor any famous samurai… they cared for one another deeply, & silently agreed not to get caught up in any selfish ambition. The artists of Passions collaborated & worked on elaborate projects together, the children always played together, the hunters often hunted together.

Despite his self-assurance, Genjirou was actually quite unpopular amongst the villagers, & considered rude for hunting individually. They did not care for his talent, and while they ate his food, they did not do it with so much enjoyment, perhaps finding it soured by his individualism. Nobody in Passions liked to gossip, but if they did, there would certainly be some cruel words exchanged about the hunter behind his back, especially from the other hunters, who were deep-down jealous of the considerable stock he seemed to always bring back every time he hunted.

Genjirou did not pay these sentiments any mind, even as he was intimately aware they were abrew. He’d grown up parent-less and knew he at least had some of the village’s sympathy over at least that fact, & that they presumed he was so stand-offish because he felt he was alone in the world. Sometimes a pretty young maiden, Fuku, sought him out and offered him lilies from her garden, but he rejected her kindness. He did not do so cruelly, only smiling and asking if she didn’t have anybody more handsome to tend her attentions to, that a pretty girl like her shouldn’t worry over a guy like him…

This only spurred Fuku’s interest in him, & she’d secretly follow him on hunts sometimes, watching with intense interest as he played his game. Fish, deer, wild boar, & even a bear once! Over the course of a few weeks, her friends finally convinced her to stop following him & offering lilies, & she did, although deep in her heart she still loved him.

“Look at that Genjirou, there’s a storm brewing on his face,” a village elder murmured to her husband, fanning herself as the two sat on a bench outside a small store. “He’s probably realising he can’t stop pushing the world away, but is in denial,” her husband chuckled, as he knit away at what looked like a baby sweater. “He’s young, isn’t he, only twenty-two? He’s probably going through a phase… not too long ago, he used to be quite social.”

They chuckled quietly but averted their gaze when Genjirou stomped by, pale, rushing into the store. The store owner couldn’t help but to giggle when he walked in, propping her arm up on the counter. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she remarked, choosing to busy herself with dusting off some vases.

“Why did nobody tell me a man was murdered in the woods?” Genjirou exclaimed, staring at her like she was a monster. He had come across a corpse earlier that day, already purplish from decay, bloated beyond recognition, & on full display in the middle of the grounds where he usually hunted. “You would have known if you hunted with the others,” she scolded him, flicking her feather duster towards him. Genjirou grit his teeth. Sometimes the people of Passions worked on his nerves insatiably– he was introverted by nature, shy, & didn’t like to constantly associate with others like everyone else seemed to, & it always seemed to blow up in his face. Namely, everybody always knew “the scoop” on everything, while he was left blind as a bat on any news, & had to practically beg.

He already knew the shopkeeper knew the story behind the corpse. His demeanor suddenly grew much more meek, and sheepish, as he asked, “What is the story behind him? It’s odd a body just lies so disgracefully in the middle of a clearing like that.”

She pursed her lips. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask the hunters; they told me not to tell you the story… as for why he was there…” A hum; she wrinkled her nose in disapproval and lowered her voice. “That was a mean prank; they were messing with you because you never hunt with them… I don’t like to gossip, but I think it was very rude, not to mention disrespectful to the deceased, that they did that… I think they’ll be lucky if they’re not haunted on their next hunts.”

A glint of curiosity shone in her eyes. “What did you do when you saw the body? I think I would have passed out, tee hee.”

“I buried it,” Genjirou said simply. He found it disgraceful already how the disfigured corpse was laid out in the middle of the grass, even if it was clothed in burial robes, but he found it even more disgraceful somebody had placed it there on purpose.

“You buried it!” she gasped, putting a hand to her mouth. “That’s even more scary… what if it wants a grave? What if it haunts the whole village? Oh, oh….” She paused. “...one more thing… please don’t tell the hunters I told you about what they did when you get with them. I have a bit of a big mouth, if I’m being honest. But, you weren’t supposed to know they moved the corpse. Only ask about the corpse itself, ok?”

Genjirou felt his mood entirely ruined, but, grumbling, he agreed, then left the store to find the hunters.

He found them easily, like they were hoping to be found, outside a building exchanging words & laughing. When Genjirou approached them, they fell silent, and the humour in their eyes turned a reproachful coldness. They wore their hair in prim and trim top-knots, as was customary, while Genjirou wore his uncut & loose, only inviting more scorn from the villagers. Scorn, scorn, scorn. He sometimes just wanted to go wild, feeling like no matter what he did, it wouldn’t matter; he wouldn’t be accepted anyways!

“Good afternoon, Genjirou,” one spoke up, putting a hand up to him. “How was the hunt?”

“What was with the corpse in the woods?”

The hunters exchanged a few odd looks with one another. “Oh, you saw it, too? Wasn’t that scary? He wasn’t someone from our village, we know that for sure.”

Genjirou wanted to ask them to cut the bullshit, but he was too polite. Still, a wrinkle in his brow conveyed his frustration. “What’s his story? Who was he? Why was he just out in the open like that?”

