#its the weekdays again so i will go back to my sad life and job iam so cooked this week oof

[kenchann]

a lost shade...

[graceful-stranded-thoughts]

Just Another Weekend

I should wake up. It’s well past noon and the sun is peeking through that small gap in the curtains that will not go away, no matter how many times I’ve moved the damn fabric. I’m not really asleep per say, just laying here in a mass of blankets and warm lighting. My body overheats and I have to kick off the covers, but then I get too cold and have to retreat underneath my solitude of gratuitous sadness again. It’s a vicious cycle, though I should be grateful as currently it’s the only thing keeping my attention away from the self-pity that swarms inside my chest. 

There’s no reason I should be so depressed, is there? I’m not sure anymore. It’s like some weird monster that’s found its home within my throat. It keeps quiet for the most part, but it likes to jump out to remind me its still living within my bones. Not that I’d be likely to forget at anytime. You don’t just forget something that makes your stomach dry and your brain to become fuddled in darkness. Is fuddled a word? Sounds British. Maybe a shortened version of befuddled. That was probably a better word to use. Ah well…not like I majored in English…or writing…anyway. Depression! Whoo! 

Interesting what triggers such an annoying mental block. It’s a slippery slope really and I don’t have any snow shoes. Though I always enjoyed sliding down a snowy hill. There’s something freeing about giving up control and possibly smacking into a tree. Maybe the force of impact will jolt the monster out of me. 

But the sun on snow can be too bright for my eyes. I squint and turn away and when I open my eyes again…somehow I’m back in bed. Back to sleeping in until 3pm and then hating myself because I wasted a whole day. I should be more productive than this. I can be more productive than this. I do it every weekday. I actually do shit that helps and isn’t useless and pointless. But being awake means I have to leave my dreams, which are almost always better than real life. I don’t have to worry about getting a job or feeling as though I will never amount to anything. Ugh, let’s not go down that rabbit hole just yet. 

No, I enjoy sleep because it gives my over active, anxious brain a break. I can finally get everything to shut the fuck up and I can create my own little self-insert fanfic within my head. There’s been a few cute romances lately…though that’s another rabbit hole there. I swear it’s a fucking maze at this point. Cause romance leads to wondering why these moments never happened to me, but of course they can’t happen if you don’t leave your fucking bed you idiot. But what if you’ll never be loved because you’re so afraid of being hurt? The pain of being alone is a lot easier to deal with than the pain of being unwanted…though one could argue those go hand in hand. Also, is that what you really want or are you just lonely and depressed? Also you’re not lonely, moron you have people who care about you. Really cool people you make you feel valued and important. Then again, what if they’re just being nice and polite and don’t want to tell you to go away? You could just be an annoying nuisance who doesn’t really add anything. No, shut up! We’re not doing this. 

Man I have to pee. I should get out of bed. It’s really not that hard. First you have to pull off the covers…but I’m in the stage of too cold now. I’ll get up in five minutes. I can hold it until then. Just five more minutes…hold out until then…and then another five…and maybe one more.

[kuroos-moon]

with all that’s left, kenjirou

pairing: med student shirabu x hospital patient reader

summary: apparently, you’ve got limited time left. with that in mind, you don’t see a point to living through everyday, but changes in hospital rotations occur and a cold med student wounds up in your hospital room.

warning/s: hospital setting, terminal reader, pessimistic/apathetic thoughts

a/n: i might do a part two idk i lowkey could see this as a series just for the fun of it

wc: 3.4k 

Slowly blinking away the sleep from your eyes, you instantly recognize the absence of sunlight that’d normally leave you huffing and groaning by now. Your room was gloomy and dark, you realize, but it had to be daytime, as confirmed by the bland mechanical clock across from where you lay on your bed; you’ve grown accustomed to looking at it as soon as you woke up.

7:30 am, it read. 

Normally, you’d be up by seven sharp in courtesy of that psychotic nurse of a friend of yours, the room would be bright and sunny too unlike now. 

Plain white curtains were still over the window to your left, a few steps from your bed—it wasn’t wide, in fact, it was stupidly small considering that it was the only window in the room—but you’ve long ascertained that two people could stand together close enough and see through it comfortably.

Your days were uniformed. Your nurse would wake you up too damn early in the morning, try to radiate some happiness into you—not that you’re depressed—and then she’ll proceed with giving you your medication even though you could do it yourself, then she injects that stinging, numbing liquid in the tube that always made you feel sleepy, and lastly, she checks your vitals—your current state, your response to the treatment. 

You always loathe that part the most, although you appreciate her trying to ease it away with chitter chatter. She wouldn’t pass as an actress though even if her life depended on it, she couldn’t contain what she truly felt. It was painfully easy to tell you’re getting worse by the look on her face and her frightened, disappointed eyes—and it made you feel bitter, what else did you expect, Yui?

But of course you loved her too much to actually voice that out, she’s the only one who stuck around; and even if she denies it every single time, you know she gave up her dreams to live abroad to keep you company until your last breath. 

It’s neither a pro nor a con, but considering the lack of life in the room, you succumb to the emptiness, idly laying on your bed and getting stuck in a daze of nonentity as you stare up at the ceiling. It’s neither peaceful nor lonely either, it’s just reality. 

Hearing fast approaching footsteps getting closer, you know it could only be Yui, and for a split second you consider locking your door, her personality would only brighten up your room which was dark and gloomy for a change, and you wanted to leave it as it is.

Maybe she’ll let you keep the curtains closed if you begged enough. Maybe.

The door, which was to your right, slides open and you sigh—here we go. 

“Good morning y/n-chan!”

“Morning Yui,” you try to sound cheerful without looking at her. 

“Sorry I’m late! Had to take care of some things and I have sad news for you!”

You jokingly glare at her, “what do you mean you’re late? You don’t need to be here at all every 7 in the morning like a living alarm clock. I’m still a patient y’know, need sleep and all that.”

She only chuckles at you, heading for the windows to tie your curtains. 

“Can you leave them like that? I actually like it this way,” you mutter.

“Nope, let’s live in a vibrant environment shall we,” she muses, proceeding to open the curtains much to your distaste. Fortunately, even when she had them opened, the sky was covered with thick dark clouds—it would rain later on, but more importantly, your room remains bleak and lifeless.

“Why do you look so pleased?” She scowls at you and you grin. “My room reflects my withering life for a change.” It’s far too late the moment you realize you’ve said those words out loud. 

You don’t even need to sit up or turn your head to look at her to know she’s crying right now. Keeping your eyes closed, you listen to her mutter curses at you and how you should cherish the time you have left. 

It’s not that you’re depressed or bitter about how your life’s apparently fading away. But you’re much too realistic and you’ve long accepted that your life is fading away. There’s nothing you could do about it. You couldn’t bring yourself to be someone who appreciates every single second left or one who starts crashing out things from their bucket list either (you’re not even sure if you have one).

To you, your life is as good as gone. If it ends, it ends—it’s no big deal. And the fact that your mindset is so dull, your life painfully as monotonous, it’s not too much for you to ask for that your room should be the same. This sunless, dreary environment is greatly to your taste. Having it lit up so brightly, to add to that, Yui’s cheerful attitude, leaves you feeling like there should be more to your life than what it actually is: short and numbered.

“Said I was sorry,” you mutter, still lying on your back with closed eyes. She only sniffles, “try to lighten up the mood, will you? As I said I even have sad news.”

“Which is?”

“I’m not assigned to check on you anymore. There’s been a change in rotations with the increasing med students around.”

While it isn’t exactly sad news to you, it’s not pleasant either. It means that someone completely unknown to you would check your condition twice every single day.

“Who gets lucky enough to take care of me in your place then?”

She huffs and you could already tell she despises the person.  

“A fifth-year med student. He’s such a stuck-up, smart-mouth imbecile just because he gets stupidly good grades.”

“What? Don’t tell me you fought with him already or something,” you joke.

“Duh! Why else do you think I wasn’t here early? Like he’s apparently really smart, he undermined even his previous seniors that’s why they hated him and doctors here favor him too.”

“Thank you, though I don’t really think my wits and brains are as extraordinary as you make it out to be,” eloquently says a smooth, soothing yet distant voice to your right.

Your heads turn to the tall guy who stood by your doorframe. His disinterested eyes were on Yui and you could assume she was glaring back at him because that’s just the way she is—you’re simply too preoccupied with taking in the sight of him to confirm what Yui’s facial expression is right now.

His eyes are an even shade of brown, and brown was too warm a color for them to look so cold. The absence of any apparent emotion on his facial features made him appear so unapproachable and intimidating—not that you’re intimidated—and there was something in the way he carried himself and stood so upright that makes him seem so authoritative and composed.

“You!” Yui hisses, you slowly sit up, reminded of the awkward situation you’ve been put in all because she had to talk bad about someone without closing the door first. “Nurse Sato, was it? It’s a pleasure to be of your acquaintance again. Do you mind leaving so I could tend to the patient?”

Similar to his eyes, his hair was a coper brown, and you could tell he took good care of his hair from the way it seemed so well-combed and soft. How could one even look so good and smart in a white coat? And here you thought you’ve seen enough doctors in this lifetime to be at awe from the sight of someone with the same attire, holding a similar clipboard.

“You’re an annoying little br-

“I’m older than you, Nurse Sato. And professionally, you shouldn’t be losing composure in front of a patient, let alone be raising your voice.” He is simply so blunt and cold; you’re torn between snickering at Yui for getting dissed or remaining silent because he might have something to scold you for too.

Before Yui could say anything else, you intervene. “Hey, you still have your rounds to do, okay? I’ll be fine, go do your job or something,” you chuckle a bit as she grits her teeth, glaring at Mr. Icy Med Student by the door then at you.

“Are you taking his side?”

“If that means you’ll leave, then yes, I’m taking his side,” you grin at her. She leaves with a huff, attempting to bump his shoulder but he dodges with an unamused look pointed at her.

Now that you’re alone with him, you suddenly want Yui back. Why are you feeling so awkward anyway? You’ve met tons of doctors and hospital personnel. 

He closes the door behind him the moment Yui disappears, your eyes remaining focused on your hands at your lap as you hear the slow clicking of his shoes making its way to your bedside. The footsteps come to a halt, and you couldn’t tell if you were nervous because you haven’t seen much new faces for so long or because he himself just made you nervous like a natural law. 

“Good Morning, I’m Shirabu Kenjirou, a fifth-year medical student and I’ll be the one to monitor and tend to you on weekdays,” he says, and as you’ve observed, he had such a soothing voice, it could only be because he was training to be a doctor and patients had to be comfortable around him.

Right, why would you not look at him? He’s just another one of many whose job is to look after you until your last day. He isn’t special. Like it was some easy feat, you finally look up at him, a part of you wishing you hadn’t as you feel your breath getting caught up in your throat upon meeting such far-off yet captivating brown eyes. 

He looks at you expectantly, and you get that it was because he’s waiting for you to introduce yourself. “You already know my name,” you mutter, looking away from him. He slightly raises his brows in surprise, in fact, he does know your name already, but that was an unusual response said with an undoubtedly lifeless accent—not that he cares—he’s just observant and sharp-witted.

“Y/n L/n, is that correct?” He momentarily looks down on his clipboard although he memorized your name the first time he heard it; he’s gifted with ridiculously sharp memory too. You nod, looking outside the window, surprised that it was raining. 

“Then if you don’t mind,” he says under his breath, putting down his clipboard on the table beside you before grabbing an injection and some bottled stuff you still don’t know the name of from the metallic cart by the foot of your bed. Your eyes are locked on him, injecting that stuff from the bottle seemed like a small thing to do but he still looked so focused.

The same goes for when he injects it to the tube connected to the needle in your left hand and the liquid-containing bag that serves as your daily needed life savers so that you could still walk and move around. You wince a bit, feeling the all-too familiar sting of the process.

Normally, doctors or nurses would ask you if you were okay and if it hurt when you winced like that. Not him though, and you narrow your eyes at him in curiosity. “You’re not gonna ask it?”

“Ask what?” It’s crazy how his voice does things to you you can’t quite explain, and you reason that it’s maybe because he doesn’t speak much.

“If it hurts,” you shrug. “Don’t move,” he snaps, sharp eyes finding yours before they look down on his busy hands again. Even his hands were pretty, and for a moment you wonder if they feel as nice as they look.

There’s a moment of silence before he walks away from you, checking your vitals and scribbling who knows what on his clipboard. You eye the two extra pens in his pocket, and you reckon he really is uptight with himself as he looks and acts so disciplined. Why would he need that many extra pens? 

and why should you care? an inner voice asks.

He may be fixated on what he’s doing, but he could tell how intently you stared at him. Perhaps you were waiting for him to answer your question? He doesn’t want to. He’s not one to engage on conversations that are trivial—he knows better than to actually know more than what’s necessary of someone dying. 

Shirabu certainly gets the vibe off you that you cared about nothing anymore, and he’s not exactly empathetic enough to actually feel sorry about your limited time alive. 

Still, it was slightly getting to him how your eyes never left his figure though he never pegged himself to be easily self-conscious. “Why didn’t I ask if it hurt,” he mutters and you look at him in surprise. “I know that it hurts, and if I were to ask and you were to say yes, I wouldn’t know what to say other than meaningless encouragements. I don’t like saying things I don’t mean and I assume you don’t want to hear them either.”

“You’re right.” He looks at you from the corner of his eye for a while, you’re just staring out the window. “Do you want me to close the curtains?” He asks, but you decline and he doesn’t talk anymore after that.

“That’s it for now, thank you for your cooperation, Ms. L/n. If you ever need anything else, tell me now.” When you don’t say anything, he doesn’t spare you a second glance before he turns on his heel, about to make a leave.

“Wait,” you call, and he stops, turning around to look at you. “I’d prefer if you don’t call me miss.”

“Shall I call you mister then?”

You blink. “Is that what you call a joke?” 

You could make out the slight knitting of his brows. “I was being sarcastic. It’s only professional to address you formally as you are a patient,” he strictly says, a small frown on his lips.

So you do know how to make faces, that’s the only thing on your mind as you both look at each other in silence for a mere short seconds before you speak again.

“Then is it professional to be sarcastic, Kenjirou-san?” You don’t notice the small smile on your lips but he does. Are you having a kick out of prolonging his stay in your private hospital room? He somehow dislikes it here, it made him uneasy and deep down he knows it wasn’t because of the room itself and more so because of you.

“It isn’t. My apologies, Miss L/n.”

“I said not to call me that,” you unintentionally snap. There’s no reason behind not wanting to be called that really, it just doesn’t sound right. “If you say so, y/n-san. Anything else you need?”

A grin accidentally slips out, he sounded casual and that, plus his voice, was the most pleasant thing ever. You can’t explain why you’re feeling something other than emptiness, nor are you aware that you’re somewhat giddy—you’ve far long thrown away feelings in order to survive daily with your sanity intact.

“Could I borrow a pen?” You ask him. 

He sighs, stepping close to your bed and grabbing a pen from the pocket of his coat before handing it to you. You look at it for a few seconds before taking it in your own hand, your skins barely untouching but somehow, at the back of Shirabu’s mind, he ponders if your fingertips were cold to touch considering how cold your room is.

“Thanks, I’ll return it to you later.”

He nods, putting his hands in his pockets, only realizing how cold they were when he looked at yours and wondered the same. Upon much deliberation, he looks sideways, much too prideful to look at you. “Are you feeling cold?”

You could only smile, unconsciously that is, but it surprised him still. “Now that you say it, yeah, it is quite cold.”

Before you know it, he’s walked out the door and you scoff loud enough for him to hear before he closes it. “What was the point of asking me then?” You mutter under your breath, already feeling drowsy from the injected thingy. 

The moment he was out of your sight, he stands still, his back leaning to your door. You confused him somehow, because he did hear your conversation with Yui. You totally struck him as someone who’s come to terms with their fate however ill, you’re not exactly depressed but you’re not what he considers a living person either. 

He shakes his head, what am I saying? He’s training to be a doctor yet he thinks someone breathing isn’t living—it just doesn’t make sense. But except for the fact that it does make sense. He’s heard of your name a couple times before, nurses and med students like him preferred to be the ones in charge of you because you were neither depressed or too friendly—you didn’t take a toll on their energy, they say.

That’s entirely untrue for his case. Sure, you weren’t a talker nor were you especially gloomy for someone ill, but there’s something completely and inexplicably unusual going on from the moment you evaded his mind more than necessary. He should think about what he does after he finishes with one thing, he should think about what you need—what a patient needs. 

Instead, he secretly wondered why you smiled at him so genuinely when you seemed so disconnected and disinterested with everything. Deep down, he wanted to know what was on your mind when you were staring at the rain through that small window of yours. 

What’s more to that is he doesn’t know why he wasn’t as focused on the task on hand as much as he liked, was it because of your conversation? If so, at which point did he feel so compelled to ask you more—to ask you why you needed his pen? 

Looking at his watch, he grits his teeth, disappointed in himself. It took him way much more time than it should for him to be done with you, and to think he prided himself for being someone efficient.

The moment you wake up, your eyes land immediately on the clock. It’s a quarter past noon, and it was still raining outside, the rain only getting heavier and louder. Your room still looked as dark and bland as when you first woke up this morning and you’re thankful that the icky bright sunlight didn’t creep in while you were dozed off. 

Sitting up, you finally notice the thin blanket you slept in folded neatly at the foot of your bed yet you feel so warm—at peace and relaxed even. You clutch the thick blanket over your frame, looking at it in surprise and a long forgotten feeling—happiness.  

It feels weird but unknowingly, you had the urge to go out of your way and thank him for it. It is his job to do so after all, still, if you’re grateful, you’re grateful. 

In honor of the thick blanket, maybe you should eat on time. You’ve been far too rebellious and uncaring, at least for today, you should be good. As you were about to pick up your tray from your bedside table, something caught your eye. There were pieces of paper beside it, the pen you borrowed atop the papers.

You tilt your head in wonder. There was surely not a single paper in sight earlier, it’s the reason why you haven’t started writing yet. It’s not like the lady assigned to give you meals suddenly decided to give you papers as well as if she knew what you were up to.

Could it be Kenjirou? Just the thought of that possibility has your lips curled up in a smile all day—as you finish your meal, as you took a bath, changed clothes, and watched television on your bed.  

“Geez, you seem so happy today of all days when the weather’s bad,” Yui gives you a look, sitting on the small couch beside your bed because she was apparently on break. 

“Hmm?”

“Nothing. I’m saying you’ve been so dead lately—and I meant that figuratively—despite my best efforts to lighten the mood and let some sunlight in your room. Now that the weather’s bad, your room’s dark, and that annoying Shirabu replaced me I…”

“What?” You mindlessly glance back up at the clock at the mention of his name, the fuzzy feeling back at the pit of your stomach all over again. At 7 pm, that distant smart-mouth brown-eyed medical student would walk right in again. 

“I’ve never seen you look so alive, y/n.”

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[uwua3]

drivers license.

🍁📸 fushimi omi

summary: omi receives his license and goes to the cemetery to celebrate

warnings: angst, anxiety, arguments, car crashes, driving, family trauma/issues, grieving/mourning, major character death/parental death

author’s note: if you are going through the loss of a loved one, please remember you will always have people in this world who support and love you endlessly ♡ you are not alone and you will make it through. i believe in you with all my heart—i cannot tell you it’s okay, but i can tell you it’ll get better. please keep trying, it’ll be worth it. i hope you wake up tomorrow with a lighter heart, i love you

this is not romantic! this is a headcanon i have of omi’s family history as he only lives with his father and two brothers (ＴｗＴ。) thank you!!!

word count: 2,619

music: drivers license – olivia rodrigo

I GOT MY DRIVER’S LICENSE LAST WEEK

JUST LIKE WE ALWAYS TALKED ABOUT

‘CAUSE YOU WERE SO EXCITED FOR ME

TO FINALLY DRIVE UP TO YOUR HOUSE

Omi was the first person to pass his driver’s license test in his family.

His father wasn’t getting any younger, so his hands were hesitant and shaky every time they hovered over the stick shift. The buttons out of the corners of his eyes were much too confusing for his old brain so Omi’s father insisted on walking everywhere. As he grew older, the Fushimi household reached a compromise of taking public transport during the weekdays.

Omi’s two younger brothers weren’t old enough. They were still in their early preteen years, so getting behind the wheel wasn’t a legal option. As the oldest son, Omi took it upon himself to get into a four-wheeler and figure out all the tricky mechanics for himself. Hours and hours passed borrowing his friend’s vehicle, spinning around in circles in abandoned parking lots, and studying road laws.

When Omi learned all by himself and paid for it with his own money, his father clapped his shoulder with his usual proud smile and congratulated him.

The leather beneath his father’s wrinkled hands suddenly felt like skin, as if he could see right through him. When Omi took a moment to take a deep breath in, he closed his eyes and could almost see a younger version of his father. A father that wouldn’t be so close to retirement, that wasn’t so fragile and slow.

What did his father see? Could he see Omi was still the little boy sitting in the backseat all those years ago?

“That’s my boy! You’re just like your—” Omi didn’t want to hear the rest of the sentence, so he hurried upstairs and left his father alone in the corridor. Sometimes, he regrets it. But, most times, Omi’s glad he didn’t stay.

Whenever Omi got into a car after that, he sometimes still heard it in his head.

Omi knew he was like his mother.

BUT TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

CRYING ‘CAUSE YOU WEREN’T AROUND

YEAH, TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

‘CAUSE HOW COULD I EVER LOVE SOMEONE ELSE?

The first thing Omi did after receiving his license was visit his mother.

The car wasn’t preferable by any means, but it did its job. The seat creaked every time Omi had to adjust it, the air freshner didn’t make anything better, and there was no possibility that the air conditioning worked. But, the windows rolled down all the way, the wheels rarely ran out of air, and the car door only jammed sometimes. At the red light, Omi shifted and heard the crease of his jacket.

Omi didn’t know why he still wore it. Those days were long past him now, but the aged material made this whole experience a little easier. Before Omi could let himself reminicse, the light turned green and Omi automatically pushed forward.

Check the rear-view mirror. Two hands on the wheels at all time. Eyes on the road. Pay attention to stop signs. Be aware of everything around you. Omi repeated this again and again until the GPS on his phone announced he reached his location. Parking carefully, Omi let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding until everything stopped moving.

Picking up the small bouquet of flowers on the passenger’s seat, Omi locked his car and nodded at the security guard at the gates.

“Hi, Ma.” Omi said, pausing at a worn-down grave with the same flowers as last time.

“I got my driver’s license last week.”

AND I KNOW WE WEREN’T PERFECT

BUT I’VE NEVER FELT THIS WAY FOR ANYONE

AND I JUST CAN’T IMAGINE

HOW COULD YOU BE SO OKAY NOW THAT I’M GONE?

Omi sat besides her, leaning his head upon the cold grey stone. Like her tombstone, she was always strong, resilient, and offered a shoulder to cry on. Omi shuddered and wrapped an arm around the grave, as if she was still here.

“I did it.” Omi breathed and closed his eyes shut, hearing the distant rumbling of a thunderstorm. Even though Omi knew he should’ve left to get ahead of the rain, his legs were too weak. He couldn’t move without feeling like he was going to crash and burn.

“Ma... it was so hard.” Omi finally admitted to himself, squeezing the plastic of the bouquet in his hands and distracting himself with the crinkle. “Every time I sat in the driver’s side, I thought of you. I was... I’m so scared.”

Silence, before a clap of thunder. Omi flinched, hiding his face in the grey. “You were such a good driver, you followed every single rule. You should’ve been the one to teach me...”

Omi hated this feeling, like he was selfish for wanting his mother to be here with him. But, he knew he was right. Omi shouldn’t have had to suffer through panic attacks by himself. Make close calls with no one by his side. Balance school, work, family, and driving every single day. Omi could feel the exhaustion in his bones, as if he was the one who was dead.

“Pa couldn’t. Ever since...” Omi didn’t dare relive the tragedy. All he could bear was the inhumane screams, shattering glass, and alarms of the ambulance from miles away before snapping back to reality. “... the accident, he’s been so, so sad.”

It was an under-statement to say the Fushimi boys were struggling. Losing a parent didn’t hurt just emotionally, but financially as well. As Omi’s father picked up more shifts, more and more of that money went to medical bills that should’ve been years down the line.

“Your boys miss you so much. I miss you, so much. You would’ve been so proud... just like Pa. He said—” Omi’s voice cracked and he hated himself for it. Pulling the jacket tighter, Omi winced as the sudden gust of wind chilled his spine. The leaves rustled unceremoniously and Omi wished he could fly away, too.

“I’m just like you, Ma.” Placing the small flowers at the base of her grave, Omi read the faded engraving upon the surface until his vision was clearer.

Omi moved onto the next grave without a goodbye, because he’s had too many of those in this lifetime.

GUESS YOU DIDN’T MEAN WHAT YOU WROTE IN THAT SONG ABOUT ME

‘CAUSE YOU SAID FOREVER, NOW I DRIVE ALONE PAST YOUR STREET

After visiting his mother and Nachi, Omi returned to his car. It looked nothing like the car he almost died in. Back then, that car was big enough to hold a family of five snugly. Now, Omi’s car didn’t need all that room. His father would never get back into a car ever again, and his brothers could just sit in the back.

Resting his hand upon the car door, Omi didn’t have the heart to open it. Going inside meant driving home; driving home meant seeing his father flinch whenever the car pulled into the driveway. Driving home meant preparing dinner, making sure the boys did their homework, giving Pa his proper medications, doing homework, and barely sleeping. Going home meant being mom.

As the rain began to pour, Omi didn’t move. Soaked and unable to distinguish if he was crying or just stupid, Omi hung his head and let the water run over him. Was this his Ma’s way of crying for him? Omi didn’t want to know.

Omi finally yanked open the car door when a pair of glowing headlights passed by him. He nearly missed the splash of a puddle by his feet as Omi started the engine. Something was wrong. The usual ignition wasn’t audible and the lights barely illuminated the darkening path. Omi sat in the driver’s side with frustration that’s been growing ever since the car accident.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Omi swore, kicking the floor uselessly as he lifted his fist to hit the surface. Before he could slam his hand down, Omi sighed and simply hit the dashboard lightly at the last second. He had spent far too much money only to pay for repairs later on.

Omi pulled out his phone and checked, only to see no bars and no signal. Omi was cold, shivering, and crying in a cemetery and he had never felt more alone.

AND ALL MY FRIENDS ARE TIRED

OF HEARING HOW MUCH I MISS YOU, BUT

I KINDA FEEL SORRY FOR THEM

‘CAUSE THEY’LL NEVER KNOW YOU THE WAY I DO

Omi bought his first car after saving for months.

He honestly didn’t have to. Leaving behind the delinquent life meant making good friends. Friends that didn’t start fights, disobey the law, or be at risk of being put behind bars. Therefore, Omi had a friend that was willing to just give him a car.

“Come on, this is our gift to you. You don’t have to worry about this!” Omi’s friends insisted, trying to push the keys into Omi’s tight fists. No matter how much pressure was put upon him, Omi never faltered, just like stone.

“I’m sorry, but I... can’t take this.” Omi guiltily rejected the brand-new car. It was a model only rich people drove, the same exact demographic his friend was apart of. It was freshly washed with the proper tags and everything. Omi could’ve just taken it and saved thousands of dollars.

Except, he couldn’t. The car by no means was a vehicle he sat in before. But, the white color was the same. If Omi wasn’t paying attention, maybe he could ignore it. Yet every time he saw the exterior, it brought him back to that rainy day, desparately fumbling to rip off his seatbelt and wake his mother up.

“Omi... you can’t afford to say no...” They sympathetically tried to reason with him, but Omi was far gone. He backed up, nearly tripping with how hurriedly he stepped on his own heels. If he blinked, he could see the new car wrecked. If he didn’t focus, he could hear the sickening sound of the brakes failing.

“Omi, it’s been years since she—”

If he let himself get consumed by the past, he’d surely die.

“Thank you for this, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Omi bought a car a week later and when his father asked about price, Omi lied through his teeth.

“My friends saved up and bought me one for my birthday. Don’t worry, Pa. We can make the bills.”

Even when his friends sold it and tried to give him the money, Omi didn’t take it. His mother didn’t raise her son to take money from anyone.

Like mother, like son.

TODAY I DROVE THROUGH THE SUBURBS

AND PICTURED I WAS DRIVING HOME TO YOU

Omi left the windshield wipers on, watching as the rain drops got caught in the way. The heating wasn’t functioning, so Omi huddled in on himself and waited for some sort of sign that he could make it home tonight. The radio crackled every now and then, making Omi jump every time a voice spoke a word before getting cut off.

The world continued on as Omi lived through another rainy dark sky. Omi remembered staring up at this type of sky, his back laid out on a stretcher and hand reaching for the closest family member. Omi mentally punched himself, finding that he was getting caught up in his own trauma much more often than usual. Ever since driving lessons.

When it got too much to handle, the assignments, the expectations, the pressure, Omi indulged in make-believe. Omi imagined an universe where he was driving home to be welcomed by the warm embrace of his mother. Where his father was standing taller, where his brothers left their rooms on their own accord, where he wasn’t the backbone of the household anymore. It didn’t do him any good to hope for something impossible, but Omi did so anyways sometimes.

Perhaps it was his punishment for not being the one who died that night.

As Omi swiped mindlessly through his phone, willing for a bar, a crack of lightning made his skin crawl. Yet, beneath the pounding rain, a single yell of shock alerted Omi to look up from his screen. A deep sense of familarity forced Omi to look past his window, hoping to see past the blurriness of it all.

At the sight of a dark frame, Omi didn’t think twice before hurdling him outside, barely able to close his door before stripping his jacket and throwing it around the man. The shivering man weakly holding onto an umbrella that did nothing but cause more problems.

“Pa?! What are you doing here?”

RED LIGHTS, STOP SIGNS

I STILL SEE YOUR FACE IN WHITE CARS, FRONT YARDS

CAN’T DRIVE PAST THE PLACES WE USED TO GO TO

‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING YOU LOVE YOU, BABY

“Son!” Omi’s father happily greeted despite being on the verge of catching a cold. Omi held the umbrella over his father’s head, taking the brunt of the cold willingly.

“I took the bus here. I knew you’d be visiting her today, but it was quite late.” He explained, wearing a newsboy cap that he must’ve had since youth. The sight of his father with a runny nose and wet clothes at his expense set something off in Omi.

“Why did you come?”

“To bring you home—”

“What would’ve happened if you died?”

The sound of rain was defeaning. Omi’s father stopped, staring at his son like he was seeing him for the first time. Omi’s arm started shaking, his grip on the umbrella’s handle was slacking. The truth weighed upon his shoulders, like he was about to collapse.

What if the bus had crashed? What if something happened to Pa while walking to the cemetery? What if it was Omi’s fault? Before Omi could apologize, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his shoulders.

Omi dropped the umbrella.

SIDEWALKS WE CROSSED

I STILL HEAR YOUR VOICE IN THE TRAFFIC, WE’RE LAUGHING OVER ALL THE NOISE

GOD, I’M SO BLUE, KNOW WE’RE THROUGH

Omi couldn’t die.

Not when he raised his weak father that wasn’t getting any younger. He had to take care of his two younger brothers. Omi had to finish university, graduate, and be hired at a high-paying job to support his family. Fushimi Omi couldn’t die.

But, here he was, breaking.

“My boy, I’m not going anywhere.” Omi’s father said it so surely, like it was a promise he could control. Omi hesitated before resting his chin on his father’s shoulder, closing his eyes and inhaling the scent of cologne. It was the brand his mother used to love, but he knew his father hated this one. It was so fitting, Omi refrained from crying.

“You’re so strong, I’m so proud of you.” Omi nodded, hugging his father with unsaid words he’d never be able to speak. Omi could never tell him his greatest fear was Pa dying. Could never admit that seeing his father react a second late makes him pace. Could never reveal he only went to university close-by in case an emergency occurred. Everything Omi did was for his father, his Pa, his only parent.

“She’d be so proud of who you are today. You are her son.” Omi’s father patted him once, twice, then pulled back. He rested his aged palm upon Omi’s cheek gently, just like his mother used to. His thumb ran over his scar with no judgment, just fatherly love.

Omi had never felt more loved.

‘CAUSE I STILL FUCKING YOU LOVE YOU, BABY

“You’re just like your mother, Omi.”

[jamielea81]

Conversations

Chapter 1 

Description: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls. 

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing

A/N: Welcome to my new series! If you’re new here, thanks for stopping by, if you’re a returning friend, you know right off the bat this will be a slow burn. That’s just how I roll. There will be lots of flirting, cuteness, snark, and some angst. I recommend looking up a ride through of Expedition Everest if you’ve never been on it. A cast member is what Disney calls their employees. I think that’s all you need to know for now. Tag list is open, please send an ask. Likes, comments, and reblogs are wonderful.

“My feet hurt,” you whined, sticking out your bottom lip for added affect. “Go on without me. Just promise me you’ll remember me always.”

“So dramatic. Go sit down, you big baby.” Jana said, giving you a light shove.

The two of you were just outside of Pandora at Disney’s Animal Kingdom Theme Park waiting for her husband Brooks to use the restroom. It had already been a long day. You rarely visited the parks during the day anymore unless family or out of state friends were in town. After moving to Florida from the Midwest for college, you decided to stay. The heat was something you never truly got used to, but with so many career opportunities in the Orlando area it was hard to pack up after graduation. Twelve years later and you were still here.

Jana and Brooks had a rare weekday off and begged you to join them at the park. Because of the heat and the crowds, you generally avoided the parks. Unfortunately, their idea of a park day started at park open. Today the park happened to open at eight in the morning. You compromised and told them you’d meet the two of them at nine. There was slight protest from Jana but she was happy you were even going.

Brooks had been your friend for the last seven years. Taking a job at the Orlando Sentinel was unexpected, but it turned out to be quite the dream job. On your first day, you managed to get turned around and ended up on the floor that held mostly sales and advertisement employees. Brooks took pity on you which you took for flirting until his girlfriend called while he was walking you to your cubicle. That girlfriend later became his wife and your best friend, so it worked out for the best.

“You know I’m scared of that ride anyway. It goes backwards for Christ sakes. Backwards,” you muttered again shaking your head.

You’ve only ridden Expedition Everest twice and that was more than enough. Disney has great theming, but even a great attraction can’t make you want to ride it. It’s first flaw is how high the coaster goes up. The second flaw is at one point it goes backwards. And the third and final flaw is the huge drop. Yeah, your stomach did not agree with riding it. The wait time was posted for seventy-five minutes and you had no desire to stand in line that long for something you didn’t want to do.

“Y/N, your ridiculous. It’s a roller coaster. At Disney. Children ride it,” Jana said.

Brooks caught up to the two of you, intertwining his fingers with Jana.

“She doesn’t want to go?” he asked.

“That’s a big nope,” you replied popping the p.

The three you walked across the bridge leaving Pandora and into Discovery Island. Tiffin’s was a nice restaurant on Discovery island, but a little on the expensive side, so you hadn’t dined there. But Tiffin’s had a bar called Nomad Lounge with an outdoor covered patio that you very much had visited. Several times to in fact. With its dark wood floors and ceiling, billowy curtains that were always only partially tied back, large wicker couches with colorful pillows and small intimate tables that lined the patio railing looking out into a sea of trees, it was your favorite spot. Over the last year it had become increasingly popular, but you still loved it and visited it for a drink on every outing to the park.

“You two go ahead and stand in line for over an hour. I’m going to sit my butt here,” you said pointing to the lounge. “Let me know when you’re done and I’ll meet you.”

Brooks rolled his eyes at you, pulling Jana along who kept turning back to give you sad eyes.

When they were out of sight, you walked onto the curved patio looking for an open table. You passed an open couch, but you always felt selfish taking one up for just yourself, so you continued on. Unfortunately, there didn’t seem to be much else open, being that if was after two and most people had the same idea as you in needing a break. Turning yourself around to head back to that couch you passed near the entry, a couple stood up from a small table. You waited patiently for them to grab their backpacks and bags before quickly sitting down on one of two chairs pushed into the table. You picked up the menu quickly passing the selection of beers. deciding it was more of a cocktail afternoon. A Hightower Rita with its mixture of tequila and watermelon sounded perfect.

You set the menu down on the table, grabbing your phone from your jean shorts pocket, to post a few pictures of the day onto Instagram. When the server had not stopped by to clear the table and take your order, you opened your e-mail. A few sales ads, a forwarded e-mail from your mother. People still send those? And a new assignment. The Jonas Brothers at Amway Center next month. You actually liked a few songs off their new album, so you were pretty excited for this concert.

When the server still hadn’t been by, you let out an annoyed huff. Sure, Jana and Brooks were still in line with a long wait to go, but at this rate you weren’t going to be able to finish said drink by the time they were done.

You stood up and looked around from your spot, not wanting to stray too far from the table and lose it to the vultures circling the patio for a spot of their own. Not seeing a server in sight, you huffed out loud again before plopping yourself back in the chair. At least it was padded so it didn’t hurt with how fast you dropped.

You heard a slight chuckle from the sectional couch that sat against the restaurant’s outer wall in front of you. Choosing to ignore it because the lounge was packed, it was really none of your business what was happening at other tables.

“You’re at Disney, smile,” you heard a man’s voice say.

This time you did look up and sure enough, a man sitting across from you was looking directly at you. He was sitting with two other guys who were in a loud conversation and completely ignoring what was apparently happening.

“I’m sorry?” you asked. You couldn’t help the bitch face you were apparently sporting.

He laughed again. “No, I’m sorry. I just can’t help noticing the huffing and puffing that’s going on,” he said.

You took a breath and tried to relax. “It’s fine. I just hate when people say smile, as if life stops just because you’re in a theme park. I just really need a drink and for whatever reason, the server is on break or quit or whatever.”

He laughed again before standing up. “What do you want?”

“Huh?” you asked a little puzzled as to what this stranger was doing.

“I asked what you would like to drink. I’ll go grab it for you.”

“No. No, no. You don’t have to do that. I’m sure he or she will come back at some point this month,” you said, slouching in your seat.

“Just tell me. I’m going to get one anyway.” He crossed his arms and tapped a foot.

It was your turn to laugh. “A Hightower Rita. And thank you,” you said offering him a small smile.

This was quite the surprise. Generally, strangers weren’t nice for no reason.

A few minutes later he was back, placing the drink in front of you. Reaching into your packet to grab out a ten dollar bill, you heard him clear his throat. You looked up to see he took the seat next to you. His very own Hightower Rita in front of him.

“My treat,” he said, giving you a wink.

“Thank you, really,” you replied. You offered him your hand. “Y/N, by the way.”

“Scott,” he offered, shaking your hand as well. “So, do you normally come to Animal Kingdom in a grumpy mood?”

What a smartass.

“I haven’t been grumpy all day, I’m just tired. And thirsty,” you replied.

You lifted the glass and held it out to Scott. The two of you clinking your glasses together before taking a generous sip.

“I’m not on vacation, I live here. My friends dragged me out of bed to come with them, so it’s been a long day.”

“So, a local huh?”

“Yeah, by way of Minnesota. Came for college and never left.”

He nodded his head in understanding. “And where are these friends of yours?” he asked.

“In line for Expedition Everest.”

“You don’t like roller coasters?”

“I do. Just not that one. I’ve ridden the others several times. Big Thunder Mountain is one of my favorites. I just can’t handle that one.”

“Scott! What are you doing? Leave the poor woman alone,” one of his friends from the table shouted.

“I’m making new friends. Mind ya business,” he replied.

You chuckled at him shaking your head.

“What do you do here, Y/N?” he asked.

“Here in the park?”

“Really?” he deadpans. “What do you do for a living?”

“My apologizes,” you laughed. “I’m a writer. A little bit of everything, but mainly I review entertainment in the greater Orlando area. Theme parks for instance.” You waved your hand around. “Like a new ride opening or a hotel or restaurant. Also concerts and events that come to town. I pretty much can make up my own schedule that way. Every once in awhile I’ll write a piece for me, like a think piece that I’ll send out and if I’m lucky, various magazines and newspapers pick it up. That’s what I prefer to do, but it doesn’t pay the bills as well.”

“That actually sounds like a lot of fun. My family and I love coming to the parks, so it would be cool to be invited to grand openings,” he said.

You nodded your head in agreement.  “What about you?”

“I’m an actor. Nothing exciting,” he says shrugging his shoulders which enlists a laugh from you.

“Obviously,” you tease. “Are they your family?” you ask pointing to the two guys sitting on the sectional. Both have ballcaps on backwards that you almost asked if the bros were his family.

“Yeah, that’s some of them. It’s a big group, they’re around somewhere. I got stuck with the weak links,” he jokes. A small smile tugging on his lips. “I’m having way more fun talking to you.”

Shaking your head at his comments, you take a peek at your phone to check the time. It had only been about a half an hour, so you had plenty of time to relax.

“Let’s do a shot!” he exclaims out of nowhere.

“What?” you ask. But he’s already out of his seat, heading back inside before you even get the word out.

Scott’s relatives give you a look and all you can do is quirk your mouth and shrug your shoulders.

A minute later he’s back sans shots. “They’ll bring them out,” he mutters as he sits back down.

The allusive server appears a few minutes later with a tray of two shot glasses, limes slices, and a salt shaker. She sets the contents on the small table and asks if you need anything else. You ask for a water and she promises she’ll be right back.

Scott picks up his glass and holds it up. “To new friends.”

“To new friends,” you repeat before downing the tequila in one go.

You quickly grab a lime slice and suck on it before grabbing another. You hadn’t done a shot in so long; you feel way out of practice.

The server does return with a couple of glasses of water shortly after you’ve taken the shot. When she asks if we need anything else, Scott starts to order another round of shots but you cut him off.

“One and done, buddy.”

He laughs and tells your server the two of you are set. As odd as this day has been, meeting this new “friend” has been a welcome change.

“Scott! Let’s go do something.” One of the bros calls out. “I already texted Sarah, she’s on her way.”

He waves him off and turns back to you. “Let’s go ride Expedition Everest.”

You look at him like he’s crazy. “No way. I already told you, I don’t ride that coaster.”

“You’ve got liquid courage now and you’ll be riding with me. I promise you’ll have fun.”

Shaking your head, you look back at your phone. “My friends are probably still not on it. The wait time is posted at seventy-five minutes.”

“We got an in,” he says so casually that you have no idea what he’s talking about.

Out of no where, a plaid wearing Disney cast member appears asking the other two guys where’d they like to go.  

“Expedition Everest. Please.” Scott interrupts.

“That works,” the bearded bro says, getting up and flipping his cap around.

“And we’ve got one more joining us, Sarah,” Scott said.

Bearded bro raises his eyebrows and Scott just smiles.

Before you know what the hell you are doing, your walking with Scott, Sarah, and the two bros. Weaving in and out of crowds as she leads. You make it to Expedition Everest and enter through the exit because apparently Sarah can do that. The four of you are ushered into the last two rows to wait for the next train to arrive. Just as it pulls up, Scott moves behind you, getting out of the waiting row.

“I can’t ride in the very back. It makes me sick. Chris, switch with me.”

Chris groans, but comes to stand right behind you.

You’re on the verge of a panic attack as you look over to Scott in the next row.

“Y-you were supposed to be my ride bu-buddy,” you barely manage to get out.

You didn’t want to go on this damn ride anyway and now you weren’t even sitting with your almost friend. Now you’re stuck with a stranger who hadn’t even spoke to you yet.

“You’ll be fine. This is my brother, he’s a good ride buddy. I’ll be right in front of you anyway,” Scott says. He reaches over the barrier to squeeze your hand but it does little to comfort.

The train car pulls up and you’re climbing inside your seat pulling the lap bar up and pushing it into place. You pull on it at least three times to make sure it’s in place.

