#[i checked the corresponding blog. it was empty.]

[pale-wyrm-onastring]

Finally started playing Hollow Knight after being mildly obsessed with the lore for three years.

As is often the case with me, I am quite good at handling knowledge and not so much at practical things. Died to that large armoured insect [not a boss] at Forgotten Crossroads. [If you know what their name is please comment.]

I have many plans for this blog. Some may work out better than others.

[How do I end this... should I use a signature for posts?]

[askthebrokenones-fm]

((Hidden in the Sand HM Headcanon list here we go-

((For the ghosts that aren’t the muses of the blog I might do something for Host later tho, we’ll see

Host:

Host is one of the most talkative skeletons you’ll ever interact with. Despite not having lungs, they can carry a conversation all by themselves

They do this to Egore frequently

Like all Ghost Hosts they adore puns. Especially the macabre

As stated previously, Host is a lemure fragment. A lemure is a ghost drawn to houses or estates more often than not and have an urge to keep things as if one were living there. Lemures are often befriended by magically gifted humans or mediums to keep their spaces clean in exchange for whatever a lemure wants. Host was tied to the Mansion before Leota got there, but they don't recall if they died there or was summoned there previously

Fragments are generally snapshots of individuals. It’s not the full soul, but rather fragmented bits of what remained after a reaper took the rest. Fragments are very common, however they vary in completion. Host is on the less complete side

Due to their condition as a fragment, Host doesn’t remember a lot of things before Leota and taking over as Host of the Mansion alongside her. They remember vague flickers of their mortal life, like their occupation as a butler and their cause of death but otherwise, not much else. Mostly, Host knows very general facts or extremely specific details, but nothing in between

Today, Host does struggle with their memory still. They use journals and notepads to keep track of the denizens of the Mansion and current going ons. Please don’t be too mad if they forget your name and needs to check their notes; they're trying their best

Host’s original form or avatar when they were first solidified by Leota was a disembodied butler’s suit. When more and more spirits started coming in and started mistaking them as an empty suit rather than a being, they started taking on the form of a skeleton in the suit instead. It probably helped that they remembered the cause of their death at this time and was able to become more unique with the addition of their noose necktie

Host will tuck the frayed end of their noose into their vest like they would a tie. Especially if they find it’s getting in the way of paperwork. Sometimes, if they're particularly annoyed, they’ll swipe it over their shoulder like a scarf

Host is 60% sure the corpse hanging from the rafters of the stretching room is theirs. They're not really sure tho, particularly because of the garb. But it gives them some relief to think it is. They named it Robert

Despite Host’s seemingly unending patience, they draw a line at Egore’s past absence from the Mansion. They're still frustrated at the demon about those 50 years

Host is good friends with Sinclair. Mostly because Host was one of the first individuals who interacted with him when he was released from the Staircase. They were the first ghost to actually touch Sin as well. Sinclair trusts Host a lot, less so as a friend, but more like a big brother

Constance:

As stated several times, Constance is Egore’s ex-wife, murderer, and victim. Quite the resume

Constance was skewered on metal fence posts lining the edge of her home after she claims she was pushed off the roof by Egore. She shuts anyone down who suggests that she jumped on purpose instead

Constance is a phantasm, surprisingly. This means she often can’t interact with the physical world in any meaningful way. The Mansion is a different story for these ghosts, due to a spell Leota put down, but she can’t touch anything physical (without difficulty) outside of the Mansion’s grounds

Egore finds this hilarious. Constance is infuriated

As a phantasm, she can manipulate her ghostly avatar. She often depicts herself as she was when alive, however, if her energy wanes too much she will appear almost mummified with wounds corresponding with her death

Constance is generally rude to a majority of visitors to the attic and often argues with Egore. They get into screaming matches sometimes to see who can beat each other down the fastest. Host has to step in when that happens

The only reason Constance is still in the Mansion is because she has nowhere else to go. Her manor/haunting ground was mowed down for an apartment complex and she’s wandered until finding the Mansion. Leota hasn’t kicked her out because she technically hasn’t harmed anyone

Constance knows if she attacks Egore, she will likely be banished, or worst, trapped and bound within the catacombs under the Mansion

The same applies to Egore

She is terrified by Egore still because of what he did to her after she killed him and when she was still alive. She knows that Egore is capable of far worse than arguing and growling at her

Despite her fear, she is still a very proud woman. She refuses to indicate her terror and often brags to other ghosts about her wealth, accomplishments, or independence

Constance is capable of moving out of the attic if she wants to, but is too proud to do so. It's a constant dominance contest between E and her. Egore is winning most of the time

[evil-mcytblrconfessions]

as assistant mod (self-appointed title) of mcytco-confessions blog Im starting to wonder why I was entrusted with the power I hold <- posted correspondence related to asks that havent even been posted yet.