After a long silence, one finally said, “Choyakoshi. We’re guessing that’s his name, anyways, since the characters were crudely written in ink on his kimono somewhere.” Choyakoshi had worn a slightly tattered, dirtied white kimono. It was folded right-over-left, meaning he must have been buried in it. “Why wasn’t he buried?” Genjirou repeated his question, but worded it differently.

The hunters exchanged glances with each other, & ultimately shrugged. “We don’t know, either. We’re sending one of the morticians to the mountain tomorrow to see what he can figure out.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Genjirou said hesitantly, drawing questioning glances. “I already buried him.”

“You buried him!” one of the hunters exclaimed. “What if he isn’t happy with the burial, & he haunts our village because of it?!”

“Then let him!” Genjirou spat. “I’ll be happier with that!”

He stormed off, blocking out the commotion the other hunters caused in his trail.

Did you hear that? I know Genjirou isn’t very social, but I think he totally hates us!

How dare he! We haven’t done anything to him, & now he’s practically wishing some ghost would come haunt us?

What nerve! What if this Choyakoshi is a cruel and vengeful spirit?

Genjirou didn’t let their words get to him– he knew that no matter what he did, they’d find some reason to dislike him. Same old same old.

At least, he thought their words didn’t get to him. That evening, nobody touched a lick of the considerably-smaller-than-usual bit of food he’d brought to the village dinner, and not even Fuku attempted to say a word to him, averting her gaze when he pleadingly looked over at her. She giggled instead with her friend, ignoring him as he stared emptily at his plate.

In times of good weather, the village always insisted every dinner be shared, outside, and the village leader would make a big deal about having a vast space cleared out, and every person who could cook or hunt or farm bringing something to the great potluck. Genjirou attended because he felt obligated to more than anything, but after quietly finishing his food, his sense of obligation disappeared, along with him, as he receded to his house.

It was considered very rude to leave before everybody had finished eating, and of course, there was a tiny uproar and a string of murmurs as Genjirou left. He’s so cold; what’s his problem?

It’s bad enough that he already hunts alone… does he really have to make such a point out of being an outcast?

I wish he would just be friends with us already. Can’t he see how hard we’re trying to help him fit in?

Parents or no parents, you’d think that after twenty-two years of living here, he’d know how to behave. Tsk.

Genjirou felt immensely weak and pitiful as he brushed tears from his eyes that night, silently sobbing himself to sleep. He didn’t get out of bed the following morning to hunt as he usually did, finding he couldn’t work up the energy nor the passion to. In fact, he slept until about noon, and even when he officially woke up, he just lay there, contemplating if in fact he was very rude and dislikable, and whether he should work on his personality. He self-consciously fretted, melting into a puddle of his own thoughts, and crying, for a good two hours, unable to piece together just why he was feeling so miserable.

He was fairly well-off from what money he did make selling furs & other homemade goods from the leftovers of his prey to other villages & sometimes the villagers. He was very fit, & had someone who he knew had a crush on him, even if he wasn’t interested, so he couldn’t be ugly. He didn’t feel particularly sad, so why was he still crying? If nothing else, he was very thankful no one from the village could see him in such a pitiful state.

Right as he thought this, a knock sounded at the door and he stifled a yelp, quickly wiping as much from his eyes as he could. The knock sounded again, more urgently, and he squinted as he opened the door, the sun glaring at him from up above. “Genjirou, I don’t want to sound accusatory, but–” It was the shopkeeper, Toyo, rapidly fanning herself. “–have you been hunting today?”

“I just woke up,” Genjirou said so earnestly she knew he wasn’t lying. “Oh, it’s just terrible… the hunters sent me to come get you; they want you to come to my shop…”

“Why didn’t they come get me themselves?” Genjirou asked, irritated. Toyo fanned herself, hiding the lower half of her face, eyes shifting to the side. Genjirou didn’t ask again. “Fine. May I at least know what happened?”

“They wanted to tell you themselves… don’t tell them I told you already, but the hunter Hideto died today… he’d been pierced by an arrow! Please follow me… they’re trying to blame you for it; they’re very sore right now.”

Genjirou didn’t bother cleaning up, & garnered some odd looks as he followed Toyo through town, still wearing his sleeping robes, hair disheveled and eyes heavy. It was clear that, at two o’clock in the afternoon, he had just gotten out of bed. For the villagers, who usually operated on a clock from eight A.M to nine P.M, this was very unusual. At the store, Genjirou was immediately confronted by the remaining seven of the eight hunters. “Were you out hunting today, Genjirou?” one spit accusingly, jabbing a finger against his chest. “I was not!” Genjirou immediately defended himself, covering his chest, half to protect it, and half self-consciously, as he realised it was mostly bare.

Toyo pretended to be busy in the background, feverishly organising some trinkets on a high shelf in order from small to large and then back to large to small. The hunters glared at him suspiciously, but like Toyo, they had no reason not to believe the man who looked like he’d just woken up. Good thing I wasn’t, he thought to himself, thinking back on his profound moment of sadness. As awful as it had been, it saved him from getting tangled up in these accusations. “Hideto died,” another hunter lamented, fiddling with an arrow from his satchel. “He was shot by an arrow, like this one… but it wasn’t any of ours.”