You look over to Scott’s brother who you know can tell you’re freaking out. He offers you his hand and you shake it.

“Chris,” he says.

“Y/N,” you reply.

He smiles and it suddenly dawns on you who you’re sitting with. Why Sarah escorted your group through the park. Why you were able to enter through the exit and get on the ride almost immediately. Chris is Chris Evans. Actor. Movie star. Whatever you want to call him. You’re pretty sure you follow him on Twitter.

Jesus.

In your line of work, you’ve met plenty of celebrities before. Some at various Disney grand openings, others have been musicians for concerts and albums you have reviewed. But this is different. You take a breath and try to go back to freaking out about the ride rather than about who you are sitting next to.

The coaster takes off, winding around a grass and tree lined path. All too soon you are ascending up “the mountain.” You keep your gaze straight ahead at the back of Scott’s head rest. Every few seconds he looks back and gives you a smile. You’re too frozen to return it, but that doesn’t deter his. It’s honestly a smooth ride and it doesn’t take long to get to the top where the “broken tracks” are. You hear the train switching tracks right before your hurtled backwards down the track into darkness. You can’t help but scream the whole way while you hear Chris laughing next to you. The train comes to a stop again, this time in the dark and you see the shadow of the Yeti against the interior wall. The train starts to move forward and you see the outside light in the distance. You death grip the lap bar and try to reach for the side of your seat with your other hand, but instead you grab Chris’ hand. He gives yours a squeeze back and doesn’t let go.

“I’ve got you,” he says just as you hit the big drop.

Your eyes are plastered closed and all you can do is scream. You don’t dare open them until you start to feel the coaster slow down. You let go of Chris’ hand and hesitantly look over at him. He’s smiling at you with a big cheesy grin.

“I’m sorry about the whole grabbing your hand thing.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire and you’re sure your hair is a mess.

“S’no problem. Really,” he replies.

The two of you climb out of your row and find Sarah waiting for you. She leads the four of you out of the ride, stopping off to the side to see where they would like to go next.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Scott asks.

“Dude, I’m never going on it again. No chance.”

He laughs and throws his arm around you. “Just drink more next time.”

“Not even then.” You shake your head. “Listen, I should probably find my friends. I want to say thanks, but I don’t feel like I should.”

He starts to laugh and it’s pretty contagious that you can’t help but join in.

“It was nice meeting you, Y/N,” Scott said.

“You too.” You give a wave to the three of them. “Enjoy the rest of your vacation,” you call back as you start to walk away.

 You were in the middle of writing an article about for the Sentinel when your phone rang. Generally your phone only rang during business hours and even that was rare. E-mails and text messages were pretty much standard in your day. Seeing that it was Jana that was calling was even stranger. She probably hadn’t actually called you in five years. You mind instantly goes negative thinking something must be wrong. Maybe Brooks was deathly ill or they were in a car wreck.

“Jana?” you answer, trying to keep your voice as even as possible.

“You bitch!”

What the fuck?

“Excuse you,” you reply.

“You fucking met Chris Evans and on top of that, you rode Everest!” Jana shouts.

“Oh yeah, that. Um, how’d you find out about that?”

“It’s on Twitter. I just tagged you in it.”

She did what now?

“Tagged me in what exactly?”

“The ride photo. It’s of you and Chris holding hands on the ride. What’s that all about and why didn’t you tell me?”

You sighed. “It’s a long story. Can I tell you tomorrow over coffee?”

“You better. I’m still mad at you. I thought I was your best friend,” she muttered.

“And you are. I promise I’ll explain tomorrow,” you said.

“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 It had been three days since your trip to the park where you met the Evans brothers. You were surprised that photo even made it on the internet. You were also surprised Jana even saw it.

You opened your Twitter app and searched Chris Evans. Sure enough, one of the top trending stories was that ride photo. It was a mix of “how is she related?” to “is that his new girlfriend?” You didn’t dare click into any of the tweets because you knew they would be full of negative comments about you. It didn’t help that your face was super scrunched up with your eyes closed. Leave it to your best friend to recognize you.

Within a matter of minutes, your notifications started to go off like crazy. You had gained at least one hundred new followers, but one stuck out the most. Scott Evans. You added him back, remembering how nice he was and the drinks he bought you. You closed the app, not wanting to deal with the notifications any longer. Besides, that article wasn’t going to finish itself.

Right before climbing into bed, you checked your Twitter account and saw that you had another 100 followers and one new direct message. How people quickly figured out it was you in the ride photo, just by Jana tagging you in one post made no sense. You updated your security preferences so that people would have to request to follow you instead being able to do so automatically.

Clicking open the message, you were surprised to see it was from Scott Evans. Sure, he added you, but he was messaging you now?

Scott: “Hey grumpy Disney girl. How’s my drinking buddy?”

Why did it feel like life was about to get a whole lot more interesting? Or is complicated a better word?

Chapter 2

Tag list: @tanelle83​ @pinknerdpanda​ @allaboutthebooz​ @estillion14​ @panicfob​ @patzammit​ @heartislubbingdubbing​ @collinsstanharbour​ @twittytelly​ @thefandomzoneisdangerous​ @linki-locks11​ @mywinterwolf​ @ab-baybay​ @rda1989​ @impalaimages​ @mustangshelby04​ @bellaireland1981​ @carolina-thiell​ @sullyosully @straightforwardly​ @torntaltos​ @denise1605​ @mcuclintasha​ @southerngracela​ @iam-cj @humandasaster​

[toast-the-unknowing]

Hi there, toast. Cutting to the chase: you're one of my favorite writers — not just one of my favorite fanfic writers. your short stories for the raven cycle are some of the funniest, tightest, emotionally devastating, well-crafted works of fiction i've encountered in awhile — better than a lot """"real-world, published"""" stuff. I kind of want to know more about how you got to this point. I think you've mentioned a background in screenwriting? But I don't think that's your day job? 1/?

2/? Really, I'm asking because you seem to have found a way to write regularly — to develop your chops and publish your art in a way that seems emotionally satisfying for you. to an outsider like myself, you seem to have struck a balance between living a life that pays the bills, and artmaking in a way that feeds your soul. you might not feel that way, i don't know. i'm someone who studied writing in college and am now wondering if and how i can still water that seed....

3/? when the reality is i also need to make money to live. i guess i'm curious about your life model right now, and if you're happy with the way you're currently fulfilling yourself creatively. do you want to be a """""published writer""""" someday? is your job one that is also creatively fulfilling, or is it more to pay the bills so that you can do your own creative projects in your free time?

4/4 I know my question isn't very clear, and I'm not sure it's even one question. the point is, i admire you, and you seem to be in a habit of writing creatively, even though i think you have an unrelated day job, and that balance seems mysterious and desirable to me.

Thank you for your kind words, Anon! I have attempted to write something helpful, but it got very long, so I am putting it behind a cut:

Keeping your art alive when you have to work an unrelated job is not easy. Struggling with it does not mean that you're failing, or that it can't be done, or that you won't get better at it down the road. It's also not the sort of thing where you hit equilibrium and it's all smooth sailing from there. I have gotten better at fitting my writing into my life, and I've figured out strategies and coping mechanisms and how to be better at just making myself do it even if I feel "blocked," but there are still stretches of time where it's harder to manage. Those periods don't last forever, and if it sometimes gets worse, it also sometimes gets better.

I suspect you know all of this, Anon, because you sound like a reasonable person and because you balanced writing and schoolwork, which can itself be tricky. I say it anyway because this is exactly the kind of subject where mean little thoughts like to sneak into your head and make you doubt yourself, and I think we could all use a reminder.

There are many writers who will say that you have to write every single day. Often they will say that you have to write at the same time every single day, or that you need to wake up early to write before work. These writers depress and demotivate me, because I don't actually have a writing "habit" in that there's no schedule or daily goal or set of standards involved. Some days I write a lot and some days I don't write at all. Shaming myself about that fact has never been helpful.

What has been helpful: an increased understanding of my writing process. Realizing I don't have to outline? Helpful! Realizing that generating ideas and fleshing out scenes and shaping the arc of a story and making it pretty are all different skills and some days one comes easier than the others? Helpful! Realizing that I tend to have an "a-hah" moment that tells me what the story is about, after which it's easier to write the story? Helpful! Realizing that if I can't think of an adjective or a line of dialogue or a joke, I can just put an asterisk and come back to it later, instead of halting the entire writing process until I come up with it? Helpful!

I don't know if any of these particular things would be helpful to you, because your writing process probably works differently than mine. Somebody out there absolutely does need to outline before they can write, or so I assume from the fact that it is mandated in virtually every book on writing I have ever read. You studied writing in school, so it's possible that you already have a great understanding of your process; it's also possible you have internalized a lot of other people's ideas of what you're writing should look like. Most of what I know about how I write was learned in the last few years, not in school.

It is also possible that you have a good understanding of what your process looks like when that gets to be the thing that takes up the majority of your time. In which case, you probably need to consider your life and your schedule as it is now. I know, for example, that I don't get much writing done of weekend days where I stay in bed late, even though I still end up with more free time than I'd have on a weekday, so if I want to write on a weekend I need to get up. Are there any times of day, or the days of the week, or the places where it is easier to write? What factors make it harder to write? Can you minimize those factors? When you can't, because you livelihood depends on them, can you acknowledge them as a fact of life and forgive yourself for being affected by them?

It's unpleasant but undeniable that working impacts writing. We aren't able to spend the time we'd like to on writing. We don't have the energy and focus that we had in school, when our writing was our main responsibility. Now our primary responsibility is making enough money to survive, and if that makes us sad to think about, well, it's only going to make us sadder if on top of that we try to hold ourselves to the amount of writing we'd do if that weren't true.

It isn’t strictly a numbers game where more time = more writing, which I think can be reassuring for those of us who don’t get as much time as we’d like for writing. I was unemployed or working part-time for the entirety of 2016 and I did not do more writing in 2016 than I am now. I had more time, but I was much more of a mess, as a person, and I wasn't as dedicated to writing. In a counter-intuitive way, I think it can help to have creative outlets besides writing. It does take time away from something that you already don’t get as much time as you want to do, but it means that you have a place to be creative even when the words aren't coming, a place with less pressure and lower stakes. I've done improv pretty casually for the last couple of years, and aside from the fact that I think improv in particular can be extremely helpful for writers, it means that when I've been unhappy with my writing, I could show up to improv and do a silly voice or shuffle around in a crabwalk and know that I had created something.

These are some things that have helped me write while also working: Improv. Mindfulness about writing. Mindfulness about life in general. Prioritizing my writing (guys, I watch so much less television than I used to). Therapy and medication, to be honest. Remembering why I am excited about the projects that I’m working on. Giving myself freedom to start new stories while also encouraging myself to finish old ones. Having an audience to share things with, because it is hard to write without knowing that anyone will ever read what you are pouring so much of yourself into.

It has taken me a few days to answer this, Anon, because I wanted to give a considered response, and also just because adult life! so busy! I keep coming back to the questions of whether I am emotionally satisfied with the writing I am doing, and whether I have a good balance between my writing and my work. Because I really think that I am creatively satisfied right now, and if I am mostly aware of that most of the time, I don't know that I'd really phrased it like that to myself before. If I had then I had forgotten it. And it's a powerful and wonderful thing to be able to say that to myself.

I have a degree in screenwriting, but I have never made a career of it and am not pursuing one now. The dream used to be writing for television. Before that the dream was to be a traditionally published author. Now...I don't know what the dream is. I would like to do original work again some day. I have a novel in my head that is very important to me, whose characters helped me get through some hard times, and I want to give that novel the life that it deserves. I would like to do something with my screenwriting degree at some point, although it will likely never make me money. Sometimes it feels like failure that I don't have a new dream, and that I gave up on the old ones. But for the most part, for now, I'm very happy writing fanfiction. I've written a lot of stories, particularly in the last few years, that I am very proud of.

But I don't actually have a good balance between art and work, inasmuch as my art makes me happy and my work...doesn't. I have a low-level office job in a field that I'm not passionate about or well-suited for. I don't get out of my job a lot of the things that I do get out of writing -- challenge, investment, a chance to be creative, self-direction, fulfillment, purpose. I have never worked a job where I got any of those things, and it is starting to wear me down.

To be fair: "my job pays me a decent wage and gives me great health insurance but it isn't satisfying" is a privileged thing to complain about, and I'm aware of that. I'm also aware that some people handle these situations just fine, that some people don’t mind a job that demands a minimum of energy and time since that leaves them more to put into their art. You may be one of these people! I am discovering that I am not. Getting no sense of accomplishment from my job contributes negatively to my overall mental and emotional health, which is sucky all on its own, but has the additional effect of impacting my writing.

It's a tricky problem, though. I don't, at present, want to make a living off of writing (and such a career would be precarious), but my current resume and skill set doesn't qualify me for much of anything besides the work I'm already doing (thanks, screenwriting degree). Any attempt to find a job that's more fulfilling would likely involve a big investment of time, money, and/or effort in some kind of school and training, and then...I'd be in a job that demanded more from me, and even if it made me happier than my current job does, how much would that leave me to put into my writing?

I don't know if any of this has been helpful to you. It is perhaps not a clear answer to a question that felt clear when I read it but that my mind muddled up along the way. You may find that once you hit a balance between writing and working, you don't mind the day job grind in the same way I do. You may decide that you do want to pursue writing as a career. You may still be figuring out the employment situation at all and my woes may be worse than irrelevant.

But the timing of this ask is funny; I am soon going to apply to an educational program that would prepare me for a new career in a totally different field, and the thought of how this will impact my writing has very much been on my mind. In the past when I've thought about doing anything like this, that question has kept me from going forward: won't that be less of your time, less of your energy, less of you for your writing? I think this is a real concern with a basis in truth: if I get into this program I am going to have a lot less time and energy for anything outside of it, and I will need to again adjust my expectations of what my writing can look like in my circumstances. But I think that this question is also fear and perfectionism talking, using my writing as a weapon against me, and I'm tired of it.

Balance is a funny thing. I'm actually terrible at basically anything that requires balance: biking, rollerskating, gymnastics, ice skating, you name it. I don't see how anyone pulls it off. You can lean too far one way only to fall over the other way when you try to even out. You can take a turn and suddenly the road is uphill or downhill or bumpy, and whatever you were doing before to stay upright isn't cutting it. You can be going along just fine and then, for absolutely no reason, you're wobbling all over the place. But you can also do a hell of a lot of wobbling without ever falling down.

I think it's just about...paying attention to what's happening around you. Paying attention to what you're feeling and what you want. Not getting fooled by something you're supposed to want if you don't actually want it. Figuring out the things that you need, and the things that would make your life better, and the things that you'd like, and prioritize those accordingly.

I sure hope that's how it works, at least, because that's all I've got. I might royally fuck up my life in the next couple of months, but if I do, I'll adjust and keep going. It can't be any worse than fucking ice skating.

Best of luck, Anon.

[hayesit]

matt’s 2019 year in review

here it is! and it’s late because i had other/better things to do (and procrastinating), was recovering from hangovers (also procrastinating), and recovering from being sick (procrastinating).

i’ve been doing these year in review posts since 2016, so here is my fourth installment. every year i look back through my google calendar, my camera roll, and my bullet journal as a gratitude exercise and to chart my own development as an adult. 

here is my spotify wrapped 2019!

the beginning of this year was off to a good start: i met two friends that i know through the internet! i met my friend riley when she visited boston (i met her through a mutual friend and through overwatch league twitter) and my friend jimmy that i’ve known for…. 6 or 7 years (?!) through tumblr and designed the logo for me and alex’s late podcast, hardly tea, may she rest in peace. 

i moved dorm rooms in between the fall and spring semester, and once again i was not happy with where i lived. i lived with 4 rando’s that i was placed with and the 5 of us barely even talked with each other. my direct roommate i saw for only two weeks, and for the nights he slept over in the bed (that he was paying room and board for) and had the worst snoring humanly possible that not even earplugs could kill (video below). i hardly slept while he was there and roamed the halls of riverview suites like a ghost due to the anxiety i felt about my lack of sleep (we love a vicious circle)! he disappeared after those two weeks without notice and i lived in fear of him returning for the rest of the semester (which he didn’t), but returned to my normal sleep schedule. 

that semester was my first semester of full-time grad school. i got a poor grade on an assignment that had a note from the professor that said she knew i could do better and it hit me how much different grad school is from undergrad and how much more effort and dedication it requires. after crying in my professor’s office, my work ethic has improved since then, but it’s not anywhere near where i’d like it to be (more on that later). 

now to more positive things for the spring semester: i met some friends that semester both ~on and offline~ that made the semester far more bearable AND i did however truly pop off in every last one of my powerpoint presentations for class. i looooove making powerpoints and just fuckin telling jokes about my research topic and have ppl tell me that they are looking forward to my presentation & that i should teach college classes :)!

me and 4 friends had a social group in which we’d drink and play board games and forget about the board game and drunkenly talk shit called cabam after all our first initials! i always looked forward to that and dug the group chemistry a lot.

during this semester i grew a   “ beard “, otherwise known as i chose not to shave just to  “ see what would happen “ (praythatitfilledin). sorry about that!

the overwatch league was something that i had to look forward to watch every week and i had my experience enhanced through sideshow and avast’s unofficial companion streams, which guaranteed lots of laughs. i have bought tickets to two boston home games in 2020 which i am very excited about! analysts have predicted boston to be in 20th place this year (there are 20 teams) but i’m still excited for the 2020 season anyway!!

i can’t have a year-in-review of 2019 without mentioning game of thrones. due to the show’s final season being undeniably weak, i enjoyed the camaraderie with the other people that watched thrones during those six weeks. i haven’t thought about the show or its universe for quite a while, unfortunately. i truly was quite into the world of westeros, but the weakness of the end of the story cheapened the journey of each of the characters, in a way. such a shame.

while i got my diploma in december 2018, i walked across the stage of umass lowell’s tsongas arena with my bachelor of arts in psychology (and minor in theatre arts). it wasn’t as emotional or triumphant of an experience and just felt weird, considering i had already gotten my diploma and was going to remain in the clutches of rowdy the riverhawk as i am staying for my masters degree in applied behavior analysis/autism studies. i brought a ceramic monkey to graduation. it didn’t have any symbolism, but i just wanted to see if they’d stop me (which they didn’t)

 this summer was better than most summers of mine go, i hung out with alex nearly every weekend, got my very first iphone, and got a data plan. the combination of these three things got me back into playing pokemon go, an unexpectedly fun pastime! went on lots of walks!

my favorite day of summer was going to a lake with alex and our friend gianna, who i grew closer to after meeting her during macbeth last year. fond 2019 memories with gianna include: doing simulation patients with her, watching movies with her and alex, and the halloween party. what a great gd person and a great gd friend! big fan and eternally rooting for her. 

fire emblem: three houses came out on the switch in august and is, without a doubt, my game of the year. there’s truly so much to love about the game: the world, the characters, new changes made to the series, things that were gone but returned, interesting micromanaging, and best of all, how huge my brain feels when playing it. 

i got a 6-week summer job as a paraprofessional at an extended-school-year program for children with developmental disabilities at a preschool in haverhill which taught me a lot of lessons, such as: i hate cleaning shit off of children.

then i had feelings that didn’t make much sense for about a month! whoops!

my full-time job i currently have is working at my old high school as a behavior specialist. i provide consultation and work on programs to lead to more appropriate behavior in students, primarily ones with developmental disabilities. so far it’s been fairly rewarding, some days are more challenging than others, some days are a lot of sitting in meetings, and some days are a lot of running around. some days there is not much to do at all, which has its obvious upsides and downsides. working at the high school isn’t something that i want to do forever, but it’s a good place to start with. i’m definitely learning a lot and there are a lot of benefits to working here. sometimes i can work on my grad school work (which is all online until the 2020 summer semester) which is definitely huge. and my commute is either a 15 minute walk or 3 minutes if my mom drives me! 

a ~complex~ thing about working in my hometown is that it makes the most financial sense to live at home because it’s so close to work. this is my first time living at home full-time since high school and i’m not enjoying that part too much. most weekends i visit alex in lowell, but being stuck at home with no car (going to retake the license test in the spring when the ice melts!) and having to go to bed so early definitely hurts. sure, i have what is likely the lowest amount of expenses i’ll ever have in my life (no car-related payments, no rent, no groceries), but i feel landlocked. i feel like a teenager with minimal freedom, which is in part because my mom doesn’t quite understand yet that i’m a 22 year-old that should have a lot more freedom than i do now. the most i really do on weekdays after work gets out (2:30p) is go to savers with my mom if it’s tuesday (senior citizen day), maybe go for a walk if it’s nice out (which for most of the school year, it isn’t), or be on the computer watching bon appetit videos and playing overwatch, fire emblem, or pokemon, eat a bland dinner at 6, go to bed at around 9:30. sad! truly not a situation that i want to be trapped in that much that much longer!

i think the best and most important part of this year was becoming closer with alex. as i mentioned before, we see each other most weekends, to our great benefit. our living situations have flip-flopped, with me living at home and alex living in an apartment near campus, which in both similar and different ways have taken their respective tolls on us. having each other while going through changes and stagnations in our lives has been immeasurably important. thank you alex for providing a place to be myself other than my own head. thank you for being my best friend. 

now i come to the thing that i’m most excited about for 2020. not 2 suck my own horn but i have cobbled together a fuckin dream team of five friends (me, alex, chris, kelly, and molly). the two times we have all gotten together it has been so satisfying in such a wonderful and otherworldly way that i am filled to the brim of happiness being around them. the craziest thing is that i met chris and kelly through twitter! TWITTER. and they’re real-ass people and my real-ass friends! i haven’t been so pleased with something in my life like this for so long and it feels so good to have adult friends that i have chosen rather than friends by circumstance. it’s truly a crime that we can’t see each other more often, but we already have a day picked out for the next time we all do something together. feeling emotional writing this paragraph bc i love me gd friends so much!

there is a lot of uncertainty about this new year for me. i sure as fuck don’t want to live at home more than i have to but don’t know where to go, my practicum class starts for me this summer which means i’ll most likely have to change jobs (fine by me, but will be exhausting), i recently began my search for therapists and hope to find one soon to help me ~unpack things~, my thesis begins in the fall semester and i don’t know what to do for it, and i’m not 100% dead-set on working in special education. it’s been hard transitioning from living on campus and going to school full-time to the life i have now. 

[hollowedrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, CAISEY! — You’ve been accepted for the role of Lily Potter. I’m so glad you decided to rework your application. It’s clear you understand not only who Lily is, but how she fits into this verse. Lily is trying her best to appear as though she’s doing fine, as though she’s ready to take up arms and fight again, but in truth, she’s struggling more than she ever has. I also really liked your addition that she’s suffering from postpartum depression. I think that fits into how I envisioned her as a mother, and I can’t wait to see where you take her from here. 

Thank you so much for applying. Please create your account and send in the link, track the right tags, and follow everyone on the follow list. Welcome to Hollowed Souls!

ooc.

name: Caisey

age: 27 on the 25th

preferred pronouns: she/her

timezone: EST

activity: 7ish! I work weekday mornings/afternoons, but my weekends and evenings are free.

are you applying for more than one character?: just one!

how do you feel about your character dying?: Lily is living on borrowed time, honestly. She was never intended to live through this; she doesn’t know this, obviously, but it was her death that ensured Voldemort’s first defeat through protecting Harry from him. I would find it narratively justified for her to die protecting Harry.

anything else?: I wrote the app out of order (basically from the bottom up), so I feel like I should apologize if that messes with the coherency at all.

ic details.

full name: Lily June Potter, née Evans

Lily: from the flower. In the Victorian language of flowers, lilies are used to symbolize love and affection; in Christian religion, lilies are often used to represent purity and virtue.

June: from the Roman goddess Juno, associated with marriage, military, and the community.

date of birth: January 30th. Aquarius sun, Pisces moon, Taurus rising.

Sun in Aquarius: “You carry a lot on your shoulders and have need to fight for the underdog. It’s in your tenth house, meaning you feel the need to distinguish yourself from others through career, goals, success, and responsibility.”

Moon in Pisces: “You feel vulnerable much of the time, and desperately wish for a partner who deeply understands you. It’s in your tenth house, meaning you find security and safety through career success and responsibility.”

Taurus Rising: “You give people the impression that you are reliable, settled, sensible, and deliberate, though sometimes stubborn.”

former hogwarts house: Gryffindor. Severus told her that she would be perfect for Slytherin; since he was her sole fount of information about the magical world before her letter arrived, Lily believed him. When she made the suggestion, however, the Hat laughed in her face–so to speak–and Lily’s immediate anger caused it to place her in Gryffindor. Though the Hat could have made a case for Ravenclaw easily enough, Lily’s instincts lie in loyalty and daring. The pluck that led her to argue vehemently with a sentient hat within seconds of making its acquaintance has served her well throughout her life.

sexuality: pansexual panromantic

gender/pronouns: cis female, she/her

face claim change: none!

more.

how do you interpret this character’s personality? how will you play them? include two weaknesses & two strengths.

Strengths: Magnetic, kind, hardworking, selfless

Weaknesses: Selfish, obstinate, anxious, proud

Lily’s never been a failure at anything before. She has struggled, certainly; nothing has ever been easy, necessarily, or accomplished without effort. She has always been adept at identifying what was necessary to achieve her goals or tackle a problem. She’s the golden girl: compassionate, smart, hardworking. Even bigotry from being Muggleborn hardly phased her, except to strengthen her desire to fight back against the so-called “blood purists.” Lily is vivacious, empathetic, and convinced of her ideals–she married the love of her life, joined forces against the evil wizard trying to murder people like her, excitedly looked forward to her son’s birth.

There’s a reason she was given a place in Order recruitment: she’s gregarious and likeable, especially with the endearing pregnant belly and a baby ready to kick whenever a new palm pressed against her stomach. Being genuine and earnest has always come naturally to her, and it’s drawn people to her for her entire life, made some things easier than they might have been otherwise. It’s true that this has led her to take elements of her life for granted: finding a job post-graduation was easier due to Slughorn’s influence, and James’ family funds smoothed over her financial concerns when she discovered she was pregnant. She has experienced a considerable amount of bullying and bigotry, but because unconditional love and support has always existed in her life, Lily has developed a selfish streak. She expects the love to always exist–she expects to be able to find a solution to the problems she encounters–she expects to be capable of overcoming her struggles–and when these things fail to be true, she stumbles and grows resentful. Lily strives to better herself through acknowledging these tendencies whenever she finds them in herself and surrounding herself with people who aren’t afraid to call her out, people who challenge her and make her better (James and Marlene chief amongst them–without them, she indulges the introspection, finding herself unable to break the cycle of seeing the world through a specific filter designed by her life experiences).

She needs a project to focus on to keep her anxieties at bay; inactivity makes her fret over things she can’t control, and she’s never enjoyed an aimless lifestyle. Typically, these projects are exercises in discovering purpose, usually with a humanitarian angle or some sort of personal growth intention. When Lily finds something to focus on, she truly can make an impact; she is idealistic almost to a fault, having come from a Muggle world and introduced to a world of magic possibilities at an impressionable age. She believes strongly in making the world a better place and in her own ability to do so.

The way she is now is more accurately reflected below; the war has changed everything for Lily and she is, at present, a combination of the optimistic, driven woman who happens to be a wife and mother described here and the grieving, guilt-ridden widow and struggling mother described below.

how has the war affected this character, emotionally and otherwise?

The Lily described above exists primarily in the shadows now. She’s not gone, not entirely, but she’s treading water in the shallows, while in the depths lurks a haunted woman with a sad smile and perpetually red-rimmed eyes. Every day, she wakes up in her worst nightmare and must push through the hours as if she isn’t rotting slowly from the inside.

She sees her life in flashes, like scenes of a book she’s read countless times. Moments blurred between chapters–how did she get from the tent to the house? Where did Harry get that toy? Is that voice she hears calling her name a faint memory of Marlene or is it actually Pandora trying to get her attention? Her grief casts a pall on everything, dampening any other emotions in her life.

Without James or Marlene, she has nothing and nobody left to rely on, her only living friends sunken in their own despair. Lily knows everyone is sensitive and this makes her wary of reaching out and burdening anyone else with her problems. They all praise her for “holding up so well” and pat her gently on the arm, like she might fly into pieces if they touch her too hard; it feels like everyone is holding her at arm’s length. Nobody wants to take responsibility for handling her emotional state, and she can’t be responsible for handling anyone else’s. She worries constantly, her emotional state strained without anything to focus her energies on: are they only allowing her to stay with them out of guilt? Do they care more about Harry, the prophesied one, than her? She was only part of the Order because of James–maybe that’s all she is to them. James’ widow.

She wonders if she has outlived her usefulness. She wants to help, but everything has changed in her life. Is she expected to just be the widow and single mother now? How much agency can she still have, now that everyone sees her differently? Will they listen to her opinions or give her a choice if she wants to leave? Will they take Harry from her if they feel she can’t protect him better than they can?

She feels she must keep up appearances of being the resilient, unflappable Lily Evans Potter she has always been, even without any of the supports that made that Lily possible. She wants the Order to be proud of her–she wants to keep being their golden girl–and she’s clinging desperately to all she has left. Her pride won’t let her ask anyone for help as long as she can see how much they are struggling, and her fear that she might lose what little she has left won’t let her admit that she is falling apart.

where does this character currently stand? with those who wish to hide in godric’s hollow until the war ends, with those who wish to rebuild the order and continue fighting the war, or on neither side? Why?

Lily wants to fight. She always imagined herself going down swinging, James at her back, taking down their killers with them. They were young and the war seemed more like a game back then.

If she didn’t have Harry, it would be an easy answer: get back in the fray, find the rest of the Order, track down any survivors who might join their cause now that the Death Eaters have made their stance on murder clear. Lily has never been one to sit and wait. Even while heavily pregnant she insisted on being involved, even if it was just in recruitment. She’s of the opinion that now is the best time to band together, recruit in a frenzy, and strike back while Voldemort is least expecting it–they might be weak now but so is he, and the Death Eaters might be cowed by a show of force from the organization they thought was beaten. To stop now would be to admit defeat.

That said, she’s also scared. Staying in the Hollow isn’t a long-term option, obviously, but going back into the fight means risking the little they have left. A second blow to their ranks could be the last; if they can’t find more survivors, if their forces don’t grow, then that’s the end of the war. The Death Eaters rule through fear and if they’re not stopped, they could continue their massacre in another town, maybe a Muggle one this time.

And now she has Harry to think of, and this godforsaken prophecy that cost James his life, nearly took Harry the way they got the Longbottom boy. Recruitment, at least, seems like the safest option to move them in the right direction: toward rebuilding and fighting anew.

How is Lily coping with being a new mother in the midst of a war?

She never really planned to be a mother. It seemed inevitable, of course, once she committed to marrying James; a natural trajectory of being in that kind of a relationship. But she didn’t really plan for it–she didn’t want kids the same way James did. Oh, of course she wanted children with him, but when she pictured it, it was always in peacetime–and she was always much older. And then she was pregnant, suddenly, and James was transported with happiness, so she had to keep it, and then she and the baby became a unit: a source of hope and new life amidst the threat of war. Her pregnant belly was a buoy keeping their heads above water, and everyone wanted to touch her, like she was some witch Madonna bringing a messiah into their world. If she thought too hard about it, it was disconcerting, but she didn’t think too much about it–she had enough to think about just preparing for the baby to arrive.

James was a better parent than her, or at least a more natural one. Lily admired how easy fatherhood was for him; while she struggled with postpartum depression and the necessary change in her priorities, he willingly shouldered as much parental responsibility as he physically could. She loved Harry, loved being his mother, but she had to struggle to find that love. James, Marlene, and eventually Molly Weasley worked to convince her that she was not a failure as a mother, and eventually she believed them.

And then they were all gone, and all the things she learned about parenting seemed to disappear from her mind the moment James left her side. She had no idea how to be a mother–especially not a single one. Muscle memory seems to take over much of the time, and maternal instinct fills in the gaps, but Lily struggles most with keeping her emotions in check enough to prioritize Harry. Sometimes he reminds her so much of James that she can hardly stand to look at him, and sometimes she is so overwhelmed by the grief that permeates Godric’s Hollow now that she can’t bring herself to let him go when he squirms. The routine that she relied on is gone, and she struggles to establish a new one, to deal with Harry’s distress every time he asks for James and she can’t explain to him that Dada is gone forever. When she desperately needs a break, she can arrange for someone to babysit, but the moment he is out of her sight a panic grips her chest–her nightmares are of Voldemort reappearing in the Hollow with James’ dead body at his feet, Harry dangling, lifeless, in his grip.

The worst part is that she still can’t shake the desire to maintain appearances. Everyone thinks she is so brave, so resilient: she can’t let them know she’s a terrible mother and falling apart at the seams. As long as Harry is happy and healthy, they’ll never notice the weight she’s losing, the hesitation when she talks, the red rims around her eyes that never fade. By sheer force of will, Lily will prove to everyone and herself that she is strong enough to get through this.

extra.

Pinboard: https://pin.it/tvyj7td56b5ave

Relationships with others:

Marlene: The love of her life, James notwithstanding. The one woman Lily thought she would always be able to rely on. Even now, she struggles to speak of her best friend in the past tense, catching herself mid-sentence in the mistake; sometimes she still thinks she can see Marlene entering or exiting a room, only to realize it was actually Charity or Pandora with the light catching their hair just right. Marlene kept her bright and optimistic–lifted her head up even when she was in the depths of postpartum depression. James was her counterpart, but Marlene was her North Star.

Remus: With James and Marlene gone, Remus is the closest friend Lily has left. He has always been one of her closest confidants–the first person she trusted at Hogwarts after watching Severus join the table of green and silver. True, he became more James’ friend than hers over the years, but she appreciates how steadfast a friend he has been more than she can say. When she tried to push him away, he refused in a patient sort of way. She knows he is struggling, and she hates herself for not doing a better job of supporting him.

Sirius: Lily is afraid of him. She’s always loved him like her brother–or, rather, she’s loved him like James’ brother, because she has always relied on James to bridge the gap in her relationship with Sirius. They agreed, together, to make Sirius godfather, but right now, she doesn’t feel comfortable leaving Harry alone with him. This Sirius isn’t the same one she used to trust with her son’s life.

Alice: Oh, the guilt–it’s strongest when she looks at Alice. They were never really friends to begin with, and now Lily feels responsible for Alice’s grief. She can’t bring herself to make eye contact with the other woman, and she always self-consciously grabs up Harry if they are ever in the same room as her, stops him from getting too close. Seeing Alice’s steep decline into grief and the ensuing marital problems makes Lily feel lucky for still having her son–but then miserable for not being a better mother to him. Perhaps, she finds herself wondering, things would have been better if they’d gotten to Harry instead of Neville; at least Alice and Frank planned to have their son. Maybe they deserved to keep him more than she deserved to keep Harry.

Frank: She avoids him, as she does Alice, but for different reasons. Frank is fueled by vengeance, same as Sirius, and that scares her. But he doesn’t have the same emptiness that Alice seems to; his search for answers seems at least vaguely productive, and she wonders if maybe she could lend her efforts to helping him. If she could ever overcome her guilt about Harry’s survival, she might even offer someday.

Arthur: She wants to get closer to him, and she certainly has the opportunity, since Harry often plays with his sons, but Lily was more in contact with Molly than him and doesn’t even recall a single time she was left alone in a room with him before James’ death. She’s intimidated by someone who handles all those children so deftly, without complaint, and she’s afraid that he’s going to judge her for her inadequacies as a parent.

if I were…

if i were a season, i’d be fall.

if i were a time of day, i’d be midday–a few minutes past noon, when the sun is at its hottest and the world is at its brightest.

if i were a type of weather, i’d be a brisk wind.

if i were a scent, i’d be a garden in full bloom, blossoms open and full, the mixture of scents of the various flowers almost overwhelming.

if i were a plant, i’d be an orange lily.

if i were an element, i’d be fire, dependent on a counterpart to stay alive.

if i were a color, i’d be blood orange.

if i were a song, i’d be “Wish that You Were Here” by Florence + the Machine.

if i were an item of clothing, i’d be a headband.

if i were an object, i’d be a quill.

if i were one of the seven deadly sins, i’d be pride.

if i were one of the seven heavenly virtues, i’d be kindness.

if i were a god/goddess, i’d be Nike/Victoria.

The Candlelight Vigil

She could have used Harry as an excuse not to attend. Past his bedtime–really much easier if we keep him on a schedule—he’s too young to understand and might ruin it—Lily rehearsed several versions of the conversation she planned to open with Charity. When it came down to it, though, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. Not attending would probably bring more attention to her grief than she liked; suffering in private seemed so self-indulgent amidst the public signs of mourning that existed everywhere in the Hollow. At least at the vigil she would be expected to grieve. If it was more than she could endure, she could always leave early and it would be dark enough that nobody would demand an explanation. She should at least try.

It was late for Harry, of course, but he was delighted by the nighttime activity and the flickering lights and if she couldn’t keep him from talking he at least acquiesced to her request he keep his voice to a stage whisper. Lily didn’t expect to feel closure tonight, but the sense of community that the vigil sparked was enough. They might be all that was left of the Order, but they were enough to keep it going. To honor James’ and Marlene’s sacrifice.

Harry fell asleep on her shoulder before too long so she left early, quietly thanking Charity on her way out, walking slowly lest she jostle him too much. Glenda’s voice cut through the blanketed sobriety of the nighttime air and Harry awoke with a cry. She was too far away to hear everything clearly but Lily hurried back to the cemetery the instant the broadcast ended. Another headquarters? Did that mean Glenda knew about this one and would send people to them, like she (inadvertently) had sent Greta? Good news? Could some of the presumed dead still be alive?

The chatter and speculation was unbearable, especially when Harry began to cry, a toddler roused far past his bedtime too upset to be soothed back to sleep anywhere other than a bed. Tearing herself away from the feverish conversation should have been easy—but even as her head spun and ached Lily felt the adrenaline pumping through the night. Who had Glenda found?

[uglypastels]

When You Say Nothing At All - Tom Holland movie AU (1/3)

(a/n) First story on the new blog!! I’m scared. 

This story is a Notting Hill AU. I have always loved this movie and when I recently rewatched it, I really realized how cheezy and pretty fanfic-y the plot it...so I decided to actually write a fanfic. The story is in a movie-turned-into-book format, so it is literally inspired by the movie. So, I do not own, nor claim any of this story as my own. Already putting it out there.

Alrighty then, here is part 1. I am not sure if I will actually post the other parts, because I’m not so sure if this is really that good. I also haven’t exactly finished the rest and it takes a loooooong time to do so. Tell me if you want to read the rest.

This is a re-post, because I am an idiot with anxiety and deleted the first one accidentally

word count: 10,281

warning: swearing, sexual themes, SPOILERS for NOTTING HILL

part 2

Tom’s POV - 1999 - London - Characters are in their late 20′s 

Of course, I have seen her films and always thought she was, well, gorgeous, but, you know, a million and million miles from the world I live in.

The world he lives in, which was here, Notting Hill. His favorite part of London.

Just as he did every day before going to work, Tom took a morning walk to enjoy the bizarre atmosphere that this region had. Like any other weekday, the market was spinning with people, where every fruit and vegetable known to man was sold and men were yelling: “Rock hard bananas, five for a pound!” To his right was the tattoo parlor, where a  man stepped through the door, looking rather confused at the new addition to his body. He looked as if he had just woken up on the couch that was inside and Tom wondered if he remembered why he had gotten “I love Ken” tattooed on his arm. He also wondered who Ken was and if he knew that his name was now permanently written on this blokes’ arm. Opposite the tattoo shop was the radical hairdressers, where everyone came out looking like the Cookie Monster, whether they wanted to or not. Just like the poor girl in the purple denim jacket.

Even though it was early in the morning, there were people everywhere. Tom was glad it wasn’t the weekend where from the break of day hundreds of stalls appear out of nowhere, filling Portobello Road, right up to Notting Hill Gate and wherever you look thousands of people are buying millions of antiques, some genuine, and some not quite so genuine.

Lots of friends have ended up in this part of London. For example Tony, who Tom could see talking to some delivery men, a bundle of fish in his hands. Tony looked rather happy with his new buy. Tom waved at him, hello, but his friend didn’t see it.  The architect turned chef had been busy for months with his new restaurant, which he invested in with all the money he ever earned.

That was pretty much all of Notting Hill, where Tom spend his days and years. In the small village in the middle of the city, in a house with a blue door that he had bought together with his wife who had left him after four years for a man who looked exactly like Harrison Ford. Which was ironic, because this was where he now lead a strange half-life with a lodger called:

“Harrison!” he yelled as he opened the blue door and almost immediately fell over a bike. Harrison ran down the stairs into the kitchen which was at the end of the corridor in which Tom stood right now. As usual, he wasn’t wearing anything but some khaki colored underwear. He didn’t want to think about if that was the original color.

“You couldn’t help me with an incredibly important decision, could you?” he said in his thick accent.  

“Is this important in comparison to, let’s say…” Tom started thinking as he walked to the kitchen to put down the loaf of bread that he had bought earlier. “Whether they should cancel Third World debt?”

“That’s right. I’m at last going out on a date with the great Janine and I just wanna be sure I’ve picked the right T-shirt.” He started explaining. Tom was turned with his back to him and couldn’t help but smile at the difference in their priorities.

“What are the choices?”

“Well, wait for it,” he said and ran back upstairs to his room. Tom waited as he put the bread in the toaster, taking his time. By the time he was done and in front of the stairs, Harrison was already running back down, pulling down the shirt. It was a slightly too big white t-shirt. It would have been fine if it wasn’t for the huge text that said: “I LOVE BLOOD” and the actual sticking out fish head in the middle of his torso in the pool of red.

“First, there’s this one,” He flicked the fish head, making it bounce back and forth, and made a little growl, “Cool, huh?” Tom stared at the shirt for a little bit, trying to figure out the right words to say to his flatmate. “Yeah, it might make it hard to strike a really romantic note,” he suggested.

“Point taken. Don’t despair.” Harrison ran back up the stairs, still talking: “if it’s romance we’re looking for, I believe I have just the thing.” Tom highly doubted it. He looked for some yogurt in the fridge while waiting for Harrison to get back.

He came back, with a now much tighter fitted shirt. The message was very simple: “GET IT HERE” together with a big black arrow pointed at his crotch.

“Yeah, well, there again, she might not think you had true love on your mind.”

“Right.” He seemed to understand but clearly didn’t have the same feeling about it as Tom did. “Just one more.” He ran away once again. Tom smiled to himself and walked back to the kitchen, grabbed something extra for his yogurt and then heard it was time again to take those three steps back to the stairs: “True love, here I come.” Harrison sang happily. Tom watched him run down those stairs for the tenth time and pulling down, another, white shirt over his upper body. Tom put a hand over his mouth at the sight of it. It was better than the last two options. Still not good, but better. The words “You’re the most beautiful woman in the WORLD” were surrounded by big red hearts. Harrison looked at him, awaiting an answer.

“Well, yeah. Yeah. that’s, that’s perfect.” he managed to say without laughing.

“Great. Thanks. Wish me luck.” Haz still looked at him waiting.

“Good luck.” He walked back upstairs with big steps of pride. When he had turned around Tom could see the message written on his back. “FANCY A FUCK?” He wanted to say something but thought better of it. He had to get to work.

It was just another hopeless Wednesday, as he walked a thousand yards through the market to work. Work, by the way, was the little travel bookshop “The Travel Book Co.”  which, well, sold travel books and to be frank, didn’t always sell many of those.

The store, just like the door of his house, was blue. The big window displayed a number of books that were for sale and two globes, in case it wasn’t clear to anyone that it was travel books that they could find here. In front of the window, outside, stood a small table on which more books were displayed.

“Morning, Martin” the small bell above the door rang as he pushed it open. The smell of old books was immediately present.

“Morning, Monseigneur,” said Martin as he was looking through some papers. He handed Tom the post and bills of the day. He knew what awaited them next. It was time to count up the sales. He walked up to the desk and pulled out the rest of the papers and a calculator. He dreaded this part of the day, that is why he had early on decided with Martin to do it in the morning. This way it would be over quickly, at least.

“Classic,” he sighed as the last numbers popped up on the small screen. “Profit from major sales push, minus £347.” He shared a look of disappointment with Martin and then wrote the sad number down in the notebook in front of him.

“Shall I go and get you a cappuccino?” Martin suggested. “You know, ease the pain a bit.”

“Yeah, yeah. Better make it a half. All I can afford.” his friend and employee laughed awkwardly. He just smiled, both of them were trying to ease the pain currently with some horrible humor.

“Get your logic. Demi-cappu coming right up.” He glanced at Tom and then walked to the door. The bell rang again as he pulled the door towards him. His green cardigan disappearing behind the corner as he walked to the small coffee house a few doors away. Tom wondered what he had done to deserve him in his life. Such a good person. Martin could easily find another job, a better job, but he didn’t want to leave his friend.

The moment he left, someone walked in. Tom barely glanced. The only thing he saw was a blur of black and white. The person carefully closed the door behind them. He looked again, feeling something familiar about them as he looked more properly. He couldn’t exactly place it, but it felt like he had seen the stranger before. Maybe she had visited the store earlier this week? Or the week before?

She was wearing a black, leather jacket over a plain white shirt. On her head, a black hat, with brown hair under it, and her eyes were covered by dark glasses. She walked over to the first bookcase and started to look around, every now and then pulling out a book and paging through it. From the position Tom was in, he could only see her shoulder properly, moving as she placed a book back in its original place.  

“Uhm, can I help you at all?” he asked. The woman peaked out her head from behind the shelves, looking a bit startled. At least he assumed so, as her eyes weren’t visible through the glasses.

“No, thanks, I’ll just look around.” Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. The American accent clear. He knew that this was a bookstore and people often tried to be quiet. But there was literally nobody else there except for them.

“Fine,” he said a bit dazed off. He still couldn’t place that face or that voice for that matter. He was sure he had at least heard her before but much louder. Not in the bookstore, then. She walked to the other side of the shelf, facing away from him. Now he could have a little more proper look at her…  or at least her back. Her shoulders were small, in a cute way. Her jacket oversized. From the way the top of her head reached a certain height of the shelves, he could assume that she wasn’t much shorter than him. He could also see a bag hanging off of her other shoulder. As she was looking through the books, she momentarily put her shopping bags on the ground.

She pulled out a book from the shelf, Tom could read the title, the Turkish Delights, from where he was standing behind the desk.  He had a great urge to say something to her, only he didn’t know what. As he looked at her go through the book, he blurted out: “That book’s really not great.”  She turned her head in his direction. “Er - just in case browsing turned to buying, you’d be wasting your money.”  he laughed nervously as he was clearly rambling on. She just smiled weakly. Letting him dig himself deeper into embarrassment. “But if it’s Turkey you’re interested in, this one,” Tom picked up a copy of a book that lay next to him on the desk, “on the other hand, is very good. Uhm...” he had no idea what to say, but she kept looking at him and he felt the need to keep talking. Her stare was getting a bit too much for him so he looked down at the book. “I think the man who wrote it has actually been to Turkey, which helps. Uhm, there’s also a very amusing incident with a kebab… which is one of many amusing incidents.”

The beautiful stranger (because she was definitely beautiful, there was no denying that) smiled and said: “Thanks, I’ll think about it.” She already looked away, putting her attention back to the book she was holding, but his tongue slipped up again and the rambling continued.

“Or, in the bigger hard-back variety, there’s…”  He looked at the bookcase behind him. While he did, his eyes slipped down to the small tv screen next to it, where he could see a man putting a book down his trousers. “I’m sorry, can you just give me a second?” He put the book down and walked to the back corner of the store, that was separated by a wall and slightly bigger shelves.

“Excuse me,” he said. The man popped up from behind the books. His eyes were wide, his hair all over the place and the shirt untucked messily.  “Yes?” he asked.

“Bad news.” Tom crossed his arms and looked at him.

“What?” The man looked very confused and startled. Tom pointed at the corner of the ceiling. “Er -We’ve got uhm, a security camera in this bit of the shop.” The man still didn’t seem to understand as he asked: “So?”

“So, I saw you put that book down your trousers.”

“What book?” He was changing his weight from one leg to the other, making it even more obvious that he was anxious. Tom sighed, pointing at his crotch and saying: “The one down your trousers.”

“I don’t have a book down my trousers.” His words were slightly slurred, making Tom worried that he could be drunk or high. He looked away from him in frustration.

“Right, I tell you what,  uhm, I’ll call the police and uhm, what can I say, if I’m wrong about the whole book-down-the-trousers scenario, I really apologize.”  Tom was not sure if it had been possible, but the stranger’ eyes widened even more.  

“Okay. What if I did have a book down my trousers?” Tom couldn’t believe this guy. Was he so drunk, or actually just that big of a moron?

“Well, ideally, when I went back to the desk you’d remove the Cadogan Guide to Bali from your trousers and either wipe it and put it back, or buy it.” He smiled at the drunk idiot. “I’ll see you in a sec.” he left him back there and walked back to the desk. The girl in the leather jacket was now standing there too. Tom had heard footsteps so he already expected it. “I’m sorry about that.” he walked behind the small piece of furniture. She was looking down at her book.

“No, it’s fine. I was gonna steal one but now I’ve changed my mind.” She smiled and Tom couldn’t help but laugh slightly. He glanced back at the tv screen to check up on the weirdo.

“Oh, signed by the author, I see.” she glanced at the front pages of the book. It made him look up from the screen.

“Uhmm, yeah, couldn’t stop him. If you can find an unsigned one, it’s worth an absolute fortune.” She puffed out a laugh. Right then the man from the back of the shop walked up. Tom was about to send him off when he approached his other customer. “Excuse me.”

“Yes?” she looked a bit uncomfortable at him.

“Can I have your autograph?” he handed her a piece of paper. The girl looked unsure at him and then around for something to write with. Tom gave her the pen he had in your hand: “Here.”

“What’s your name?” She asked. Her tone was very monotone and he knew that, really, she didn’t want to do it.  

“Rufus.” He rolled on the back of his feet like a child, scratching his patchy beard. Tom watched the girl in the leather jacket scribble down a few words on the paper. It took him some time to figure out the words as he had been looking at it from upside down, but once he had it, he let out a little snort. She handed the paper back to Rufus. He, apparently, still couldn’t read it because he asked: “What does it say?”

“That’s my signature, and above it,” she pointed at the top of the old paper, “it says, Dear Rufus, you belong in jail.” Rufus clearly didn’t seem to get it because he smiled and said: “Good one.” The girl gave him a smile that was the equivalent of an eye roll and turned to you. Rufus asked again: “Do you want my phone number?”

“Tempting, but no.” there was a silence. Rufus started walking away. Tom just stood there, trying to comprehend what had just happened. This girl was famous, he knew that. He had seen her before somewhere, but where?

“I will take this one.” she pushed the book a bit towards him and that got Tom out of his frozen state.

“Oh, right, right.” He opened the book to check the price, “So, well, on second thoughts maybe it’s not that bad after all.” He ticked in the numbers into the machine, the paper started printing. “Actually, it’s sort of a classic, really. None of those childish kebab stories you find in so many books these days.” He tried to joke. It didn’t work as she handed him a banknote without a reaction except for a polite smile. It was more than the prize, so he started to look for the correct coins to give as change.

“You know what, I’ll throw in one of these for free.” He showed her a book that just happened to lay nearby. He wished he could sink underground, or at least that she would say something back. Still, he couldn’t manage to close his own mouth: “Useful for, you know, lighting fires, wrapping fish, that sort of thing.” She finally managed to break out a smile. He packed the two books in the basic orange-brown bag and handed it back to her.

“Thanks,” she said.

“Pleasure,” he replied. Both of them smiled politely and she started to walk away. Soon that bell rang again and she was gone. Tom was alone in the store. The confusion now spread over his features. Who was she? Why did she feel so familiar? Should he have asked her for a signature too?

His legs moved him towards the table in the big space at the front of the shop. He wasn’t sure why he walked there. Maybe to get another glimpse of her? But by the time he got to the window, she was already gone. There was another movement on the street, though. The green cardigan and brown tie flopped around Martin as he walked back. Two cups of coffee balanced on top of each other in one hand as he tried to open the door with the other.

“Here we are. Cappuccino, as ordered.” he put one cup in front of Tom, who still looked out the window in a daydreaming kind of way. Only he wasn’t daydreaming. He knew that the girl was actually real. Only, who was she?

“Thanks,” Tom said as he watched the other man sip from his hot drink. Still, the thought of the girl was in his mind. Was it her? But what would she be doing in Notting Hill? Still, it couldn’t be... “I don’t think you’ll believe who was just in here.” Martin looked up from his cup, eyes full of excitement, but the excitement that could also be anxiety.

“Who?” His head shot towards the window and then back. “Was it someone famous?” Now that Martin had said it out loud, the idea seemed too crazy to be real.

“No, no, no,” Tom changed his mind.

“Would be exciting though, wouldn’t it, if someone famous came into the shop?” He was about to put the cup back up to his lips when another sentence formed: “Do you know, this is - this is pretty amazing, but I once saw Ringo Starr.”

“Where was that?” Tom asked curiously.

“Kensington High Street.” there was a scratch in his excitement. ‘At least I think it was Ringo. It might have been that man from Fiddler On The Roof. You know, Toppy.” He scratched his nose.

“Top-ol,” Tom corrected his friend. The story seemed more and more unlikely to have happened, but it was still rather enjoyable to listen.

“Yes, that’s right. Topol.” Martin drank some more of his coffee. The small amount of it was already mostly gone as he had to work for it to get into his mouth, Tom started thinking.

“Actually, Ringo Starr doesn’t look at all like Topol.”

“Yeah, but he was quite a long way away from me.”  

“So actually it could’ve been neither of them,” Tom suggested. There was a silence.

“Yes, I suppose so, yes.” Another silence between the two men.

“It’s not a classical anecdote, is it?”

“Not a classic, no. No.” They both agreed on it and once again, another silence fell as they both sipped from their incredibly small coffees. It was gone in less than two sips.

“Another one?”  Tom asked once they were both finished. Martin sighed deeply, looking down at his paper cup. Then, a spark lit up in him as he changed his mind: “No! Let’s go crazy. I’ll have an orange juice.”

As Martin was the one who had gotten the coffee the first time, it was only right if Tom bought the juice now. He stepped outside and started walking right. Behind him, there were two men trying to lift up a big painting that would be sold in the new Panton Gallery that would open soon opposite of the bookshop.

Once in the small coffee shop, which was really a sandwich shop, Tom ordered the orange juice and a something more for a second breakfast. He hadn’t gotten to eat as much as he had liked since Harrison kept on nagging about his upcoming date with Janine. While he waited for his order, he looked around at the already well-known to him purple walls and the new advertisements that were stuck to the notice board. There didn’t seem to be anything interesting.

“Okay, thanks. Bye-bye.” The clerk gave him his drink and sandwich.

“See you later,” Tom said and made his way back outside. It was crowded in the sandwich shop, with people sitting at all the tables, of which a few barely fit in the space by itself already. Outside, there were also some people sitting and enjoying their food and drinks.

The sun hit Tom in the eyes as he got out. He followed the collection of small trees that stood in front of the unused garages all the way to the corner of the street. The sun was even brighter, making Tom look away.

Suddenly he felt something solid against him, scaring him a bit and spilling the orange juice in his hand everywhere, including on himself and the girl he had just bumped into. They both exclaimed in shock. The girl, unfortunately, had caught most of the blow of the cold beverage. Her white shirt now mostly bright orange.

“Shit! Bugger!” Tom threw the cup and his forgotten sandwich on the floor.

“Oh my god!” The girl from the bookshop was still in shock from the sudden cold that hit her in the chest.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He repeated himself. He had a tissue in his pocket and took it out to wipe off the possible. “Here let me…”

“Get your hands off!’ She shrieked. There was a little laugh hidden in there. Tom understood that the move wasn’t very appropriate. He could see a few people around them give him a few strange looks.

“I’m really sorry. I… live just over the street.” He pointed out front of himself, in the general direction of his house. The girl was trying to get any juice she could, off of herself and her bags. “I uhm, have water and soap. You can get cleaned up.” She didn’t seem to be very enthusiastic about the idea.

“No thank you. I just need to get my car back.” She shook off some last drops from her hands and started to walk away, looking around for (probably) her car. Annoyance was very clear in her tone.

“I also have a phone. I’m confident that in five minutes we can have you spick and span and back on the street again.” He realized quickly how that sounded. The girl had turned around to look at him. “In the non-prostitute sense, obviously.” She was still mad and didn’t want to laugh, but when she had turned her head away, he could see the corner of her lips go up just a little. She brushed off some hair that had stuck to her cheek.

“All right,” She gave in, but not completely yet, “Well, what do you mean “just over the street”? Give it to me in yards.” Tom wasn’t sure how many yards exactly it would be to his blue door, but he gave it a shot: “Uhm, eighteen yards. That’s my house there with the blue front door.” He pointed again to his door The girl turned around to look for herself. She looked very hesitant but agreed to it in the end. Probably because the now sticky shirt was getting uncomfortable.

They walked in silence to his house. Tom prayed that Harrison had cleaned up at least a bit before he left to go see Janine. That was not the case.

“Come on in. I’ll just, I’ll just…” he ran in front of her into the corridor to clean up as much as he could before she could see the mess that the house actually was. There were old pizza boxes everywhere, shoes lying around in the middle of the floor. On the table lay plates from yesterday's breakfast. He didn’t know where to put them as the sink had been full for over four days already.

“Uhm, right. Right.” The girl was still at the door. “Come in. It’s not quite as tidy as it normally is, I fear.” He hoped she would believe him. “But the bathroom’s on the top floor. And the telephone’s just up here.” he showed her up the stairs and behind the wall. Even with a gigantic orange stain on her shirt, she still looked very well put together. She looked down at her bags, not sure what to do with them.

“Here, let me…” he took them from her and put them next to the stairs. She slowly walked up, not sure where to go next.

“Round the corner, straight on - straight on up.” She disappeared on the second part of the staircase. The time she was gone, Tom took to tidy up a bit more. He cursed Harrison for leaving it such a mess. He had clearly left him a message to clean up this morning. He started to gather around plates and cups and threw them next to the sink. There stood an old pan of baked beans too, he tried to throw it out, but the beans had gotten cold and hard and wouldn’t budge from their container.

He was about done swiping clean the table when he heard footsteps upstairs. He looked up. The girl looked stunning. She had exchanged her simple black pants - white shirt combo with a two-piece black sparkling ensemble… was he using that word correctly, he didn’t know for sure. The crop top and knee-length skirt showed her midriff perfectly. She was still wearing her oversized leather jacket and her beret and glasses were now gone. Tom could finally see her face properly. He couldn’t believe it. It was actually her!

They shared an awkward smile and Tom felt again the need to say something: “Er -” She let out a small sigh, looking a bit annoyed. It threw him off a bit. “Would you like a cup of tea before you go?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Coffee?”

“No.”

“Orange juice?” She gave him one of those are-you-kidding-me looks. “Probably not.” He felt like he owed her something. “Uhm, something else cold?” He went over to the fridge to look inside. She was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Coke? Water?” He looked around some more. There wasn’t much else in the fridge that he could give her. “Some disgusting sugary drink pretending to have something to do with fruits of the forest?”

“No,” her voice came out as a whisper.

“Would you like something to eat? Something to nibble?” What was wrong with him? Those were not words you should say to strangers. “Apricots soaked in honey? Quite why, no one knows, because it stops them tasting of apricots and makes them taste like honey, and if you wanted honey you’d just buy honey instead of apricots.” He pulled the glass jar out of the fridge. He needed to have something in his hands or at least something else to look at except for her.

“But nevertheless, there we go, they’re yours if you want them.” He showed her the jar full of honey covered apricots.

“No.” It was the millionth time he heard her say it.

“Do you always say “no” to everything?” He was thinking out loud. She looked around, thinking about her answer and then said, with half a smile: “No.”  Tom closed the fridge. “I’d better be going. Thanks for your, uh,” She was looking for a word, “help.”

Tom leaned against the fridge. “You’re welcome. And may I also say, um, heavenly. I’ll just take my one chance to say it. After you’ve read that terrible book you’re certainly not gonna be coming back to the shop.” He looked down at the ground.

“Thank you.” She actually smiled.

“Yeah, well, my pleasure.” He smiled back. The girl now turned around and made her way through the tight corridor towards the door. Tom followed her.

“So… “ They stood next to the door now. “It was nice to meet you.” Looking at her, he had no idea what he was doing. He could feel his hand run through his hair as he said: “Surreal, but nice.” She just smiled, glancing at the door. Tom pulled at the lock and opened the door for her, saying a quick “sorry” for making her wait. She walked out without saying a word and he closed the door behind her.

“Surreal, but nice? What was I thinking?” he whispered to himself, in case she could still hear him through the heavy door. He was already walking back to the kitchen when the doorbell rang. He didn’t want the person to wait, so he jogged back to the door and opened it. There she was again. Her sunglasses back on her face. She smiled widely and said: “Hi.”

“Hi,” Tom replied, not expecting to see her again.

“I forgot my other bag,” she explained.

“Oh, right. Right.” A part of Tom was happy that he could see her again, but another was disappointed that she only rang the doorbell to get her bag. He let her back in. He walked to the chair he had put the bag on before and could hear the sound of the door closing. When he got back to her, she stood next to Harrison’s old bike. He handed her the bag and she mumbled “thanks”.  

Now they stood in silence again. She smiled and Tom could see her eyes glance down at his lips. So, he did too. Her lips were getting bigger, no closer. He wasn’t sure how that was possible. And then, he could feel them on his own. She put an arm around his neck to be even closer to him.

Tom couldn't move. His arms were on his side. It was a very simple kiss, but it lasted ages. Only when they needed to breathe, did she pull away. Very slowly. She took a step back. Tom didn’t know what to do. He had never been in a situation like this before. To be kissed by a girl he had just met? It was surreal! Surreal.

“I’m very sorry about the surreal, but nice comment. Disaster.” She kept looking back between his lips and his eyes.

“That’s okay.” She focused on his eyes. “I thought the apricot and honey thing was the real low point.” Tom laughed. They looked into each other's eyes in silence until the clattering of the doorknob broke the moment apart. She turned to look what it was, and so did he. Tom knew what was next to come.

“Oh, my god! My flatmate. I’m sorry. There is no excuse for him.” he quickly apologized for Harrison’s sake before the blond opened the door. The two watched the door open and Harrison walked in. Half a smoked cigarette still in his mouth. He was wearing a brown shirt, probably from the female section, that was two sizes too small and blue jogging pants, which were so low that half his ass was falling out. He walked past them, not even acknowledging their company.  Even though they exchanged “hi”s.

“I’m just going into the kitchen to get some food.” He shouted through the house as he walked. “Then I’m gonna tell you a story that will make your balls shrink to the size of raisins.” He heard the fridge door open.

“Probably best not to tell anyone about this.” She raised her eyebrows, implicating what they had just done.

“Right. Right, no one… I mean, I’ll tell myself sometimes, but, don’t worry, I won’t believe it.” She smiled and the two of them walked to the door. He opened it for her one more time and she walked through.

“Goodbye,” she smiled. Tom could only make out a small “Bye.” before the door was closed.  He leaned his arm against the lock and, just, stood there for a moment. Trying to comprehend what just happened. He had kissed (Y/F/N)! The (Y/F/N). The biggest up-and-coming actress Hollywood had to offer. How? What had he done to be able to say he kissed… no, she kissed him.

“There’s something wrong with this yogurt.” Harrison shook Tom out of his own thoughts. Tom looked at the small container. “It’s not yogurt. It’s mayonnaise.”

“Oh, right. There we are, then.” and he took another full spoon of the condiment into his mouth. “On for a video fest tonight?” he suggested with his mouth full. Tom was barely listening. The kiss still fresh in his memory. “I got some absolute classics.”

Tom wasn’t sure if Harrison was joking him, because the first movie he picked was one of hers. Gramercy Park, it was called. Her face was on the cover of the movie, together with some bloke named Matthew Modine. It didn’t look great, but Tom didn’t have anything else to do, so he agreed on watching it.

“Smile,” Modine’s character begged hers in an art gallery. For some artistic decisions, the movie was black and white. Tom couldn’t understand why. The two characters walked around, looking at the paintings in the room. He couldn’t remember why they were there, he wasn’t really paying attention to the movie itself, honestly. Just her. He still couldn’t believe it that he had met the beautiful girl on the screen. Of course, her hair was different, but for the rest, it was definitely her!

“No.,” she said.  

“Smile,” Modine repeated himself. He had done it already four times. Each time as annoying to watch.

“I’ve got nothing to smile about.” the two sat down on a bench that just happened to be in the otherwise, furniture free, gallery.

“Okay, in about seven seconds, I’m going to ask you to marry me.” the two characters shared a look. Then, (Y/N) started smiling.

“Imagine,” Harrison spoke up. In his hand a piece of pizza that had been hanging there since three scenes ago. “Somewhere in the world, there’s a man who’s allowed to kiss her.”

“Yeah, she is…” Tom couldn’t look away from the small tv screen, “fairly fabulous.”

____________________

Tom stood in his bookshop. As usual, it was empty, except for one man.  He had been standing around for a few minutes already. In the middle of the shop, just looking around himself. “Do you have any books by Dickens?” he finally asked. Tom looked up from his inventory.

“No. No, I’m afraid we’re a travel bookshop. We only sell travel books.” The man didn’t seem to understand. He didn’t look exactly to be well. A bit pale and dried up. His suit also looked slightly too big for him.

“Oh, right. How about the new John Grisham thriller?”

“Well, no, because that’s a novel, too, isn’t it?”

“Oh right.” His eyes looked a  bit glassy as he continued to gaze around the room, nowhere in particular. The man sighed deeply. “Have you got Winnie-the-Pooh?” Tom was officially done with this individual. The knew that Martin should be there somewhere, so he called out: “Martin, your customer.” Martin, this time wearing a big red cardigan, purple shirt, and a blue tie, popped up from behind a wall. He definitely had not heard the conversation Tom had with the man because he pleasantly asked: “Can I help you?”

A ring of the bell above the entrance made Tom turn around. It was probably just the strong wind that had been roaming around the street the whole day because there was nobody there when he looked. What he did see, was a double-decker bus driving in front of them right then. On there, the advertisement for the movie HELIX. He knew it would be coming out in cinemas soon, but that was about it. As the bus moved along, he saw her face. Of course, she would be the star of it. There almost hasn’t been a movie without her for the last two years.

It had been two days since the orange juice incident, Tom felt like he couldn’t avoid (Y/N). Her perfect face was everywhere. It was sad because he knew that in reality, he would never see her again.

The next morning Tom was making his way up the stairs, to the bathroom, when Harrison came walking downstairs. For some unknown reason, he was wearing Tom’s red scuba gear. His flatmate walked past him with a nonchalant “Hey” and left Tom confused on the stairs.

“Just, incidentally, why are you wearing that?” Tom asked at the breakfast table. He was looking at Harrison who stood by the (still very full) sink eating a bowl of cereal, a cigarette between the same fingers in which he held the spoon...

“Combination of factors really,” he said as he ate. “Uhm, no clean clothes…”

“There never will be, you know, unless you actually clean your clothes.”

“Right,” he nodded, “Vicious circle.”

“Yeah.” Tom agreed.

“And I was, like, rooting round in your things and I found this and I thought: Cool.” Tom looked at Harrison properly. Cool, was not a word he would use. The scuba-suit was definitely one of the less extravagant pieces of wardrobe Harrison has ever worn, but it was still a scuba-suit.

“Kinda spacey,” he added.

It was a Saturday, so the two men decided to do what they usually did when they didn’t have plans. They went up to the roof. It was a very pleasant spot where you could look out on the city, without the city looking back at you.

Tom sat down on a chair, under a parasol, while Harrison lounged himself on a slightly higher bit of the roof, next to the flower pots of which the residents had died many moons ago. He lay down on his side.

“There’s something wrong with the goggles, though.” Harrison tried to adjust them to his face.

“No, they were prescription,” Tom explained, not looking up from whatever article he was reading.

“Groovy.” Harrison sat up.

“So I could see all the fishes properly.”

“You should do more of this stuff.” He adjusted the goggles again. Tom doubted if his friend over there could actually see anything through them whether or not he moved them around in some way.

“So, look, any messages today?”  He put down his article on the small table next to him.

“Yeah, I wrote a couple down. Harrison got up and walked over to another piece of the roof, where his own set of table and garden chairs stood. It was fully in the sun and Harrison often, unfortunately, lay there naked. Hoping to get a tan someday.

“So, there were two, there were two messages? Right?”  He watched as Harrison walked over to the other chairs and sat down, putting his feet up on another chair in front of him. He pulled down the goggles so they would hang around his neck. “You want me to write down all your messages?” He waved with his cigarette as he talked.

Tom didn’t understand how he managed to live with this idiot for this long. He also didn’t understand how he had not yet bought an answering machine. Massaging his temple, he asked: “Okay, Who are the ones that you didn’t write down from?” Harrison took a swing from his cigarette and thought for a moment.

“No, gone completely.” But immediately after that, he remembered again: “Oh, no, there was one from your mum. She said: don’t forget lunch, and her leg’s hurting again.”

“No one else?”

“Absolutely no one else.” Tom looked at Harrison for a moment, ready for him to add something to his sentence. But he only leaned back relaxed in his chair. After six seconds, Tom gave up and went back to the article he was reading. Of course, right at that moment, Harrison started talking again. “Though if we’re going for this obsessive writing-down-all-the-message thing, some American girl called (Y/N) called a few days ago.” Tom’s head shot back up. She called? How was that even possible?  He wanted to play it a bit cool.  “What did she say?” he asked.

“Well, it was genuinely bizarre. She said: Hi, it’s (Y/N). Then she said, Call me at The Ritz. And then gave herself a completely different name.”

“Which was?” Tom dragged him on.

“Absolutely no idea.” He took another breath of his cigarette. “Remembering one name’s hard enough.” Tom groaned in frustration and got up from his slightly uncomfortable chair. He made his way downstairs, to the living room-study where the phone was located. He had to look for the telephone book to find the number for the Ritz. Of course, it was hidden underneath a pile of Harrison’s dirty clothes.

Once he had the number for the hotel, he ticked it into the machine and waited for the other line to answer. It soon did. A man asked him who he wanted to speak to. Tom knew that it probably wouldn’t be (Y/F/N). It was probably the name that she had left with Harrison… which he forgot. He tried anyway. The man said that there was nobody staying here under this name.

“No, I know that. She said that. I know she’s using another name. The problem is she left the message with my flatmate,” Tom looked at Harrison who very calmly and casually sat down on the couch in front of him and opened up the newspaper. A new cigarette in his mouth. “Which was a very serious mistake. Uhm…” he didn’t know how to explain it to the man on the other line. “Imagine, if you will, the stupidest person you’ve ever met. Are you doing that?”

“Yes, sir, I have him in my mind.” he heard.

“And now double it. And that is the, what can I say, the git that I am living with. And he can’t remember this other…”

“Try Flintstone,” Harrison said. His voice sounded very nasally because he was wearing those goggles again. Tom looked up at him in complete disbelief.

“Sorry,” he said to the man from the hotel. “What?”  

“I think she said her name was Flintstone.” Tom rolled his eyes. A cartoon character? Really? But he had no other options, so he took his shot in the dark: “I don’t suppose Flintstone rings any bells, does it?’ He was expecting the man to laugh at him, but instead, the man said: ‘Well, I’ll put you right through, sir.”  He couldn’t believe it. While the line was being switched he tried to think of what he should say. That was cut short when her voice was heard. “Hello.” He put the phone back to his ear.

“Hi. Sorry. Uhm…It’s Tom, Holland.” He wasn’t sure she would know who he was.

“Yes?”

“We… I work in a bookshop.” He sat down, not sure his legs could hold him up during this conversation. He wasn’t very hopeful that she remembered who he was. But she did. “You played it pretty cool there, waiting for three days to call.”

“Oh, no, I promise you I’ve never played anything cool in my entire life. My flatmate, who I’ll stab to death later, never gave me the message.” he tried to explain himself. She didn’t say anything. This was his chance. “I don’t know, perhaps… uhm, I could drop round for tea later or something?” She didn’t say anything for a while.

‘Things are pretty busy here. I might be free at around 4:00.”

“Right. Right. Great.” They said their bye’s and he could hear the other line hang up. He held the phone in his hand for a second or nine before putting it down. He looked at Harrison, who had put down his paper and took a long swing from his cigarette. Before blowing out the smoke that had built up in his lungs, he put the goggles back over his eyes. Tom could suddenly see smoke coming out from underneath the goggles.

At around 3:30, Tom decided to leave the house. Not only have at least ten minutes to spare in case any traffic came up but also because he was starting to get tired of Harrison blowing smoke in his goggles and then yelling that his eyes burned.

He took the bus. Getting out as quickly as possible. He crossed the street and looked at the entrance of the Ritz. He had never even been close to the building. With his lower than low income, he didn’t exactly feel worthy to be around it.

Walking in, a whiff of richness could be felt. It wasn’t very pleasant. He had walked to the front desk and asked in which room “Miss Flintstone” was staying and then headed to the elevators. The man had said to go to the fortepiano and to the right. So that is what he did.

A man in a black suit walked in with him. In one hand he was holding a briefcase and in the other a cup of coffee.

“Which floor?” Tom asked.

“Three, please.” That just so happened to be the same as his. The doors closed and they were ascending. Not much later the elevator stopped and they got out. Tom glanced at the little navigation sign on which it stated which rooms were on each side of the corridor and made his way to the right. The man took a bit more time doing so but followed him in the same direction. He walked behind him until the very end of the corridor, all the way up to room number 38, the Trafalgar Suite. Before Tom knocked he turned around to the man. “Are you… sure?”  Was he here too to see (Y/N).

“Oh, yeah. Yeah, Sure.” He smiled. Tom knocked on the door. They waited for the door to be opened. Even though the other man stood a good distance away from him, Tom still had the feeling he could feel his breath on his neck. He felt very uncomfortable. Who was he? What was he doing here?

The door suddenly opened, revealing a woman around his (and maybe also the other man’s) age. Tom had never seen her before. She was barely looking at them, too occupied by whatever it was in her hands.

“Hi. Hi. I’m Karen.” Karen handed him a booklet, on which a the same picture was that he had been seeing all over town recently. It was (Y/N), in her futuristic bob-cut, from her new movie HELIX. “I’m sorry, things are running a little bit late. Here’s the uhm, thing. Do you wanna come this way?” She went back inside.”Through here.” Not knowing what to do, Tom just followed and so did the ginger man. There were many other people in the room. All looking like they have been waiting for a while, all holding the same booklet that Karen had given to him. Tom finally understood what was going on. This was a press conference.

“So what did you think of the film?” Karen clicked her pen, ready to write down their words.

“Yeah, I thought it was fantastic. I thought it was Close Encounters meets Jean de Florette.” the ginger man said. Karen smiled satisfied. Then the two of them looked at Tom, expecting him to add to it. He did not know what he thought of the movie as he had not seen it, nor - honestly - was he actually planning on seeing it. Because he had to say something, he choked out: “I agree.” The man nodded approvingly and swung his coffee cup back to drink the last bit of his drink.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t get down what magazines you’re from.”

“Time Out.” the man said.

“Great,” she noted the name, then looked up at Tom, “and you’re from?” Tom was very much freaking out. He was definitely not from any magazine. He can’t even remember the last time he read one. He tried to look around unnoticed for some inspiration. Thankfully, on a small table nearby, there was a whole pile of magazines. Hidden behind a vase of flowers. It was the only option he got.

“Er- Horse & Hound.” The man next to him smiled impressed. Tom smirked back. Karen wrote down the name too. As (Y/N) had said that they could meet up today, he assumed that she was expecting him.

He cleared his throat: “The name’s Tom Holland. Actually, she might be expecting me.”

“Oh, okay.” She didn’t sound very impressed but went along with it. “Take a seat and I’ll go check.” Karen smiled and walked away. The ginger man still stood by him. He pointed at a small couch and asked if they should sit down. They did so. As they walked over to it, the man started a conversation: “I see you’ve… I see you’ve brought her some flowers.” he pointed at the small bouquet. Tom had completely forgotten about them. It was rather pathetic now that he thought about it. He started laughing: “No. These are.. for my… grandmother. She’s in a hospital down the road. Thought I’d kill two birds with one stone, you know.” The man nodded.

“Sure, right. Absolutely, yeah.” Tom turned around slightly, hoping the conversation was now over. Unfortunately, for him, it was not. “Which hospitals that?” Tom wanted to tell the man to mind his own business but thought it would be quite rude to do so.

“Do you mind me not saying? It’s a rather distressing thing, isn’t it?” he was impressed by himself, really. “The name of the hospital kind of gives it away.”

“Absolutely. Sure.” the man agreed. Tom thanked him with a “Cheers.” There was a very awkward silence between them. Tom did not know if this was much better than the conversation.

“Right, Mr. Holland,” Karen popped up through the crowd of journalists from a different corridor than into which one she had disappeared, “If you come this way.”

“Right.” Tom got up. He walked over to Karen who showed him towards a room a bit away from where everyone was standing and waiting. “You’ve got five minutes.” She opened a door for him and walked away. The room was oval shaped. Very roomy and very classy. The beige color of the walls was repeated in the furniture, ceiling, drapes, and carpet. Parallel to the door was a big window looking out on the city. In front of it stood (Y/N). she had her back facing him but turned around the moment he walked in. Just like the last time he saw her, she was beautiful. Even with the light making her only a silhouette. She walked away from the window with a big smile. Tom could now see her more properly. Yes, she was beautiful. Dressed in a full suit, including a tie, she showed all the power in her that the world needed to see. Her hair was tied back in a slick ponytail.

“Hi.” He said. She responded with a simple “Hello.”

“Uhm, I brought these, but clearly…” he looked around the room, where gigantic bushes of flowers stood in every spot that fit.

“No, they’re great. They’re great.” She smiled and took them from him. Tom didn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry about not ringing back.” he apologized when she put down the flowers on the table in front of them. “The whole two-names concept was totally too much for my flatmate’s pea-sized intellect.”

“No, it’s a stupid privacy thing. I always pick a cartoon character.”  thankfully she didn’t seem to be very angry at him, technically, ignoring her for three days. “Last time I was Mrs. Bmbi.” she laughed at her own choice. The door of the room closed as a man stepped in, making them both look away from each other. The man was older, already at the point where his barely-there hair was completely white. He was wearing all black, so Tom assumed it was some type of security.

“Everything all right?”  he asked.

“Yes, thank you.” (Y/N) smiled at the man, who brought his attention to Tom.

“And you’re from Horse & Hound?” Tom just nodded. “Good.” Then he turned around and started going through some papers.

“Is that so?” (Y/N) smiled, probably holding in a bigger one underneath it, and sat down on the big couch. Not wanting to be inappropriate, Tom sat down in a chair next to it. His eyes were still on the man. He couldn’t have the conversation he wanted to have, while he was there. They would have him kicked out before he actually asked anything.

“So..uhm, I’ll just fire away, then, shall I?” he looked unsure at (Y/N), who glanced at the man in the round corner of the room and smirked. She waited for his first question.

“Right...er- The film’s great.” Always a good way to start, he thought. “And I just was wondering whether you ever thought of having more, uh, horses in it?” The man cleared his throat. It was unsure if it was towards Tom and his ridiculously idiotic question, or it was actually needed. Especially, that he didn’t even seem to be paying attention, as he was checking her mail. (Y/N) answered as she glanced over at him: “Well, we would have like to, but it was difficult, obviously, being set in space.” Tom seemed to blank out for a minute. At this moment he felt like a bigger idiot than Harrison.

“Space, right, yeah. Yeah, obviously very difficult.” The door opened again and the man left. Tom didn’t even wait to make sure he couldn’t hear them. “I’m so sorry. I arrived outside, they thrust this into my hand.” he showed her the movie booklet that he had earlier on put down.

“No, it’s my fault. I thought this would all be over by now.” she sighed. “I just wanted to sort of apologizing for the kissing thing. I seriously don’t know what came over me.” Tom could feel the smile on his face slowly lower itself. He didn’t know what he had expected from this conversation, but this somehow was not it. “I just wanted to make sure that you were fine about it.”

Tom froze for a moment. Of course, he was fine about it. The kiss was amazing. He knew that he probably should say it out loud too. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Absolutely fine.” He had to play it cool, though. Once again, the heavy door opened and closed. The bold man came in again.

“Do remember that Miss (Y/L/N) is also keen to talk about her next project which she is shooting later in the summer.” He walked over to them to pour a glass of water for (Y/N). Tom was sure she could perfectly well do it herself and that there was no particular reason for the man to be there now.

“Yes, excellent. Excellent.” He did not want to talk about her next project, but since the man was still there, he had no other choice. “Any horses in that one?” She looked at him with a sad smile. He knew very well that this attempt at an interview was not going great at all. “Or hounds for that matter?” he added quickly. “Our readers are equally intrigued by both species.”

“It takes place on a submarine,” she explained disappointedly.

“Oh, well, bad luck.” he glanced over at the man, who did not seem to be very keen on leaving. “But if there were horses in it, would you be riding them, or would you be getting a stunt-horse-double-man-thing?” he could hear the man walk away with a sigh, opening the door, and closing it behind him.

“I’m a complete moron, I apologize.” he took a deep breath. “This is very weird. It’s the sort of thing that happens in dreams, not in real life. I mean, good dreams. It’s a dream, in fact, to see you again.” He looked away, not believing what he had just said. Her next words were soft, almost a whisper: “What happens next in the dream?”

Her smile took his breath away for a moment there. Once he managed to talk, he thought for a moment. “I suppose that in the uhm, dream, dream scenario, I just change my personality,” he wished he was more confident around her, less of a bumbling idiot. “Because you can do that in dreams and uhm... “ They were looking into each other's eyes. Tom was not sure if she was actually moving closer to him or he was just imagining it. “And walk over and kiss the girl. But…” they both started to lean in. This was happening. Now he was prepared. He could do it.

The only problem was, it was not happening. The old security man came in through the door, making Tom and (Y/N) sit up and look away from each other. Breaking any tension there was between them.

“Time’s up, I’m afraid. Did you get what you wanted?” Tom wanted to punch the stupid grin off of his face. Of course, he didn’t get what he wanted. But he had to keep calm.

“Nearly. Nearly,” he said, fidgeting in his chair a bit.

“Well, maybe just one last question,” he smirked towards (Y/N). It was very unnerving to look at. She smiled and said: “sure, sure.” The man left again. It was all very annoying.

“Are you busy tonight?” Tom asked when the door clicked in the lock.

“Yes.” She simply stated.

“Right. Right.” He understood. Of course, the biggest movie star in Hollywood would be busy. She doesn’t have time for him. What was he thinking? There was a silence between them. Very awkward.

“Come in,” The man walked in, This time followed by a Clark Kent looking type. (Y/N) got up, so Tom assumed it was really time to go for him. They politely shook hands and she said: “Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“Yes, and you.”

“Surreal, but nice.” She smirked. Tom laughed at the comment. It will haunt him for the rest of his life, probably.

“Thank you,” he said, “You are Horse & Hound’s favorite actress.” the comment made her laugh out loud a little. “You and Black Beauty tied.” He wished he could kiss her, but the men next to them made it impossible. So, he walked away. Not looking back. He was not exactly pleasantly surprised to see the ginger man standing outside. When he saw Tom, he told whoever he was talking to on the phone, to hang on.

“How was she?” He asked interestedly.

“Oh, um…” the question threw him off a bit. “Fabulous.”

“Excellent.” they were about to part, but the man stopped him again. “Wait a minute, she took your grandmother’s flowers?” he looked confused. So did Tom. Grandmother’s flowers? What was he on about? Then he remembered his poor excuse.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s right. Bitch.”

“Mr. Holland.” It was Karen, coming out of a corridor. What was it now? Couldn’t he just leave? He was fine, honestly. “If you’d like to come with me, we can just rush you through the others.”

“The others?” Karen walked away, but Tom stood still in his spot. What others?  There weren’t any others for him. Just (Y/N). Karen didn’t stop or respond, so he had to follow her. The woman leads him into another room, where a gentleman was seated.

“Mr. Holland is from Horse & Hound,” she told him and walked away, but not before gesturing to Tom to sit down.

“How ’s it going?” the man asked. They shook hands.

“Very well. Thank you.” Tom was going to pass out. He couldn’t interview him! And Karen had talked about others. That was definitely plural. Was he expected to talk to the whole cast? He couldn’t.

“Have a seat.” They sat down. Tom was ready for the next hour of torture to begin.

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Should I write and post more of this story? Do you want to be tagged? Any other request or comment?