The men all suddenly seemed very sheepish, and looked downwards, realising how pointless it was to question the man. They knew he made an easy scapegoat, and they knew they were accusing him for no reason. Not all seemed to let the matter go so easily, however, as one suddenly spoke up, “It must be that Choyakoshi ghost! He’s probably furious he wasn’t given a proper burial!”

The other hunters were quick to agree with him, and again, Genjirou was put in the negative spotlight, this time blamed for the hypothetical haunting. Now he was the one hanging his head low, not having the energy to argue with them. Instead, he quietly trudged out of the store back to his house. The hunters took this as a victory and yelled behind him, but this time he truly paid them no mind, only wanting to sleep again. At least when he was asleep, he didn’t have to deal with any of the villagers’ drama. When he returned, he noticed a trampled bunch of chrysanthemums scattered in front of his house. He paid them no mind.

The following morning, he woke up with a splitting head and stomach ache, and remembered he hadn’t eaten, let alone drank, a thing the day before. He pulled on a proper robe and fixed his hair, hoping to be able to make it through the village unbothered. He left his bow and arrow and his swords at home, still not having the energy to hunt, and also not wanting to risk any more serious accusations. On his doorstep, he found a fresh bundle of pure white chrysanthemums, bound by a silk ribbon that smelled of lilac.

Smiling and suddenly feeling much better, he picked up the bouquet and carefully set it in a long-empty stone vase atop his dresser. He made a mental note to thank Fuku for the kind gesture later.

He purchased a bowl of soup, a lamb chop, and some water from Passions’s inn and restaurant. The shopkeeper had a sort of sad look in his eye as he watched Genjirou eat, and Genjirou avoided looking at him at all– he knew well what his reputation was in the village by now, and this man, like the rest of them, surely either pitied or hated him. He wanted to associate with neither sentiment. After he finished eating, he set out to find Fuku, walking a few rounds around the village in hopes of catching her outside. He found her, but when he did, she avoided his gaze and acted like she hadn’t heard him after he called out for her, instead turning to her friend and murmuring something. The two giggled and Genjirou froze, not daring to approach them anymore. He hated how timid he was sometimes, but decided it was better to be the dog with its tail between its legs than the lamb on the cutting board.

Still, it was perplexing. Why would she leave him flowers, then not even acknowledge him? Complicated feelings, maybe, or her friend didn’t like him. Whatever. He already had more than enough stressing him out as it stood; he certainly didn’t want to trifle with yet another thing.

As soon as he got home and was about to close the door behind him, a sandaled foot wedged itself in the doorway. Toyo! “Genjirou– I really hate to bother you again, but you-know-who is asking for your presence again in my humble shop.” She muttered, “Why don’t they do this stuff in one of their own places, anyways? I’m seriously about to ban them from entering more than one at a time.”

“Let me guess,” Genjirou huffed. “Someone else died?”

“Actually, yes.”

He immediately went pale, biting his lip. “Why do they keep bothering me about it?! I’m very sorry this is happening, but at the rate things are going, I might not even want to attend their funeral!”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Toyo hissed, fanning at the air as though she were combatting mini-ghosts. Her kimono was a brilliant white, decorated with koi and tangerine trees. The white reminded Genjirou of the corpse’s burial clothes, & he wondered if maybe this really was a haunting, & if he really was to blame. He suddenly blushed and apologised for his rudeness. “There’s no need to apologise; I don’t think they’re ghosts, yet… I say, you can do or say whatever you want as long as you know you won’t suffer any consequences. That’s why I’m very careful with my words.”

Right, Genjirou thought. How many secrets had she let loose in her lifetime?

“Anyways, please come with me… as you can imagine, they’re very bitter, and I’m sure it’s better you meet them in my store, which at least I know they don’t want to burn down.” She laughed nervously, looking the house in front of her up and down.

And so, Genjirou once again trudged to Toyo’s store, and he was once again chewed out. “I saw the ghost!” one hunter declared, putting up an arm high above himself. “He was this tall, but was definitely the corpse from the other day… he was armed with a bow and arrow surely laced with evil energy, and shot down poor Genta…”

Again, a finger was jabbed against Genjirou’s chest, with such force it knocked the younger man back a few steps. “...this is your doing, Genjirou!! If you hadn’t buried him… what did you do, just dig into the dirt a little and toss his body in there?!” Genjirou flushed a deep shade of crimson. That was exactly what he had done. “It’s better than letting his body rot out in the open!” he half-heartedly asserted, knowing there was no way he’d win this argument. “Tell that to Genta and Hideto!” the hunter sneered. The remaining six of the eight hunters seemed very self-assured they wouldn’t be the ones to die next, all their noses stuck in the air with a sort of pretentious air as they confronted Genjirou.

Deep in his mind, Genjirou couldn’t help but to ponder if anyone had even died at all, or if this was all just some twisted scheme to get back at him for hunting alone. The hunters didn’t seem particularly fazed beyond rage at their friends’ deaths; then again, they rarely ever showed any real emotion, and liked to poke fun at men who did, insulting them by calling them womanly. Genjirou always wondered if they were at all self-conscious of how insulting it was to find womanhood a “bad” trait, and if they were, if they cared.