[diaryventsesh]

Limbo: Immovable versus Movable

A bunch of events have come together to make me rethink where I am in my life. Out of the blue I was able to talk to an old friend (high school) a new friend (coworker) and boyfriend such that I kept on getting the question posed in different ways but essentially about my future: what do I want to do next what would be my best case scenario am I happy where I am right now. The hard truth is I am not sure about what I want next. I felt that I was happy in that I was getting into a routine as a new grad just starting at their new job but also that I was getting to a point where I had seen enough to know I have a lot more to learn but not sure how to approach it. I am happy in my new place in that I have so much to explore there's all the hikes and places to walk around. I am sad in that I have to make new friends when I'd rather hang out with my old ones. I also haven't tried hard to make the most of my new friendships as I felt that I needed time on my own after getting adjusted to working full time talking to people and also that I wasn't sure how long I'd be here so I used that as a weak reason to not make the most of friendships. I also used the reason that the people I'd like to hang out with the most are 45 minutes away oof. Another thing I've realized that makes it hard is the assumption that people like to settle down in one place. I assumed that me and Sawyer would pick a place to stay but he has mentioned multiple times that he is a mover, that he gets bored in one place for too long, doing the same thing for too long. That idea clashes with the idea of settling down. This also indirectly clashes with what I realized I am missing. I am missing a close-by friend. I suppose I would get to be with Sawyer wherever he moves but I would also miss having a friend who meets different emotional needs. I assumed that I would be able to make friends wherever I go but I also thought I would be able to do so over a period of years that I would stay somewhere. I have a hard time staying present over virtual friend communications ie just video chats, phone calls, and texts. I am really missing getting to hang out and talk to people I know well in person. Is this something I'll just have to adjust my style to to feel satisfied with? Is this an immovable need or is this something that I can get more out of without feeling unmet. I'm not sure. With the way the world is now and how spread out we all are it may be something I'm forced to try to get more sustenance out of though I've resisted it for so long and thought less of it. It makes me sad to think I may never get the close-by friend again. It also makes me sad that something like settling down in one place is something that I actually took for granted in that my boyfriend is one of the few people I could have dated that has that damn feeling. Like of all the people and desires. I am unsure because I know that I could do something like travel/move a lot but the more I think about myself and my needs, I would prefer not to. I am more of a routine person. If I did move a lot, I would have to have an end point or goal but with Sawyer I haven't asked and I'm not sure he knows what the end goal of that would be anyways. He just knows he doesn't want to stick to one place. I'll likely have to have a more in depth thought out conversation with him about this. This is a big difference in future moves and it's scary to think that this could be a big enough difference to even let the idea of break-up creep in. The reason I haven't completely thought of it as a make-or-break moment is that I don't know what I want completely yet. I don't have a set place in mind to stay. I have ideas and what I would like best but even those ideas started to crumble. I had held on to this idea that I would go back to Oregon because I had the most friends there - Kahana, Reid, Trevor, but in recent events even most of those people are leaving or planning to leave in the near future. Technically, I have a good concentration of friends in Southern California but I'd rather not go back there. At this point

I don't have an ideal place to go back to so I might as well move around. I'm also disappointed because I feel like I don't have any further big goals after becoming a physical therapist. Like I got here and I'm pretty dang happy about it but I feel like I'm supposed to come up with something else to do. Again, I don't know what I want. I don't feel like I am motivated for more like I was when I wanted to just become a physical therapist. Now I'm not sure about it. Is this normal or am I being complacent? Can I give myself the breather of being done with school and finally reach a goal that took a long damn time and effort or is this too much a breather and just a lazy feeling that I need to get over? I suppose it is probably not black and white but maybe a little of both. These holes in what I want next and the unknown that is having to figure out what could be in my professional future, my social future, my relationship future all contributed to me somehow getting really attached to this manga/anime Haikyuu. Obsessed like I watched all 4 seasons and read all the manga chapters in like 3 weeks. I had this need to find out what happened to the characters and whether they get their ultimate goal. For whatever reason I got so into this series and it filled the holes that were the unknowns in my life or rather distracted me from seeing the holes lol. Escapism? The characters are so wholesome and it wasn't your normal sports series where there's the winners and losers the good guys and bad guys and they ultimately win the whole shebang as the underdogs. It was strikingly realistic in showing that they worked hard and got better but didn't make it in the end. They showed other teams and their improvement arcs without making you stop cheering for the main guys even though you wanted to cheer for the supporting teams too. They didn't focus so much on the results of the games so much as the ups and downs of people's individual battles. FUCKING SUPERB YALL. There are like no characters I despise in the series its crazy. Anyways I got so much into this series because it made me feel emotions again. I had just gotten into this feeling that I had to do something more to figure out my future but the motivation and emotion to make those decisions wasn't there. Like I know I should be doing these things because it is my life and it would be good to think about the future but my motivation was just low and like I would do it but I don't have the emotion behind it. This series didn't necessarily motivate me to go 120% like the characters do but it made me feel something. Made me feel hopeful and happy and sad and prideful for the characters. Now that I've finished the series I at least feel fulfilled especially because it ended in a way that I was satisfied with. I don't feel jazzed but I feel calm and content. The hard thing is finding what will give me that emotion again in real life. I definitely felt that sense of content-ness getting to talk to friends in person. I have a sense of it when I try shuffling. I get a little here and there but maybe I need goals to get my highs and lows from. I'm still not sure. No matters. I do probably need to figure out what I want to do in the future in terms of with Sawyer. The moving thing is a big difference and we'd have to talk that out more. Maybe I'll bring that up in a few weeks. I have to at least come into it knowing what I want though. I know Sawyer is at least someone who compromises and is willing to talk and work something out. However, this isn't something that can be done halfway. It's move or stay. I suppose there could be a compromise in some situations like if he could get a flexible enough position that allows him to come back on some seasons but not others - professor like situations? but that would be an option for something with a lot more status lol.

Immovable objects:

- Work schedule/hours in and out (for the most part, I have made this pretty efficient in that I get my workouts in and meal prep such that I don't have to do it when I'm tired on the weekdays although it would be nice if I could get past my ability to not want to be in the living space at the same time as my roommate so I can just cook my food on the weekdays and have free time on the weekend but I'll consider it immovable rn for sake of simplicity).

- Friends being spread out such that I wouldn't be able to move to one place and settle down to be close and that would be easy

- Other people's needs ie boyfriends need to travel more than stay settled (not necessarily immovable in that he is considerate of others ie my needs but immovable in the sense that even if he did compromise and settled somewhere his true desire is to move more)

What I can control:

- My motivation

- How I structure my life to optimize my moods, motivation, social time, etc.

- How I react to situations

[infinitebrownianmotion]

Matters of the Heart or ‘Why I Stopped Playing Ultimate Frisbee’

Dear Nobody,

You might not have heard of Ultimate frisbee, but it’s one of the best things that has ever happened to me. It’s a team sport which I discovered in 2015. Until then, I hadn’t realized that I could play a sport. Soon, love quickly turned to manic addiction. Family and friends would groan at the mention of the F word, which in this case referred to the combination of football, basketball and rugby, with a frisbee thrown in the mix for fun. For a blissful two years, not much else existed for me. I would miss birthday parties, family dinners, and drinks with friends, just so I could chase after a 175g plastic disc. I don’t know what it is about a frisbee sailing through the air, its path determined by the presumably complicated physics of angular momentum, gravity and prevailing environmental conditions – but it’s always a moment of pure abandon, an exhilarating feeling as you bound after it, mind completely blank.

You know what made Ultimate frisbee so special though? It was the people I got to play it with. For the longest time after I returned home from a masters abroad, I found it hard to make new friends or connect with the ones I already had. This was because my masters coursemates had set the bar too high for most other people. But in discovering Ultimate, starting a team in Bangalore and interacting with the larger community, I felt like a polar bear who’d found an intact sheet of sea-ice in the Arctic (i.e., thrilled, what with climate change and its impact on our planet). My point is that I finally felt at home for the first time in two years, part of a cult (as my friends still adamantly maintain) and amongst a diverse set of like-minded people. My team, which we fatefully christened after a spinal cord injury that I would suffer from a few months later, meant the world to me. If I wasn’t at team practice on weekday evenings or on weekends, then I was at some team dinner or Ultimate tournament or post-tournament party or the other. I had found my paradise.

My dearest Nobody, when I started writing this letter to you in December 2017, I knew it was going to be a sad, melancholy one. We’re now in April of the following year, but it seems like this letter will still be sad and melancholy, however, with a faint glimmer of hope. Maybe. Let’s see.

As I was saying, I had found my paradise, but not for long. In mid-2016, I landed what I thought was my dream job with a dream organization. It required me to spend nine months with a few short breaks at a field site in a remote part of the country surrounded by forests and wildlife (I have written about this here). I arrived at the stipulated location with my bag and a burning love for Ultimate. Is that how evangelists feel? I had brought a few frisbees with me and it wasn’t long before I started terrorizing the village kids. Yikes, is that also how evangelists feel? Through my proselytizing, I met a young girl (now a good friend), who was a brilliant football player. She took to the sport like a bear to honey. Pretty soon, when I began to teach Ultimate at local schools, she was my assistant coach. Outside of Ultimate, she was my coach, always motivating me to go running with her at unearthly hours on cold, dark winter mornings, ensuring that I stretched afterwards. Despite all my mock protests, I was glad to be whipped into shape, because I knew that I had to go back for tournaments and I couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, let my team down (out of touch maybe, but certainly not out of shape, I’d say to myself sometimes). It was difficult getting out of my field site and all the way across the country to national tournaments (not to mention expensive AF), but there was never a question about not making it. That first field season, despite the endless challenges it posed with regard to working with local communities for wildlife conservation, was glorious. I loved village life on the forest fringe, watching hornbills at their nests during the breeding season, having new experiences practically every day – it was all very exciting. I even ploughed through the few crazy months that I had to spend alone in the field, always keeping sight of the silver lining. And then after the field season ended, I went back to Bangalore, which happens to be home and also where our office is located and where my Ultimate team is based. Three months later, I was back in the field but this time around something had changed.

When my second field season/exile to the field began, I sensed something amiss but struggled to put a finger on it. I was more acutely aware of the sacrifices I was making to be here, far, far away from my family, friends and team, knowing fully well that their lives would go on without me, as it had before, and that I would miss watching my niece and nephew grow up, that I wouldn’t be able to improve my game at team practice sessions, that I would miss almost everything that added meaning to my life. Before I landed this job, I had missed many social gatherings and family visits for Ultimate, so this shouldn’t have been a revelation to me, yet not having a choice in the matter seemed to make all the difference. I felt like my life was on pause when I was in the field, resuming only when I went home. The only problem was that only my life had been on hold, and I was constantly trying to catch up with those around me who’d moved on. I stopped going for morning runs with my local friend. I had already missed one tournament in Chennai when I left for the field and I wasn’t going to be able to make it for the one in Surat later in December, so I surmised that there wasn’t any point in working on my fitness (my only motivation to stay fit has always been so that I can play Ultimate). I missed my team terribly. I couldn’t bring myself to do throws with either my friend or the other village kids. I completely stopped teaching Ultimate in schools in my free time (much to the disappointment of some of the kids, unfortunately). I was suffering from intense nostalgia (the Portuguese word ‘saudade’ comes to mind) and also what is referred to in the digital age as FOMO or ‘fear of missing out’.

After three months of not throwing or working out, I went home for Christmas. It was a relief, to say the least, and I tried to play as much Ultimate as I could manage. The next national tournament was scheduled to happen in Ahmedabad at the end of January, but there was no way I could have stayed on that long. With a renewed sense of determination, I decided to play that tournament no matter what. I knew that it would be a long journey, travelling the entire breadth of the country from the easternmost state to the westernmost one. Even the staggering costs of air travel (from the nearest airport, which is in the neighbouring state, and with multiple connecting flights thereafter) couldn’t deter me. And so I played Ahmedabad Ultimate Open with my team, who had travelled together from Bangalore. Perhaps because of expectations I had from previous tournaments we’d played together for two years, I was a little disenchanted. Ours being a university team, there’s a huge turnover of players and the team composition inevitably changes as players come and go. I wasn’t used to playing with many of the newer players (to put it technically, we didn’t have ‘chemistry’ which is built over time as you practice together) and I was extremely rusty. It was a frustrating three days for me. My body wasn’t coping well with the physical abuse that comes with tournaments, my game was shit, and I missed some of the older players who I was used to playing with. But while my fantasy on the tournament field was shattered, off the field, I had a great time getting to know the new players and reconnecting with the few old ones, exploring Ahmedabad’s crazy street food scene and playing ridiculous games until late each night with the team. It was almost like old times. I was sad to leave because I didn’t know when I would get to play another tournament again, even as I realized that there was probably no point playing unless I had been able to practice with the team – I wasn’t going to be able to contribute much on the field otherwise and might even get in the way, especially if new strategies that I was unaware of were being executed.

With the tournament behind me, I did have one thing to look forward to though. Two of my friends/teammates were accompanying me back to my field site and would spend a few days there. It turned out to be a really great trip and on the eve of their departure, we played an impromptu Ultimate match with my friend and a bunch of village kids who were playing football when we invaded their ground. This rekindled my love for Ultimate and after they left, I resumed my fitness routine in part, if not fully. I was starting to feel good again and things only got better when I got selected to attend a workshop in Bangalore, after which I spent a few days working from the office and going for team practice sessions on alternate evenings. When I left for the field once more, it was with a conviction that things would be different this time around and that I would struggle to stay positive and motivated.

As I finish writing this letter to you, my friend, it’s with a stinging realization that tomorrow, my teammates will leave for Kodaikanal, where a special tournament of great sentimental value is happening for the first time in over six years. I won’t be joining them because I have to be an adult who can’t shirk work responsibilities, especially at a crucial time when we are in the process of shifting base camps and bang in the middle of the hornbill breeding season. Life seems bleak once more. I know that my heart will sink a little when I see team photos and there will be a tight knot of sadness in the pit of my stomach when I read about games and exciting plays on our Whatsapp group. Thanks to advances in modern communication, I can at least live these experiences vicariously, but it’s times like these that make me wonder at opportunity costs and whether any of this is worth it. I guess that glimmer of hope was just that – an illusion.

Love, D

New beginnings: Our first Ultimate frisbee tournament, Bangalore Ultimate Open, June 2015. We were all glad to get a new jersey designed immediately after, but this yellow-green one still holds immense sentimental value to the squad who played that first tournament.

Standard practice: Team huddle before every match.

The amazing Indian Ultimate frisbee community. Photo courtesy: Ultimate Players Association of India

[iamashippingtrashbin]

Happy Birthday

(A/N): I had inspiration to make this during my birthday, due to my curiousity getting the better of me and wondering how a birthday would go for Jerry. Oh, also, this takes place during season two, so Jerry lives with the family and they’re still a-holes to him. I am really glad that Jerry and Beth are happy now though. It’s sweet. I’m open to constructive criticism and would like to know how I did  with writing the characters. I’m not sure I did good with Rick and his stutter, so let me know how I did and what I can do to improve!

Word Count: 2027

Summary: It’s Jerry’s birthday.

Today was special, or it was supposed to be, at least. Why was today supposed to be special, exactly? Because it was Jerry’s birthday. Of course, you probably knew that already because of the summary, but that’s besides the point. Now, since it’s Jerry’s birthday, where does that leave him? At his home with his loving family who put together a small surprise party for him? Sadly, no, that was not where Jerry was.

He was standing in a small grocery store near his home, his eyes fixated on the cupcakes that were neatly stacked on one of the many small square tables near the bakery section of the store. Jerry, after some debate, finally decided to get a small case of cupcakes, gingerly picking them up and making his way to the check out. It was still relatively early in the day, which would explain the stores lack of activity. Plus, it was still a weekday. It was a little nice, only hearing the quiet song coming from the intercom, complete with scattered footsteps and a few rolling shopping carts. Jerry paused his walk to the check out, colorful candles catching the corner of his eye. He turned to examine them, gnawing lightly on his bottom lip. Should he really buy candles? I mean, it was just him, and it’s not like there was any other birthday coming up. Now that he thought about it, he could also get himself a small container of ice cream.

“Really, Jerry? Cupcakes and ice cream? And candles? Are you actually celebrating your unemployment?” a very familiar voice spoke up in the back of Jerry’s mind. He swallowed thickly, shifting his gaze down to the cupcakes. Maybe he should just put them back. Leave the store and go back home. Pretend that nothing special is happening and continue on with his life. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No! It was his birthday! His special day! He at least deserved something.

“For what? You don’t work at all. Why should you get anything for your birthday? It’s not like it’s important. Why not do something useful and get a job? It’s not hard.“

“Sir, would you like a bag?” the cashier spoke up, interrupting Jerry’s train of thought. Jerry blinked a few times. His brain must have gone into autopilot, while he continued to hear that degrading voice that sounded so similar to Beth, Rick, and the kids. He had to admit, it was nice to hear a sweet, kind voice out of all the hurtful, aggressive ones. He smiled, shaking his head lightly, “No, thank you, ma'am,” he replied. The cashier returned the smile, placing the cupcakes to the side, “That’ll be $4.15,” she chirped. Jerry pulled out his wallet, finding that he had six ones. Ugh, he really should have brought more cash.

The cashier glanced at the cupcakes, which were nothing special; just plain vanilla, “Last minute party pick up?” she questioned, a curious look in her eyes. She liked to make some conversation on slow days like these. Every customer had a story, and she always found people interesting. Jerry handed off the cash, briefly glancing at the cupcakes before shaking his head, “No, actually,” he replied, searching his mind for a lie. He really didn’t want to admit that he was buying them for himself. He’d feel so pathetic and… judged. Blue eyes scanned his face, searching for some sort of response, “I’m celebrating my daughter’s birthday,” he lied, pulling his best smile, “I figured, she’s eighteen now, so I’d buy her something small. She’s always said she prefered cupcakes anyways,” he added, watching as the cashier counted out his change. Jerry shifted his gaze to the side, a sad look in his eyes. He’s a grown man with a wife who sort of loves him, kids who treat him like shit and who take after their psychotic father-in-law, who just sees the family as puppets that he can pull the strings on. Was he even considered apart of the family? Or… was he just… invisible?

The sound of the woman clearing her throat got Jerry’s attention. She was holding out his change, her head tilted slightly to the side, “You seem distracted. Having trouble deciding on what to get your daughter?” she asked. Jerry took the change and responded with a shrug, picking up the cupcakes, which had the receipt placed neatly on top of them. He bid her farewell, avoiding her question entirely as he made his way out the door.

“Happy Birthday, to your daughter!” he heard her call out. Jerry had to smile at that. Despite his having told her it was Summer’s birthday, it was still nice to hear someone sort of wish him a happy birthday, even if it wasn’t a family member.

During his drive home, Jerry kept messing with the radio dials, praying he’d eventually find a station that wasn’t playing the exact same five songs over and over again. He gave up after a few minutes, seeing it as tedious at that point. Jerry glanced at the cupcakes he had placed on the passanger seat, a small frown forming on his face. He didn’t necessarily blame his family for forgetting about his birthday. They were just wrapped up in their own things. Beth had her heart surgeon job, Summer had her friends that were ten times cooler than he was, and Morty was off on some adventure with Rick. Jerry knew that he would be the last thing on anyone’s mind. Especially since this happened last year… and the year before that… and the year… before that…

A few more minutes of driving passed by, and soon enough Jerry pulled up in his drive way, parking the car and turning it off. Upon exiting the car, he went to check the mailbox, finding that nothing had come in (not even a card from his parents). Jerry sighed sadly, making his way to the front door. He dug a hand into his pocket in search of his house keys. He pulled them out and jammed them into the lock, twisting the key and opening the door.

He pulled the keys out of the lock and placed them back in his pocket, shutting the door behind him using his foot. The house was quite, leading Jerry to assume he was the only one home, as per usual. He made his way into the kitchen, gently placing the cupcakes on the counter and opening the container. He grabbed a nearby napkin and carefully picked up a cupcake. Jerry stared at it for a few seconds before a small smile managed to sneak its way onto his lips “Happy Birthday… to me…” he mumbled.

Slam!

Jerry winced at the loud noise made by Rick opening and shutting the garage door. Rick’s attention immediately fell on Jerry, noticeably bored and annoyed at the younger mans presence, “Oh, hey,” he muttered, walking over to the fridge and opening it, his eyes scanning over the various bottles and containers, “I-I wasn’t expecting you to be home,” he added “Weren’t you, ya know, going out to get a job?”

Jerry quietly scuffed. Of course his special day was going to be ruined by Rick. After all, Rick just loved to kick Jerry when he was already down. Jerry took a bite of the cupcake, seeing that it would be best to just ignore his drunk father-in-law rading through the fridge. Rick shut the fridge, annoyed that there wasn’t any more vodka. He turned his gaze to Jerry, his eyes immediately locking onto the cupcake that Jerry was eating, “Why-why in the-the hell did you buy those?” he asked, gesturing to the container of cupcakes. Jerry swallowed the food he had in his mouth, shooting a glare at Rick, “Not that you would care, but today’s my birthday,” he deadpanned, continuing to eat his cupcake.

Rick blinked several times, a very surprised look crossing his face, which went unnoticed by Jerry. Speaking of Jerry, it’s his birthday? Wait, when did…? Rick glanced around the kitchen, a confused look taking hold of his face when he saw no one else was in the room, “So… Where’s everyone else?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Jerry shifted his gaze to the side, noticeably upset. He shrug “Oh, you know… busy… with other things…” he replied, letting out a light chuckle, “Not like this is the first time I’ve spent my birthday alone, anyways.” He muttered the last bit more to himself than to Rick.

The scientist did his best to keep himself contained. He felt both guilt and anger clawing at the back of his mind. Seriously? Not even Beth, Summer or Morty celebrated with him? Rick thought back to the various years he’s been living with the Smith’s, and never recalled any time at all where Jerry’s birthday was celebrated. He remembered Beth’s, Summer’s, and Morty’s being celebrated, but never Jerry’s. Rick let out a small “Huh,” while wetting his lips. He turned to face the garage door, opening it, “Since-since you seem all-all content with y-your little pity party, I’ll be headin’ out,” he said, taking a few steps in the garage, “I should listened to that song in the ship,” he muttered as the door shut behind him.

Jerry sighed sadly, though he couldn’t help but feel curious as to what Rick meant by “song.” The house felt a lot bigger when he was alone. Jerry finished his cupcake and cleaned up the small mess in the kitchen. He made his way into the living room and took a seat on the couch, turning on the TV to watch some interdimensional cable.

“You really are pathetic aren’t you, Jerry? It’s your birthday and you’re just sitting on the couch watching TV like it’s a normal day,” a voice in the back of Jerry’s mind stated. Jerry did his best to ignore it, muttering “Today is normal. I’m just… older, is all…”

Rick couldn’t help but stare at Jerry, who was sleeping on the couch. He looked sad, even in sleep. Rick couldn’t help but wonder what he might be dreaming about. He made a mental note to comeback to the idea, given that he could easily build a machine that would show what someone was dreaming about. He sighed, approaching his son-in-law and giving him a light nudge in the shoulder, “Hey, wake the fuck up,” he snapped, doing his best to sound as annoyed as possible, which wasn’t hard. Jerry’s dark brown eyes immediately snapped open, locking with Rick’s dull blue. They reminded Jerry of Beth’s. So hurt and broken, yet when anyone so much as mentions anything being wrong they jump on the defensive.

“Move,” Rick snapped, gesturing for Jerry to get up. Jerry, having been snapped out of his thoughts, quickly got up from his seat on the couch. How long had he been asleep? Jerry opened his mouth to question Rick on when he had gotten home, but Rick shot him a glare before he could say anything. Jerry sighed and slowly began his walk to his office, not even bothering to mutter where he’ll be.

As soon as Jerry entered his office, his eyes fell on a neatly wrapped box sitting on his desk by his computer. He raised an eyebrow, hesitantly approaching the box. Upon approaching the box, he found a sticky note on top of it in neat handwriting. He picked up the note and read it.

“This means nothing, and if you make a bigger deal out of this then necessary I will kick your ass. I got this because I didn’t want to hear you bitch about how sucky your Birthday was going. I hate you. Happy Birthday, or whatever. -Rick.” 

Jerry couldn’t help the small smile that slipped onto his lips. He placed the note on the desk and opened the present to find a Titanic book series complete with a poster and even Titanic trading cards. Jerry laughed lightly “Thanks Rick… I hate you too…” he mumbled quietly.

[lockdownuk]

Lockdown Diary Part 5

A personal account during the lockdown in the UK due to the Covid-19 outbreak.

23/03/2020 8:30pm Boris Johnson, UK Prime Minister, gives a live address to the nation to, effectively, put the country on lockdown to stem the spread of the deadly coronavirus strain, Covid-19.

Many of us have been self-isolating for days but this latest development within the UK in reaction to the pandemic feels very serious and very scary. I decided to keep a simple diary and where better but online.

Day 121: I received a call today about an interesting job with a firm called Liquibox - they need someone to source all the apps used by a company they’ve just bought and then decide how to incorporate them into their IT standards - not disimiliar to app testing at RS for Y2K. Another 17k+ steps today although when I ventured out on my second walk, I quickly had to wolf down some jelly beans! Didn’t stop me doing 8km. I WhatsApp’d Karen today to see what Dan’s doing for his 30th. He’s off to France. Just that brief comminique serves to remind me that it’s been about 3 weeks since anyone (apart from Dad & Rita) has asked after me without it being an after thought (even then the question’s been posed less than half a dozen times). It feels awfully lonely! I guess, somehow, I’ve made my own bed.....

Day 122: I have an interview for the Liquibox job. It’s a MS Teams one with the recruiter, in two day’s time (Friday) at 9am. I had haggis for tea, with loads of veg. A really nice change!

Day 123: Badge contacted me via Messenger to ask how I was. First person to do so, as a forethought in at least three weeks. Good ol’ Badge. Been mostly preparing for tomorrow’s interview today so not quite as far, walking wise, just 14k steps! Spoke with dad today, he’s OK as usual. Also spoke with Karen via WhatsApp (asking about whether I have to wash brand new bedding - any excuse to contact, really) and then saw her gardening - the front garden at 10, Ashton Road does look really good!

Day 124: Typing on day 125. Online interview with Bigred recruitment for the role at Liquibox. It went well but, as always, who knows? I didn’t gear back from DSM about my (other) interviews as they promised. Just reaffirms my rule, after every conversation re: job hunting, forget about it. In fact, I saw the job advertised again (but, this time, MCSE is a requirement), I sent Karen a message to see if, maybe, she fancied a few beers. Her reply was a little sad, she’s feeling very down and is worried about Dan and how he is coping with life after splitting with Grace. Coincidentally I saw Dan today. It was great bumping into him and I am going to make more of an effort to keep in touch. Usual Friday night for me. Lots of beers, pizza, films (Lucy and The Big Short) and a fucking late night! Day 125: As I type, I am knackered. 15 km today. Dad called while I was on my first walk, to see if I’d heard from DSM. I told him no but, also, that I wasn’t that bothered.

Day 126: More epic walking and am going to have a beer tonight - I have a hankering despite it being Sunday. I watched Moneyball last night. Flipping good. 2011 it was made. Fucking 9 years ago! Rick and Vic got engaged today!

Day 127: I am typing this on day 128. I got up late for a weekday - beers last night did the trick. If I drink, I am never in bed before 4am! I still managed an 8 mile walk! Received a call while walking from the Bigred recruitment chap about the Liquibox job - it was a no.

Day 128: Normal day - lots of walking. I have started watching ‘Good Girls’ on Netflix. Pretty good.

Day 129: Typing on day 130. I had to be up for the plumber coming round so I was up and showered by 8:30am. What this means is I managed three walks today (over 13 miles). I am also developing a rather odd pain in my right lower abdomen (not disimilar to the appendictis feeling earlier in ld) and a movement-restricting pain in my upper right arm - I and sincerely hoping it’s not the shoulder. I really do not want another frozen one. So, I didn’t manage a last set of push-ups after the last walk.

Day130: Typing this on day 131 (there’s a pattern emerging here). Went shopping at Asda - £106! I only went for a few things FFS! Had a few beers round Karen’s and continued when I got home at 10:30pm-ish.

Day 131: I am typing this at 3pm. I have been up for two hours and done fuck all. Just watch the last episode of Friends - so that’s the end of that 5-6 month binge session. I realise that I had seen pretty much every episode before but not that last one so Ross and Rach finally getting together was a nice surpise. David Schwimmer is the fucking star of that show - how many times did I pause and rewind comedy clips of him. He is fucking hilarious in Friends. After toast and coffee and energy drink, I finally feel up to a walk even though Alexa has just informed me its 32 degrees C!

Day 132: Very late one last night (4:15am) but up about midday. Long, long walk (11km) including a long chat with dad. As I type this the FA Cup is just finishing. So weird the final in August at Wembley with no crowd.

Day 133: I have done jack shit today. I’ve tweaked my ankle. I did watch the British Grand Prix and viewed TikTok way too much.

Day 134: My ankle still feels like there’s an issue but I went ahead and did a 9km walk and usual stair climb. It’s felt study enough but I need to be careful. After sitting for a while, I can feel it tweak when first walk on it. I saw El today and he was mentioning the pub visits he’s had since ld relaxed, and who with. It reminded me that, since I won’t go out until I can be sure it’s safe, I should get used to a long, lonely time. It has put me in a very somber mood. I am feeling very isolated.

Day 135: Town Hall at RCI to which furloughed staff were invited. It was all about the rebranding including the new business ‘Panorama’ and the new RCI brand. It was all very positive. I still wonder, though, what is going tp happen about furloghed staff now RCI haev to contribute to the Government retention scheme (since 1st August. Today is the 4th) but today was never going to be about that. The positivity plus the ‘no news is good news’ has put me in a little better frame of mind than yesterdya, but not much. Two long walks today even though the right ankle still twinges every now and then. Also, this pain I am having in my right arm is not getting any better. It doesn’t stop me doing anything but is painful if I have to reach up over shoulder height. I’m meant to be on the radio tomorrow (see Day 120)...it’s a strange feeling of anticipation!

Day 136: Well, I was on the radio, Shaun Keavney’s ‘Small Claims Court’ feature on his BBC Radio 6 Music day time show. It was fun! It is interesting, the process I went through before appearing (see main blog). It’s such a big thing for me (or, I guess, anyone who is asked to appear) but, in a flash, it’s over and the moment is resigned to obscurity. It means so little to absolutely everyone apart from me!

Day 137: Video chatted with Dan (30th birthday) - he went to Brighton and was on it when I spoke with him (before midday!), sat in a ‘noncey restaurant’ as he put it. He’s gone with Jonah and his girlfriend. I do hope he makes the best of the day. I rang dad today as well (Thursday is Rita’s family stuff day so it’s a good time to call dad). He was his usual self, unfazed and healthy. It’s really rather reassuring talking to him. It’s really hot and humid today so both walks have resulted in a lot of sweat! I have just arranged to go and have a drink up Foggy’s tomorrow evening before he wanders over the pub. I can’t wait, I’m so bloody lonely!

Day 138: Typing this on day 139. I had a great evening at Foggy’s. Great food (bbq) and great company. Home by half past midnight, in bed before 2am so an early night for me on a Friday but a bloody good night.

Day 139: Up at midday-ish. Lazy day. My arm is a major concern now. I think it is a frozen shoulder but, I think I should lay off the press-ups for a day or two, just to see if they are the cause.

Day 140: Similar day to yesterday...lazy and no press-ups.

Day 141: I went to bed at @3:30am last night, wtf! Up at 10:00am so not bad. Watched a film called The Assistant. It’s a strange one - fuck all happens yet i really liked it! Karen WhatsApp’d - she wants me, her and Dan to have a meal for his 30th. That’s great, but she suggested going out - I just wonder if people really do have a grasp that the pandemic is still happening! However, and in mitigation, she also suggested a meal round hers which I (obvs) plumped for. It is a very nice gesture and invitiation - means a lot.

Day 142: My arm seems to be getting better by not doing press-ups. I am on track to complete 1,000,000 steps by around the end of the month, so 2 instead of 3! Because it’s so blooming hot right now, I have taken a walk in the evening (8-9pm ish) which has allowed me to take some pics of stunning skyscapes, as I’ve decided to call them. Started to watch the American version of the office. It’s OK.

Day 143: I have been having pain again in my abdomen (see day 28) so I contacted the surgery and ended up in a video conference with Dr. Powell. Turns out it is most likely constipation! Movical it is then! Seriously fucking hot today (this week).

Day 144: Typing on day 145. Went round Karen’s and had a meal with her and Dan one week after his 30th. It was good. Dan left by 8pm and I left at 9pm but carried on drinking at home while watching Netflix comedy specials of John Mulaney live (fucking funny). So, a late, drunken midweek night hence not penning this diary on the day!

Day 145: Up at midday, shopping at Tesco’s and Asda, very late walk 9:15pm by the time I got home - it was too dark to see the cowpats by the river! Today, the two semifinals in the world snooker were both classics; Kyren Wilson beat Anthony McGill 17-16, Ronnie O’Sullivan beat Mark Selby by the same score. The snooker is weird with no audience - those two scorelines deserved some people there to witness them, amazing snooker!

Day 146: Day 147 as I type - completely forgot to make the entry. I went to bed at nearly 6am but was up at noon. Walked over 11 km! Watched Zodiac, drank late (again!)

Day 147: day 147 and also the day of the world snooker final which was rather a damp squib; Ronnie whooped Kyren Wilson 18-8. I received notice yesterday that I’m being charged with the speeding offence on 23rd April. Bollocks.

Day 148: No amazing interludes to report today. Day 149: Same as yesterday...walking mainly. 17,000 today, 244k for the month.

Day 150: Foggy’s birthday. I am just about to go to his for a quick beer before he goes to the pub. At the moment I have a chilli on the go and have cracked open a can. It’s all happening!

[lsds-blog]

Bex

I recognised her immediately, though it had been four years since we'd last met. She noticed me staring and it was clear that there was some recognition, but she couldn't place my face. I felt myself growing embarrassed. I wanted her to look away, move on. But then her face lit up in a smile. “Bex, isn't it?”

“Hi Jana,” I smiled. She'd blossomed since our last meeting. Her hair in particular was beautiful, a warm blonde, set in shimmering waves sweeping into carefully set big curls through the ends. Her make-up was no less perfect. On the other hand, I became painfully aware of how much my appearance had slipped in the intervening years.

“You look great. I mean... really great.”

“Thank you. You're looking well too.” I blushed. If by well she meant well-fed then she was correct.

“It's so nice to see you...” I was looking for an exit but it seemed she had some time to spare. She suggested we should go for a coffee to catch up and I was too weak to say no. A few minutes later we were sat in a stylish coffee shop hidden in a back street. She brought me my coffee and a few minutes later a waitress brought us each a large slice of cake.

I'd met Jana through a mutual friend when we were studying at university. We'd gone on a few dates, which I'd enjoyed. But then we went back to our parents' homes for the long summer break and the separation had interrupted our relationship. When the new term started we couldn't seem to ever find a mutually convenient time to meet and after a few weeks Jana had suggested that we should move on. I agreed.

But she'd hurt me more than I'd dared admit. Jana was very pretty, bright, a little too bossy, but always caring. I'd liked her more than I'd ever expressed and spent a long time regretting agreeing to her suggestion. I should have told her I believed we had something special.

But I was always the shy little girl, eager to please. I'd had a difficult phase as a teenager. My parents separated when I was twelve and mum had always had a lot of health problems. She couldn't care for me when she was unwell and I spent weekdays with dad and his new wife, who couldn't feel anything approaching real affection for me, although she always tried to treat me with kindness. At weekends I would go to mum's, far away from my school friends (she'd gone to live near her parents). She assuaged her guilt at her perceived abandonment of her only child by never setting boundaries and giving me constant treats. I would eat endlessly at weekends and by the time I was fifteen my weight had become a real problem. I was teased and bullied, became isolated, introverted.

I had a year off before attending university and worked hard to exercise and diet. By the time I met Jana I wasn't slim but I was no longer the fat girl that no one wanted to be seen with. But the patterns set in our childhood have a tendency to recur later in life. After graduating I became unhappy in my new job, found myself isolated as most of my friends moved away and took solace in comfort eating. My weight now wasn't much below what it had been at its maximum when I was sixteen, and I felt ashamed of myself for not being able to control my impulses.

Jana told me that she'd started to work as a make-up artist at a very upmarket salon, just at weekends to start. Now she'd trained as a hair stylist too and was working full time. “It's very satisfying work. I've been doing some photoshoots recently. It's a steep learning curve. What looks good to the eye can seem sloppy through a lens, but I love the challenge. But enough about me. What are you doing?”

I told her I was working as a bookkeeper in a small engineering business. “It's not very glamorous,” I admitted sullenly.

“You're not eating your cake, don't you like it?”

I felt myself getting embarrassed. “I really shouldn't. I've been trying to do something about my weight.” I looked down at the table. She looked more beautiful than ever, but I couldn't look at her. It wasn't true. I ate far too much, too many sweet things, but I was ashamed to indulge myself in public. What must she think of my appearance?

“Bex, you seem so sad. What is it?”

Suddenly I let go of all the things I'd been troubled by. I poured out my heart to her, on the verge of tears most of the time, always aware that I shouldn't unburden myself to a woman I'd only slightly known years earlier. I told her of my loneliness, my difficulties with my job, and of my struggles with overeating, right back to my childhood. She listened patiently, sympathetically.

“I actually think you look good,” she smiled. I looked into her eyes. I was used to condescension, but she seemed sincere, even a little embarrassed. “I have a bit of a thing for big girls,” she whispered. “If you'd been this size when we last met I'd never have let you go.”

I didn't know what to say. Could Jana really regard my weight as my most attractive feature? “I... I wish you hadn't,” I admitted. “When you said we should end things I went along with it but I liked you a lot more than I'd admitted. I was devastated that we didn't meet again.”

“I had no idea. I thought you were avoiding meeting me. Are you seeing anyone now?” I shook my head. “Me neither. Nothing worthwhile in the last year. Maybe we should pick up where we left off.”

I was surely hallucinating. I felt like I was floating, but not in any pleasant way. I was unanchored, felt like I could faint at any moment.

“Jana, please don't tease me. I couldn't bear it if you took advantage of my vulnerability. It would kill me.”

She took hold of my hand, kissed me on the cheek. “I'm totally sincere, Bex. I'd never do anything to upset you, I promise.”

“I'd do anything for you, Jana.”

She smiled. “I've learnt a lot about what I like since we last met, and I do like girls who will obey me. Is that OK, honey.” I nodded shyly. “So do you promise to end all this silly talk about losing weight?” I looked at her curiously. No one had ever accepted my weight before, much less welcomed it. “Being fat is nothing to be ashamed of, babe. You're more beautiful than ever. Now do you want to be mine?” I nodded. “Then promise.”

“I won't try to lose weight,” I swore.

“That's my little baby. Now eat your cake up.”

Jana had suggested that we should go straight back to hers, but I excused myself, saying I had to attend to matters which couldn't wait, although the truth was that I wasn't ready for intimacy, indeed the idea of showing my body to another person terrified me. Nevertheless, I agreed to a dinner date the following night. I was more excited than I'd been in my entire life, but terrified too. I felt despair when I looked at myself in the mirror. Everything about me suggested neglect. My hair was longer than it had ever been, past my waist, but it looked oily and unkempt.

I showered the following morning, washed and conditioned my hair, then spent an eternity combing out the tangles. I cursed myself for letting it get to this state and promised to start looking after it better. I had nice hair, thick, wavy, light brown with a hint of red. But I realised that the ends were damaged. I'd have to have a good trim if I wanted it to look healthy. Jana's hair was so perfect, and a lot different to how it had been when I'd met her. Back then her hair had been quite short, brown. I couldn't remember her looking like she devoted much time to appearance.

Now she had perfected her styling skills and I felt unworthy to be seen alongside her. We'd arranged to meet at the salon where she worked and head out from there to a restaurant. I phoned her to ask if she could see to my make-up for our date.

My nervousness as I called evaporated as I heard her voice, her obvious pleasure at hearing from me. “Of course, silly. I wanted to do your make-up for you, hair too actually. Is that OK, sugar?”

“Yes, Jana, I'd love it.”

Three hours later and we were alone together in the salon, which was expensively decorated in a kitsch recreation of fifties decor. She was combing through my hair which somehow seemed to have re-tangled itself since the morning. “Your hair's got so long,” she said admiringly. “It must be a full foot longer than back when we dated.”

“It's not in very good condition though,” I admitted.

“Oh, I noticed!” she giggled. “I'm thinking a good cut is in order for you, baby. But not tonight, there's not time. Still, a trim would make you look better. I mean a big trim. Does my little Bex agree?”

My heart was in my mouth. I liked my long hair, despite my inability to look after it. “How much did you want to trim?” I dared ask.

“Six inches.” Jana seemed untroubled by the loss of so much hair but I was shocked.

“That's a year's growth, Jana. It's a lot!”

“Oh, baby, weren't you listening,” she said, smiling, “once we can find a suitable appointment you're going to get a proper cut. You need to look stylish. I want you to see that you can look really pretty.”

I was panicking at the thought of my hair being cut short. “Please Jana, I like my hair long.”

“I do too. But I don't like seeing long hair that's not cared for. And I want you to try a very different look. I want it because I need you to look pretty, but... oh, hell, the truth is I want you to make a sacrifice to show that you're obedient. I want you to let me do as I please with your hair. With you. Can you do that for me, Bex?”

I looked lost as I heard her demand so much. I couldn't say yes, I had too many trust issues. I needed reassurance.

“Baby, look at you. You're so full of disappointment and self-loathing. You need to let yourself fall. I promise to catch you. I'll teach you to love yourself, but to do that you have to let me love you. If you hold back you'll never find fulfilment.” I looked at her sadly. “Pass me the shears,” she said firmly.

I obeyed her and stood as she cut the promised six inches from my hair. I cried as I looked at the floor and saw the heavy chunks of hair which had been cut. She held me to her and pressed me tight in her arms. “Let it all out, baby. You have so much pain. I'm going to heal you, you just have to learn to trust me.”

I was treated to a lot of pampering. Jana shampooed my hair (the scalp massage had me swooning with pleasure) and then layered through the ends of my hair. I was unhappy about the loss of more hair, but she assured me it would make my hair look so much better, although I couldn't judge, since she'd covered the mirror.

She decided I'd look nice with braids for our date and set to work creating the style she'd imagined. Then she did my make-up, taking longer than I ever imagined someone would work on my face.

I was tearful again as I saw my reflection for the first time, but now with delight. Jana was obviously pleased with my reaction, but told me that I mustn't cry and spoil my make-up. She'd made me look like a stranger, with my lips the centre of attention. They were a rich, shimmering purple, but in the centre the colour was perfectly blended into a vivid orange. My eyes were made to look bigger by perfectly applied liner across the upper lids, the outer corners drawn out into sharply pointed wings. My skin seemed unnaturally perfect, with a pale orange bloom on my cheeks.

I knew this was too much for me, slightly ridiculous even, but I did enjoy seeing the transformation. And my hair: Jana had made elaborately woven braids, one on each side, with the long plaits falling free behind my ears. I couldn't really see how short it was, which was merciful, although I knew the plaits were shorter than I'd have liked.

We arrived at the restaurant, and I felt my emotions constantly see-sawing. I was delighted to be seen in the company of Jana, but then would notice someone looking at me and suddenly I'd feel my confidence flounder. “What's wrong?” Jana asked as she saw my smile fade.

“I keep wondering what people are thinking about me. I can see a lot of people think I look ridiculous.”

“That's just your negative side making you unhappy. You're a beautiful woman, Bex. I can see that. Do you think I'm wrong?”

I nodded. “I'm sorry, I do. I'm just so big.”

“You're fat, Bex. You can use the word. You're fat. So what? Fat is beautiful. You're beautiful. There isn't a woman in this place that turns me on like you do.”

I blushed at her compliments. I knew she meant every word she said.

“You just have to have confidence. You'll be strong. I'm going to make sure you get a lot of attention. When you attract attention you have to carry yourself with confidence, and I'm going to make sure you do. Now say 'I'm a beautiful, fat woman'.”

I said it but I couldn't even look her in the eye.

She took my hand. “You still think it's so shameful to be fat that you hardly dare say the word. And you can't allow yourself to think you're pretty. But soon you'll accept everything I say. Because it's true, you're a beautiful fatty.”

“Please don't say that. I've been called so many insulting things.”

“And now you're going to accept who you are and reclaim those words. If you learn to accept your beauty then being reminded that you're fat won't hurt you any more.

“And you feel guilty about your eating, don't you? That has to end. Your mum looked after you as best she could and her treating you wasn't wrong. I'm going to let you eat well tonight, and you aren't allowed to feel bad about your big appetite. You'll have a starter, a pizza,” (my childhood favourite meal) “a dessert. Two desserts if you like. It'll be my pleasure to see you eating all that, baby. Can you do that for me?”

I discovered that what Jana said was true. She took a delight in seeing me eating generously. I love Italian food but I struggled to finish the huge pizza she ordered for me, laden with extra cheese, having already eaten a good sized platter of cooked meats and sliced sausage as a starter. Jana herself ate much more modestly, a salad followed by a small pasta dish.

“Do you want a nice dessert, Bex?” she asked. Truthfully, I didn't. My nerves had made it hard for me to eat and my usual appetite was absent, although I had finished my meal, spurred on by Jana's encouragement. She saw my reluctance but wouldn't accept that I'd eaten sufficient. “We'll get a dessert to share. That would be romantic, baby.” I couldn't disappoint her.

When the waitress was summoned she ordered tiramisu. “A portion for two, we're going to share.” The dish soon arrived and Jana rose from her position sitting in the booth opposite me, now sliding onto the bench seat next to me.

“My darling fatty, soon you'll be too big to let me sit here next to you. Maybe too big to even get in this seat.” I blushed at the idea of gaining so much weight. Her fingers stroked at my belly. “Oh, baby, it's got so tight. You'll be like a big round drum by the time I get you home.”

I was shocked by her desire to make me gorge but was unresisting as she spooned my mouth full of the rich, creamy dessert. I looked about me, sure that our behaviour would attract disapproval. In fact, I couldn't see anyone else aware of us.

I felt sick by the time I'd finished the last spoonful (Jana had eaten no more than a single mouthful). “If we weren't in such a nice restaurant I'd make you lick the plate clean,” Jana smiled. “I never want to see you wasting food, baby, OK? Tonight you've been a perfect companion and I want to take you home to show you how pleased I am.”

I was astonished at Jana's desire for me. She was moaning ecstatically as I obediently undressed for her, knelt before me and covered my swollen belly with kisses. If I remained sure that my weight made me unappealing, I was in no doubt that Jana found me beautiful, or sexy at any rate.

By the time I fell into an exhausted slumber Jana had made me orgasm numerous times, delighting me with her expertise with a large strap on. She was rather rough, which had left me sore. I had always liked to be treated gently by my lovers but her desires had drawn me in. When I awoke the following morning I felt bewildered. Jana was the woman of my dreams but was I losing myself in my need to please her?

She treated me like a princess as we breakfasted. She'd prepared far too much food, however, and I remembered her injunction that I should never waste food. I finally found the courage to speak.

“Jana, I feel so happy that we're together, but I'm a bit scared. You seem to want to make me really big, bigger than ever. I can't live like that. It would make my life so hard.”

She smiled at me indulgently. “I'm sorry, baby, I get carried away. I do like the idea of making you enormous, but that's really just a fantasy thing. But I do want you to gain a little for me. I want you to be your heaviest. Could you promise to gain say... forty pounds?”

I felt shocked. It was a lot.

“Then we'd maintain you at this weight. You'd eat normally most of the time, modestly even but you'd gorge a few times a week. I do love seeing you eating. It's so erotic for me. Please say yes, baby.”

I smiled shyly and pledged to make her happy.

Jana drove me home and, away from her forceful personality, my doubts returned in abundance. I took out my braids and stared sadly at myself as I saw clearly for the first time how much shorter my hair looked. It was still long, but I'd prided myself that very few other girls had hair as long as mine. Now the length was much more ordinary. I couldn't deny that the cut had made it look healthier: the ends were cut to a crisp line, no split ends, no thin wisps. I decided that healthy or not, I would wear my hair up to disguise the loss of so much length for the time being.

I was also filled with regret and guilt about my agreement to gain weight. Jana was very controlling, and I realised that I was finding it impossible to say no to her. She'd also told me that she planned to cut my hair again, too, and that was something I didn't want. I decided I should write a letter to her to present at our next date, to say that I had to set limits, that that was the only way I could preserve my dignity and self respect.

A few days later I was invited back to Jana's. After she'd welcomed me with a very affectionate kiss she asked me why I looked so nervous.

“I've been very happy that we've got together again, but there are some things troubling me. I always become awestruck when I'm with you so I decided I should write down what I feel.” I passed her the letter.

Jana looked very serious as she scanned through what I'd written. She glanced up at me and read through the text again.

“No,” she announced.

“What?” I felt astonished that she could read my thoughts and dismiss them with a single syllable.

“Did you think I'd agree to all this? Or did you want some sort of negotiation about how far I can go? I'm not going to agree to any of this, baby. Now are you going to be silly and threaten to walk out? I know you wouldn't seriously consider that.” I shook my head, admitting defeat.

“Come here, Bex!” She took me in her arms and squeezed me. “You need to trust me. I won't do anything except make you beautiful and make you believe in yourself.”

“I know that's what you want, but we have different ideas of beautiful.”

“So you didn't like how you looked for our date last weekend? Your braids and make-up?”

I nodded. “It did make me feel special. You're very talented.”

“I know I am. And that's why you'll enjoy seeing yourself after I do some real work on your hair.”

I groaned. “Is it going to be short?”

She nodded. “Some of it will be very short! And a new colour too.” My evident discomfort seemed to amuse her. “What do your friends think of your new haircut?” She could read my silence as evasion. “Oh, Bex! You've put it in a bun all the time to hide it, haven't you?”

I nodded guiltily.

“Oh, I'm hurt! Your hair looked much nicer.”

“I know, it looks a lot more healthy. It's the best cut I ever had, but I don't like seeing how short it is now.”

“And you worried about all your friends passing comment, I suppose. Well soon you won't have the option of disguising your new haircut, will you? Promise me that until you get your new cut you'll wear it loose, or I might decide to go for a more dramatic look.”

I swore my agreement, apologising for my ingratitude in hiding my lovely new cut.

“I'll forgive you, baby, if you agree to a nice feast for me tonight.”

I was learning to understand that I couldn't stand up to her. She sent out for a take away and I had to eat more food than I had during our last date. She was constantly excited as she watched me eat and had me undress to continue the meal. She liked to feed me herself, liked spilling food down my body, liked seeing my mouth and chin smeared with food. And because I so wanted to please her, I found myself drawn into her world, found that whatever she liked started to turn me on too.

I drank too much too and soon I felt sick as she forced too much food into me. Even this didn't make her relent. “You need to treasure that feeling, Bex. I want you to crave that sensation, when you've eaten so much that you feel sick. That means you've been a good girl for Jana.”

She made me weigh myself after I'd completed the meal. I hated knowing how big I was and I hadn't done this for a long time. I winced as I saw how heavy I was now.

“What did we say? Forty pounds wasn't it? So now you know your target weight.”

“But that's not fair,” I protested. “I've already gained quite a few pounds since you said that, I'm sure.”

Jana grinned mischievously. “However do you know what your weight was? Have you got some proof?” I shook my head. “Then for being naughty you just got your target weigh increased by five pounds.” I gasped at this injustice. “Got something to say?” she giggled. I knew if I complained I'd be punished further.

“No Jana,” I said, defeated.

“That's better. Once you've gained fourteen I'll get you into the salon for your big hair makeover.”

I felt myself getting horribly scared. The idea of my hair being cut was still terrifying me. “I don't want my hair cut any time soon, to be honest, so that's hardly a motivator. ”

“Oh, but it is, baby. I've come up with a series of possible cuts, but there's a time schedule too. The longer you delay the cut the more hair will be coming off. So I win either way. If you take your time getting fat I'll have the pleasure of cutting your hair so short that you won't be able to hide your pretty little ears.”

I groaned as she scooped back my hair and started to nuzzle at my earlobe, her other hand stroking up my inner thighs. “You really are so pretty, Bex. I'd love to get you modelling. Glamour and nude to show how delicious you've become once I've perfected you.”

I was shivering as she caressed and kissed me, but I was still unused to compliments. “Perfecting me will be a lot of work,” I said shyly.

She nodded. “It's true, perfection is always hard, but I have a lot of resources and a lot of patience.”

It wasn't the reply I was expecting. I knew she liked me and I guess I hoped she thought I was already almost her ideal. “What would I need to be perfected?” I asked, piqued by her seriousness.

She threw me on my back and lay on top of me, compressing my full belly. She started to kiss me with more passion. “You already know about getting bigger, and obviously you need a far sexier haircut.” She tucked my hair behind my ear, staring at me hungrily, imagining how she would make me look. “There are little imperfections in your features too that I'll get sorted out.”

“What sort of imperfections?” My confidence was draining rapidly at this detail critique of my failings.

“Your chin is a bit off centre, you have a little bump in your nose, cheekbones should be more prominent. Teeth could be better.”

I was becoming distressed, but if Jana noticed it did nothing to dampen her passion. “But how can you sort out all this? Make-up?”

“No, baby. Obviously you see a dentist for your teeth and a surgeon for the rest.”

I was shocked and tried to push her away but she was too strong. “I wouldn't allow it,” I whispered. I wanted to shout it but I was afraid of stirring a strong reaction.

“Come on, baby, don't be silly,” she laughed. “We have to make sacrifices if we want to look beautiful. I've been through similar. You like how I look, don't you?”

I was astonished at this revelation. “You look beautiful, but you always did. What have you had done?”

“Lips, cheeks, chin,” she smiled.

“But there are no scars?”

“They go in here...” She pushed her finger into my mouth and slid it between lip and teeth. “The scars are all inside so no one ever sees them. See, it's not crazy, is it? I just get so excited when I think of you all perfect. Say yes to me, baby. Always say yes. Then I'll get my strap on and make you the happiest girl in the world.”

For much of that night I believed I was the happiest girl in the world.

I was seeing Jana regularly and each time I did she made sure I was weighed, then well fed. I was gaining rapidly, but not fast enough, it appeared. A week after my first weigh in and I'd gained ten pounds, enough that I could see myself getting bigger, as well as feeling all of my clothes getting tight.

“Still not there,” she said sadly. “And the first cut expires today. That was the only one where you kept your hair long, at least most of it. Naughty Bex is going to be getting short hair!”

I groaned. “Please, Jana, I'm doing my best. I'm sure I've got over a stone fatter since we met, just that half of it was before I got weighed.”

She put her arm around me and drew me close. “I love it when you say 'fatter'. But stop thinking the haircut is something to fear. You're going to always be in my salon for little touch ups, getting sets, and so on. I'm going to pamper you and I hope you'll learn to love it. You're like a little girl who doesn't want her long hair touched. Once I've cut all this off and you see how much fun you can have you'll wish you'd done it years ago.”

A week later and I'd broken through the target. I begged Jana to cut my hair in private. She was reluctant, said she'd like me to experience the salon when it was busy and would like to show off her new girlfriend to her colleagues. I'd tried to come to terms with a big makeover, but frankly, I couldn't. I knew I'd cry and make a terrible scene, and neither I nor Jana would enjoy that.

“Please let me do this one time in private,” I begged. “I know you don't like to indulge me, that you're worried it will set a precedent but I promise I'll make it up to you. I'll even let you take me to the dentist.”

She laughed. “Wow, you really are serious. I know you don't like dentists, you made that very clear.” She looked thoughtful. “You're on cut number three of the schedule. You take that in public or we go private and you get cut number four and go to the dentist as soon as we can get an appointment.” I steeled myself to agree, but she didn't want to make it easy. “It'll mean losing a lot more hair,” she added.

“I'll just make a fool of myself and you'll be really mad at me,” I said sadly.

“I've been kind. You have a choice.” She looked at me unsympathetically. “Decide!”

“Private cut,” I whispered.

“You're such a naughty girl,” she giggled. “I suppose you want to bring toys!”

The following week I got a call at work. “Hi baby. You told me you have a few hours owing at work. Get the afternoon off.” I tried to tell Jana that my boss wouldn't let me just take hours now, that he liked to get some notice. “You haven't even tried. Tell him it's important.”

“What's it for?” I asked.

“Hmmmm. Tell him it's an emergency. You have toothache and you have to see a dentist.” She told me where to meet her an hour later.

The mention of toothache seemed to evoke sympathy from my manager and he agreed to my request immediately. I had to feign gratitude, although I would have been delighted for once to be stuck at my desk. I was trembling by the time I met Jana. She looked, as always, serene, radiant.

“It's the dentist, not execution,” she said derisively. She didn't like it when I got nervous about things which seemed routine to her.

“I always got nervous about dentists,” I told her.

“I suppose you ate a lot of sweets. Don't think I haven't noticed all those fillings in your molars. Did he used to tell you off for not looking after your teeth?” I nodded guiltily. “You never were good at looking after yourself, then? Just as well you have me now, isn't it? I'm not sure I should let you live alone. I bet you don't even brush your teeth when you're left to your own devices. Anyway, we're here now so let's see what the expert thinks.”

We were at a fancy clinic specialising in cosmetic work. I gripped Jana's hand as we waited. “I can't afford a place like this,” I said fearfully.

“Just as well I can, isn't it? We'll have to get you earning a bit more.”

We were soon inside, the dentist clearly already acquainted with Jana. I'm sure it wasn't just my paranoia that made me perceive a surprised look when Jana introduced me as her girlfriend. I noticed the same look again when it was suggested that I was looking for modelling work. Shy, short, fat girls weren't my idea of typical models either.

I was examined by the dentist who discovered a small cavity and gave me a very polite telling off for my infrequent visits to her fellow professionals. I looked over at Jana who pulled an exaggerated frown and slapped at the back of her own hand.

“Rebecca doesn't just want her teeth made functional. She has been asking about getting perfect teeth.” Rebecca had done nothing of the sort, but she nodded meekly at the intimidating, masked figure.

“There is some unevenness. We could try braces. How old is she..?” She looked at my record. “Oh, twenty-four. I assumed you were younger. It's a pity I didn't get to work with you ten years ago. Still, I think the orthodontic route is worthwhile. There isn't a terrible amount of correction to be made.”

I endured a scale and polish (it caused a headache), the impressions being made of my teeth (repeatedly inducing a gag reflex), the anaesthesia (a horribly painful injection), the drilling and filling. But when I returned to the car I could endure no more and started to cry. “Please Jana, don't make me get braces.”

“Rebecca!” I was starting to see that my full name was used when Jana had perceived me to be naughty. “Don't think that you can turn on the tears and get me to take pity on you. I'm starting to think that I was too lenient with you. You're going to get your big cut in public unless you apologise right now.”

I made a tearful apology and accepted the inevitable. Jana was paying for my expensive treatment and she wasn't going to allow me to back out.

“Actually, I think it'll look cute. We should make you look all kawaii while you have your braces. I'll see if I can get coloured braces that they use for kids now. Dress you in bright, cartoon-y clothes and such. Cutesy is definitely a look you can pull off. I mean, even if you weren't outgrowing all of your clothes, you do need a new wardrobe.”

I nodded as I tried to imagine myself dressed like a little girl obsessed with mermaids and garish colours. Not me at all. “Since you're sulking and you have to let the filling settle, I think I should send you home. Let you think about what you really want.”

“Please, Jana, I don't want to be alone tonight. I need you.”

“I'm glad to hear you've realised it. You have to see though, it's not just tonight you need me, it's forever. Once you acknowledge that I think you should move in with me.” I hugged her tightly.

“Oh Jana, it's so soon, but I do love you.”

“Baby, you know once you move in I'll be taking a lot more control. And that means you have to be a lot more obedient. No more crying about my choices.”

“I'll try,” I promised solemnly.

“But I'll push you hard. You have to get cosmetic surgery, remember. That'll be done before the year's out.” I couldn't hide my shock. It was already almost autumn and that meant I'd be transformed within a few months.

“And once that's healed I'm thinking you should start getting tattooed.” I stared at her, my mouth open. “You'd be hard pressed to find a model of the type I'm going to make you into who doesn't have some ink. I need to find you a good artist who can give you something really original and distinctive.” She tugged at a lock of my hair to bring me out of my shocked reverie. “Bex, did you hear me? Are you in or do you 'need some time to think'?” She said the last phrase in a mocking imitation of my voice.

I shrugged. “You terrify me, Jana, but what's the point of delaying? I know I'm too weak. You'll see to it that I do as you want, won't you?”

She put her hand into the waistband of my skirt. “You love me pushing you anyway, don't try to deny it. I bet even now you're getting wet thinking about how you'll look with big fat arms covered in the densest tattoos.” I groaned as I heard her plans. Her hand pushed to get deeper into my groin. “Damn, girl, you're getting so fat I can't get my hand in here.” She grabbed a handful of the thick fold of skin covering my burgeoning belly.

“Decision time, Bex. Are you moving in tonight?”

“Yes, Jana, it would be the greatest honour of my life.”

She smiled. “You never again get to say no to me.”

By Saturday morning I'd been fitted with my new braces. Since Saturday was the day when Jana was most busy (she claimed she made more than half of her tips on this one day) I had to go alone. I took a first look in the mirror, pulling back my lips in a poor imitation of a smile as I saw the metal apparatus binding my teeth. As promised, Jana had had it made up with brightly coloured plastic pads on each tooth. I wandered out and realised that nothing the dentist had said to me had consciously registered. I was surprised to find a sheet of instructions folded in my pocket later.

I did as instructed and went to the salon immediately. In contrast to the stillness when I'd visited, it was now bustling. The receptionist, a beautiful young woman with an oversized bouffant looked at me witheringly (or at least that was how I imagined). I felt terribly out of place in this temple to vintage glamour.

“Hi, is Jana about? Could you let her know Bex is here?”

She seemed to think I couldn't see her without an appointment, but I meekly told her that I was a friend and Jana was expecting me. Eventually Jana was summoned and came to me excitedly. “Come on, let's see. Smile!”

I shyly parted my lips. Jana giggled. “Oh, babes, it's sooo cute!” She turned to the receptionist. “Yasmin, this is Bex, my girlfriend.” I waved at her, said it was nice to meet her, but felt her disapproval. I sensed she thought me not worthy of Jana.

“I don't think she likes me,” I whispered to Jana.

“Ah, stop being so sensitive,” she said. “I want to take you out to a restaurant tonight and feed you things that will get snagged in your braces. You need a good bellyful, baby. I can't have you getting skinny.”

I blushed at her promises, sensing how turned on she was getting, and uncomfortable with the attentions of Yasmin.

“I don't think I'm going to be skinny any time soon.”

“I should bloody hope not! Now go home and get yourself all pretty for me. I'll meet you back here at six thirty.”

I was beside myself as I arrived to meet Jana. I'd started to believe that by the time I arrived at the restaurant I'd look like a new girl. I tried to prepare myself to be ordered into the chair, but I was relieved that she was waiting for me at the door.

“What a day!” she groaned. “I haven't had a minute's peace. I just want to sit down and have a good meal with my favourite little fat chick. Smile, baby, let's see those teeth.” I obliged her. “Oh, you have the loveliest lips, like a little rosebud, and you have such a pretty smile. You need to show it off more often. Soon you'll have perfect teeth to be proud of. And they're costing me a fortune, so make sure I get to see plenty of them.”

We arrived at our favourite Italian restaurant where, as usual, Jana did all of the ordering. “I'm going to get you drunk tonight, baby. And I'm going to make sure we fill that big bowl of a belly. Think you can manage two mains and a dessert?” I started to shake my head but was interrupted before speaking. “Remember your promise about a certain word? Think carefully.”

I could only answer with one word. “Yes.”

My second course was a large pizza, which was covered with (amongst other things) a generous helping of spinach. I struggled to swallow it, bloated after the first course, a generous helping of rich lasagne. “Does it feel strange eating with your braces?” I nodded. “You do know... No, let's take a pic and show you.” I was instructed to smile and an image was taken on Jana's phone and shown to me.

“Oh shit,” I groaned. My teeth were discoloured by numerous dark fibres where the spinach had become trapped in the wires of the brace.

“When we kiss later I might actually get a meal out of those teeth of yours. You do look a disgrace, Bex,” she teased.

“It's your fault,” I replied playfully. “You ordered spinach.”

“Oh yes, I wanted to let everyone know about your braces. It does turn me on seeing how shy they make you.”

By the end of the night I'd reached the state that Jana so treasured, full to the point of nausea. I'd also drank more wine than I should have to help me to get down all the food. I wasn't good at handling alcohol and I was trying (unsuccessfully) to hide my drunkenness. I sobered up suddenly as we got into the taxi. Jana gave the address of the salon.

“What's going on?” I asked.

“It's time baby. Snip, snip, snip.” I flinched as her fingers made scissoring motions around my head.

“Please, Jana. Tonight? I'm drunk and full to bursting. Can't we go home?”

“You're not saying no are you? If that's your attitude you can walk the streets all night. Now... Do you want a nice makeover?”

“Yes, Jana,” I said morosely.

“Oh, just look at that belly,” Jana said admiringly. “I don't think it's ever been bigger. I do wish we could dine out every day. You'd be at your target weight in a few weeks.” I smiled shyly, naked in the salon chair, at Jana's request. “And once you get nice and big I'll get you to the clinic to make your face worthy of that gorgeous body. Look how your breasts are filling out. I'd considered getting you a boob job, but I think we might just get away with natural. They feel so much nicer anyway.”

I was silent, so tipsy that I was having trouble focussing my emotions. It took a few seconds to process the idea that I'd been considered for breast enlargement, a real surprise since my breasts, even before my rapid weight gain, had always been large. I adored getting compliments from Jana, despite my lack of confidence and my inability to genuinely believe that I was worthy of praise. But tonight I was impossibly anxious because I knew that by the time I left the salon I would have short hair for the first time in my life.

“You're not getting a cape tonight, Bex. I want to see your boobs and belly covered in your hair. Shall I start?” I nodded. “Poor baby, you look so scared. I'm going to tie you up and blindfold you, if that's ok.” She smiled at me, her eyes glinting with malice and undisguised lust.

I wanted to run away but I knew what was expected of me. “Yes, Jana,” I said meekly. I wanted her to enjoy this moment, which she'd dreamed of for so long. I was sick with nerves, sure I'd disgrace myself before long by vomiting up the expensive meal I'd just eaten. I was sure I'd take no pleasure at all in taking another step toward being Jana's ideal.

She tied my arms to the sides of the chair using soft velvet bands, fastened at wrist and elbow. I tested them and found I was helpless. Then my knees were loosely bound to my wrists and my ankles were tethered to the footrest. “Does that feel nice, baby?” she asked.

I moved my limbs, but there was hardly any play in the bonds. “Yes, it does,” I smiled. I was being truthful. The imposition of helplessness was genuinely pleasing.

“Now we need to cover your pretty eyes without anything getting in the way of me working on your hair.” She pressed two small cup-like discs to my eye sockets, bound together with a string. The strings were taped to my temples and the discs pressed in so that they adhered to my skin. “See anything?”

I moved my head. Not even a trace of light entered at the edges of the covers. “Nothing. It's a bit scary, Jana.”

“Poor baby. When you see again you'll have a new look. Does that cheer you up?”

I gave a bleak laugh. “You know it doesn't.”

“What about this?” I felt her kissing me, her tongue probing at the new braces, which were now mercifully scrubbed of food residue. “Or this?” She pressed something blunt to my slit and it began to buzz. I moaned softly as the delicate sensation started to fill me.

“Or this?” There was a loud crack and a new mechanical buzzing, much more insistent than the vibe. Without preamble I felt her pull back my hair at the temple and press the device up my cheek. I felt panic possess me. Was she clippering me? I was gasping for air as she drew the machine away from my scalp. Something soft, brushlike was caressing my breast. Was she teasing me with a sheaf of hair, cut from my head? Surely this was a prank. I couldn't have short hair.

The doubt was gone now. Her lips went to my temple and kissed at the shorn hair, soft, velvety, more enticing than I could have believed. I seemed to be pulled apart, wanting to cry and mourn at my loss, but jubilant at the loveliness of the sensation. I wanted to say something, but no words came. And Jana was silent too.

Now she combed at my long hair, forming it into sections. The top was isolated, twisted and pinned up. I felt Jana's elegant fingers touch my crown and without thought bowed my head. Her hand stroked my neck, lifting my hair as the buzzing began again.

The clippers rested on my neck and slowly rose through my hair. I remembered Jana's threat to cut some of my hair very short and realised that she had been sincere. I remembered how short clippers could cut, how I'd seen people clippered to near baldness. I had no way to gauge how short my hair was being cut except for the kiss on my temple, and all that had told me was that it was short, but it could have been a centimetre or a millimetre.

I started to curse myself for taking so long to achieve Jana's first target. If only I'd done as she wanted I'd not be getting shorn now. I felt her press the blades to my nape, rising high up the back of my head. I felt my long hair falling free, tumbling over shoulders and into lap. I could hear panting, louder than my own breathing. I knew Jana was supremely aroused and I knew that I was deceiving myself if I thought that I could somehow have avoided this cropping. Even had I achieved her target, it would only have brought a brief respite before my lover had been unable to resist shearing me. Even now I presumed that this new style would only be a step toward something even more dramatic. After all, this was not the shortest style Jana had added to her secret list.

My clippering didn't just take the hair from my nape; the sides of my head were clippered tight over my ears. By the time that the buzzing stopped I'd lost some of my fear, and found myself drawn in by Jana's audible excitement. I jumped as her fingers brushed against my ears. “Baby, you look so sexy. I can see your face properly now. You'll never be allowed long hair again. Understand?”

“Yes Jana,” I sighed. I wanted to rub at my nape and feel the softness of my new cut, haunted by the memory of Jana's kiss on my temple. She seemed to be aware of the effect it had had and was careful not to touch my scalp again. This denial was having the unforeseen consequence of making me unbearably horny, the vibrator throbbing against my mound only adding to my ecstasy. “I'm being a good girl,” I lisped (the braces had affected my speech). “Please may I have a kiss?”

I felt her brush her fingers across my lips which were dusted with clippings. “How can I deny such a sweet request?” She rested her burning lips on mine. I'd expected passion, but got tenderness. I found myself filled with the fire of lust regardless. “Head back, mouth open,” she ordered as she ended our kiss. I felt her press four chocolates into my mouth, filling it beyond comfort.

I had barely begun to chew at my treat when I felt another buzzing set of blades on my neck, this time a high whining drone. The device was carefully pressed to my neck as Jana shaped the contour of my undercut, around nape and looping over each ear. My head felt cool and light, and even though I was terrified to see the result of my makeover I couldn't deny that the feelings Jana was inflicting on me were very seductive.

“Dear God, just look at you. Stuffing your face and getting your hair all cut short. You've made me delirious with pleasure, baby. When I see you like this I imagine you getting fatter and fatter and ending up bald.”

I groaned a curse, terrified by Jana's prophesy, but something stirred inside that made it seem enchantingly sexy. “I'd look awful bald, it's such an ugly look,” I complained.

“It isn't, Bex. But anyway, you'd have your scalp tattooed all over to make you look sexy.” It must have been my drunkenness that made me moan with desire at this point. Jana took this as a sign that I was ready to receive the dildo which had been only resting against me up to this point. She slid it home and I was so wet that it entered smoothly. I called out loudly as she pushed it upwards, moved it in and out, until she found the exact positions that had me all of a tremble.

I was gasping, breathless, trying to hold myself. “You may cum, my lovely short haired girlfriend,” she whispered and kissed me so forcefully that my head was thrust back against the headrest. I could feel the cool leather on my shorn scalp and I was overwhelmed with strange sensations. I released the tension and felt the vibrations from my loins spread and take hold of me. I seemed to magnify the vibrations from the dildo which now extended beyond my body, or rather extended my body until it seemed to take on cosmic proportions. Even as the orgasm took fire I felt more chocolates being stuffed to fill my mouth before my lips were once more covered by Jana's.

I wanted her to caress my buzzed scalp, better still, kiss it (better still, I imagined guiltily, was that when she did she kissed bald, tattooed scalp, but I retreated from this desire, knowing that this was some folie à deux generated by my sympathetic response to Jana's fantasy), but still she refused to touch my short hair. I knew this was no accidental omission, she would make me wait to feel the new delights my cropping had allowed. I knew that this would not be my only climax of the night.

My hair was now released from the twist which had been pinned to my crown and I felt the comb pass through long hair. I longed to see it, knowing that soon it too would be cut short (please not too short, I prayed to some unknown force, or maybe just to Jana, hoping she would sense my silent plea). I'd had long hair for my entire life and now for the last moments of this lifelong relationship I was denied my vision to have a last memory of my treasured hair.

Jana sprayed my hair to wet it, then re-sectioned it. More lengths were twisted and pinned up, with a fringe of wet hair hanging free, touching my bare shoulders. I felt breathless from my orgasm, my mouth still filled, breathing noisily through my nose. I moaned as I felt the comb smooth the hair down over my cheek, then rest across my ear. I heard snipping and felt wet strings fall loose over my body. My hair was being bobbed.

My lack of vision had made me hyper-sensitive to every nuance of sound and touch. In my mind I built a vision of my environment, sensed every move of Jana's hands. I felt her cut the hair at the back in an arch, surely much shorter than at the sides. It would expose a section of the tightly cropped undercut to view, which seemed very provocative to me.

Jana worked painstakingly, which didn't surprise me. I knew she was a perfectionist. Every hair had to be cut to the correct length. Now she cut my fringe. It fell half way across my nose. I imagined being made to peer through my fringe or look under it. The idea of this impracticality seemed alluring to me.

More hair was freed from the coils on top of my head, only to fall, as the scissors worked, into far less orderly coils which gathered in my lap or over my breasts. I found myself concentrating on the feelings of damp locks tumbling over my bare skin. I'd lost my fear of losing my long hair.

But even as I dared think it I imagined my return to work on Monday. I groaned aloud as I imagined my colleagues, the dull eyed lot with whom I felt no connection, staring to see me, bobbed and braced, unrecognisable from the quiet little girl who'd left them only a couple of days earlier, unmistakeably heavier too. I imagined their dreary questions, which I would be unable to answer. It wasn't shame that made me reluctant to share the reasons for my metamorphosis, but rather the realisation that none of them would be able to understand the desires and pleasures which Jana had stirred in me.

My troubled thoughts were suddenly interrupted as I felt my hair being treated with a creamy mixture. I realised with a shock that it had been a few minutes since the scissors had worked on me, though my drunkenness had meant that I hadn't consciously registered this. I would have a new colour too. That added even more to my anxieties about how my colleagues would react. I knew that Jana wouldn't subtly enhance my colour. Only something dramatic would satisfy her.

Gradually I relaxed again and put away my concerns. I cared not a jot about the reactions of these people and told myself that only Jana mattered now. The rhythms of being coloured were slower. I lost track of time, lost track of how many times my hair was processed and rinsed. I fell asleep more than once, which Jana tolerated. I had to endure my eyebrows being plucked to shape them. They were tinted too.

The last sleep had seemed to extend for a long time and I woke feeling confused, and I couldn't shake the slowness of thought. I realised that my hair was being styled. The smell of the products, the delightful odour of hot hair, even these couldn't make me fully awake. I seemed to drift, free of thoughts, for minutes before coming back to awareness.

Now Jana was applying make-up and I knew that my transformation was almost complete. She tipped back my head and pulled the eye shields free. I was staring up into her eyes, the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. She gave a tremulous gasp as she looked into my eyes. “Baby, look at you. I'd forgotten how pretty your eyes are. Next time I won't cover them and deny myself this pleasure.”

She could now work unimpeded on completing my last cosmetic work. At last she smiled and announced I was complete. She moved behind the chair and lifted my head so that for the first time in many hours I could see a mirror.

“Oh, it's blue!” I shrieked. It was very blue. My softly curled, voluminous bob was a vivid, bright blue. Jana had swept my locks to the right side and the longer hair on the left side had been braided tight to my head, exposing the undercut, which was a rich sea-green, and cut to, I estimated, about a quarter of an inch. Only a little pointed wisp at the tip of my sideburn had been left longer.

My make-up was almost as richly coloured as my hair. Jana had generally given me fairly simple make-up but this was even more daring than I'd worn on our first date. My lips were a dark purple, so dark it appeared blackish, but there was a blue iridescent sheen to enliven the colour. My pale cheeks were blushed with a soft magenta, and my eyes, lined with spiny shards of black, shimmered with burnished gold. My reshaped eyebrows were as blue as my hair.

“I love it, Jana,” I yelled. “I absolutely adore you and how talented you are.”

I could see that my acceptance of my new image made her happier than words could express. “You are just adorable, baby,” she smiled. “I'd imagined you crying when you saw yourself, and that would have hurt me. But I'm so proud of you. I wanted you to take some pleasure from this night, but you've gone beyond every expectation. You've gone beyond my expectation of how beautiful you could be too.”

“Thank you, my love,” I blushed. For the first time in my life I dared allow myself to believe that maybe I was beautiful. “Now are you going to release me?”

“Not any time soon,” she said with an evil smile. She pushed my head to the side and started to smother my green stubble with kisses. I felt myself dissolving into ecstasy as the sensation I'd longed for was realised more beautifully than my imagination could ever have suggested.

I looked at myself and winced. “I look like a little girl, Jana. Do I have to?”

My new work outfit was, to me, unbearably childish. My hair had been smoothed into a sleek style with my long fringe swept to the side. My make-up was simple, just a thin line of black on upper lids, pale pink lips. I was dressed in black ribbed stockings, flat shoes with bows and silk flowers, a navy and white pinafore over a black blouse trimmed with far too much lace. The final straw was a pair of big glasses with thick blue plastic frames and plain lenses.

Jana looked at me with amusement. “I don't know. Do you have to?”

She used my promise to contain any resistance from me. I knew when she asked me a question of this sort that the only acceptable answer was yes. I didn't dare disappoint her now. “Yes, Jana,” I sighed. “But I'm going to get teased so much...”

“About your bunches?”

“I don't have bunches, though.”

A few minutes later I did. My bob had been gathered into two tufts, tied each side of my crown with elastics decorated with cubes of garishly tinted clear plastic. I blushed as I saw myself regressing even further.

“Just so pretty. And all your undercut visible. Are you going to smile and thank me or do we need to put a little clip in your fringe too?”

I forced a demure smile and Jana giggled. “I do hope you keep using that smile today, baby. I love seeing your braces.”

“I'll try to look happy. But you have no idea about how boring the people in work are. They won't like me dressing like this.”

“But someone who matters does like it. She likes it a lot. She can barely keep her hands off you and if she didn't have to get to work herself she'd give in to temptation.”

A few minutes later and I was being dropped off at the factory. I trudged in numbly, sure that my image would provoke bemusement, derision and hostility. I nodded to acknowledge one of the machinists who only stared at me with undisguised amazement. I wasn't even sure he recognised me.

His reaction wasn't untypical. I had to stomach numerous stupid questions about why I'd turned into this blue haired girl from some children's story. I struggled to formulate any answers that didn't sound evasive. At lunchtime one of the men who made my life in the office much less bearable asked me if I'd done it to please a new boyfriend who had a thing for little girls.

“No, I'm a lesbian. I do have a new girlfriend though. Does that satisfy your curiosity?” I'd never spoken so forcefully to him and he seemed shocked. I felt a quiet satisfaction that I'd offended him. Now I'd probably made an enemy, would be the subject of even more gossip, but I didn't care. They would never understand me, and I was delighted that they wouldn't. Jana had made me accept that to be different was thrilling.

I got a text late in the afternoon asking me to drop by the salon. I went there straight from work (it was only a short walk). Jana greeted me like I'd been gone from her for months, then introduced me to her colleagues. Yasmin looked particularly astonished by my metamorphosis into an exotic creature. Yet I felt uncomfortable as the elegant stylists took in my appearance. I could sense that they wondered why Jana, so pretty and popular, would choose such a fat girl as her companion. I suspected that they thought her preferences slightly unseemly.

On the way home I told Jana about my angry retort to my colleague and she looked delighted. “Bex! You outed yourself. You're finally out of the closet. I'm so proud of you.”

“I've never denied my sexuality!” I protested.

“Maybe. But you've never told anyone but close friends, have you? This is a big day for you baby. We should have a little celebration.” I was rewarded with a huge bag of crisps and half a litre of my favourite ice cream. After a generous meal I was ordered to strip and my wrists were tied behind my back with a soft cord. I sat on the floor next to the sofa and Jana took her place behind me, her legs astride me.

“Sit back,” she told me as she opened the tub of ice cream. I tried to make myself comfortable, but I shrieked as she thrust the freezing container so that it rested between my breasts, the base resting on my belly.

I groaned and asked her to move it. “It's so cold it's making my boobs ache.”

She reached down but only rotated it so that a colder part moved into contact with me. “I think you make a nice machine to get ice cream to the right temperature to eat. Or at least you would if you didn't complain so much. You do want it to stay there?”

I poked my tongue out at her playfully. “Yes, you big meanie. It really does make me hurt though,” I sighed.

“Never mind, baby. Soon I'll let you eat it all. You're going to get all messy, but try not to get it in your hair. Blue washes out really fast so we need to be sparing with shampooing.”

“It'll go back to brown?” I asked naïvely.

“No, silly! It'll go really pale. Your hair was bleached. What did you think I was doing when I put all those chemicals on?”

I shrugged. “I was pretty drunk and sleepy.”

“You were blonde for a while. It looked quite pretty, really light blonde it was. Actually, faded might not be so bad. I can imagine you with a baby blue bob. Maybe perm it to give you big soft curls.”

I couldn't bear the thought of being permed. “Please don't!” I baulked.

“Honey bunny, would you like a perm next time?” She smiled cruelly, poking her fingers into the melting ice cream.

“Please, darling. It would be so humiliating.” She pressed a dripping finger to my lips to silence me, a trail of liquid dribbling down my chin.

“One word, answer please! Do you want me to perm you?”

I was still forbidden from saying no and knew if I violated this directive I'd be given some awful punishment. “Yes,” I lisped. I was rewarded with the privilege of licking the ice cream from her fingers. As she spooned more of the dessert into my mouth she announced that she had imagined the perfect style for my next makeover.

It was two weeks later that Jana informed me that I'd been booked in for a day at the salon and I should travel in with her. It was a Saturday and I knew that this time I'd have to endure my makeover in public view.

“How do you feel?” Jana asked as she parked the car.

“Not nearly as scared as last time. I'm not sure I'd be scared at all if it wasn't for the perm.”

“You won't cry?” I shook my head and smiled. “Ooh, you're getting brave. I might have to start pushing your cut a bit further.”

“Jana, you're so evil! Sometimes I don't know why I love you so much.”

“Baby, you'd better give me six reasons right now or I'll give you the worst style imaginable.” She tugged at a strand of my hair harder than I liked. I squealed and asked her to let go but she demanded a list of her virtues.

“You're very beautiful. You're the best kisser. You're a brilliant hair stylist. You're just as good at make-up. You're super generous. You're the sexiest woman in the world.”

“Hmmm. You said I'm beautiful and sexy. Not sure they're different.”

“Well they are, darling. There are people who aren't beautiful but they're still sexy.”

She feigned a gasp. “Are you saying I'm wrong? Another reason, quick, or you get the nastiest look I can imagine.”

“You make me believe in myself. No one else ever did that and I didn't think anyone would ever make me so happy.” The game had become serious now and I felt myself becoming tearful. She kissed me lovingly.

“I feel the same. We're just perfect for each other. You're getting cuter every day, the chubbier you get the more I love you. The more of you there is the more I have to love.” I laughed, but tears were rolling down my cheeks.

“Oh Jana, look at me. I'm going to look such a state when I go inside. All your friends will think I'm so pathetic.”

“It's true. You will but then I'll weave a little magic and you'll look amazing when you leave.”

I hugged her. “I will miss something from last time. We'll have to behave ourselves.”

“Well, I might try to make you get awfully turned on and lose control. I'd like to see you disgrace yourself in front of my friends.”

Only a few minutes later I sat staring in a mirror. I still could hardly believe that I had blue hair, much less that I was about to get the second big makeover of the month and was genuinely excited to be here. Jana came to me and started to brush through my bob.

“It's faded quite a lot, hasn't it, baby? I'll start with freshening up your undercut.” She combed the top up and pinned it so that the short back and sides was clearly visible. “You liked the clippers, didn't you?”

I felt a twinge of embarrassment. I felt guilty about admitting to liking something that cut my hair so short. Somehow I still felt that I should have long hair, that my undercut was too blatant an admission of my new-found kinkiness. I felt like I should only show it in private (although, naturally, Jana had different ideas).

She laughed at my reticence. “I'm not just asking because I want to force a 'Yes'. I saw how you got when I did this.” I heard a pop and suddenly she was shearing my nape, forcing my head down with too much vehemence. I saw little blue hairs dust the cape, saw fluffy clumps roll into my lap. I groaned as I felt the vibrations, the clippers pressed uncomfortably tight to my skull. I was already feeling a loss of control, seconds into my makeover. Jana knew too much about me.

“I think I'll shave you higher.” I felt the blades nibbling into the longer hair that was pinned up. “I'm so tempted to buzz it all off, baby,” she whispered, her voice low and hoarse, sexier than ever. “You know one day I'll give in to my temptation. I always wanted to date a bald girl. A bald chubby girlfriend would just be so sexy.”

My posture made it hard for me to breathe but my breathlessness just seemed to make me even hornier. I was terrified that Jana was going to shave me, but fear and arousal were becoming blurred in my imagination. Jana whispered an instruction to hitch up my skirt and touch myself through my panties. Despite my shame, my anxiety that I would be discovered, I couldn't resist obeying. I was trembling and the lightest touch made me sigh, so sensitised was I.

As the clippers made their way across my temple I groaned. “Shit, you're shaving me, Jana!”

She laughed. “You still have hair.”

“Hardly! All the blue is gone. It's well shorter than last time.”

“Half the length. An eighth of an inch. That's a number one. Nice, isn't it?” I winced. “Isn't it?” she repeated vehemently.

“Yes, Jana,” I said so softly that she could barely have heard me over the sound of the motor. I knew any other answer would have earned me a punishment but I admitted to myself that I liked how it looked, couldn't wait to feel it.

The narrow strip of short hair over each ear broadened now, and almost the entire sides were mown down to stubble. It was so short that it looked pale and greyish, my scalp easily visible. “That's a proper undercut,” Jana said admiringly. “Still sure you won't get emotional?”

“I am emotional,” I smiled. “I'm really happy. I'm trying to enjoy everything you do to me. Last time I was too drunk to appreciate much of what you did.”

“I'm not sure I like this, Bex,” she giggled. “You're getting very confident! Actually, forget that. I love that you're enjoying what I'm doing. You're a little doll and I can't wait to get you home.”

My next treat was to have my undercut contoured. This time it wasn't the trimmers that were used but a cut-throat razor. The sideburns were shaped to sharp points, the contour up my temples a hard, sinuous line, nothing of the softness of natural growth allowed to remain. As she shaved my neck, Jana made an observation. “Your neck's getting chubby. You have a fold across your neck now. And your double chin, of course.”

She held up a mirror behind me to allow me to see. There it was, a roll of fat forming across the back of my neck, beneath my near-bald nape. I groaned. “It's so ugly, Jana.”

“I think it's very sexy,” she assured me. “But maybe I could bind your neck to control the fat growth. I'd love to see you wearing a neck corset. So submissive.”

“I don't know what that is,” I said feebly. I hated it when I had to admit to my naïvety. Jana was much more worldly than me.

“Baby, I could get you fitted with one. But it would be very expensive and you'll have to promise to wear it all the time at home, and out too for special occasions.”

“I'd have to see what it was, though.”

Jana looked at me with evil in her beautiful eyes. “No, baby. You can use your imagination and decide now.”

“Do I have a choice?” I groaned.

“You ungrateful little wretch! I offer you a very expensive gift and you sneer at it. Ingrate.” She turned the clippers back on and started to run them up my nape again. “Shall I just take them right over the top?”

“I'm very sorry, Jana. I'd be honoured to wear a neck corset for you.” As a reward for my compliance she ran her hand over my nape, which had me moaning. The new shortness made it feel better than ever, even if it was shockingly close to bald. It was unbelievably soft and the lack of hair seemed to make my scalp ultra-sensitive. I couldn't wait for Jana to take me home and explore the new sensations more intimately.

All too soon she stopped and continued with my haircut. She unpinned the hair on top of my head, loosing a lot of hair which had been cut as my undercut was augmented. Suddenly there were blue locks all around the chair.

My bob was wet and re-cut. I'd imagined that Jana wouldn't do much to change the cut but I was wrong. As she worked through the sides (the back had already been cut, but hardly shorter than last time) I saw that the angle she'd previously worked to was gone. Now the hair fell to the same length all around, meaning that the sides were a lot shorter: my earlobes were bared and the points on my cheeks were barely longer than the fringe.

Jana smiled mischievously. “Shorter, isn't it? You don't look so comfortable any more.” She put her hand to her mouth as if shocked. “Oh and it's going to be curled! That will make it look even shorter. Poor little Bex,” she said teasingly.