Having no comeback, Genjirou dared himself to quietly retreat. Seeing that the hunters made no effort to stop him, he ran back to his house, not caring that they saw him as a total coward. Let the negatives stack up. A coward, a traitor, a bringer of evil, an asshole… what difference does it make if there is another bad thing said about me, when there is already so much? Genjirou, rolled up inside his blanket, found himself sobbing again, unable to control it. He had always felt at least tolerated in Passions, but now he felt outright disliked. The only pleasant thought he had as he drifted yet again into sleep, having nothing else to occupy himself with, came with the whiff of his chrysanthemums’ scent drifting by, evoking images of Fuku, who he felt was his only possible friend in the village.

He woke up very early in the morning, and found, yet again, by his doorstep, a fresh bundle of white chrysanthemums, tied with a silk ribbon. He managed to squeeze them next to the other bundle in the vase, and added some water. It was six in the morning; nobody in the village was awake yet. Feeling emboldened by this striking solitude, Genjirou retreated to put on his hunting clothes and grab his bow and arrow, deciding that he’d either confront the ghost or do what he enjoyed, hunting, without letting himself be dragged down by his fears & insecurities.

& so, with only the light of the barely-rising sun, he set out to go hunt, secretly hoping he wouldn’t encounter anyone in the woods, let alone this allegedly fearsome, murderous spirit. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a ruse. Genta and Hideto were probably hiding out somewhere in the village to throw a scare into Genjirou, & maybe even to keep him away from the mountains, since the hunters were always jealous of how much he brought in by himself.

The dew of the grass brushed against his sandaled feet and the air smelled crisp and fresh. He drank some water from a river to refresh himself, then hunted marvelously as ever, carrying, two hours later, four pheasants and a boar. He found the site where he’d buried the corpse and leaned by it, frowning as he dug down a foot or so, revealing the rotting face. I really did bury him poorly… I hope he isn’t actually insulted, Genjirou thought, deciding then & there to dig a deeper hole. He shuddered a bit, feeling as though somebody was watching him… he shook the feeling off.

This time, he carefully placed the body in, taking care to fold the arms over the chest and neatly adjust the burial clothing. Satisfied, he placed a pheasant atop the body, then carefully covered it in dirt again. He’d taken a chrysanthemum with him to put on top of the grave, which he hoped was this time less crude. He said a quick blessing, then found a nice spot next to the river to enjoy the spoils of his hunt alone. He knew this was an area of the woods the other hunters rarely visited, so he felt confident starting a fire to roast a pheasant there, until he heard a clamour in the distance, coming closer.

Genjirou scrambled to put out the fire and panicked when he saw the silhouettes of the hunters in the distance. Unable to find anywhere to hide, he dove into the river behind a rock, breathing only when he was certain they couldn’t see him. He cursed that his pheasants and boar had been left behind, knowing that the hunters would surely take it as their own. It was unlikely they expected him to have regained his confidence so much as to go hunting, let alone dare to to begin with given the recent events. Genjirou vigilantly listened. He heard some laughs, as they engaged in idle chatter, and some excitement as they stumbled upon what was supposed to have been his breakfast, lunch, dinner, and then some. He then heard shouting.

Looking behind the rock, his eyes locked with one of the hunters. Terrified he’d been seen, he submerged himself in the river, holding his breath for his dear life. Even through the water, he could hear the shouting on land had gotten louder, and cursed himself for being alive. Why? Why’d they just have to come out hunting so soon? Why couldn’t I have finished my meal in peace?

Unbeknownst to Genjirou, Fuku had followed him into the woods as she’d done in her lovesick days– however, her motive wasn’t as sweet as it once had been. Gento had been Fuku’s cousin, & following his death and the rumours in the village, she’d grown awfully cold and suspicious towards Genjirou, & secretly followed him to see if he was up to anything suspicious. So far, her surveillance had been futile, but that day, as she followed him into the woods, she was certain she’d catch him in the act of killing, confirming her, & the villagers’ suspicions.

She got more than she bargained for, however, as she had to put her hands over her mouth to stifle a scream when an arrow pierced through one of the hunters’ shoulders out of seemingly nowhere. Scrambling to find the source without giving away her position, her eyes went backwards from where the arrow had landed, resting upon an awful-looking creature hidden behind a tree like she was. Its aim was off; it seemed to have been distracted by something in the water. It drew another arrow from its bow and aimed steadily at the same hunter. Fuku wanted so badly to call out to the hunters, but she didn’t allow herself to, and before the next arrow could hit, the six of them had already started to run out of the woods, screaming and cussing and hollering.

Ghost!! They quickly told the villagers, running around like mad. The hunter whose shoulder had been pierced barely even paid it any mind, too thankful he was alive, and too frightened, to do so. It’s an awful, evil, vengeful ghost in the woods of the mountain... it’s going to kill anybody who enters them! Once is a coincidence, twice is revenge, but three times…. It’s evil! It’s an evil spirit that won’t rest until every one of our villagers is dead!!

In those very woods of the mountain, Fuku was still standing behind the tree, hands over her mouth, doing everything in her power not to scream as she watched the ghost emerge from behind the tree. She found it horrifying– its skin was a sickly, corpse-ish grey with tinges of purple, and it had long, wavy, unkempt black hair, which it tossed over its shoulders with its hand as it strode forth, picking up the prey the hunters had dropped. It wore a flowing, tattered white kimono, burial clothes. Moving more quickly, it waded into the river, grabbing an object… Genjirou!!