It was true, I didn't like how short it was. The fullness of my previous cut had been something of a reassurance, but this bob was too short. I felt it looked slightly ridiculous and just prayed that the curls would give some sort of balance.

It would be some time before the curls would be visible, as the next hours were spent giving me the colour that Jana had chosen. My hair was re-bleached and after a shampoo I saw myself blonde for the first time. I couldn't stop giggling, but it was partly embarrassment. The undercut looked almost bald now it was a very light blonde. Worse, my eyebrows had been bleached too and they were almost invisible, hardly differentiated in tone from my pale skin. I didn't like how it made me look, strange and ugly.

“It does make you look a bit weird,” Jana agreed. “But I like it. Anyway, now I know how much you dislike it I can use it as a threat. If you ever disobey me I'll shave them off.”

“But you said you don't like it either!” I protested. “Don't you want me to look pretty?”

“I said you look weird, but it's still a sexy look. Anyway, shaved gives the option of drawing any shape I please. We're going to explore that some day, regardless of how obedient you are. I might even have them permanently removed.” I looked horrified, I'm sure. “You're very beautiful, Bex, but you have to make sacrifices to be the woman I want you to be.”

My hair was now smooth and a pale baby blue, even the under cut and my eyebrows, which were too pale and faint for my liking. As I stared at my reflection, I decided that it was the exposure of my ever fuller face which disturbed me. I could see much more clearly just how fat I was becoming. I took a deep breath as Jana took the first rod and, combing up a section from the top, wound it tightly into my short hair. “Can you imagine how long this would have taken a few weeks back?” she laughed. “You had so much hair then. Now you've got a really short bob and a high undercut. Much more manageable.”

Jana added rod after rod with practised fingers. Soon the entire top of my head was covered in little rolls of blue. Only my long fringe was free: that would remain straight. Jana was obviously amused by how I looked and recorded my appearance on her phone. “See how pretty it looks! You would suit it all short. Maybe when the perm's growing out we'll try a cute little boyish crop on you.” I nodded meekly, overwhelmed by her enthusiasm to change me. The girl I saw in the mirror looked tortured, vulnerable. I was convinced that allowing this perm had been a mistake. Maybe I'd soon be begging her to crop me to spare me the ridiculous curls.

My ears were covered and the perming solution was applied to my hair. “Just relax now, Bex,” Jana smiled. “We're almost there.”

An hour plus later and, after a prolonged spell in a huge hood dryer, I saw my perm for the first time. My wet curls looked like little springs, tightly coiled and doing little to cover the extent of the undercut on my temples. I was terrified but had to trust Jana to style them to look acceptable. After all she'd had a clear vision of how I should look and she was a good stylist. She patiently loosened each curl in turn and gradually a full head of soft curls appeared. It was an improvement, but it was shockingly short.

She used a diffuser on the dryer to soften the curls further, gently shaping the style. The rods had been positioned so that the curls swept out from a parting along the middle, behind my fringe. Jana sculpted the curls now, and smoothed my long fringe, which lay over my eyes, occluding my sight.

“Did you think I'd allow this to remain?” she asked. I had no idea what she was talking about and sat in silence, hoping for an explanation.

The scissors showed me her intent. 'This' was my fringe and Jana was snipping it high on my forehead, well clear of my eyebrows. I could hear my breathing as I felt panic.

“Shit, Jana, that's short,” I gasped.

“Could be shorter if you keep moaning. Quiet while I work.”

I saw my cheeks redden in shock as I saw my new fringe, cut to a heavy blunt line, a fraction shorter than half way between eyebrows and hairline.

Jana looked satisfied. “I love seeing you like this. Baby. You really don't like it, do you?”

I couldn't hide my dissatisfaction. “It's going to take a bit of getting used to.”

“You can be honest,” Jana smiled. “You can even say no. What do you think of your curls and fringe?”

“The fringe makes me look like a little girl. And no, I don't like it,” I said, the sourness making me feel I'd ruined mine, and Jana's day.

“You can have a little cry now, before I do your make-up. It's ok, baby. I know I've pushed you very hard and it's going to be difficult for you looking like this when you go back to work next week.” Suddenly I was crying, aware that Jana liked this discomfort in me, giving in to my negative thoughts. It was true, I'd be ashamed when my colleagues saw me, gossiped about me. I tried to convince myself that I was hurt by Jana's behaviour, but I knew that I was only playing a role. I adored being embarrassed by her, and for all my insecurity I adored what she'd done to my hair.

After I'd exorcised my sense of shock and spent my tears Jana cleaned my face and had me blow my nose (that was humiliating in a busy salon) she set to work on my make-up. She mostly used pale, cool colours, soft pastel green and yellow around my eyes, light blue mascara, a little blush. But she liked to draw attention to my lips and those were much more ostentatiously painted, a deep green which extended to a precise line a little beyond the margin of my true lip line. She liked to show her skills and a second colour, a sparkling blue, was delicately blended across the inner part of my lips.

I smiled as I saw the completed look. She'd worked magic and I believed her entirely when she said how cute and adorable I was becoming. “You have gorgeous lips, but I want them even fuller. It's going to wait till we have your face done though, Bex. I want then to be sculptured very precisely.”

I grabbed her hand. I was still terrified at the prospect of surgery, still hoped that it was one of Jana's fantasies, though she'd assured me numerous times that she was entirely serious. “Nothing too much, just subtle, please Jana?”

She bent to kiss me on the cheek, her face brushing against the unfamiliar curls. “I only want excess for my little chubby angel. You're going to look very obviously like a girl who's had a lot of work done. And it'll be soon too! You're only a few weeks away from your target, aren't you?”

I was left ruminating on the changes which had happened and those soon to come. Jana had arranged to leave the salon early, but had another client to attend, another ninety minutes working before she could leave with me. I was instructed to sit in the waiting area by reception, a carefully selected chair where I faced a mirror so that I could stare at my halo of baby blue curls and my Bettie bangs, as Jana referred to them. They'd been styled to curl under, and now appeared even shorter. They made me feel very childish, as did my outfit, my dress spotted with drawings of ladybirds, and Mary Janes on my feet, over frilled ankle socks. To pass the time Jana had provided a bottle of fizzy drink, a large bags of crisps and a chocolate bar. I felt the disapproval of the other customers as I ate them; I was confirming every negative stereotype about fat girls, eating far too many unhealthy snacks.

It was at this time that I touched my nape for the first time. I felt weak at the touch, so short, but so beautifully soft. It made me blush to think how much of the undercut was visible at the back, but I had no regrets. I was becoming addicted to the feelings of a fresh haircut, I who had spent her entire life loving my long hair. Jana had shaved my nape into a dramatic point, and the bare skin she'd shaved on my neck added immensely to the pleasure I was experiencing. I had to stop playing as I knew it would get me too excited.

Eventually Jana appeared, her client wearing a stunning retro style, stiffly set waves, perfect pin-up make-up. She was clearly delighted and I was more proud than ever of my girlfriend's skills. She was, I had no doubt, the star stylist of the salon.

As we set out, Jana put an arm around me. “I can see your ears, at least about half of them. Did you ever have a cut where your ears were on view?”

“You know I didn't,” I blushed.

“We should celebrate. I'm going to take you to get your ears pierced.”

We went to a nearby tattoo and piercing place where I sat anxiously, looking at images of tattooing from the shop. Jana wrinkled her nose. “This place isn't good enough for your tattoos,” she whispered. “I want you to get something really original.”

I nodded, feeling sick at the thought of being tattooed. “What about my ears? They are pierced already.” The studs in my ears were my only piercings. Jana's ears were pierced numerous times, and she had a little ring in her left nostril and a piercing in her navel.

“Oh, are they?” she asked, sarcastically. “I suppose a few more holes won't hurt... much.” She poked out her tongue at me. “I'd love you to have a septum ring, but that'll have to wait till you have your new nose. I don't want it to interfere with the procedure.” She giggled at my discomfort. “I love seeing you squirming when you think about your new face. It's adorable. I'm going to make you binge a lot. I think we can hit your target within two weeks, then I'll be getting you booked in as soon as the clinic has an appointment.”

I buried my face against her arm. “Jana, it scares me so much. I mean, it'll hurt, I'll be so sore, and then I'm going to look like a stranger. It's not like a haircut, this is forever.”

“I know, and your tattoos will be too. You've no idea how it turns me on to think about how brave you are to do all this.” She kissed me tenderly.

“I don't have a choice,” I sighed. Despite my fears I felt elated, Jana's love for me was palpable.

“Of course you have a choice, baby. You have a choice but you put your feelings aside and let me choose for you. That's why you're brave. You think you're weak but you're the strongest girl I ever met. Why do you think I love you so much?”

I begged her to stop till we were home. “You'll have me crying again and that will never do. I want to go out to show off how pretty you've made me.”

My sentimental mood soon evaporated as I was taken inside. It took only a few minutes (and some painful jabs of a needle) to give me triply pierced lobes, fitted with large studs. The fifth piercing was a tiny ring in the tragus of my left ear, and that hurt a lot more than summation of the other four. The cartilage was much more resistant and I wailed sadly as needle was forced through. Even after the ring was fitted my ear continued to throb and it felt like it was on fire.

As I recovered Jana expressed her satisfaction to the piercer, Kaya. “I'm going to bring her back in a few weeks for more work. I want her septum done, maybe something in her lips. I'd like a medusa, but she has such a short upper lip and I'm worried it'll get lost under the septum. She's getting quite a lot of cosmetic work done so we'll have to see how she looks once that's settled before we can decide.”

I felt exposed and helpless as a stranger was brought into the confidence of Jana's plans for me. But the revelations weren't ended. “She's on a weight gain program too,” Jana added. “She's put on over two stone since we met. She's still got about a stone to go before we hit the weight we agreed on. Really, I'd like more, but we do have to think about how practical it would be.”

Kaya seemed intrigued, pleased by Jana's revelations. She was curvaceous herself, and was complimentary about me. “She is a pretty little thing, Jana. Cute as a button. I love her hair.” She seemed to have slipped into a mode of speaking about me as if I wasn't there, objectifying me. I found myself blushing, unexpectedly excited.

“I've just cut it, coloured it, permed it. I mean we just got out of the salon, maybe thirty minutes ago. A few weeks ago she had hair past her waist, all natural. She's never going to have boring hair again, Kaya. I'll see to that.”

“She is pretty. You're very lucky to have her,” Kaya said wistfully.

“She has the most wonderful body now, so soft and curvy. Maybe she'd let you see it and play with it, but of course I would expect something in return.” Jana whispered something in Kaya's ear and she giggled embarrassedly.

“Baby, would you let Kaya play with your big boobies for ten minutes? If you say yes she'll give you a nice present.”

I knew this was a time when “No” was off limits, although it had taken my humiliation and shame to new regions. I didn't want to expose myself to a stranger. She was turning me into something like a whore.

Still, I nodded my agreement, mute with embarrassment. Kaya unzipped my dress, tugged it down to my waist, my arms still tangled in the fabric. She unhooked my bra and sighed as my breasts flopped free. “May I?” she asked, seemingly sharing some of my awkwardness.

“For the next ten minutes they're yours to do as you please. Just nothing too rough please, I don't want them covered in bruises.”

“I could never be rough with such a delicate little flower,” she laughed, weighing my breasts in her hands. “Poor little Bex, you look so scared. Haven't you done this sort of thing before?”

I shook my head.

“Rebecca, speak up. And address our guest as Miss Kaya.”

“Sorry,” I stammered. “I haven't, Miss Kaya.”

My new friend didn't reply since her lips had closed around my left nipple. She sucked at it gently, the tip of her tongue, flicking back and forth inside, tickling at the tip.

“She has a thing about her buzzed hair, Kaya,” Jana advised. “You should stroke her nape if you want her to get horny.”

I felt her fingers caressing my velvety nape and my head pushed back, seemingly through its own volition. I sensed Kaya's growing delight and she sucked more forcefully, then brought her tongue piercing against my nipple. I exclaimed a squeal at the surprise of the metallic contact.

Kaya smiled up at me, her face filled with bliss. She turned her attentions to my right breast. After ensuring that my nipples were engorged she pressed her face into my cleavage and lifted the heavy flesh to press against her cheeks.

She remained still for a full minute, then sighed loudly. “Oh, Jana, I want her so much.”

Jana laughed. “But so do I. I'm afraid you definitely can't have her.”

“Please let me do her piercings though. I won't even charge you. Just let me have some favours and I'll do anything you want.”

Jana looked deep into my eyes as she considered Kaya's offer. “Let's see how you do on this. Bex will have some say so you'd better make her enjoy it.”

What she meant was soon revealed. “It” was the fitting of my nipples with rings. Kaya had me lay on a bed where she tugged and pinched at my nipples, making me cry out (but I still experienced her attentions as pleasurable). She told me to keep quiet, since she was worried that she'd be fired if her boss became aware of what she was doing. Suddenly the playful interaction slid into something else. She rubbed my nipples with an alcoholic solution, the cold as it evaporated making my nipples firm and tighten, but as she made marks with a pen I suddenly realised her intention.

“Please, Jana...” I said, but she cut me off.

“Best behaviour now, baby blue. I want you to be brave and take this in silence.”

I gritted my teeth as a needle slid through my flesh, piercing the base of my nipple, but I couldn't take the pain without making a frustrated groan, frustrated because I wanted to scream and cry. It was the worst pain I'd felt, or so it seemed. The thick ring that soon dangled in my tender nipple nauseated me, all the more so because I knew that a second piercing was yet to come. A cold sweat broke out as I endured the sequel. I suppressed my vocalisations as much as possible but was far from silent, though never loud. I glanced at Jana for reassurance but her face was impassive and I looked away, sure that she was mad at my weakness.

Kaya wiped away the trickle of blood from my breast before loosely taping pads over my breasts to cover the fresh wounds. It was she who refitted my bra, and I knew she was taking pleasure from the manipulation of my breasts. I felt simultaneously used and thrilled. I had to admit that I liked Kaya, despite the pain she'd inflicted. If, as Jana had indicated, I'd have some choice in seeing her again, then I'd say yes, despite knowing that she would add more piercings.

“Nice work, Kaya,” Jana said. “Maybe I'll bring her back to you, or you could do a home visit. But you know I'm a hairdresser and your fee might be your hair.” Kaya had a lot of hair and she couldn't hide her discomfort, which had Jana laughing. “You did say you'd do anything! After all you saw how Bex likes buzzed hair so maybe she'd like to see you with yours cut as short as her nape, but all over your head.”

Kaya was too shocked to reply. Jana took one of her business cards and assured her that she'd be in touch. Kaya was thanked with a kiss from me and a kiss from Jana, who took me out without paying a penny for my new jewellery.

We went to a nearby café where I was treated to a drink and a sandwich. “I'm sorry, Bex,” Jana said. “I don't know what got into me. I shouldn't have let her touch you like that. I got carried away.”

I felt my cheeks reddening as I smiled at her. “I liked it,” I admitted. “But please don't make a habit of it. I liked it because I liked Kaya. If you let someone I didn't like do those things to me I'd be so hurt.”

Jana seemed genuinely surprised, but pleased. “Rebecca, you're such a slut,” she whispered in my ear, feigning shock. “And you have big rings in your nipples that will show through your clothes. What do you think people will think of you when they spot those?”

Her taunts made me blush all the more. “Do you want to see Kaya again?” she asked, more serious now. I looked at her shyly and nodded. “You do know that that will mean you'll get more piercings. You could end up with a lot. But you won't see her again till your face is healed. She'll be shocked at how different you look. Let's hope she still thinks you're pretty.”

Jana knew that reminding me of my imminent surgery provoked a response of dread, but I couldn't help getting turned on too. It was becoming an addiction for me; I craved fear because it thrilled me. “I will still be pretty, won't I?” I demanded, needing Jana to still my insecurity.

“You will, but it won't be a look everyone likes. That's how you want it to be now, isn't it, baby blue?” I nodded. “Anyway, maybe I'll let Kaya have some fun with you but I'll demand she lets me shave her head before she touches you.”

I gasped. “Jana, she has nice long hair. Don't shave it!”

She stroked at my neck and up onto the edge of my nape where only a couple of hours since she'd razored away my hair. “But this feels nice, doesn't it? Imagine having a lover whose whole head felt this soft and smooth and sexy. You would like it, wouldn't you, baby?” Of course she was right. The sensation of her fingers on my newly shaved skin had me fidgeting, wishing we were somewhere private. “So that's decided then. If Kaya is allowed to see you again she has to submit to a head shave. If you're going to be her whore you should at least have the self respect to demand a good price.”

Something changed on that day. Jana had revealed a new side to my sexuality, a desire to be degraded, to be used. In private she would whisper tales to me, stories where I'd become the plaything at an orgy, being used and tortured to delight others. I'd have to confess to her my response to every suggestion, whether it was something that I wanted, whether it repulsed me, whether it was something that scared me but nevertheless turned me on. The game was all the more dangerous because I knew she had contacts who could make almost everything she described become real, and I knew that soon I would experience some of the scenarios.

She was becoming ever more sensitive to my tastes, exploring my body to find how to lift my experience of pleasure to new heights. I was always surprised that her greatest pleasure was in seeing me driven to new ecstasies. I was a largely passive lover, infrequently called upon to pleasure her with my tongue. Jana seemed to prefer driving me to orgasm, which would induce a similar wave of pleasure within her. Nothing pleased me more than to feel the delight of a mutual orgasm with the woman I loved.

And still she adored seeing me binge. I was allowed to feast two or three times a week and my weight continued to grow, getting ever nearer to my target. I worried that Jana would forget her promise to maintain me at the agreed weight, knowing that part of her desired to see me become immensely fat. But as the desired weight became imminent Jana started to discuss how I could be allowed to still pleasure her by feasting without continuing to gain. When I was away from her I'd eat tiny meals, small portions of salad without dressing, for instance. I would only be allowed pleasure in my food in her presence, and I would be allowed to gorge at least twice a week. I would be weighed each day and the details of my diet would be adjusted to ensure a fairly constant weight.

I was displaying myself after a weighing, and Jana stroked my neck. “The fat rolls are getting more noticeable, baby. Do you remember what we said we'd do to control your neck fat?”

I nodded. “You said you'd corset my neck.”

“Did you think I'd forgotten? I don't forget anything. I made an appointment for you to see a specialist maker. We're going later but I think you should have a makeover to meet this lady. She's quite a famous figure in the fetish scene. She makes the most perfect medical equipment and you're very lucky that she's agreed to make some things for you.”

Jana had recently acquired a vintage barber chair which had been in rather poor condition. It had returned from a restorer a couple of days previously, reupholstered in soft black leather, the metal fittings polished, but still with a patina to show their age. Jana decided that I should sit on the padded plank that fitted over the arms of the chair to lift children to a more comfortable working height (I was barely over five feet tall).

I smiled nervously at my reflection. I was still unused to my curls which today formed a frizzy halo around my head, since Jana had told me to shower and dry them without product. Jana pumped the chair to raise my head into her hands, then pushed my head back into her naked bosom. Without preamble she took a razor to my eyebrows and dry shaved them.

I gave a distressed gurgle as I saw myself. “Oh Jana,” I murmured sadly. My dislike of what she'd done was tempered by the pleasure I saw burgeoning inside her. I knew that today would be challenging for me but I expected that a tempest of raw emotion would engulf me.

Jana said nothing as she brushed up my curls and pinned them free of the undercut. Even though it had been cut little more than a couple of weeks previously my undercut looked tired, with some regrowth of darker hair discolouring the pale blue. I sighed as the clippers were taken to my nape, buzzing in long slow strokes. It was only my third experience of clippers and each time I became less fearful, more attuned to feeling the pleasure of the sensation. “Are you cutting away all of the blue?” I asked dreamily.

Jana was intent on saying as little as possible. In answer she pushed my head to the side and pressed the blades in a trajectory from my cheek and up my temple.

“Oh shit, Jana, it's bald!” A strip of bare skin was left where the blades had passed. My head was forced down again, my chin pressed to my chest so that I could barely breathe.

“Tug on your rings,” Jana said, her voice toneless, but I was by now sufficiently receptive to her instruction to obey without hesitation. My nipples were still healing, tender and sensitive. Jana had played with my new piercings, but mostly fairly gently. I'd never been bold enough to test them, still, in truth, rather repulsed by touching my nipple rings. Now was the time I would have to learn to overcome my repugnance.

I could hear the blades crackle as they rose high at the back. I knew that the change in sound meant that they were meeting longer hair, that Jana was taking my undercut higher, that it was no longer and undercut but an undershave. I felt a chill pass through me as I imagined my short hair exposing a starkly shaved nape. “How severe it will look!” I thought. Every time Jana touched my hair I became more extreme, and this would push me to a new level. I was still uncomfortable with the attention my image received and I knew that my new haircut would be my most extreme. Yet I wouldn't beg for mercy. In private I loved how Jana had made me look, and my pleasure was multiplied by knowing how I pleased her aesthetic sensibility.

I felt overwhelmed as I looked at my new appearance as the clippers were turned off. I tugged at the rings to make my nipples sting. Somehow only pain could reassure me that I was strong enough to accept this. The effect of baldness was increased since all of my hair was pinned tightly atop my head, and with bald scalp all up the sides and shorn of eyebrows I looked like some freakish baby. I shivered as I saw Jana preparing a cup of white foam. She started to spread it across my nape with a soft bristle brush. The lather was hot and as it lay on my skin I could feel a strange cool tingling from the tea tree oil in the foam. After covering my scalp I had to endure the indignity of my cheeks, neck, chin, lips, being spread with the lather. I looked at Jana with hurt in my eyes.

“Don't pretend you haven't seen some downy hairs. Just because they're pale doesn't mean they're not there. You can have this every day now, baby.”

She used a four bladed safety razor to shave me, even re-shaving my eyebrows after dabbing on a little more lather. My face glowed, pink and shiny. Below the top of my head I was hairless except for my long eyelashes.

My hair was now anointed with a dark paste, the edges of my scalp smeared with Vaseline to ensure that it wouldn't be accidentally discoloured. “No bleaching, this time?” I dared ask.

“No, baby. You're not baby blue any more,” Jana smiled, but she'd give no more hints.

After the dye had had time to transform my colour I was taken to the bathroom to be rinsed. I sat on a stool as Jana attended to my hair. The wet curls were doused with setting lotion and swept back, meticulously fixed in place with a careful arrangement of long clips. I was taken back to the salon room but sat under the hood dryer, out of sight of the mirror, so still I had no clue as to my new colour.

Jana sat in my lap as my hair was baked into the new style and examined my nipples. “I saw how you got excited tugging on these. When Kaya comes to see you next I'm going to ask her about stretching the holes. You deserve bigger rings, don't you, baby?”

I nodded. “I think I'd like that,” I said, blushing with shame. Jana had taught me to accept that my nipple rings were a symbol of my sluttish personality. She reached to a shelf and brought out a box. Inside were a pair of huge rings, an inch and a half in diameter, the closing bead a third of an inch across. “These look good for now,” Jana smiled as she fitted them into my wounds, “but I would prefer something thicker and heavier.” She pulled them upwards, making me groan as they took the full weight of my ever larger breasts, but the pain was delicious.

Soon the dryer was lifted and I was taken back to the chair, but it was turned away from the mirror. I'd imagined that my hair was not to be cut today (with the exception of my shaved back and sides) but now my short fringe was cut. It was immediately apparent that Jana wasn't merely trimming the blunt line to neaten it. Her cutting was precise and careful as she formed the hair to a new shape. I felt the cold scissor tips high on my forehead, and I shivered as I realised that my fringe was being cut even shorter than on my last trip to the salon, when it was so short that I'd cried. Jana combed it through and made a few last snips to perfect the cut. She held her hand over my eyes as she fixed it in place with a liberal misting of hairspray.

Now the clips were eased out of my hair and with fingers and comb Jana delicately manipulated my still hair into the finished form. More hairspray, then make-up.

I gasped when I was turned to the mirror. My face was paler than ever, partly in contrast with my hair which was now black. My fringe had been cut to a peak at the centre of my forehead, low arches looping up symmetrically at either side. The top was set in stiff waves, very regimented, a perfect recreation of a thirties finger-waved look. The product was shiny, wet-looking. The full shaved area was visible at the sides (and Jana had extended the undershave so that it rose virtually to my crown). At the back my hair was stiffly fixed in a little curl and little of my bald nape was covered.

My make-up was almost as dramatic. My lips were a deep red, very matt, as was my pale face (Jana had applied make-up seamlessly across my scalp too and there was no indication of where my hair started to grow). A pale blue blusher had been subtly applied to cheeks and temples. My eyes were ringed by thick, smoky layers of black, the edges of upper lids given a sparkle with a black glitter. The inner edges of my lower lids were lined with a brilliant white, which seemed to make my eyes look huge, paler and bluer than ever before.

“It looks amazing,” I gasped as I tried to accept that the fat gothic girl I saw was me. “But can't you give me brows, please, Jana?” The absence of eyebrows was difficult for me to accept.

“Since you asked so nicely... No! And as a punishment you can remain browless for a week, even in work. You look gorgeous like this, baby. Don't ruin the moment with complaints.”

I knew better than to complain again when I was dressed, although the word is perhaps inappropriate given the scarcity of covering. I was allowed only a pair of leather hot pants and a bra top of the same material, the nipples cut away so that my heavy new rings poked through. I was locked (literally, the straps were fixed with tiny padlocks) into platform soled Mary Janes with five inch heels, and tottered awkwardly as I adjusted to the unfamiliar, and uncomfortable, experience of such tall heels.

I went out with Jana now, my outfit covered by a black trench coat which was only fastened by a belt. It was a breezy day and I was constantly on edge as I was aware that the coat could blow open and expose my shamefully revealing outfit. We made a long car journey but at the end of it walked for fifteen minutes through the busy streets of an unfamiliar city. I felt every eye taking in my appearance, the disapproval of all palpable, initially feeling cowed by this attention but as Jana whispered her love of my boldness, I felt my confidence grow, started to like my ability to shock, found myself returning the gaze of my accusers and seeing their weakness as they looked away. Even the derogatory comments shouted from a distance were laughed off.

We arrived at our destination, which was a medical supplies shop, but we entered through an alley, respecting the discretion of the owner who wanted to keep the different aspects of her business separated.

I was surprised to see that the proprietor was a woman of, I guessed, around sixty, well coiffed, with blonde hair set in an old fashioned style, but flattering for all that. She was quite conservatively dressed, but the tightness of her skirt, her buttoned up silk blouse, her tall spiked heels subtly suggested something kinky.

She greeted Jana warmly, but her demeanour altered as she addressed me. “So this is the little fat sub?” she asked, a harshness in her tone which immediately made me feel nervous of her. “Take off your coat and let me see what I'm working with.” I slipped out of the coat and let it fall to the floor. She gazed at me with a disconcerting directness. “Tell me about her weight gain.”

“We're going to maintain her weight at sixteen and a half stone, Doctor Green,” Jana explained. I was unsure whether her title was a mark of respect or whether she was indeed a doctor. “She's currently just below sixteen, but we should hit the target within two weeks.”

“How tall is she?”

“Just a fraction over five foot. We started the program almost as soon as we met. I had her eating informally before she was weighed, but in total I think she's going to have gained about fifty pounds by the end.”

“Very good,” the doctor said. “She's quite the little piggy, isn't she? I hope your mistress denies you in other ways, fatty.”

“Not really, Doctor,” I said shyly. “I'm very obedient but she indulges me very much.”

Jana seemed embarrassed by the Doctor's disapproval. “I did shave off most of her hair. She had lovely long hair when we met.”

I couldn't suppress a little purr as the Doctor ran her hand over my nape. I'd hardly come to terms with its baldness and every touch was shocking and overwhelming. “That's a good start. But if you take my advice you'll complete the job. She'll be much better for you in the long term if you treat her more strictly. A bald head and six months in a chastity device will make her yours for life.”

“I will give your suggestions some thought,” Jana said to placate her interrogator.

“You want it, don't you Piggy? I can see it in your eyes. Shall I put you in long term chastity tonight and shave the rest of your silly hair off?”

I was terrified of her and nodded. “I'd be pleased to accept it if my Mistress willed it, Doctor.”

Doctor Green laughed. “You see, she knows what's best. You youngsters dabble at dominance, with no respect for tradition. You'd do well to come and serve an older domme for a few months as an apprentice. You'd learn that this is no joke.”

Jana nodded meekly. “I'm not sure I have the discipline to be an apprentice but I would like to learn. I'd love to get to know some of the people you respect and learn from them.”

“I'll make some introductions, dear. It's good to remain humble and see that you have things to learn. Even the best dominants need to retain humility, not that it needs to be shown before their subs,” she winked.

She came behind me and had me hold my arms out, level with shoulders as she put a tape measure to work, recording my girth at hips, waist (if you could call it a waist), under breasts. “So she's going to be about half a stone heavier?” she asked Jana, who nodded. “OK, I'll make the corset a little more generous than her current dimensions, but not much. You want it firm rather that painfully constrictive?”

“Yes, I want her to be able to wear it for extended periods in social settings.”

Now the Doctor started to measure my neck. As she brushed against my nape a little moan came forth.

“She is sensitive. When did Jana shave you?”

“This morning, Doctor. I'm sorry for my lack of control, I'm still unused to it.”

She seemed intrigued. “You had long hair till this morning?”

“Oh, no Doctor, it was already short on the undercut. I'd never been shaved before though.”

She caressed my temples longingly. “I do remember back in the seventies there was a group of subs at a club I used to visit. They were all kept bald. Of course, then it wasn't acceptable for a woman to be bald in public and they all wore wigs. Some of them were very well connected business women, it would have been very difficult if their shaved heads had become public knowledge. I used to love seeing them humbled when they entered, having their wigs removed. The world has changed and women don't feel the same degree of humiliation from being shaved as those women did. I do sometimes regret how society has changed. Maybe there was something valuable in the conformity back then.”

She laughed to dispel her wistfulness. “You must think I'm a crazy old woman. There are virtues to our new freedoms. What plans do you have for little piggy?”

“Oh, lots. She's going to have surgery to alter her facial features. And quite a lot of tattoos. Those will be the big projects for the next few months.” The Doctor stared into my eyes as Jana spoke.

“Poor little piggy, that scares you, doesn't it? You don't like permanent changes, do you?”

“I...” I tried to frame an answer that put my conflicting emotions into place, but the immensity of the task was too much. “No, Doctor. It scares me,” I admitted. “But I trust Jana completely and I'll do as she asks of me.”

The Doctor's expression soured. “She calls you Jana. Too familiar! You need to give her to someone for training. She'd be a real sub when she came back to you. Please consider it. I have two or three people in mind to fix her.”

“I will consider it, Doctor. She's just so lovely though. I like her as she is and I'd miss her terribly. But I will study your suggestion. She likes it when other people use her and it might be good to train her to act properly around other dommes.”

“Not good, essential. I'm glad to see you're recognising the value of training.”

Jana nodded demurely and gave the Doctor her most winning smile.

Now that my neck had been measured I was to be fitted for my neck corset. I still had no idea what was in store for me, having promised Jana that I wouldn't search out information. My neck was enclosed in a large neck brace of padded leather over a rigid metal frame. I immediately felt claustrophobic, almost panicking. Jana had mentioned that she expected me to wear the device for extended periods but it felt horribly restrictive. The top was pressed firmly against my jaw and the base of my skull, completely removing the possibility of moving my head, which was held in an upwardly tilted posture.

“This isn't a bad fit,” the Doctor explained, “but I would make one from scratch to fit perfectly.”

“It'll be comfortable for extended wear?” Jana asked.

“Yes and no. The padding will mean no chafing, but the posture isn't comfortable. It's quite impractical and it can cause neck ache, headaches in some.”

“I suppose that's inevitable,” Jana smiled. “Rebecca wanted to ask you something about it.”

I blushed. “Will it help to reduce the fat on the back of my neck and my double chin?” I asked I realised it was so tight that I had to speak through clenched teeth. The Doctor looked at me witheringly, as if I had no right to have vanity.

“It is something I'd like to reduce too,” Jana said soothingly.

“It... could, I suppose, but I can't make any guarantees. You would have to wear it a lot though to get any benefit. I mean several hours each day. I'm not sure sleeping in it would be very comfortable. I could include extra padding through the throat and up the nape. It would feel very snug.”

“Lovely, let's do that.”

“You want to go for the deluxe model? That's the one with adjustment of the head angle and extenders to allow the tension between the yoke and the head support to be adjusted.”

Jana agreed that this was necessary and left me alone as she went to view the finish options on the Doctor's laptop.

Five weeks had elapsed, but the time had passed all too soon given the changes I'd undergone. Jana had booked my surgery but my employer refused to grant me sufficient leave (three weeks were requested to allow recovery time). As a result I'd tendered my resignation.

Jana had been very busy, making two trips during this period to work on a photo shoot, then on a catwalk show. The absence of three days for the first trip was difficult, for a week during the second unendurable, but it did serve to demonstrate how close to, how dependent on, Jana I was.

Now I was in her car, heavily sedated, moaning whenever the car made a sudden movement. My body was bruised and sore, and I'd spent a night more in the clinic than planned, due to the amount of swelling I'd suffered. I wanted nothing more than to be in my own bed, to take enough meds to allow me to sleep. I knew that sleep was my only friend during recovery. I spent most of the journey barely aware of my surroundings (the pain medication had left me confused and sleepy) but became suddenly aware that we'd turned off the motorway far from home.

Jana's intentions soon revealed themselves and soon I was walking agonisingly toward Doctor Green's shop. I pleaded with Jana to spare me this, complained that I felt terribly ill.

“Baby, I know you've endured a lot but we won't be here long. We need your appliances to be fitted during your recovery, so there's no way around this. Just be a good girl and show me how brave you can be with the Doctor.”

I had to display myself for the Doctor but was too sore to be able to undress without assistance. She stared at me with her customary gaze, clinical, intimidating.

“I'm having trouble seeing what exactly you've had done. Her face is just bruising and oedema at the moment, isn't it? Talk me through the procedures.”

Jana smiled at me proudly. “I decided at the last minute to go for the breast enhancement. I was going to just have them lifted so that the nipples pointed up but I wanted her tits to be less affected by gravity, so they got bigger too.”

“Yes, they are very big,” the doctor said. I couldn't say whether she approved, so deadpan was her response. I was sufficiently diffident that I imagined she thought my new breasts were vulgar.

“Most of the work was on her face,” Jana continued. “The rhinoplasty was fairly radical. I wanted a very cute little nose.”

“May I?” the Doctor asked but she was easing the dressing free without awaiting a reply. “Oh, it's so swollen. Even so, I can see that her nose is going to be different. The end is turned up?”

Jana nodded happily. This information had been unknown to me.

The Doctor laughed. “It's so nice that you gave her a piggy nose. I do hope you'll bring her back when she's healed.”

Jana promised to comply with her request, then continued to describe my transformation. “I've had her eyes altered. The inside has been tucked to form an epicanthal fold and the outer corner has been lifted to give an almond shape. Her eyes should look bigger though. I love her huge eyes and I wanted to make them look even bigger.

“Her lips were the other big area of work. There are some tucks inside, so that her mouth is narrower now. The tissue was removed to sculpt the top lip into a deep cupid bow and the lower lip will have a deep furrow at the centre. She's had fat implanted to replace the lost tissue and to make her lips fuller.”

“I seem to remember she already had quite pouty lips,” the Doctor said. “Won't it look too much?”

“Oh, I do hope so,” Jana laughed. “I didn't spend all this money to have her looking subtly different. But the surgeon is very good and I saw predictions of how it will look. Her mouth will look very pretty, I can assure you. I'm sure you'll want to kiss her when you see her healed.

“The other work was to fit implants on her cheekbones and on her chin. She has a lovely pointed chin now, very fine and delicate, and even though her cheeks have got very rounded with her weight gain she'll still have nice broad cheekbones giving her face a nicely balanced structure.”

“She still has her braces,” the Doctor noted. “Are those coming off soon?”

“They are, but they haven't been very successful. The dentist says they should stay on for longer, maybe a year more, but I've lost patience. They're coming off next week.”

The relief of knowing I'd lose my braces was scant consolation. I'd not been allowed to know in any detail what had been done to my face and I felt devastated to hear how radically different I would look. I didn't have time to dwell on my plight, as the doctor insisted that she press on with my fitting.

I was laced into a corset, a rigid structure of black leather and red silk. As the Doctor pressed it into place I started to cry as it lifted my breasts. They were by far the greatest cause of post-operative pain and the pressure against them was unbearable.

“Please Jana, that hurts so much. Can't this wait?” I sobbed. Her reply was cut short by the Doctor.

“I know you're in pain but this is necessary. Stop being such a baby. This suffering will make you grow. A sub who can't tolerate pain is worthless. Are you worthless, Rebecca?” I nodded. That's exactly how I felt about myself.

“No, silly. You're the prettiest girl in the world, or at least you will be once your wounds heal,” Jana said proudly.

The corset became a source of even greater pain as Doctor Green pulled on the laces. My breasts were lifted even more painfully and I felt my belly being compressed. Jana made a long sigh. “Oh, I love it! She has a waist. I can't believe how lovely it makes her figure look. Baby, I just want to eat you all up, you look so delicious.”

I wanted to be happy, was at some level, but the corset caused me agony. The Doctor seemed in a hurry and wanted my neck corset to be fitted immediately. However, as she took it from the box a thought occurred.

“Her hair is a little neglected. I think it would be more comfortable if her nape were bald again. Rebecca, you like the feeling of soft leather on bald nape, don't you? Ask your mistress nicely to shave you.”

It was true that my hair hadn't been cut since Jana had given me my gothic look, and even my undershave had gone over two weeks without attention, due to Jana's trip away and my surgery. My perm had softened too and the regrowth meant that some of the lift had been lost. I looked at Jana and felt my lusts awaken for the first time since I'd gone under the knife. The Doctor's description of soft leather on bald nape was indeed alluring.

Jana clippered my undercut at the back, fading it higher up my nape, and as I bowed my head I was aware of looking down at a huge bosom, absurdly large and unnatural. I felt shame as I tried to comprehend that these inflated globes were now part of me.

My thoughts were interrupted as Jana's delicate fingers spread my stubble with a viscous lather, smooth and aromatic. “Still not going to shave the top too, Jana?” the Doctor said with regret.

“Maybe one day. I want her to enjoy it and you're not ready for that yet, are you baby?”

“No Miss Jana,” I whispered. I tried to imagine how I could ever like being completely bald. Even if the sensation of a bald head would excite me (and I knew it would) the image of myself in the mirror would make me lose every shred of belief in myself.

“Too soft,” the Doctor muttered, venting her frustration.

“I know, but I'm so happy.” Even though Jana was behind me, gently pulling the razor over the rasping stubble I could sense her smile. Despite my pain I was more in love with her than ever. I would do anything to maintain her happiness.

I blushed as a soft towel wiped away the traces of lather. I adored feeling my scalp newly shaved, so sensitive, so clean. The days in bed had left me feeling cramped and dirty and this shave had made me feel alive again.

Now I lifted my head to allow Doctor Green to fit my neck corset. My breathing was rapid and shallow as it snapped closed. I looked at Jana fearfully. Surely this wasn't the correct fit. It seemed to press too firmly at my jaw, which was sore and swollen. And the softly padded leather lining moulded itself to my neck, pressing firmly over every inch of my neck. It was so constricting that I felt I couldn't breathe. I couldn't wear this.

“How does it feel, baby?” Jana asked.

“Too tight,” I complained. “I can't breath.”

“I can see why you call her baby,” the Doctor said cynically. “I do think that it's a bit tight around her jaw, given the swelling. I'll show you how to adjust that now. Once she's healed, this setting should be fine.”

Jana, under the Doctor's tutelage, worked at the ratchets at the sides of the collar and I felt the tension on my jaw slowly reduce. “That better?” Jana smiled. I agreed it was. I could even open my jaw a little now.

“The inside is very tight though. I'm having trouble breathing.”

The Doctor had me stand and placed her hands on my flanks. “Breathe in... Breathe out...” she instructed. “No, there's no problem with breathing, you silly girl. It's all in your head. You really should be punished for imagining problems where there are none.”

Jana nodded. “I'll make her wear all this for our journey home. The discomfort will be sufficient punishment.” I looked at her with tears in my eyes. Would I really have to be seen in public like this, not to mention the pain that my collar and corset caused my damaged body.

As I left Doctor Green my new acquisitions were fixed in place with locks. An ill fitting crop top was stretched over my breasts, and a short skirt (barely) covered my shame. I was struggling to walk in the heels that Jana had supplied: my head was tilted back and I was unable to look at the ground before me. I had to take Jana's arm to support myself as I made my way back to the car. I felt ashamed as I saw passers by taking in my appearance with shock. “Just smile,” Jana insisted, but my lips were too sore to allow a smile.

By the following week my recovery was progressing, yet still I was suffering. Each day I was being weaned off my pain medication and as a result the soreness seemed no better. I knew that the swelling had reduced (I spent much of the day in an ice mask to help) but Jana told me that the bruising still badly discoloured my face, told me because I was forbidden to look in a mirror (and was pleased at this decision, sure that seeing myself before I was healed would be too traumatic). My collar and corset were used for six hours each day, each moment when I was constricted adding to my torment, but Jana's pleasure at seeing me corseted made me willingly accept this torture.

When I was taken to the dentist I was nervous, but less so than usual. At last the embarrassing braces would be removed, and I had no regrets about that. The dentist was surprised to see the extent of my surgery and examined the wounds in my mouth. The stitches around my mouth had become tight and as she manipulated my lips I groaned. “They're about ready to come out,” she said. “All healed well but I can see they must be uncomfortable. Still I think we'd best leave them in till all the treatment is done. I'm afraid I'm going to have to fit a lip retractor and it'll make your lips sting.”

As my lips were stretched into a big oval, I realised that she'd understated the pain I had to endure. I had to hold Jana's hand to help me bear the pain; the wounds were drawn tight and the stitches felt like they were sawing through my flesh. I groaned with relief as I saw the braces being pulled free.

Something was wrong. The dentist said she'd get right on with the treatment and I lay in pained horror as she injected my gums with anaesthetic. I had no idea what was happening. I saw her prepare a drill and felt panic. I squeezed Jana's hand furiously, looked at her to stop this error. Surely my teeth were fixed now. “Maybe she does need that sedative,” Jana said, staring into my eyes. I felt an injection in my arm and remembered nothing till I was home.

I woke and licked at my teeth. The front surface was eroded, rough. I was suddenly wide awake, back into the nightmare. Jana was across the room, working on her laptop. She smiled at me. “Feeling OK?”

“What did she do to my teeth?” I asked.

“She's ground away the front surfaces to make them nice and level. You don't have the slightest crookedness any more.”

“But they feel horrible, all rough.”

Jana laughed. “They look even worse! You do look a fright, baby. Smile for me.”

I tried to do as she asked and realised that my lips felt more mobile. The stitches which had held them so tight were gone. Jana winced as my teeth were revealed by my smile.

“You look like zombie Bex,” she laughed. “Bruises and fright teeth. Poor little baby.”

I started to cry. “Why did she ruin my teeth?”

Jana kissed me gently, her tongue slipping between my lips to explore the dull surface of my incisors. “They're not ruined. You'll have the most perfect teeth in a few days. She's giving you veneers. Your teeth will be even and white and you'll have a lovely smile again.”

It was four days later when I returned to the dentist. My teeth had been hypersensitive since the previous visit and I'd relied on Jana applying oil of cloves to contain the pain. I'd barely eaten either, so uncomfortable was I with chewing, and this had made Jana very frustrated. My weight had dipped markedly since my surgery despite my lack of activity.