In the heat of the moment, Fuku had totally forgotten the entire reason she’d come up the mountain in the first place! She wanted to cover her eyes, terrified to watch the surely gruesome scene that was sure to come unfold, but couldn’t, hands glued to her mouth and eyes to the ghost. To her surprise, no gruesome scene came– the ghost carefully lay Genjirou upon the ground, pressing firmly on his chest. Genjirou sputtered water. Water, water, and more water… he would have surely drowned if the ghost hadn’t pulled him out.

The ghost disappeared for a minute and Fuku’s heart dropped, certain it had sensed her and was going to kill her. Maybe Genjirou was controlling this cruel mountain spirit? No… she immediately shook the thought out of her head. She was bitter over her cousin dying, certainly, but she wouldn’t so quickly assign blame now that she had no proof. Besides, this was the man who she still secretly loved… she knew him, to an extent, and she knew he was a very simple person, absolutely incapable of something as sinister as the dark arts. Revenge on the hunters for talking badly about him was so silly, anyways. She felt embarrassed for having taken part in his ostracisation, knowing that more than anything, he needed at least a friend, if not a romantic partner.

She reminded herself to be more friendly to him.

When the ghost returned, she’d expected it to come maybe with a knife, or a sword, wanting to kill Genjirou personally and watch the life drain out of his eyes… but all it returned with was a handful of chrysanthemums. It shyly placed one in his hair, and then one on his chest, scattering the rest around his body as it played with his hair, running the long black strands through its scraggly, ashen fingers. Fuku couldn’t believe her eyes.

A short while later, Genjirou’s brow furrowed and he coughed. As quickly as it had come, the ghost ran away, leaving Genjirou alone. Determining the scene was safe, Fuku ran out from behind her cover to Genjirou’s side, placing a hand on his cheek. He grabbed the hand and flared his nostrils, recognising her by the scent of lilies. “Fuku?” he mumbled, managing to pry his eyes open. “Yes, Genjirou!” Fuku breathed, beaming. “Are you alright? You almost drowned…”

Genjirou promptly sat up, wide-eyed. “The hunters! I… I saw them earlier; it’s why I…. oh, it’s a long story. Are they alright? The ghost didn’t come again, did it?”

In her gut, Fuku felt even worse for doubting Genjirou. He was stand-offish, but not a selfish person, & even after nearly dying himself, was more worried about what became of the hunters. She couldn’t help but to nervously laugh. “The hunters are alright… Genjirou, I– I’m really sorry about how the villagers have been treating you, including me. I’ll be honest, I came up here because I saw you leaving to hunt, and wanted to see if I had any basis for my suspicions… I didn’t.” She stood up, and bowed deeply. “I’m very sorry.”

Genjirou wanted to stand, as well, but didn’t have the strength to. “It’s alright; I’m sorry, too…” He also laughed a bit. “I really am too stand-offish, to be honest, I’m not good at socialising at all!” Fuku elegantly sunk to her knees again. From the crisp condition of her kimono, you would never have guessed she’d been running around in the woods. “Then let’s be friends!” she suddenly declared, holding a hand to her chest. “I saw everything… the ghost, it did appear, but… it missed; it only shot one of their shoulders.”

“That’s very good… say, Fuku. May I ask two questions?”

Fuku nodded.

“One–” Genjirou picked up a chrysanthemum, spinning it between his fingers. “Are you the one who’s been leaving these flowers at my doorstep the past few days?” Fuku bit her lip. She knew none of the women in the village grew or sold white chrysanthemums; in fact, up until that day, she had never seen anybody who had them. She hated lying, but this was too good a moment to let pass. “Yes, I am,” she said shyly.

“Two, are you the one who saved me from the river?” Fuku prayed internally the ghost wouldn’t come to her house personally and beat her upside the head. Please forgive me, ghost, but this is the man I really love!! She couldn’t even verbalise the lie, this time just nodding, blushing more. Genjirou thought it was because she was shy, but really, it was because she couldn’t stand to lie! Genjirou smiled, gently touching her hand. She allowed him to hold it. “Then may I ask you a third question, Fuku?” She nodded again.

“May I kiss you?”

Wide-eyed and blushing profusely, she turned to him. She’d been waiting to hear that question her whole twenty years of life! “Yes! You may!” Genjirou delicately pinned her to the ground, his wet, but soft, long hair falling over her kimono as he kissed her, placing a hand tenderly behind her neck. Fuku blushed even more profusely, hugging him. She wanted to kiss him forever and ever, but she eventually let go, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear and looking up at him in awe and disbelief.

“You’re wonderful!” she felt awkward as she blurted this, and immediately put a hand over her mouth. “Have you ever had a girlfriend before?”

It was a silly question, for she’d known him his entire life, but still felt the need to ask to be sure. “I haven’t,” Genjirou affirmed her knowledge, and she embraced him again. “Could I be yours?” she asked suddenly, letting the heat of the moment spur her on. “You may!”