I ran my tongue over the new teeth and was thrilled to feel an even, smooth surface, more even than ever before. The dentist looked satisfied as she examined my smile and reached for a mirror. “Please don't,” Jana said. “She hasn't seen herself since her surgery and I want her to see herself without bruising. I'll put some make-up on her later and she can see her new face.”

The dentist smiled. “You have such a thoughtful girlfriend. I bet she's been looking after you.”

“She always takes care of me,” I said lovingly.

We didn't head back home, but instead drove to the salon. I looked at Jana with trepidation. For the first time people I knew (if only slightly) would see my new features, and that made me deeply uncomfortable. “I'm going to give you a new haircut and colour,” Jana said, “then do your make-up. The swelling is almost gone and if we cover up the bruising we'll see your new face properly for the first time.”

I entered the salon through the back door. Before I was allowed to enter the shop I was corseted and dressed in a low cut black dress. “Oh baby, just look at you,” Jana purred. “That cleavage makes me want to lose myself inside you. You're so sexy.”

I was still blushing as I was taken inside and promenaded before Jana's friends. Their surprise at my new appearance was certainly genuine, but I felt their compliments were hollow, made to satisfy Jana, who was clearly popular. I still sensed that they found her choice of partner beyond reason.

I was glad when I no longer had to display myself and I could relax in Jana's chair, although relax is a relative term, given the tightness of the corset. My posture was controlled by the rigid stays which forced my flesh to conform to a new shape.

The mirror was covered and I knew I would have to undergo my makeover without seeing Jana's work. She combed through my hair, which had become unkempt in recent weeks, for the first time since I'd met Jana. “Short hair today, my baby. I want something off your face to show off your new features very clearly. It's going to be quite a bold look. Do you think you can live with it?”

I knew she was taunting me, trying to add to my fear. And she was winning. Despite all that had been done to me in the recent past I was still afraid to have my hair cut short. I'd accepted a bald back and sides, yet the top had still been a bob (short as it was). Now I knew that all of my hair would be cropped close.

“Head down,” Jana ordered. I complied without thought. The comb slid up my nape and scissors clicked rapidly. The lower part of my nape was still so short that barely any hair would protrude past the tines of a comb, but little flecks of hair started to dust the cape as Jana worked higher at the back. She snipped at the back repeatedly, and the sensation, the sounds became hypnotic. I found myself lulled into a trance state, which Jana's silence did nothing to dispel.

Now my head was lifted and tilted toward my right shoulder as Jana continued to snip over the comb, taking the side back to a neatly cropped length. I felt Jana pausing and she caressed my nape. A finger traced a line about half way up my ears.

“Your collar rises to here, baby. Would you like me to shave you this high? A hard line cut into your hair, all smooth below it?”

I shivered as I imagined the effect. The cutting so far had taken my hair very short, but I knew Jana was taking care to leave the cut soft and feminine. A shaved nape would look severe, brutal even.

“Poor Bex, you don't know what to say, do you? You want to feel the lovely smooth shaved scalp but you're afraid how it will look.” I nodded. She understood my turmoil. “It only confuses you when I offer choices. You should have fewer choices in your life. That's how you will be happy, isn't it, baby?”

“Yes Jana,” I smiled, blushing. “You decide what's best for me.”

“Always, Rebecca.” I felt the tips of the scissors touch my scalp, rapidly snapping open and closed, cutting my hair to the skin, tracing a line across the back. Now there was a high whirring sound, the trimmers, not clippers. Jana put the blades to the scissored line and drew them down. She blew away some of the hairs that had gathered, blew to let me feel her breath on my bared scalp, then sheared away more hair.

I felt her fingers stroke my nape, so bald now. “Oh, that feels good, baby.” Her voice was breathy and excited. “I got new trimmers and they cut almost as close as a razor. Feel it.” She interlaced her fingers with mine and together we explored my bare scalp.

“You like to feel the leather against your bare skin, don't you?” I nodded, enraptured. “Before too long I'm going to shave your head fully, baby. And I'm going to have you a hood made of kid skin. The softest leather, like used in gloves. It'll stretch tight over your scalp, like a second skin. You want to know how it feels, don't you?”

She cupped the warm palm of her hand around my nape and I dreamed that it was the hood she'd described, slowly being swept over my head, adhering to the newly shaved skin. “I do, Jana,” I whispered ecstatically.

“One day your dreams of experiencing it will become too much and you'll ask me to shave your head. You can keep some hair until then. The choice will be torture,” she said with a mischievous laugh.

Jana returned to her concentrated, silent demeanour as she recommenced cutting. My crown was being shorn close, still cropped scissor over comb. I was becoming alarmed that no length seemed to be spared on top. I tried to imagine myself with a crop where my hair was no longer than a centimetre. But how could I imagine how it would look when I had, unseen, the features of a stranger?

Frizzy curls tumbled now. I knew that Jana was cutting so short that all of the permed hair was being taken. I silently prayed that she'd relent, show some mercy and leave a little length, softness and femininity through the front. I was rewarded as she combed out a section and gripped it in her fingers before cutting it short. It was probably not more than an inch, but even this seemed a triumph, given how short the rest was.

Once the cut was completed (and Jana had cropped me with notable speed) my hair was covered in bleach. “We're going to do something special with the colour,” she assured me. “But we have to get that black out first.”

After bleaching Jana applied the dye, brushing on colour from five different bowls. I could feel a longer section of hair at the front which had been spared the scissors, but couldn't make sense of how these curls would work with my crop. I'd find out soon, I was sure. When my hair was styled, Jana shaped the longer disconnected hair with tongs: I'd still have a curl to remind me that I'd been permed.

I awaited the revelation of my new image nervously. The make-up had taken longer than ever, and the delay had only intensified my angst. “A little present,” Jana smiled as she looked at her work. “Ever worn contact lenses?” I shook my head.

She pulled down my lower eyelid and told me to look up. I groaned as I saw her finger approach my eye. I was squeamish about eyes and every part of me wanted to resist this, but somehow I couldn't disappoint Jana. I wailed as I felt something cool being dabbed onto my eye. “Blink,” she instructed. I felt the lens slip into place.

“Does it hurt?” she asked. I shook my head. I was aware of something in my eye but it was hardly uncomfortable. “Then stop pulling that aggrieved face!” The second lens was inserted.

Jana fiddled nervously with my hair. I realised that she was more than excited, she was fearful too. I was about to see what I'd become and she was afraid I wouldn't like the face she'd designed for me.

And after so many weeks without a mirror I was looking at myself. I felt a terrible coldness grip me, a shock of dislocation. I wouldn't have recognised myself in a photograph. My face was differently shaped, broader, angular cheekbones protruding through my soft cheeks, and my chin tapered to a delicate point. My nose was tiny, unnaturally so. It was perfectly shaped, however, delicate and button-like, the tip turned up delicately. I'd been fearful of looking piggy after the Doctor's comments, but, mercifully, I wasn't.

My eyes were the hardest change to accept. I'd always had large eyes, but now they seemed even bigger, drawn up at the outer corner. The inside was reshaped and the new shape, a fold concealing the innermost corner, suggested something Asian about my ancestry. I blinked to reassure myself that this girl was me. Her long false lashes fluttered in confirmation.

The contact lenses were a deep blue, and they were far larger that my natural irises, the colour now covering an area of sclera. They added to the exaggerated nature of my features. I'd been turned into a living anime girl, it appeared.

And my lips: so full and pouting now, narrowed by the surgery. The inside of my upper lip was distinctly different, formed into a bow-like form. Jana had painted my lips with a metallic peachy shade, with a soft plum colour subtly blended in at the margins. There was so much gloss that they looked like they were dripping with syrup.

My entire face was boldly coloured, my eyes outlined in black, with upper lids gleaming with a mixture of purple and violet, the lower lid softly accentuated with a soft pink. My brows were thick and angular, but not too dominant because they were marked in a pale indigo (my natural brows were still absent).

And if my face wore an abundance of colour, my hair was no less flamboyant. The short crop was mostly dyed a peacock blue, with the sideburns shading into a watery green. All of the emphasis was on the front of my hair: my wispy fringe swept up on the left side into a long curl, which tumbled softly beside my eye. The curl was a mixture of blue, green and yellow, fine strands discretely coloured.

It was all rather too much for me to take in, and I could only see myself as a series of fragments. I'd been staring for some time at my face before I even became aware of my new body, which I was seeing in a mirror for the first time. The corset altered my silhouette radically, and my hips and thighs looked enormous in contrast to my tightly bound abdomen. But it was my huge breasts which were the biggest change, lifted by the corset, the rings in my nipples obvious under the stretched fabric of my dress.

“You look beautiful, baby,” Jana whispered. I could hear her nervousness, her need to be reassured that I shared her pleasure in what I'd become.

“I am,” I sighed. “I do like it, Jana, but...” She looked at me, her face filled with emotion. “Oh, Jana, I'm going to cry. It's all too much...” And I began sobbing. I had to sit down, so weak that I thought I might faint. The girl I'd seen was beautiful, but she wasn't me. How could I ever accept that the girl I'd always been no longer existed? Would I ever look in a mirror and feel comfortable to see these features that I now wore?

I could barely recall my journey home. I was still sobbing when we entered and Jana put me to bed, having urged me to take a tablet to calm me. I woke much later, feeling a strange dullness which I knew was a result of the pill. I took myself to the bathroom and stared in the mirror, which was now uncovered. Jana had cleaned my face of all cosmetics and I saw my new face unadorned. My nose and eyes were still mottled with yellow and brown bruises, and free of make-up I looked even more extraordinary. My eyes, my lips, my nose were all slightly beyond the natural and in combination I looked decidedly weird. I tried to like my new self but soon I was crying again.

Jana was soon consoling me, but as she put her arms around me she started to sob too. “Oh, my sweet little baby, what have I done? I went too far and I've made you so unhappy. I don't know what to do!”

“I just need to get used to it,” I said. “It's a shock, but you haven't made me unhappy.”

She pressed me tighter to her. “You're trying to make me feel better, but you can't see yourself without tears. How can you say you're not unhappy?”

“Jana, it's the first time I've seen you doubt yourself. You were unsure even before I saw myself. You have to show me you believe.”

“So you're saying it's my fault?”

“Yes,” I smiled. She looked shocked. “Well, I can't say no, can I?”

She laughed and kissed me. “I mean it though. You have to show me that you have absolute faith in my changes, and don't allow me to have doubts. I find it easier when you're firm with me.”

Jana stared into my eyes and her sadness was gone. “I must never be soft with you again. I do love you so much, Rebecca.” She turned me to the mirror and stood behind me. “Look at that girl, she's the sexiest girl I ever saw. She has the cutest little button nose, and big sexy eyes. And her lips just make me want to kiss them all the time. But she's not perfect yet. She's lost weight and I want to see her fill out again. And I want her pierced more and heavily tattooed.” I gasped at Jana's forcefulness. “You'll do everything I want, won't you? And soon.”

“Yes, Jana,” I whispered breathlessly. She kissed my nape and I groaned ecstatically. It had been too long since I'd felt a surge of erotic energy.

“You have the most expensive teeth of anyone I know, but you haven't eaten anything with them. We need to put that right immediately, don't we?” I agreed to a feast in Jana's honour.

We ate an Indian meal, enough food for four, but Jana ate modestly. I'd been unable to muster an appetite following surgery but now Jana insisted that I had to finish everything. Only her persuasiveness could have made me eat more than half of the food she'd provided, yet somehow I emptied every plate. By the end I was filled to Jana's satisfaction.

She kissed me and licked food from my face, which should have repelled me, but somehow made me excited. “Do you remember Kaya?” Jana asked. I'd sensed she'd had something on her mind for the past hour but only now was she sharing her ideas.

“The piercer? Of course.” I blushed as I recalled my abuse at her hands, and realised I was twisting my earlobe, tugging at the piercings she'd given me.

“It's time you got some more work from her. Why don't you give her a call and see if you can't persuade her to come around here one night later this week?”

I was handed Jana's phone, already ringing out to Kaya's number. She answered promptly.

I felt shy and nervous as she said hello. Was I to offer myself to her again? “Hello, Kaya. It's Rebecca. Do you remember me?” She obviously didn't, but then Rebecca is a common enough name. “You pierced my nipples. You played with them a lot first.”

Kaya made a little shocked exclamation. “It's been so long. I didn't think I'd hear from you again. Is Jana well.”

“She is, she's here with me. She thinks it's time you gave me more piercings. Wouldn't you like to come to our home and play with me?” Jana was whispering suggestions in my ear, making me blush with shame. “You can have your way with me. A full hour of freedom to use me as you please. And you should know that my tits got much bigger since we met. Does that please you?”

Kaya sounded like she didn't know what to do with herself. “Yes, Rebecca,” she said, stumbling over her words. “I'd like to meet you very much.”

“Tomorrow night good for you?” She agreed to visit at seven and I told her our address. “You have to provide all the jewellery for my piercings, and of course there was the other fee that Jana mentioned to you.”

“What?” she asked innocently. She'd clearly forgotten Jana's threat.

“Your hair. It's Jana's to do with as she pleases if you want to see me.” I could hear her fear, sympathised with her plight, but at the same time shared Jana's delight in her discomfort.

She tried to negotiate how much could be done but Jana whispered my response. “It's no use, Kaya. If you want me to be yours tomorrow you have to agree to her conditions. Do we still have an appointment?”

She paused as she tried to judge whether she should agree to this but I had no doubts about what she'd say. She was hooked and no matter how much she tried to behave rationally she couldn't fight off her desire. “Yes, I'll be there for seven,” she sighed.

Our guest arrived exactly two minutes early. Jana answered the door and brought her inside. I smiled shyly as she entered. Jana had made me display myself naked on the sofa to ensure that any resistance that lingered in Kaya would be eroded. “Oh, dear god, look at you, Bex,” she gasped. She'd demonstrated that she had a weakness for breasts already and she was entranced by the transformation mine had undergone. She came to kneel before me and slowly extended her hand.

“Uh-uh!” Jana said, blocking her touch. “You know the price for my little princess.” She made a scissoring action with her fingers.

Kaya had clearly gone to some effort to make her long hair look good. Was it a fond farewell to her thick locks, a last chance to enjoy her beautiful hair, or did she think by making it look its best she could make Jana take pity on her and spare her tresses?

A few minutes later her hopes were fading quickly. She was caped and Jana had laid out her tools on a table in her victim's view: combs, brushes, scissors, clippers, trimmer, razors. “Kaya, darling, do you want me to try some pretty styles on you or do you wish me to get you through to your finished look quickly so that you can enjoy your prize?”

“What is the finished look?” Her voice barely sounded, a faint whisper.

“You're going to be bald, of course,” Jana smiled malevolently.

Kaya whimpered pathetically. “Please, that wasn't what we said. Leave me some hair.”

“You're trying to negotiate again. Rebecca, you can get dressed and show our guest out.”

“No, please, Jana. I just... I mean how do I explain going in to work tomorrow with a bald head?”

“I don't really care about tomorrow, but I do want you to have a night you'll remember forever. And don't think tonight will be the last time Rebecca will offer herself to you. Unless of course you walk out now, in which case our relationship is ended forever.”

I looked at her with pity. She was a lovely young woman and Jana was treating her cruelly. Yet I couldn't deny that Jana's and my own desires were identical. “Kaya, you'll look more beautiful than ever. My hair was even longer than yours.”

“Yes, but you're not bald,” Kaya objected, reasonably enough.

Jana took Kaya's hand and put it to my nape, which she'd shaved only an hour previously. “Doesn't that feel delicious, Kaya. Are you really going to deny yourself the pleasure of feeling your head shaved once in your life? Or were you just trying to make Bex get her head shaved too?”

The poor girl didn't know what to say. She just ran her fingers over my soft, smooth nape, obviously pleased by what she felt.

“Don't just have it all shaved off at once, Kaya,” I urged. “Let's have some fun with your hair. Let Jana be creative with you. I'll be here to make it fun for you, I promise.”

Kaya's indecisiveness only seemed to increase as she threw down a few measures of vodka, which were supposed to increase her resolve. But if she couldn't make a clear decision then she was less resistant too. Jana was anything but indecisive. She told Kaya to sit and turned on the clippers. Moments later, the side of Kaya's head was buzzed close to her scalp. I was stunned to see that no guard had been left on the clippers and her long hair was reduced to fine stubble.

She looked sick and asked for a mirror. I held one before her and she moaned sadly. “It's really bald,” she gasped.

“It looks good,” I smiled and kissed the shorn scalp. “Oh Kaya, it feels lovely. Let her do a bigger sidecut.”

A few minutes later the shorn area extended higher up the side and around the back of Kaya's delicate ear, which, appropriately for someone of her profession, was heavily laden with piercings. Jana wasn't content with the closeness of the cut and insisted on lathering her scalp, then shaved it smooth with a straight razor.

Kaya's emotional state lurched between extremes. The razor brought a new wave of fear, just as she seemed to be relaxing into drawing some pleasure from her haircut. I provided another generous measure of vodka to quell her nerves. I knew that she'd be drunk by the time Jana was finished.

“Oh Kaya, that looks so sexy,” I gushed as Jana wiped her scalp clean. “You should have done it ages ago to show off your piercings. And it feels better than it looks.” I caressed her soft scalp then leaned in to kiss it. I'd been exaggerating my enthusiasm to seduce Kaya into letting Jana have her way, but now I started to feel genuinely aroused. Kaya's sideshave looked wonderful.

She blushed at the compliments, stroked the bald scalp nervously. She agreed to Jana's request for some photographs. As Jana recorded this transitory style she said: “Mohawk next, Kaya. That will make you look so sexy!”

Kaya was putty in her hands now, but she was also drinking at an alarming rate. I was supposed to be receiving piercings from this woman. I whispered my concerns to Jana. “Yes, she's in no state to pierce you. Never mind, she can always come back another night.” Jana winked at me and I blushed to think that Kaya would start to visit regularly.

Soon we were all naked. I couldn't hide my excitement at seeing Kaya's body, nor could I feel comfortable with Jana present. Jana had a beautiful body, slim, toned, soft, but Kaya was much heavier and had a lot of tattoos. There was an earthiness to her beauty that contrasted with Kaya's but which I found irresistible. I found myself looking at Jana, afraid that if I showed my enthusiasm she'd be jealous and angry. She seemed to sense my unease and kissed me.

“Relax. You can do anything you please with Kaya and she can do anything she pleases with you. You're off the leash tonight,” she whispered, then dragged Kaya back into the chair.

There was hair everywhere now as the left side of her head was shaved. It was immediately apparent to me that Jana was shaving a lot more from this side, but Kaya seemed unaware, her inebriation dulling her senses, but silencing her inhibitions. I held up a mirror as Jana finished shaving her.

“Oh fuck!” she moaned, her hand flying up to her scalp. “You shaved loads more on that side!”

“Yes, you look amazing,” I whispered. I started to suck at her nipple, which was pierced with a thick bar. I loved pulling it out with my teeth, feeling the soft tip stretch around the metal.

“I'll have to get the sides to match, won't I?” Jana asked her.

“Mmmmm, yes,” Kaya moaned, but probably in response to my attentions rather than Jana's query. “Harder,” she demanded of me.

I played as hard as I could, making Kaya feel delight, as Jana worked her magic with my new lover's hair. The back was still long but she cut the top much shorter, sculpted it with hairspray and tongs until it swept sideways across her forehead and curled into a stiff roll. Pin-up and punk styles merged beautifully.

Kaya giggled as she saw a mirror. “It's gorgeous. I know I'll be in shock tomorrow when I see how much I let you shave but it's just adorable. And the sides do feel so... mmmmm. I get all horny when I feel them.”

Jana took more pictures, but these were much more explicit, Kaya and I indulging in the pleasures that two happy young women will enjoy when they're drunk and naked.

“Oh, did you bring the stretchers?” Jana asked.

“Yeah, in the bag.”

I was now subjected to Jana's and Kaya's attentions. Kaya held my arms behind my back as Jana (the only one who was sober) applied the new devices to my nipples. She took out my piercings and pulled my left nipple through a wire ring which was fitted with vertical rods, almost an inch long, ending in upturned semicircles. She fitted my piercing with a bar, then pulled it out and fixed it into the ends of the rods. My nipple was stretched until it stung.

“Ow, it hurts,” I squealed.

“Shut the fuck up, Bex,” Kaya slurred.

“Yeah, Bex, shut the fuck up,” Jana added. “You're Kaya's slut for the night so no complaining.”

I moaned as they spoke to me so demeaningly. I realised guiltily that it was a big turn on.

My nipples were drawn out into taut strips now, and Kaya told me that I'd be wearing these stretchers a lot now. “Jana wants you to have nice big jewellery in your nipples and these will help to grow the holes. They look so hot too.” She enveloped my nipple in her lips and let her tongue stud click against the stretcher and the bar. I moaned at each touch.

For the next hour I served Kaya and I loved every moment. I was forbidden to orgasm until she said so and it was almost impossible at times to control myself, as she explored every orifice. Finally I was allowed to let my control slide as she penetrated me with a strap-on while working her hands frantically over the taut skin of my breasts. I felt an explosion of joy, pulling away the strap-on and eating Kaya to bring her to orgasm before my own subsided.

Her cry of shock made me look up. Jana had taken a rough hold of her hair and was clippering away the long locks at the back of her head. Kaya was in the throes of pleasure, but fearfully pleading for mercy. She'd supposed that Jana's desire to cut her hair had been sated by her mohawk but now I saw that she was mistaken.

Kaya was sobbing but as Jana slid the blades over the top of her head she started to cum again with increased force.

“You're not in any state to pierce poor little Bex, so I'm going to keep you bald for a while as a punishment. You agree, don't you, Kaya?”

She looked broken as she nodded her head.

Jana made her endure a full shave, eyebrows too. I couldn't stop fingering myself as I watched, always reassuring Kaya that she looked very sexy. We were taken to sit before the large mirror in our bedroom and Jana asked me to say something about how I thought Kaya looked now.

“She suits being bald,” I smiled. “I like how embarrassed she looks too, I can't deny it. She was made to be a sub, and a bald head brings out her submissiveness perfectly. She looks very sexy and the shaved brows just add the finishing touch. She looks kind of weird, which I adore. And she'll look beautiful in a different way with brows drawn on. She did have pretty hair though. It's a shame that's all gone.”

I knew my last sentiment would hurt Kaya but I couldn't resist. I wanted to add to her humiliation, and I knew that at some level she'd love me for it. I was certain I was right when she leaned over and kissed me.

“And, Kaya, you never said much about the changes to Bex, other than your obvious delight at her titties. Tell her what you think about how she looks now.”

Kaya looked at me in the mirror. “Well... she's very fat now, that's the most obvious thing about her. And those enormous fake boobs, she looks like a girl who wants attention for all the wrong reasons, but I know that she's a slut, so they suit her. Her face... she went too far. The work is really obvious. She looks like an alien now, where she used to look pretty.”

I started to regret being so direct with Kaya. She was being far more intense in her description of me. It was hard to hear myself described like this, but I knew this was satisfying some deep, dark desire.

“So she's not pretty, exactly, but she is so sexy. I just want her so bad.”

Jana smiled. “I bet you two are getting horny, hearing each other talking like this.” We both nodded shyly. “Kaya, if you want to keep visiting you have to keep your head shaved. And I can't promise I'll let you back in any time soon. You have to shave every day or you'll never be allowed near Bex again. Do you agree?”

She nodded without hesitation. I sensed that it wouldn't be long before I was with Kaya again.

Now that my healing was well under way, Jana gleefully started my training with the appliances that the Doctor had made for me. I was initially very unhappy. The corset was painfully constricting and made my breasts ache, but Jana was insistent that the pain would pass once my body had adjusted. The neck corset was even more problematic. Extended periods bound into the brace made my neck ache and I would develop terrible headaches. This was alleviated to some extent by adjustments to the posture and soon I could wear it for hours without such intense suffering.

Even so, it was hardly a comfortable appliance. My head was held so firmly that I had almost no movement and the padding was suffocating. But within a couple of weeks I found that I'd not just become tolerant of the tightness of my corsets but actually welcomed the sensation of being swaddled. Something about this tightness made me feel safe and calm, and brought me closer yet to Jana, whose delight in seeing me corseted was always evident.

“I'd love to make you wear your neck corset so much that your muscles waste away and you cant keep your head upright without it,” she teased. “I'll only take it off when you have to get a haircut (although that will be very often now) and when I do your head will flop around so much that I'll have to get one of the junior stylists to hold your head in place. Maybe I'll even make you get Botox injections in your neck to make it weak so that you become reliant more quickly. Then you'll never be able to go anywhere without your neck brace.”

I blushed at the threat. On the few occasions I'd worn the neck corset outside I was acutely embarrassed. It drew a lot of attention. If most people's immediate assumption was that it was a medical aid, a closer examination made it apparent that it was worn entirely for hedonistic reasons. And yet the threat of being made to display my perversions publicly only made me feel an intense longing.

The corset induced more equivocal feelings in Jana. She adored how it sculpted my figure, but wearing it made me unable to binge as she liked. The constriction of my stomach meant that I could only eat a small meal before I reached satiety, as we discovered when I was taken to a restaurant in the garment. I was almost in tears as I admitted that I couldn't even manage half of the generous meal. “I'll be sick if I eat any more,” I confided. Jana was understanding but clearly disappointed. She was eager for me to regain the weight I'd lost during my convalescence but wanted to control my belly from becoming too large, to push the increase onto hips, buttocks, thighs.

We found that when I was corseted I had to prolong my meals over hours, eating a little at a time. We experimented with gorging, then fitting the corset, but it couldn't be fitted tightly when I was full and the constriction of my bloated belly was so uncomfortable that I begged Jana not to do this to me. We reluctantly accepted that the corset had to be denied me on the days when I would binge.

My hair had grown out a little since my crop. Jana had let it alone for over a month but one morning (her day off from the salon) before we'd even had breakfast she ordered me into our beauty room.

I smiled at her in the mirror as she played with my hair. “I think it's time we went and saw how our piercer friend is doing. Of course we need you to look at your sexiest. Otherwise she might just be able to resist our naughty suggestions.” I was already getting excited and agreed eagerly.

“She likes you looking a bit weird so I think we should lose your eyebrows again, baby.” My pleasure was suddenly soured. I'd been pleased to see my brows growing back, even if they were shaped somewhat thinner than my preference. Jana was surely aware of my anxiety (she read my facial expressions with perspicacity and seemed to miss nothing) but gave not even a hint of acknowledgement. “I think we should pluck today. Best to go with something that will keep them smooth a bit longer. You, do agree, don't you Bex?”

“Yes Jana,” I sighed, aware that she wasn't going to tolerate any dissent. I winced as she smeared hot wax over my thin brows. I gave a little yelp as she tore away the strip she'd pressed over the wax, dragging the fine hairs out at the roots.

“You were made to go without brows,” Jana whispered. “I love how it makes you look. Maybe I'll have them permanently removed.” I couldn't suppress a groan of indignation. “Or maybe I'll just do one to embarrass you for your timidity. Make you go around with one eyebrow until you beg me to finish the job.”

I wailed. “Oh Jana, stop tormenting me. You know I find no eyebrows difficult but you know I can't ever resist you. And don't pretend that you don't love it when I get scared at your ideas. I think you'd be devastated if I ever became blasé about your proposals.”

She snorted. “Don't think that's ever going to happen. I can always find more extremes. You haven't got a single tattoo yet, have you?”

I blushed. “No Jana.”

“You are right though. I do love to see your pretty little cheeks get all flushed as you try to come to terms with becoming my perfect vision of beauty. You're well on your way. You're the most gorgeous little thing I ever saw.”

She chose my moment of pride at her compliment to tear out my left eyebrow. I hardly had time to react before she was tidying the few hairs that had remained, plucking them free with tweezers. She smoothed a cool gel over the reddened skin, soothing the burning. “You look better already,” she smiled.

My hair was now trimmed close over the sides, Jana cutting it with scissors, but snipping over a thin comb so that the sides were as short as they would have been had she used a number two guard on the clippers, graduated so that there was a little more length higher on the sides. The texture was softer though, none of the uniform bristliness that the clippers gave. The back was cut to a similar length but the lower nape needed to be shorter to fulfil Jana's vision. I felt the clippers fizzing up my nape, pressing tight to my scalp. “How short?” I asked.

“What do you think?” Jana laughed. She was tapering a line, level with the tops of my ears.

“Oh, shit, it's not going to be bald up to there, is it?”

She remained silent, but answered my question by spreading my nape with lather. “Head down,” she whispered. I bowed my head and let her drag the razor up my neck, high on my nape. “Oh, Bex, that does look a bit much. I've shaved it so high, haven't I?” Her taunting had me breathless, embarrassed but hopelessly turned on. “But I had to do it for you. I know how you love the feeling of the leather of your neck brace pressing on newly shaved skin. Do you want me to put it on now?”

“Let me see it first.” Jana indulged me and I sighed as I saw the back of my head. She was right. “It is a bit much,” I agreed. The shave had made my cut an unmistakeable expression of Jana's fetish (my fetish too, I have to admit).

Jana stroked my nape then kissed it. “A bit much, but you love it, baby. I think for the time being I'll keep your nape shaved smooth. I know you feel ashamed at how it looks but it's worth it for how sexy it makes you feel, isn't it?”

“Oh, Jana,” I purred, hopelessly unable to resist her. “I just want to cum right now.”

“No, baby. You need to control yourself. I want you to be a little time bomb of eroticism when you see Kaya. If you can't learn to self-discipline I'll have to consider the Doctor's suggestions: a chastity device or even a spell in training with another domme.”

I shook my head. “Please no, I'll be good. I couldn't bear to be separated from you. And I'd be so unhappy if someone else was in charge of me. I only want to be yours.”

“Oh, I know that isn't true.” She took the long curl from the side of my fringe and snipped it off. “I've seen how you are with Kaya. You love her too, don't you? You won't say no if I let you have her for another night, even if it does mean you'll end up sore and with lots of new jewellery.”

“Well Kaya's different. I know you like her too.” Now she was combing up little sections from the top of my head and snipping through to neaten my short crop.

“We're not talking about what I like. Or do you just want me to force you to put on a show for me with lots of other women?”

I shook my head. “Please, Jana, I'll be disciplined. I'll learn to control myself.”

“Well... We'll see. If you can prove you can contain yourself then maybe I'll spare you the training. But you do want to be Kaya's little slut don't you?” I could barely bring myself to nod, so ashamed was I by my urges. “Oh, my poor little baby! She'll have you looking like a pincushion! Your cute little ears will have so much metal in them. Your puss too I shouldn't doubt.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Don't let her go too far. Please, Jana.”

“But that's the deal,” she giggled. “If she does as I ask then you do as she wishes. She can pierce you anywhere she chooses. We'll keep her sober this time though. I don't want her to mess up.”

“Oh, shit, Jana. I'm not sure about this. She seems to like a lot of piercings. You don't want me with loads of metal in my face do you?”

“Awww, is that what's worrying you? You're worried I won't like you? It's fine baby, I like lots of facial piercings. I'm sure I'll approve of everything Kaya does to you.”

I looked at myself as Jana finished dressing me. My hair looked more conventional than it had since my transformation had begun (at least from the front where my bald nape wasn't visible): a neat, boyish crop, the top swept back in a little quiff. Even the colour was surprisingly normal, a bright, pale blonde. But as if to compensate my make-up was more extreme than anything I'd worn before. My eyes were thickly adorned with an oily black, jagged points sweeping out from my lids toward my temples. I was wearing new contacts too, large bright blues irises adding to my strangeness. My lips were glossed with deep red and violet.

I was corseted and dressed in a tight red silk dress, frilled with black lace. My neck corset was in place and I was wearing ankle boots with platform soles and huge heels. I knew that I was going to attract a lot of attention today.

We arrived at Kaya's shop shortly before midday. We entered and asked the receptionist if she was available. She came out from the back and looked embarrassed to see us. She quickly ushered us through to a small room.

“Hello, Kaya, honey,” Jana said, kissing her. “Are you ashamed to be seen with us?”

“No, no,” she said, stumbling over her words. “It's just that I... Well, I thought... More private?”

Jana stroked her head. There was a noticeable layer of dark stubble covering her scalp. “I thought I'd asked you to shave your head.”

“I have kept it shaved,” she insisted. “I got up late today, I was going to do it later.”

“I said you were to shave every day. Are you telling me this was shaved yesterday?”

“No,” Kaya said apologetically. “The day before, I think.”

“Your hair must really grow fast. I'd estimate three or four days.”

“I'm sorry. It's just that I hadn't heard from you and I thought you'd forgotten our agreement.”

“Of course I didn't. You still owe Bex some work, don't you? I am disappointed that you have eyebrows again though. Sit down.”

Kaya did as she was told but looked uncomfortable. “What are you doing?” she asked. She looked close to panic.

“Bex, rub her hair with oil,” Jana instructed. I smiled as I poured some of the perfumed oil into my palms and started to massage it into Kaya's scalp. She looked up at me, smiling nervously. Her fear of the situation couldn't mask her pleasure at my gentle touch.

Jana indicated that I should work from behind. I moved aside and now Jana scrubbed the heavy make-up from Kaya's face. “For being a naughty girl I'm going to deny you make-up for the next month. You'll be proudly showing off your baldness, Kaya.” She looked hurt but couldn't bring herself to resist. She did, however, groan as Jana reminded me to oil her eyebrows.

Jana took a wooden case from her bag and took out a straight razor. She oiled a stone and gently sharpened the blade. “What did your friends think of your bald head?”

“Not everyone liked it. I'd been seeing someone and she hated it. We split over it.”

“Ah, poor little Kaya. Did you hear that, Bex? Kaya's single now because she shaved her head for you.”

“That is a pity. She looks so lonely.”

“Yes, makes me want to take pity on her. Maybe we should let her spend more time in our home. Would you like that, Kaya? We can appreciate a girl with or without hair.” Kaya nodded, smiled shyly, but then her face tensed as Jana tautened the skin of her forehead and shaved away her eyebrows.

I watched entranced as Jana shaved away the stubble. The blade darkened with oil flecked with specks of hair, but where it had passed pure, pale skin was left. Jana smiled as the shave neared completion. “You look so different now, Kaya. Blank, filled with potential to be remade. Submissive. Does that make you happy?” Kaya looked embarrassed, shy. “If not happy, horny?” She nodded.

“Now I did say if you failed to shave every day that you'd never be allowed to see Bex again, and you did fail. If I'm going to forgive you then you have to be punished.” Kaya looked at her pleadingly.

“You said I'd not be allowed make-up. I promise I'll stick to that.”

“Oh that was for lying about when you last shaved. For not shaving you have to agree to having your eyelashes plucked.”

She looked like she was going to cry and I felt sad that Jana was treating her so cruelly, but I couldn't deny that I found it very arousing too. “Do say yes, Kaya,” I whispered. “I don't want you to be gone from my life all because of a few silly hairs.” She nodded.

She was passed a pair of tweezers and I watched as she tugged some lashes from the centre of her right upper lid. Soon a gap was very noticeable in her thick dark lashes. She was shaking so much now that she was barely able to continue her task. Jana took pity on her and asked me to finish the job.

I braced my hand against her cheek so that I could pluck her with a steady hand. She winced at each pluck but remained silent. I was so concentrated on my job that I was astonished to see how strange Kaya looked when I took in her newly bared eyes. Jana looked on, smiling beatifically. She looked delighted as she allowed Kaya to see herself. Her reflection provoked tears.

“I love this look,” Jana said. “So submissive. Let out all that shock and sadness. In two minutes you'll go and show your colleagues how you look now, then we'll all go out for lunch. You can take an hour for lunch, can't you? You hardly seem busy.”

Kaya nodded, but was too choked to speak.

“Because you've atoned for your mistakes you'll be at our house tonight. You can have Bex for a couple of hours. An hour to play and an hour to pierce her. That'll improve your mood, I'm sure.”

She looked at me, a mixture of astonishment, lust, query, as if she wanted me to confirm this wasn't some trap. I could barely hold her gaze. Suddenly her vulnerability seemed to reflect back on me as I realised the price I'd have to pay.

“I had something planned tonight but of course I'll cancel it.”

“Of course. You have to show me you can be obedient now, Kaya,” Jana said and sealed the agreement with a kiss. She wiped her eyes of tears and told her that it was time for Kaya to face her colleagues.

As I saw her shyly make her way into the reception area, where her colleagues had assembled to chat since there was little work at this time, I felt keenly her humiliation. I remembered how pretty her hair had been, but now Kaya was so bald that not even an eyelash remained. I felt more intensely how difficult it would be for her to spend a month without make-up to compensate for her hairless eyes. The looks of surprise, shock even, from her friends made Kaya wince with shame. “Christ, what did you do?” someone asked.

“She looks so beautiful, doesn't she?” Jana said, and stroked her scalp. “Don't be shy, you're much more beautiful with a nice bald head, Kaya.” She couldn't lift her head as she stammered that she was taking an hour for lunch with her friends. What must they have made of Jana, so beautiful, with her strange companions?

Now it was my turn for nervousness, to feel a fear of how my appearance would be changed. I kept dwelling on Kaya's feelings as she exposed herself to the eyes of her friends after her transformation. I knew by tomorrow I'd experience a similar insecurity about my appearance. Jana did nothing to comfort me, in fact she delighted in taunting me.

“Kaya was good enough to let you pluck her eyelashes and she's agreed to be hairless for a month. I think the least you can do to thank her is to let her pierce you a few times. I'm not going to put any limits on what she does to you except that she only has two hours with you. If she wants to spend all two hours putting holes in you then so be it. I guess you could get a lot of piercings in that time.”

I hugged Jana tight to me. “Please, love, you don't want me to look like a freak, do you? I don't like it when girls have loads of piercings in their lips and nose. You wouldn't want her to do that to me?”

She ran her finger over my lips which still felt tender and tight from the surgery. “I'm going to put her in charge, baby. But if you're hinting that you want her to focus away from your face... Should I let her know that you want her to concentrate on genital piercings?”

“No!” I wailed. “That's not what I meant at all and well you know it.”

She giggled mischievously. “I'm sorry, Rebecca, but this is how it has to be. I like seeing you with Kaya but there's a little grain of jealousy in me. I want to see you enjoy yourself, but at the same time I want you to be punished for pleasuring yourself with another. Somehow this set up seems just perfect. When you're with Kaya there has to be some suffering. But I know that deep down you want it anyway. You want to feel Kaya hurting you and making you look like a freak.”

I tried to weakly protest, but she silenced me with her lips. I was so aroused that I had to consider that maybe she was right. “You'll not wear any make-up tonight, Bex. I think it's best, since it would have to come off when she's piercing you. You'll look so pretty together, all bare and natural.” I nodded my agreement but as my face was cleaned of the painted mask I felt ugly. I was still uncomfortable with my new features and the lack of brows troubled me.

“She'll be here soon,” Jana smiled. “You will be good for her, won't you?” I nodded. She looked thoughtful. “Poor Kaya, she's all alone. Would you like her to be with us more? I mean a more concrete relationship, maybe even look at her moving in?”

I was very surprised by this suggestion. “You mean the three of us living as girlfriends?” She nodded.

“Of course she'd have to agree to be my sub. I'd insist that she gains weight too. I might let her control your piercings and tattoos. I'm sure if I suggested that she could choose that she'd be quite unable to resist anything I asked of her.”

I sat looking at Jana, open mouthed. Kaya was herself heavily tattooed and I suspected that if she were given freedom I would soon be more modified than her. My thoughts were interrupted by the doorbell.

“Oh, she's early. I'm so pleased you like the idea,” Jana gushed, despite my lack of actual agreement to her proposal. “We'll discuss it with her at the end of the night, I don't want her distracted while she's working on you.”

Jana showed Kaya into the bedroom where I'd been instructed to display my naked body, open and receptive. She looked shy as she undressed, and I stared at her fascinated. I was still unused to her strange, hairless face and as she came beside me I kissed her tenderly. Poor Kaya was being made to endure a lot by Jana. “I love you as a blonde,” she whispered. I sensed her nervousness, her discomfort that every caress was made under the eye of Jana who was now my watchful procuress.

Kaya's attentions turned to my breasts (no surprise there, she made no secret of her proclivities) and tugged at my nipples. The flesh had been subject to regular treatment with the stretchers that Kaya had previously provided and had hypertrophied. Now I felt new stretchers being fitted which made my nipples sting, since these exerted a greater tension than my accustomed appliances.

“I'll put much bigger rings in your nipples later,” Kaya promised. “I know it hurts, Bex. Does it make you sad when I hurt you?”

“No, Kaya,” I whispered. “I like it, I want you to hurt me.”  I blushed to hear myself say these words. I felt a mixture of emotions. I was saying this to please Kaya, I was sure, telling her what she wanted to hear, giving her license to use me as she pleased without guilt. I felt a horror at allowing this, fearful of the hurt that she would inflict, perhaps more fearful still that I did want her to hurt me.

Her mouth opened and descended over my breast, sucking the nipple in, then her tongue delicately traced a path over the taut flesh. I stared at Jana who was undressing, but not for a moment did her eyes look away from mine. She slumped in a chair, legs wide open and let her hand start to move rhythmically over her sex.

I felt Kaya rise and she stroked my head, bidding me to lie back. “I should hurt you, then. You have such gorgeous lips and I want to see a piercing in them right now. Finger yourself all the time while I pierce you.”

I was almost in tears now as Kaya prepared the necessary tools, which were all contained in the large leather bag she'd brought. I rubbed at myself desperately, eager to take my mind off the impending suffering. I glanced at Jana who was continuing to pleasure herself, staring at me, her lovely face showing no emotion. The whole situation felt unreal, nightmarish.

Kaya pulled at my lower lip and I felt a clamp close on it. Then she touched the needle to me. “It's a big piercing you need, isn't it, slut?”

“Yes, Kaya,” I slurred. I groaned as I felt the needle scratch my skin. Then the pressure increased greatly and I wailed. My hand moved automatically as if seeking solace for my suffering. Still the pain increased, a throbbing energy that made my head ache. I felt a wave of cold nausea seeping through me, thought I might lose consciousness. There was an awful feeling of a decrease in tension as the punch popped through the inside surface of my lips. A glance at Jana did nothing to console me. Her studied nonchalance had dissolved and she looked at me with frank astonishment.

“Shit, she's bleeding,” Jana gasped. I became aware of something warm trickling down over my chin. Kaya smiled with a perverse satisfaction.

I was barely aware of how the jewellery was fitted, my only perceptions were those of more pain. A mirror was thrust in my face and I saw a huge bead nestling beneath my lip, maybe seven millimetres in diameter. My chin was streaked with blood and I shuddered as Kaya lowered her face to mine but, instead of the kiss I'd expected, merely lapped at the fresh blood. She made a breathy moan that left me in no doubt as to how excited she'd become.

“You're still bleeding,” she said passionately. She lay on her back and bid me lie on top of her, my bulky frame pressing heavily. She urged me to put all of my weight on my breasts. “Drip your blood into my mouth,” she ordered. I took a strange delight in her vampiric desires.

She pulled me tight to her. “You've got so fat, haven't you, Bex? I love you like this, you're so pretty and sexy.”

“You're drinking a fat girl's blood,” I teased. “It's very rich. I wouldn't be surprised if you got fat too.” I glanced at Jana who winked at me.

“Oh, really? Would you like that?” Kaya asked.

“Well I wouldn't object. I used to feel so guilty about my weight but now I've accepted that I can be big and sexy. And I've started to appreciate that other girls are cute when they're fat too.”

She pulled on the rings in my breasts making me squeal. “You're a very naughty girl, Bex. You shouldn't try to influence me. That's not your job, is it? Your job is to make me feel happy.”