She kissed Genjirou again, and the two walked down the mountain to the village. Fuku braced herself, anticipating all the while that an arrow would be lodged into her back, but no such thing came, and she let herself relax as the couple strode into the village safely. “Genjirou is innocent!” she declared, attracting the attention of some people sitting outside. “He is innocent, and he is mine! The ghost haunting the woods is beyond any of our control, & is ungrateful for the beautiful burial Genjirou gave him!”

She needed to say no more. Faithful to their tradition, the people of Passions spread the news around like wildfire, and within that single day, Genjirou’s reputation was restored & renewed, & he was even met with praise, for pairing with such a fine woman as Fuku. That evening, after the village dinner, they were wished well as they went arm-in-arm to Genjirou’s house, where they engaged in passionate affairs until they fell asleep, content in one another’s embrace. While Genjirou slept peacefully and deeply, his troubles seemingly behind him, Fuku slept lightly, certain she heard a weeping outside, but not daring to look.

She took care to rise much earlier than Genjirou– at four in the morning, she crept outside, and found outside his door a bouquet of fresh white chrysanthemums, tied tightly by a silk ribbon. She snuck to a farmer’s house and discarded the flowers in a pig pen, a pang of guilt coursing through her as she did so. She shook the feeling off. What business would a ghost have with a human? It would be better for the both of them if he just passed peacefully and left him alone!

Still, as the weeks went on, her guilt only grew stronger every time she had to throw away the chrysanthemums, or pretend she’d gotten them for him, making up some tale about someone from another village who grew them just for her. One day, she couldn’t stand it anymore, and while Genjirou slept, she snuck into the mountains, surrounding herself with the most positive energy possible, hoping she wouldn’t be torn into shreds by the ghost. She hadn’t dared bring a hunter with her as the ghost seemed to carry a special vengeance for them, but as she ventured further and further, she felt dumber and dumber she hadn’t even brought some sort of a spiritual weapon.

“Ghost?” she called out, clinging onto a chrysanthemum she’d brought with her as she stood by the side of the river. Her face was painted ghost-white with crimson red eyeshadow and lipstick, and she wore her finest clothes, hoping that by putting such extra care into her appearance, she did not insult him by appearing in any way unsightly. One could mistake her for a geisha, but that she was most definitely not.

“Misses… or, erm, Mister… Ghost?” she called again, fidgeting with the chrysanthemum, pulling on a petal. She froze as she felt a firm hand over hers just as she was about to pull. “Mister Ghost,” said a voice that was too pleasant to be able to belong to that terrifying being she’d seen in the woods, and Fuku yelped, staggering forward a bit, almost falling face-first into the river. The ghost grabbed her and steadied her, and she slowly turned to face him, doe-brown eyes locking with his, bloodshot and ebony. Up-close, he was almost handsome, but the fear factor still won out in her mind, not allowing her to appreciate any aestheticism. “Have you come to return these to me?” he murmured, gently taking the chrysanthemum from her.

“Are you the one who has been leaving them at Genjirou’s doorstep?” she asked, her voice wavering even as she tried to make it as firm as possible. “I am,” the ghost admitted, staring at it distantly. “Do they smell good?” Fuku gathered all her resolve and nodded. “They’re very nice… where do you find white chrysanthemums?”

“I used to grow them,” he sighed, handing the flower back to Fuku. “I thought ghosts couldn’t touch things,” she suddenly blurted, then immediately felt embarrassed. Her fear made her speak her thoughts out loud. The ghost laughed a bit. “I can if I want to, just like I can make myself seen if I want to. As for the white chrysanthemums– I grow them in a village on the other side of the mountain, where the weather’s much better for them.”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve been throwing them away,” Fuku almost whispered, pulling at the petals again. “I came here to tell you that… I won’t say I’m sorry because it won’t do anything; I have been acting out of selfish desire & will accept it if you kill me like you killed those hunters if it will let you rest in peace.” She kneeled, head lowered. Fuku was very spiritual, and believed, more than anything, in the importance of a peaceful death, & felt she had disrupted this somehow.

The ghost’s expression suddenly darkened. “Get up,” he said in a voice so commanding Fuku didn’t dare object, shakily getting back up on her feet. In the background, leaves gently fell from the looming trees of the dark woods. His hair, ivory black and long, shone slightly in the moonlight, & his white burial clothes, for as dirty as they were, had an eerie glow to them. The odd, off-putting kindness from before had somewhat dissipated, and Fuku was met with a slap across the face– it wasn’t hard enough to be disrespectful, or hateful, but it was firm enough to sting slightly, and cause her to pay very close attention. “Genjirou loves you, doesn’t he?” the ghost asked coldly, glaring down at her. Fuku pondered this, then felt silly for doing so, & nodded. “I think he does, yes.”

“Then how dare you offer your life so lightly!” the ghost wailed, and Fuku noticed he was sobbing, odd, white streams of a heavy gaseous substance oozing from his eyes. “How miserable would Genjirou be not to be loved? You must cherish him more deeply! You must think more heavily before making such rash decisions! To be in love with him, you must tie your heart to his with an iron chain that will cause both to burst if it is severed! Do you understand?”

Fuku seldom considered the somewhat taboo fact that men could fall in love with other men, but she considered it deeply as the ghost spoke to her. It suddenly struck her that the chrysanthemums likely symbolised more than respect or an innocent friendship, and her face flushed a bit, hidden under the heavy makeup. She hadn’t known she’d acted so rashly she’d snatched away another person’s love, even if he was a ghost! “I understand,” she breathed, aghast.

“Then return to him– love him like no other, and remind him of how much he means to you every day… spoil him not with gifts, but with words, and raise his self esteem, so that your relationship may be meaningful like no other! Kiss him every day and linger so that he knows you do not wish to part ways, and hold his hand so that he knows he is not alone… drown him in sweet nothings that grow to be somethings, so that in old age he can look back on all these moments and say, I was a loved man!”

The guilt Fuku felt was so great she almost wished the ghost had just killed her the second he saw her, but she took his words to heart, just nodding along, still holding the chrysanthemum. She wondered why a ghost was so attached to Genjirou…. had they known one another in a different life? No, it couldn’t be; she would have surely seen him. Everybody knew everybody in Passions. Still, she ventured to ask, “Before I leave, Mister Ghost… may I ask your name?”

The ghost hesitated, before he answered, “Chikayoshi, although that name has not been spoken in years.”

She had no desire to ask how he died, nor why he killed the hunters, deciding she’d probably done enough damage, and that she should definitely head back. As she turned around to leave, the ghost implored of her one final thing, “Please do not mention this name to Genjirou… he will be tortured, & I could never forgive myself.”

She said nothing, unable to lie and say she wouldn’t, & quietly left, ultimately leaving the chrysanthemum with Chikayoshi. She couldn’t put the thought out of her mind– she never quite understood the concept of a man falling for another man, but if it were indeed true that this happened… oh, how cruel she was, how heartless she’d been, throwing away all those chrysanthemums & taking credit for the rescue, forcing Chikayoshi to watch as she did just that! She had never ventured before to think it was anything like that! She slid back into bed– it was only four in the morning, but she couldn’t sleep, haunted, quite literally, by Chikayoshi’s words & the expression he’d made when she offered herself to him.

Chikayoshi. Chikayoshi. She held onto the name like a prayer, determined not to forget it. After Genjirou woke up, things proceeded like normal– she was met with an array of kisses, the two went out to get breakfast, then lazily hung around the village. Nobody dared go into the woods for the time being, and the village leader was making arrangements with a self-proclaimed “expert of spirits and the supernatural” from another village to get rid of the ghost. Of course, this news spread around town like a wildfire, and the second it hit the couple, Fuku absolutely had to ask.

“Genjirou,” she whispered, as the two flipped lazily through texts in the library. “Could we go home? There’s something I really want to tell you.”

Genjirou raised a brow but put up no objection, and the two returned to his house. “Have you ever had any friends I haven’t known about?” she asked, biting her lip. She didn’t dare to ask boyfriend, the word not seeming right on her tongue, let alone seeming terribly informal. “Not that I can think of, no,” he replied earnestly, pouring himself a cup of tea from what remained in the teapot from that morning, placing a cup in front of Fuku as well. She ignored it, shifting uncomfortably on the mat. “Do you know the name Chikayoshi?”

Genjirou nearly spat out his tea, his eyes turning a terrible dark Kufu had never seen before. She immediately regretted the question, but it was too late now. “Why do you know this name?” His voice was calm, but some deep-rooted emotion was masked behind it, threatening to come out like a storm from a drizzle.

“It’s…..” she whispered, staring blankly down at her tea. “I– please promise you won’t be mad when I say this, Genjirou…” She also regretted saying this, knowing it was an infamously useless phrase. Genjirou only nodded. If he was going to get mad, he would get mad. She was prepared to handle the consequences. “I… I wasn’t the one who rescued you from the river, and I’m not the one who’s been leaving you chrysanthemums… that was Chikayoshi.”

“He’s back?!” Genjirou exclaimed, something wild about his expression. Fuku shook her head. “No, that’s – he's... the ghost on the mountain. Please don’t take this the wrong way, or think that our relationship is built on a lie, but I only took the credit because I thought it would be better for the dead not to interfere with the living…. I didn’t want to shock you.” And I was being selfish, she thought but did not say, leaving Genjirou to make that determination. There was a terrible period of silence, and when Fuku dared look up, she saw that Genjirou was sobbing silently, streams of tears pouring from his eyes as he wrung his hands aggressively, knuckles turning white from the pressure.

With a long sigh, he responded, “I haven’t taken it the wrong way, and I appreciate the sentiment…” He seemed to be mulling over his words, choosing each one very deliberately. “I don’t think you’re a liar, Fuku.” His eyes were filled with an indescribable sort of sadness, as he looked over at the vase of chrysanthemums. They were old, as Fuku had thrown away the ones from the past few days, and their petals fell to the surface of the dresser. “I have… I had… a friend you didn’t know about.”

THREE YEARS EARLIER

Chikayoshi struggled to catch his breath as he and Genjirou rolled and rolled and rolled in their special corner of the mountain, the exact center of the walking distance from the village of Passions to the village of Water’s Blessings. Genjirou placed kisses up and down Chikayoshi’s torso, who in return curled his toes in pleasure, wrapping his legs around the other’s hips. The two had met a year earlier during a hunt, or, in Chikayoshi’s case, a scouring-of-the-mountainside for flowers. They’d hit it off and become wonderful friends, only realising it was something more when Chikayoshi had sprained his ankle while Genjirou chased him. Once Genjirou caught up to him, he carefully tended to the wound, kissing it jokingly afterwards. When smiling at Chikayoshi, he was met by a cold, terrified gaze, & recognised it as longing. Daring himself, he moved his face closer– & closer– until he was finally met by a trepid, evolving into passionate, kiss, and the two realised their friendship was no more.