“Oh, I think I can do that. And naughty or not, I can see that the idea of stuffing yourself intrigues you.”

Kaya was blushing now, but she refused to admit that I was right. I saw her glancing at Jana, and I knew that she was afraid that if she showed the slightest interest in gaining then she'd open herself up to Jana exerting control to fatten her.

“Let's see if you want to keep pushing this,” Kaya said firmly, pulling a needle from the bag. “I'm sure I can take your mind off trying to persuade me to do things I don't want.”

She was right. I was soon groaning in agony as Kaya pierced my clit hood and fitted it with a long curved bar. “What's wrong, Rebecca?” she mocked. “Not in the mood for talking now?”

“Oh shit, that's sore,” I whined.

“I think a few ear decorations would look nice since you have such short hair and your pretty little ears are always visible. Think you can bear to have a dozen ear piercings?”

Since my ears had three studs in each lobe, plus the tragus, I calculated that this would mean five more. My first encounter with Kaya had resulted in five new holes in my ears, which I'd borne fairly easily. I agreed to her proposal (realistically I knew I had no choice) but knew this would be considerably more problematic. My lobes were pierced to capacity and I fully expected that cartilage would cause more pain when it was pierced.

My expectation wasn't wrong. By the third piercing in my right ear I was in tears. My entire ear seemed to be a heavy slab of burning flesh hanging from the side of my head. Each new injury seemed to cause more pain than the previous, which had caused the flesh to swell and sensitise. I felt Kaya preparing me for another piercing in that same ear.

“Please Kaya, can you do the rest on the other ear?” I pleaded.

“Really? You want the other nine in your left ear?”

“But you said I'd have a dozen piercings and I already had seven.”

She laughed at my shocked reaction. “I meant twelve more piercings. You're only a quarter of the way there, Bex.”

I looked over to Jana to mediate but she shrugged. “If Kaya wants you to have the piercings, you get them, as long as she's done within the agreed time. If you're going to be disobedient I'll add a punishment and you'll really be sorry.”

Kaya kissed me triumphantly, but even that only caused pain as she pressed at my new labret. I felt despair as I allowed her to stab another needle through the top of my right ear. It pierced through two points and a minute later an industrial had been fitted through my ear. “Two holes but one piercing,” Kaya smiled cruelly.

By the time she was finished my ears were weighed down with numerous new piercings and heavy titanium jewellery. If my sobbing had reduced it was only through exhaustion.

“You've cost me a fortune tonight, Bex,” Kaya sighed. “All this jewellery! You should at least pretend you're grateful.”

“I'm sorry, I just can't bear this much pain.”

“We're not done yet. How long have I got left, Jana?”

There was a further twenty minutes of Kaya's control for me to bear. She'd left the worst till last. The piercing of my septum felt brutal since she was determined I'd wear a thick ring. Then her attention turned to my nipples. She made me watch as long dermal punches were prodded firmly through the stretched flesh, and I came close to fainting as I saw little red trickles well from the wounds. The holes were fitted with vertical bars before she released the stretchers. Nor was my suffering over. The existing piercings had their rings removed only for much thicker and heavier rings to be forced home. The tugging and straining was almost unbearable after having just endured a new piercing.

“That's enough for tonight,” Jana said, kissing Kaya tenderly. “I hope her snivelling didn't disappoint you. I hoped she might be braver.”

Kaya looked at me and smiled. “Not at all. I think I'd have been disappointed if she'd been Stoical. I don't think I've ever been happier.”

Jana hardly acknowledged my suffering and chose this moment to fit me with my neck corset. I grunted as she fastened it, aware that it had been adjusted to lift my head more than ever. I knew that it would soon become uncomfortable. Kaya cooed with delight. “Oh, I do love how that looks on her. You're such a lucky woman, Jana.”

“Oh, I am. But we've been having a discussion and I have a proposal. We'd like you to become part of our household. We both like you very much and we'd like to have you here. I'd also like you to take charge of Rebecca's tattoos. I can't decide what sort of look she needs and I think with your expertise you might be better placed to decide for her.”

She looked at me with astonishment and I looked down shyly. I couldn't believe that someone who could have caused me so much pain would now be allowed to choose permanent changes.

Jana continued: “Of course, in return you'll be expected to give back. The first demand would be something Rebecca hinted at earlier. You'd gain weight for me.”

Kaya looked nervous now. “How much?” she said, her voice filled with emotion.

“Oh, honey, don't ask. I can see you won't say no. Even if I said you had to be over four hundred pounds you couldn't say no to me, could you?”

Kaya winced. “I hope it doesn't come to that, but... No, I don't think I could.”

“Not when you'll have my devotion to you, and Rebecca's too. And I can see how excited you are about being in complete control of her modifications.”

“There won't be any limits?” Kaya asked, looking like she expected to wake at any moment.

“Nothing more will be done to her without my agreement, but I'd consider anything.”

“So if I wanted facial tattoos..?”

“You'd want that?” Jana looked surprised but her tone suggested she wasn't opposed to it. I felt terrified.

“Maybe something on temples, or edges of her cheeks.”

“I'm sure if you could find something pretty I'd be persuaded. It'll make you look sexy, won't it, Bex?”

I stared at her in shocked silence.

“I want your answer now, Kaya. If you say no there'll be no further contact between us.”

“How could I say no? I've been obsessed with you and Bex since we met. I'd be honoured to be your... is girlfriend the right word?”

“Sure, why not?” Jana laughed and kissed her. “Rebecca, kiss your new girlfriend.”

I did as I was bid, not without pain as my lip pressed on the new piercing.

“I suppose there's some sort of hierarchy here, with Bex as the most submissive. I'm not sure it's right for Bex to have nice hair while Kaya is bald. Would you like to offer your hair to Kaya so that you look more submissive?” I looked at Jana in silence. I tried to shake my head but the neck brace was so tight that I'm sure no movement was discernible. “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” Jana laughed. She turned to Kaya. “Go and fetch me my clippers and straight razor.”

I tried to face the loss of my hair with bravery but I felt despair as I knelt before Jana, who immediately pushed the bare blades through the top of my head. I glanced up at Kaya and saw that she was recording my humbling on her phone. I managed to hold my emotion in check until Jana shaved the sides. She folded down my ear to ensure that all of the hair was shorn, but even this gentle touch on my wounded ears was too much and I started to sob.

“There, there, baby, it's ok. You'll look pretty without your hair, and you won't stay bald. I've always wanted to see you bald and it's best we do this while your hair's short.”

“Maybe she should get a scalp tattoo,” Kaya suggested. “If she's not going to stay bald maybe we should do that first.”

I felt Jana spread my head with lather. “Oh, wow, that would be hot. Of course, Kaya, if Rebecca is going to agree to that, I'm going to insist that you get a scalp tattoo as well. When you make her do something really brave you'll have to make a sacrifice too.”

I blinked away my tears to focus on her reaction, praying that this threat would make her reconsider. “I think I'd like it,” she said solemnly. “Very much.”

“Oh, how sexy!” Jana gasped. “I'm imagining my two favourite girls sitting side by side in big barber chairs with a tattooist working on each of your heads at the same time. You know, I think by this time next week, my vision is going to be a reality.”

“Oh god, so soon?” Kaya asked.

“I want you to find suitable artists in the next day or two. Then we can make the arrangements for your tattoos.” I felt the razor scratch over the top of my head, shearing through the soft stubble. “It's not every girl who gets her first tattoo to cover her bald head, is it baby? You'll look stunning.”

Jana wielded the razor with expertise. Even so, my rigid head position was a challenge and she had to kneel alongside me as the sides were shaved. I wailed again at each touch of my ears. They were so sensitive that they felt like they'd been stripped of their skin.

I experienced something like a panic attack as I was allowed to rise and see myself in a full length mirror. My eyes were sticky and red from crying; my face, ears, breasts were smeared with blood. It was shocking to see just how much metal hung from my ears, so much that I was barely able to discern separate pieces of jewellery. It seemed to my tired perceptions that my ears had been woven with blobs of molten silver. Almost all of the rings were of thick titanium, not the fine wire which I'd worn prior to meeting Kaya. The septum piercing was of similar dimensions, three millimetres thick, the bead which locked the ring hanging to the edge of my lip.

And then there was my bald head. I hated how it looked. My head was so round and bulged so that I looked like a freakishly huge baby. “Don't you like all my work on you?” Kaya asked.

“I... like it but the blood makes me uneasy,” I said. I realised that I was afraid of her sadism.

“Here, I have some pills. You should take these, they'll take away the pain but they'll make you sleepy.” I gladly swallowed them and prayed for them to numb me.

Soon Kaya was dabbing at my ears with great delicacy. They were still tender but I could feel nothing of the rawness I'd felt earlier and knew that the pills had worked. I started to zone out, and would suddenly be called back to consciousness after moments when I became absorbed in thought, or perhaps its absence.

I felt my eyes being bathed and when I saw a mirror I looked fresher at least, if no less freakish. I started to feel a new wave of distress as I saw that Jana had tweezers. “Not my eyelashes, please,” I begged her, but my voice was weak and etiolated. I started to doubt I'd made myself heard at all as the tweezers were pressed into my hand and I clumsily plucked some lashes from the side of my left upper lid.

“She's too doped up to do it. Let me fix her,” Kaya said with vigour. I felt her come close, towering over me, and begin to tear out my lashes.

If the sensation was repulsive at least it caused me little pain. The drugs had numbed me to the point where I was having difficulty remaining awake. It seemed like a dream state as I saw my new image in the mirror. Kaya was laughing, saying that she loved how submissive I looked now. I was too confused to comprehend my situation and was glad when I felt myself being put to bed.

I woke the following morning feeling great distress. I'd slept in my neck brace and it had caused an ache through neck and shoulders. The collar had accumulated clippings from my haircut and the skin itched in places that I couldn't reach.

I immediately reached up to feel my head. I felt pure, smooth skin and groaned as I realised I had indeed been shaved. Then I stroked at my eyelids which felt so strange without the long hairs that had been there all my life.

My entire body seemed to ache from the numerous piercings I'd been subject to. There were points of pain from ears, nose, clitoris but there was also a diffuse pain which seemed to engulf my entire body. If I felt some arousal at my treatment at Kaya's hands I was frustrated in my ability to express it: my breasts and genitals were too sore to bear any touch.

And if my physical pain made me feel upset, there was a greater agony from the realisation that I'd slept in the single bed in the spare room. That led me to believe that Jana and Kaya were together in the bed which until now only I'd shared with Jana. I started to imagine that I'd been duped into accepting Kaya into my home, that now my position would become one of suffering and humiliation, that soon I'd be replaced in Jana's affections by Kaya, and that I'd be discarded and alone again.

I lay awake, suffering for an hour before I decided I had to get up. As soon as I'd sat up I saw a note on the bedside cabinet. “More pills to help you sleep. Don't take before 5 a.m.” It was after seven and I gladly swallowed them. Ten minutes later I slept soundly.

I was woken much later in the morning by Kaya. “Wake up, baldy. I've already had my head shaved this morning and it's about time you had the same, isn't it?” I struggled out of bed and followed her silently to the salon room where Jana was waiting, beautifully coiffed and made-up.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” she said with such tenderness that all my insecurities were stilled. “Oh, your poor ears are swollen so much. Kaya, are they OK?”

She examined me and seemed unperturbed. “I'll bathe all the wounds later. But there isn't anything I can see that gives me concern.”

“Are they hurting?” Jana asked.

“Yes, I'm quite sore but the pills help. My neck is really aching though. Please don't make me sleep in the neck corset, Jana.”

She giggled. “Kaya is so sadistic, baby. You should hear some of the ideas she has for you. A bit of neck ache is nothing compared to what she'd do.” She came closer and whispered to me. “I do find some of her ideas quite exciting. I want you to test your limits and see how you feel about submitting to her. Is that OK?”

“She scares me a bit.” I had lowered my voice, afraid of Kaya hearing me.

“Aww, Kaya, Bex is scared of you now. You have to reassure her. She's a shy, delicate little baby and you have to show her that you love her.”

I found myself being led to sit on the sofa alongside Kaya.

“Bex, my little darling, you know I love you so much!” she crooned. “If I hurt you sometimes it's only because I know it'll show you a new way to feel bliss. I want you to remember the rush you got from all your piercings.”

I nodded. “Last night was too much for me though. I'm really sore.”

“We won't do that many at once again,” she agreed. She had the key and now opened the locks of my neck brace. I groaned with relief as she eased the corset free. She massaged at my muscles which had locked.

“In a few days you'll be recovered and I'll add a few more piercings. You need something to compensate for losing your pretty hair.” She caressed my head and made no attempt to hide her pleasure in the feeling. “You do look odd, Rebecca. A little plump pudding with no hair at all and that weird little alien face. And those monster tits. Does it turn you on to look so weird?”

I was squirming at her description of me. “You find it embarrassing to admit you like looking like this, don't you? But I understand that feeling all too well. I've had to endure all the disapproving looks since you made me bald. But deep down I love looking like this, and it's the deep feelings that matter. And now I've started to love the way people look at me, whether I see lust or disgust when they see me. Soon I'll be fat too, and my bald head will be tattooed. I want that. You'll want it too. Or maybe you won't, but it'll happen anyway.”

Jana appeared and put her hands over Kaya's scalp. “You're scaring her again, Kaya. Let's not go too far. I don't want my baby to be sad.”

“Jana, darling, let's get her shaved then head out for breakfast. I'll pay. I want the world to see me with my new loves.”

The plan was accepted and I bowed my head where I sat to allow a fresh shave. I could hardly believe that I needed a shave, so little time having passed since my humiliation of the previous night but Jana deemed it necessary. Kaya gently massaged my head with the aromatic lather which made my entire scalp tingle. Rather than the cut-throat I'd had last time, Jana used a safety razor with four blades to shave me. It made a soft rasping as it removed the stubble and as I was shaved for a second time the blades moved smoothly over my head. A rough towel was scrubbed over my head and the sensation made me suddenly aroused.

“You like that, Bex. I knew you'd like being bald,” Kaya said, making me blush. She seemed very sensitive to my moods.

“Is she right?” Jana asked.

“It feels nice,” I admitted. As I stroked my head it felt different, smoother. Every touch made me feel hornier. “I don't like how it looks though.”

“It does make you look fatter,” Kaya laughed. I knew her cruel comment was true.

“Don't be so mean,” Jana chided her. “You'll be fatter than Bex soon. How does that sound, Kaya?”

“It sounds wonderful,” she purred. “I know you like fat girls. Maybe once I'm the fattest you'll like me more than Bex.” She giggled and winked salaciously.

“Oh Bex! Did you hear that? I think she's trying to compete for my affections. You might have to gain to keep up with her.”

I hated the idea of any sort of competition arising between us. “I thought you liked me at this weight, Jana,” I said, my insecurities growing.

“I do, baby, but it was a compromise. I never said I wouldn't like you to get bigger. This was as big as you wanted to go when we met. If you wanted to rethink your weight I'd be very happy.” I nodded my agreement. I knew I'd been manipulated into this by Kaya but felt that if I didn't agree then I'd be made to regret it.

We headed out to a burger place for breakfast. The morning clientele was a mix of workers from local businesses and families (it was during a school holiday). I'd been spared my neck corset but nevertheless the appearance of two bald women in the restaurant attracted a lot of attention. Kaya went to order the food as Jana and I sat at a table.

“You look so out of place in here,” Jana laughed. “Everyone is staring. I bet they're all thinking 'Look at that fat girl. I bet she's going to gorge herself with tons of burgers.' You're not going to disappoint them either, are you?”

“I'm sure I'm not.”

Kaya came back bearing a large tray laden with numerous burgers. “Bex was just bragging about how much she can eat,” Jana told her. “Reckon you can match her?”

“I'd give it a go. I have a big appetite,” she said confidently.

“Let's make a competition of it then. What would you like to see done to Bex if she loses?”

[theofficialcunt]

Simplicité - Chapter 1 {Biadore}

Hi everyone! I’ve had this idea in my head for awhile, and I’ve decided that this is going to be my main focus for the time being. I’m going to try my best to update this every Wednesday night/Early Thursday morning.

This is a lesbian AU, set in Chicago during present day. Bianca, 26, is a successful business owner of the fabulous Simplicité Salon & Spa. Adore, 21, is her new personal assistant/makeup apprentice from Southern California. The two are close in age but couldn’t be more different, but they might end up surprising one another as they get to know each other, as well as themselves. Adore and Bianca are both on their own paths to acheiving personal growth, and have the help of Courtney, Bob, Farrah, and more. 😽 This will have a few side ships, and I already have it partially outlined because well, some of these experiences actually happened to me personally.

This is mainly a teaser chapter, its 3.9k so somewhat lengthy so I really hope you enjoy!!

“Goodbye Mom!”

Adore was dressed in her signature red flannel, ripped shorts, and ripped tights, embracing her mom tightly in the middle of LAX. Her mom squeezed her back extra hard, rubbing her floppy straw hat and kissing her forehead one last time.

“Do you have to do this Adore?” Bonnie asked tearfully, moving a strand of fire engine red hair behind her ear.

Adore gulped, nodding solemnly as she clutched her hello kitty bag.

“Yeah mom. I do. It’s for the best.”

Adore had been in a slump since her high school days. She was stuck in an economic wasteland, known more commonly as southern california. She had a hard three years; from trying and failing to complete community college, to not being able to get a job due to her lack of experience, and on top of that being a raging lesbian with no love life in sight.

She had been desperate for change. She had tried everything from joining a baseball league, to partying in downtown LA by herself, to even trying to make friends through a stupid app called Bumble.

It wasn’t until she began looking online at the job boards, for any sort of opportunity that stuck out to her - where she unexpectedly found a new adventure.

Wanted: Personal Assistant & Apprentice in Makeup Artistry at Simplicité Salon and Spa

Salary will be contingent on candidates ability to perform daily tasks effectively, such as: heavy lifting, graphic design, answering phone calls, managing social media, greeting clients, and participation in off site events. Candidate must be able to work weekends, weekdays, and long shifts, as well as multi-task effectively. They must be open minded, and willing to learn new things daily. Experience not necessary. Room in house will be included as a part of employment, due to unpredictable demands and long hours.

Location: Chicago, IL

“Mom!” Adore yelled, as she ran down the stairs excitedly. She ran around the corner to the kitchen, where Bonnie was preparing Chilé Quilles.

“Yes?” Bonnie asked, lips pursed patiently as she waited for her youngest daughter to tell her what was happening.

“There’s this job opportunity and I think I’m going to go for it!” Adore exclaimed, jumping up and down wildly. She didn’t know why, but when she saw the job posting she got the chills - and just felt like it was a good fit. But she didn’t want to apply for it without her mom’s approval.

“That’s great baby!” Bonnie squealed, clapping her hands relieved. “Where is it at? And what will you be doing?”

“See the thing is, is that the job will be in Chicago but I think it’d be totally cool for me to get out of California for awhile!” Adore said nonchalantly , twisting a red curl around her finger. “I’d be a personal assistant for a fancy ass salon though, and I’d get to do makeup!”

“Chicago?” Bonnie frowned, turning the flame off on the stove. She turned to face Adore with sad eyes. “Why do you want to move so far away?”

“Mom,” Adore sighed, frustrated. “I don’t, but it’d be totally temporary and I’d get to live in a brand new state! The job is an amazing oppurtunity, once in a lifetime-”

“Where will you stay? How will you afford rent? And groceries? Adore it’s not as simple as you’re making it-”

“A room to rent is included if I get the job. Apparently my new boss would need me at random times, which means I’d need to be at her disposal at all times.” Adore explained.

“That sounds a bit sketchy. Are you sure this is a legit listing?” Bonnie raised an eyebrow as she handed Adore a plate.

“I thought the same thing, but I looked on the salon’s website as well and the same listing is there. Did you know that it’s one of the top 5 salon and spas in the midwest?”

“No, because I don’t even know the name of the spa mija. We live in California, not Illinois.” Bonnie deadpanned.

“Oh it’s called Simplicité.” Adore said, unknowingly failing to do a horrible french accent. She shoveled the chile quilles into her mouth as her mom pondered silently over the news.

Of course for Bonnie, the move was going to be hard - especially since Adore is the last one left at home. But, she knew Adore was miserable here in Southern California, and maybe the change of scenery wouldn’t be such a bad idea for her.

Adore had been through alot in the last 3 years, and Bonnie had watched all of the unfortunate events happen to her. First it was the ruthless bullying for her alternative fashion sense, which Bonnie will silently admit wasn’t the best. Adore had been bullied so much, she had ended up dropping out of high school and going to continuation school instead.

Then there was the community college incident. She had decided to go to school for psychology, and ended up dropping out after one semester. She hated it, despised how she felt lost within the crowd and ended up trying to find a job instead.

Adore was into makeup, there was no secret about that. Bonnie would come home to her sitting cross legged in front of her laptop, practicing a smokey eye or contouring and highlighting. It was one of the only times she would ever see a smile on her daughter’s face. She had attempted to get a job at MAC in the mall, but she ended up getting cut because of -you guessed it: her interview attire.

Adore was young, and if this spa was willing to give her a chance - then she should go for it. Despite how hard it would be on Bonnie as a new empty nester.

“I think it’s a great idea.” Bonnie finally admitted, looking sternly into her 21 year old’s eyes.

“Yay! Thanks mom!” Adore squealed, tackling Bonnie into a bear hug before she ran back up the stairs.

A few weeks later

“Hello Miss Delano, this is Bianca from Simplicité. After careful review of your application and resume, I would like to extend an official offer of employment to you. I was very impressed with your charisma and charm over the phone, and think you would be a great fit for our team. Please give me a call back if you are still interested in the position. You would begin your employment on June 16th, and your airfare will be taken care of as a courtesy since you had mentioned how costly it is. Thank you and have a nice day.”

Adore dropped her phone in stunned silence as she realized it was happening. It was all real now.

She was finally going to have a chance at happiness again.

—————-

“Call me as soon as you land okay? I love you mija, show them all what a kickass chola you are.” Bonnie gave her a kiss one last time, before watching her daughter walk through the shiny glass doors of LAX. Adore looked back one last time, tearfully as she waved goodbye to her mom.

Her mom had been her best friend all throughout childhood. They had done everything together from the time she was born up until this very day, her moving day.

A part of her still couldn’t believe she was going through with this, who just packs all of their shit and moves 2,000 miles across the country? Who applies for a job in Chicago when they live in Southern California? Apparently Adore Delano does.

It was hard leaving her mom by herself, but she knew if she were to stay - she would never move out of her mom’s house and become independent. She would stay there forever, and never find someone to be with, and never get over all of the past trauma she had to deal with.

“Flight 329 to Chicago, boarding in 5 minutes.” The stewardess announced from the terminal. Adore shuffled across the airport, scurrying as she cut a dozen people in line to get through security.

“Miss, you can’t cut me!” An angry old man yelled.

“I have a plane to catch and if I miss it, my entire life will be ruined. Do you really want to fuck up my destiny man? It’s already bad enough mercury is in retrograde right now.” Adore snapped back bitterly.

“I could give two shits about your life and your planets!”

“Fuck off!” Adore yelled, throwing the middle finger up defiantly as she was ushered through security from TSA. She tore her converse off quickly and shoved her purse in a plastic bin, throwing her middle finger up again as she heard the old man muttering obscenities to himself. A guard pushed her gently into the full body scanner, telling her to hold still.

Stepping out of the scanner, she grabbed her bag and shoes quickly and began running towards her gate. She was slipping on the linolueum as her tights rubbed against the shiny surface. She cursed herself as she slowed down to a brisk walk, locating her gate and making a run for it.

“Group B, please stand up and get in line.”

Adore looked down at her ticket, and noticed she was group A. Fuck! She had missed her group. The odds of her getting a window seat now were slim to none. She ran made it to her gate, just in time for the stewardess to begin scanning all of Group B’s tickets. She slowly followed the line of group B’s and finally made it onto the plane, barefoot and all.

She looked around frantically, hoping she would find a window seat near the front. Luckily, she managed to slip into one near the wing. She sighed, excusing herself as she climbed over the overweight man and the small blonde teenager who couldn’t’ve been more than 15 to get to it. She slid her purse underneath the seat, and sighed in relief. She had made it. She was on the plane and she was about to start her new life.

She wouldn’t be arriving to Chicago until late at night, around 11:30 to be accurate. The flight was 5 hours from SoCal, which was the longest non stop flight she had ever been on. She pulled her ipod out of her pocket and popped the earbuds in, as she leaned her head back in the seat and drifted off peacefully.

————-

“It is 11:45 pm currently in Chicago, thank you so much for flying with us tonight. Goodnight!”

Adore rubbed her eyes sleepily as she woke up to the bright fluorescent airplane lights. She had slept the whole time! That was actually really nice! As she began to get up, a flash of light illuminated the airplane from outside.

It was storming outside?

Thunder cracked loudly overhead, causing Adore to jump - and she hurriedly grabbed her purse and phone.

2 new messages

Bianca: I’m downstairs by the baggage claim. I have red hair. I’m also holding a sign with your name on it, hopefully you won’t miss me.

Sassy, Adore thought. She scrolled to the next message and smiled.

Bianca: Your flight was clearly delayed due to the weather. You’re going to experience your first midwestern storm tonight.

Adore hated storms with all of her heart. They hardly ever got them in SoCal, but when they did she would refuse to go anywhere because of how unpredictable the lightning was. She put her converse back on and scurried out of the airplane quickly, doing her best to not look scared as she followed the crowd towards baggage claim.

A wave of nervousness washed over her. As she looked for Bianca, she couldn’t help but wonder why she was chosen for the job. She had no previous work experience, and on top of that Bianca had to pay for her flight out here.

She wondered how her new boss looked. Was she tall? Short? Fat? As she pondered it, she realized she had made it to baggage claim, and that there was a short red headed woman near the corner with her name on a piece of paper.

Adore gulped as she walked over to her timidly, holding her purse close to her.

“Ah, you must be Adore.” Bianca smiled, folding the piece of paper and putting it in her black purse. “I’m Bianca, it’s nice to meet you.”

Adore shook her hand softly and smiled shyly. Bianca was much prettier than she imagined, and much more intimidating. She was dressed in a sheer high low black strapless dress, a cardigan with a silver brooch on it, and black pumps. Her makeup was done heavily, and her sleek strawberry hair was tightly styled into a bun on the side of her head.

Adore was kicking herself for not dressing up, as she stared down at her worn black converse and ripped tights. She felt vulnerable now.

“God, you call that a handshake?” Bianca scoffed, “Try again, and this time try not to let your hand flop in mine lazily.”

Adore’s eyes widened, shocked at her crassness. She gripped her hand firmly again, shaking it with confidence as she met her beady brown eyes. She was tired, the heavy makeup distracted an untrained eye from it - but Adore found it easy to see through that.

“Long day?” Adore asked, studying Bianca’s eyes carefully. A look of surprise flashed across her face for just a moment, before she composed herself.

“Everyday is a long day when you’re a business owner.” Bianca said, plastering on a smile. “Grab your bags and let’s go. We need to get home, especially since we have an early start tomorrow.”

An early start? They were starting her training already? Wow, not even a one day’s break, Adore thought. She wasn’t expecting to be thrown in immediately.

Bianca smirked at the younger girls panicked expression. Clearly she didn’t realize she would be starting so soon.

“There’s no rest for the wicked, Miss Delano. We have a lot of work to do.” Bianca said, studying her new peer. She had dry, brittle, red hair that looked like it needed a brush ran through it six months ago, as well as 5 or 6 other products. Her choice in fashion was… interesting to say the least. Definitely still trying to make a statement, she noticed as she scanned the mismatched prints of her flannel and polka dot tank top.

Once Adore grabbed her bags, they settled into Bianca’s suv - a Hyundai Santa Fe with a couple of various items littered in the backseat.

“Is that..a nightstand?” Adore asked confused as they loaded the last bag into the trunk.

“I like to get crafty,” Bianca smiled toothily. “That’s actually one of your projects for tomorrow. I’m looking to switch up the spa a little bit.”

“Great.” Adore said as enthusiastically as she could for someone who had been traveling all day. She was suddenly exhausted, finally feeling the impact of her day.

“Don’t worry, we’re gonna be home shortly.” Bianca comforted as they pulled out of the airport parking lot.

Adore surprisingly dozed off as Bianca drove through the city, despite the storm. When the car finally stopped moving, Adore jolted up noticing that they were parked in another parking garage.

“This is where you live?” Adore asked, bewildered.

“Where WE live.” Bianca corrected, opening the trunk as she grabbed one of Adore’s bags. Adore stretched her arms outwards before she got up, flipping her red hair over her shoulder nervously.

She stepped out of the car, feeling the sticky humidity grab her skin. The rain had stopped, but left it overly humid. “Gross.” Adore muttered quietly under her breath as she grabbed her bags.

“Get used to it. This is pretty common here.” Bianca chuckled, leading the way to the elevator, where there was an attendant standing inside.

“Good evening. Late night Miss Del Rio?” The blonde perky attendant, Alisha asked.

“Yes. I had to grab my new roommate from the airport.” Bianca smiled widely, elbowing Adore.

“Welcome to Chicago, Adore. I’m here in the evenings, for your convenience.” Alisha smiled at Adore. “ Floor six right?”

“Correct.” Bianca responded, as they settled into the elevator.

It was silent in the elevator as they awaited their floor. The two women were both exhausted, Bianca was amused at the younger girl’s attire. She was about to be in for the transformation of a lifetime. She wanted so bad to touch her hair, to see what exactly she would be working with, but the elevator dinged indicating that they had reached their floor.

“Good evening.” Alisha nodded, watching as the two women exited with their collection of luggage.

Bianca’s heels clacked on the marble tile in the hallway. This was a very nice building, Adore thought. Much nicer than anything she had ever been used to.

Bianca stopped in front of their apartment, a giant 305 was sprawled across the dark wooden door in elegant gold cursive.

“This is us.” Bianca chimed, unlocking the door with ease.

As Bianca sauntered into the home, Adore stopped and stared as she took in all of the sights around her.

In the entry way was a beautiful antique chandelier, it had to be a couple of hundred years old at least. But that’s not all. Bianca had pictures sprawled across the narrow hallway - pictures of her with famous people, in front of the salon on opening day next to a very attractive blonde and a sassy looking black guy wearing a fedora.

“That’s Courtney.” Bianca mused, watching Adore study the picture closely. “She’s a cunt.”

Adore laughed, surprised at her ubrupt description of Courtney. “You’re always one to keep it classy aren’t you?”

“Well of course. A southern belle like me always minds her manners.” Bianca said sarcastically.

Adore let out a long hearty laugh as she closed the front door behind her, settling into the hallway. Her jaw dropped at another picture, eyes widened with envy.

Bianca froze when she saw her gazing in awe at one of the pictures in particular.

“Ah, you must have found one of my celebrity meet and greet photos.” Bianca smirked, closing the distance to see which picture she had discovered.

“I can’t believe you got to meet Anna Nicole. She was my idol.” Adore gushed, tracing her hand longingly over the picture frame.

Confused, she looked up at the girl. How did she even know who she was? She wasn’t that old.

“Aren’t you only 18?” Bianca asked confused.

“I’m 21.” Adore said hesitantly. “Didn’t you see my age on my background check?”

Oh. That meant she was only 5 years her junior. She acted much younger than her age, which really threw her off. She would be lying if she said she didn’t envy the young latina’s genes, she had smooth porcelain skin and bright blue eyes that dazzled. Her hair was a choice, but that was an easy fix. It was really too bad that she was hiding all of her natural beauty underneath the giant dry heap of red hair.

“I guess I should have. Well great.” Bianca said, taking the rest of her bags. “Let me show you to your room. I’m fucking tired.”

Adore raised her eyebrows as she followed her down the long hallway. Their rooms were across from each other, she discovered that Bianca’s door was closed.

As they entered the chic room, Adore was in shock. It was much bigger than the room she had lived in at home. She had a large window next to her bed; that had a great view of downtown Chicago. On top of that, her bed had brand new comforters, string lights hung around the vicinity, and scented candles from bath and body works were littered on her bedside table. As well as a notepad, a journal, and a planner.

“I got my inspiration from tumblr.” Bianca grinned, “You like?”

“Bitch, I fucking LOVE this! It’s totally me.” Adore squealed, kicking her shoes off and letting her feet sink into the shaggy black rug in the middle of the room.

“You might have noticed the notebook and planner on your bedside table.” Bianca cleared her throat uncomfortably. She didn’t know Adore very well yet, but felt weird about switching the conversation to a more business like setting. “You’re going to need to take notes. In the car, at work, wherever I am.”

“Notes? Why?” Adore asked.

“Well,” Bianca started, sitting on the edge of the black and white checkered bed. “You see, my mind goes a million miles an hour. And sometimes on a whim, I’ll get a really good idea and forget all of the specifics about it. So at any given moment, I’m going to need you to take notes as soon as I say basically. As you get to know me, you’ll know when my mind will start to go off the rails and when to start writing.”

Holy shit. Not even here for an hour, and Bianca was already telling her her expectations. It was midnight for fucks sake. Adore could barely process the fact that she was in a luxury apartment in the middle of Chicago, let alone taking notes and listening to every word Bianca says.

“Also,” Bianca continued, not waiting for a response. She grabbed the planner from the side table and placing it in Adore’s hands. “This is really important. My schedule is constantly changing, and I’ll need you with me pretty much at all times. You are basically my scheduler. This is where all of my meetings, appointments, etc should go.”

Adore nodded numbly, thumbing through the pages quickly to see how much room exactly she would have to write things out. She was a very detailed person when it came to notes, unfortunately the planner did not have very much room. It was going to be quite an adjustment.

“Dress code is black, white and grey only.” Bianca stated, eyeing Adore’s suitcases suspiciously. She had a feeling she hardly had anything appropriate for working in a salon, but she decided for now she would give her the benefit of the doubt.

“Also, hair and makeup needs to be done. I wont let you go into work with frizzy hair.” Bianca let her eyes linger on the wild red mane before moving on. “While I’m cutting and styling hair, you’ll be working the front desk. You need to look like a 10 at all times, got it? We work in the beauty industry, not the ugly industry.”

This was a lot to take in. Adore could feel herself getting overwhelmed. Bianca had a lot of strict rules and expectations for her. She couldn’t blame her, if her apartment was this nice she could only imagine how upscale the salon looked as well. She had to do her best to fit the bill.

She was feeling very insecure and very unprepared. She thought a couple of nice pairs of black pants would suffice, but she was starting to feel like that wouldn’t be enough for Bianca’s standards.

“A response to any of this would be nice.” Bianca snapped, rolling her eyes.

“Sorry. It’s just a lot to take in.” Adore gulped.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.” Bianca chuckled to herself, standing up. “I’ll let you go to sleep. Gotta get up bright and early tomorrow. We’re out the door at 8:00. I expect you’ll dazzle me with your first day outfit.”

“I’ll do my best man. Goodnight Bianca.” Adore smiled weakly.

Bianca flashed a tight smile before she walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.

There was no doubt about it.

Adore was fucked

[funkywerks]

New York Pity

I'll never forget the day they sent me to New York City. It looked gorgeous from the window of the jet. It was the afternoon of June 15th 2016; the sunset hit the Empire State Building in a perfect orange and golden glow. That day was the start of my biggest accomplishment to date. I went to flight attendant training for 7 weeks in Dallas, Texas. I was hoping to get as far away from the east coast as possible; I was going to be Miley and hop of the plane at LAX with my dream and my cardigan. of course we’re talking about Los Angeles. My instructor was so pleased to announce that I was going to New York City that it made me sick. I was no longer miley ? But I still wanted to party ? I wanted my instructor to think I was happy too- so I faked a little celebration and started brainstorming how I was going to work this into my 5 year plan! I am the queen of the bright side and I can run a beer pong table like a pro. I could fit in anywhere ? Right ?

-I was almost excited.

I had no home, no money, and no clue. I was still excited to start my dream life. Optimism has always been my strong suit and I was going to need every bit of it to survive this experience. My family was very supportive and would help me out sometimes by buying my Uber to work ( a huge luxury in New York . I want you to imagine Uber but expensive and then more expensive than you thought ) or sending me care packages when I was homesick. But I never wanted to take money from them. I took out $1000 loan from the bank before my first paycheck and made it work. I had 1000 dollars in my bank account and was 1000 miles from home. I never in a million years wanted to end up in New York City, but I did.

The Crash Pad

I saw the pictures of the rooftops and the parties and the luxury apartments; but I found myself looking at the empty walls of a flight attendant crash pad in Queens, New york. It was just that to me : Empty. A world famous city full of people, and I couldn't find a familiar face, place or feeling. My Gossip Girl dreams died in less than a month. Crash Pads are in between houses for commuter flight attendants, It’s basically a dorm room. I tried to make the best of the rickety old bunk bed and the shared living spaces- but I didn't make a single friend or memory there. It's a great resource that I am very thankful for, but in no way a home. I paid 200 dollars a month to live in an illegal housing operation next to Laguardia Airport for 4 months.

The First Floor

Everything in New York is expensive and time consuming: the people, transportation, housing and even the fun. It requires more effort than I had ever given anything in my whole life. I remember getting on the subway after work one day and publicly bursting into tears after realizing I was going in the wrong direction. At least “New York City is one of the only places you can cry in public without being bothered” (Taken from @jcally’s Brilliant Twitter feed) Let a girl have her mental breakdown in peace every once in awhile! I started to collect a few friends from work and started to build meaningful relationships with my surroundings. I graduated from a 1 bedroom with 6 people I didn't know, to a 1 bedroom with 4 people I barely knew. Astoria, Queens is one of the coolest neighborhoods in New York and one of the most under appreciated. It’s just off to the right of the East river, above Long Island City and green point, Brooklyn. It was the perfect place to start growing as a person. Two people slept in the bed and two people slept on couches in the living room. My couch was cheap and uncomfortable BUT IT WAS BETTER than the crash pad. I needed comradery in my life, I was less miserable sleeping on that cheap couch than alone in my mind on the top bunk. When I was comfortable with my surroundings, I started to drown myself in what I do best = party and work. Two of the four girls left New York City ( for reasons stated above) and the remaining girl and I became very close friends. It was the first close friendship I had since moving to the City, and we traveled and laughed and partied. Progress was slow, but progress was happening. Life was better but far from perfect.

My biggest lesson this year was that living with roommates is just as hard as trying to make it in New York City. It is so easy to blame your roommates for any number of minor inconveniences in your life that most of the time people do. Don’t get it twisted, if you're annoyed and have not asked nicely: That is your problem. If you spread rumors or private information to others, you are just as bad as the minor inconvenience that started a feud in the first place. If you live together make it your personal responsibility to be on the same page with your roommate; or not. Pick your poison. I've been the annoying roommate and the annoyed roommate and it has no reflection of who I am as a person. My living situation is it healthiest when I let things go, understand others, and be a team player. Understanding each other with an open line of casual communication ( no hostility ) is more important than the mess they left in the living room after a drunken night out. Wake them up,ask them to clean up their mess and move on.

The first floor on 34th street was close to work and bars and food. I really loved that home with 1 bedroom and 4 people. It really meant something to me. As I’ve mentioned before I’m just about happy anywhere and material objects mean very little to me. I did my best to feel grateful for a safe place to sleep. Although mostly positive, I was busy in a way I’ve never been before and had pushed aside my mental health for just a little too long. During my year there I was dealing with the aftermath of my “big trauma” .

Everyone has a big trauma ,

it’s the event in a person's life that affects them in the most negative way. All traumas are important and often are never spoken about or never properly heard and processed. I never said I was dealing with it well; but any progress was just comforting enough to see the light at the end. I specifically felt hesitant to have close relationships with anyone. I held people at arms length and set them up to disappoint me. I was sure I was going to keep to myself and not let anyone in. ( if you know me you’re rolling your eyes, because I am the biggest personality you know ) its those people who believed my problems had value, they saved me. I had imposter syndrome for most of my first year, I didn’t think what I went through was bad enough to be important. I had enough people listen to me chatter away about my problems to me help me start healing in my own way. It can be very confusing to have it all and still be sad. I traveled non-stop and used every bit of youth I had to keep the party going. This was my dream life, almost. I paid $400 dollars a month to sleep on a couch in Astoria, Queens.

The Three Bedroom

Next we moved into a three bedroom on 47th street in Astoria, Queens . I was living with my remaining roommate, her new husband, and random roommate who reached out to us through a friend. Not ideal. But I had my own bedroom and I was proud. It was smaller than most suburban bathrooms; not an exaggeration. I had no room for anything more than a bed and a mirror. I had a dresser and place to hang my coats in a walkway across the hall. I thought that by having my own bedroom I could start to work on my mental health. I was going to create a safe space. It would have my film and my records and my shells from the beach back home. Unfortunately I didn’t think about how lonely it was going to be. My mental health was the worst living in the three bedroom with 4 people. I felt alone, I might be the only person on earth who truly loves to be around people all the time. So what did I do? I partied too much , I worked a lot and ignored that I was sad again. Are we noticing a trend? I’m super good at pretending I’m ok. I feel like I can’t remember a lot from that year, I don’t know if it’s because nothing happened or if too much happened. I wanted to be around people so badly that I started spending most of the days in coffee shops. I always wondered what project everyone was working on and what their coffee order was. I wanted to know why they had work off the afternoon of a weekday; what did they do for work? I imagined all the possibilities without speaking to a single soul. I wonder if anyone else was looking for someone to talk to too. This is New York, and people in New York hate small talk or anything that doesn’t make them money. I would even drink multiple lattes in one sitting just to buy time away. I started putting my smarts to use; I became an expert planner. I made budget spreadsheets, planned vacations, and set goals. I am still to this day fascinated with the logistics of travel. With a will there is always a way. I learned to prioritize my wants and needs and how to make everything happen for me. I was incredibly productive until my mac-book crashed and I had no money to replace it. Life happens, I thanked Mac for his 8 years of hard work and said my goodbyes. That's what that lady on Netflix said to do right ? I think it rings true that everything is always worse before it gets better. The following year I was to move back into a huge 2 bedroom with four amazing girls and it would be The best year yet. But then I would go on to live in a little apartment in Lower East Side Manhattan with an amazing view like I had fantasized that first day flying in. The year I lived in a three bedroom apartment with four people for $800 a month. Would be the last time “ New York sucks” would ever drop from my mouth.

I was coming up on almost 2 years living in New York. I was so happy at work and to this day love my job so much. it was my biggest reason to persevere when I had no other reasons. I had so many new friends going through the same struggle and working out their “ big trauma “. it was nice to look back and see progress. I found myself identifying as a New Yorker. I was a fast worker, walker and problem solver. I wanted to cut the bullshit, I didn’t want to make excuses, I wanted to make it happen. I don’t know how to explain how much I deeply hated New York at first and then did a miraculous 180; an Olympic figure skater would be proud. It was a place I felt most like an outsider (at first); and everyone I met there seemed to love it so much. I was jealous that I couldn’t love it the same. Then at that magical 2 year mark , everything began to fall into place. I always wondered what would have happened to me if I had gotten my transfer to Los Angeles in that 2 years. Would I be more socially relevant or have plastic surgery ? Who would my friends be? I finally had great friends, no drama, and plans. Lots of plans. Plans of travel and life goals and plans of mischief. Above all I had a purpose. There I said it. In the end New York City gave me a purpose. I started to form friends that weren’t even flight attendants and we started throwing the best parties and had so many events to attend they overlapped. Loving New York isn’t possible without hating New York. It’s awesome because it took all I had. In the famous words of American song writer “Jay-z” If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere”. After all this emotional turmoil I will have to eventually write about “ New York City” and drop the P. And how I couldn’t live without it. My biggest accomplishment to date was the day I removed my transfer request to Los Angeles.