They made careful sure to not be seen by anyone else– Chikayoshi’s parents wanted so badly for their son to have a loving wife and have children, and Genjirou’s village wasn’t known as the most tolerant, infamously once having had kicked out an esteemed samurai after he flirted brashly with a male shopkeeper. Just as Chikayoshi was halfway through undoing Genjirou’s robes and the two felt daring enough to take the next “step” in their relationship, they froze as they heard the crackling of branches not too far away. Chikayoshi rapidly withdrew and Genjirou pretended to be busy with some mushroom, but it was too late; the two had been spotted by a hunter from Genjirou’s village who’d ventured further into the woods than his peers, and was met with quite the shock as he saw one of his fellow hunters arms-up with a strange man in the woods. Convinced his friend was of the female persuasion and that this was an assailant, he swooped in, throwing Genjirou as far as he could, sending him tumbling down a bit before he landed against a tree, and passed out immediately from the blunt trauma.

Unbeknownst to him, the other hunter had already drawn his bow and arrow, but too late– Chikayoshi took off like a mad dog into the woods, and the hunter chased after him, calling to his peers to help. They searched, and searched, and searched, all convinced Genjirou had been violated and that this man must die, but could not find him anywhere.

Just as how in the future, Genjirou hid from those very hunters in a river, Chikayoshi hid as well, but waded too deep into the water, and, unequipped with the ability of swimming, drowned. His corpse resurfaced soon enough that the hunters found it, and they buried it gracelessly in a ditch, leaving it to rot.

Chikayoshi’s body did rot, and his bones were taken away by wild animals. His spirit was very weak, and it took him three years of constant wishes for vengeance to manifest in a way that he could take on a physical form. He immediately sought out Genjirou, and also, his revenge, stealing a random corpse and marking it as his own– however, he was not at all well-written, & did not realise he had misspelled his name.

In the meantime in those three years, Genjirou distanced himself from his peers. The hunters agreed not to speak of what had happened to him in the mountains, finding it too shameful, and Genjirou could not stand to hunt alongside them anymore, choosing to hunt alone, hoping all along he’d encounter Chikayoshi, though he never did, & drearily presumed he’d been chased away by the others. The villagers started to grow cold towards Genjirou as they realised that he less and less interacted with them, let alone the fact that he so arrogantly hunted by himself– at least, they found it arrogant, as they did not know the true reason the hunters left him alone.

PRESENT

Fuku pursed her lips as Genjirou had only told her what he knew, personally– that he & Chikayoshi had once been involved in an affair, only to never see one another again after the incident on the mountain. Neither of the two had a clue as to how he’d died, but they didn’t want to think about it, knowing deep in their hearts it had to do with the hunters. “You must think I’m very silly,” she finally sighed, slightly laughing. “That I would so persistently chase after you even when your heart belonged to somebody else…” she blushed a bit. “I really do feel very foolish.”

“Don’t feel foolish,” Genjirou said pointedly, holding her hand in his. “Women should never feel foolish for trying to make their feelings known to a man… it shouldn’t be something to be embarrassed about, & I do appreciate you wholeheartedly for your support.” Fuku’s gaze was a bit empty, & that word was written across her brow: FOOLISH. “Please don’t think I’ve used you in any way,” he added, tightening his grip slightly. “You were not just a body for me to cling to, a soul for me to pour all that missing love into. Your friendship was always meaningful to me, and I always appreciated your reaching out to me where others wouldn’t, and our relationship was wonderful. You’re an amazing person, Fuku, and I wish nothing but the best for you.”

Fuku’s grip tightened in his. “We’re over, aren’t we?” she whispered. She had a gut feeling, even before she knew exactly how close Chikayoshi had been to Genjirou– she had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to love her anymore, knowing what he did. “Please don’t find me superficial,” Genjirou pleaded, searching her eyes. Fuku smiled wryly, reading his every facial feature. “I don’t,” she responded quietly. “I think in another life we would have paired quite nicely.”

“I think so, too,” Genjirou whispered, then stood up, taking the tea cups. He disappeared that same day, not offering Fuku a good-bye, as he knew it needed not be said. He did leave Fuku his house and possessions, and with that, she knew he would never return. She wished to have a love so powerful it could bring her back to life… she eventually got her wish, as, a couple years later, she met a beautiful, kind man from another village, who showered her every day in his affections and never failed to remind her how much she meant to him, even in the hard times, or when they argued. They never fought, making them a couple rather envied by a large sum of the villagers, who couldn’t seem to go a few days without fighting with their spouse.

The two married, and after their marriage, Fuku found a magnificent bouquet of chrysanthemums by her doorstep, wrapped in a silk ribbon….

#historical #ghosts #romance #fantasy #Japanese #shortstory #chrysanthemums #genjirou #chikayoshi

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