(lets pretend the last ver of this ask doesn't exist)

uh-huh. mcytblrco-confessions... /t

anyway, as always, the answer is: for the funsies !! <- that is xir justification for Everything

youll figure it out... only good upstanding citizens like you get to be editors of the mcytco-confessions page over on cohost (check it out today /j /j) !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

why did. we even make a confessions page on cohost. there is nobody on cohost. it is an empty social media.

oh well

for the funsies- [is shot]

[webkinzwonders]

Interview with Leonidas Kouvaris

I recently had the honor of interviewing Leonidas Kouvaris, a digital artist and singer for Webkinz. Some of his most popular projects include The Pet of the Month songs and Zum designs. It was an amazing experience to correspond with him directly and gain some more insight into the game. Below is our interview, some words have been changed to fix typos, but for the most part is it word for word. I added some context via images and links to some topics discussed. An unedited transcript of the interview is here.

Do you consent to have the information discussed in this interview to be published on my Tumblr blog (WebkinzWonders) for the purpose of my composition class?

Yes.

What is the timeline of your time at Webkinz, when did you start and stop working there?

I started working at Ganz back in March of 2008, and I left early 2013, so around 5 years total. 

What were your main responsibilities when working at Webkinz?

I was first hired as a digital artist for the Interactive Art department and worked on creating new virtual pets exclusive to the eStore. I also created art assets for the Webkinz games and for Webkinz JR. After about a year I was given the opportunity to design a new series of characters for Webkinz called Zums. These were fairy-like creatures that would exist as both virtual characters on the Webkinz site, and as a product line of plush toys. I eventually worked primarily on product design and marketing for various Ganz properties, including Amazing World and Nakamas. 

From what I can see you are primarily an artist/designer, how did you get involved with the Kinztunes? Were you interested in music or was it just a side project?

Well, it all started out by chance. One day I was working away at my desk when my boss walked in and yelled out for everyone to hear "Who here can sing"? I put my hand up and his first response was "yeah right!", but after convincing him that I wasn't joking he said if I were interested in performing on a Webkinz tune to go visit tour resident sound guy. I love music and this was a great opportunity to get away from my desk, so I got the rundown from the lead sound engineer and we quickly started work on the very first Webkinz Pet Of The Month song. 

We had the lyrics written for us and a general direction...problem was, at the time, there was no formal recording studio on site and so we had to improvise. We found an empty office to record in and in lieu of any proper soundproofing, we ended up draping a Snuggie over my head while I sang. It was a great experience A proper sound recording studio eventually was built as the sound team grew, and I continued to get involved with the production of the Kinz Tunes. All of this extra work would happen during the work day, when I had time from my other responsibilities as a digital artist. I sang, I wrote, I even lent my voice to other projects doing character voices for the Webkinz JR site. I quickly became the go-to person for recording whatever random sound was needed. 

What was your favorite project you did working at Webkinz?

I would have to say that designing the Amazing World vinyl figures is what I am most proud of. I ended up designing three series for the toy line but only the first two ever made it to shelves. The project was canceled pretty soon after launch, along with others including Nakamas and Tail Town. I have to say, working on Kinz Tunes is a close second, as I am still good friends with the sound engineer I met on that first day of recording. I actually just met up with him today to check out a retro arcade in downtown Toronto.

How does Webkinz keep a consistent style since there are various elements of the game? Were there guidelines when designing?

One of the challenges that the Webkinz team faced was trying to keep up with the rapid expansion of the website. Both the coding and the art for the site had to get produced quickly as there were always new features and games to implement. As best as I can remember, Webkinz had one art director from the beginning who created the art style, and it was the Creative Director (the boss for the entire art department) who made sure everything remained on brand. Later on I became a sort of liaison between the art department and marketing, making sure product development was using the same style guides as the Interactive Art department.

What was the work environment like at Webkinz? Was it in-person offices or remote?

The art department itself was pretty drab. Gray cubicles upon gray cubicles, located in the same building that housed the main offices, and warehouse. The people I worked with were amazing. Get a bunch of creative people together in a windowless environment and you got a recipe for crazy times. A lot of dress up days; A lot of desk decorating. I made a lot of friendships from that time. 

What are some projects you’re working on now?

After Ganz I took some time off to do my own thing, creating some animated shorts with characters of my own designing. I then went on to work for a company designing educational games that are featured on the PBS Kids website. A year into the pandemic I was laid off and now I'm revisiting my project and developing it as on a mobile game.

Do you have anything you can show me from your time working there?

I've attached some sketches that show the design process of some of my earlier work at Ganz. I've included the initial concept of the Webkinz Stone Lion, isometric sketches of the Stone Lion, and the final vectored design.

Any questions that I didn’t ask that you think I should know?

Yes, Ganz is actually based in Canada. A lot of people don't know that the head offices are just outside of Toronto, Ontario

That concludes our interview. A huge thank you to Leonidas Kouvaris for taking the time to answer all my questions, I am so appreciative of his time and insight. The information provided is so fascinating, I never would've guessed most of Webkinz was designed in a grey cubical, and the story about KinzTunes made me laugh, I'll be on the lookout for more projects by Leonidas Kouvaris!

[yoongisleftshoulder]

BTS Reacts: Biracial S/O Experiences Racism

A/N: Of course, something like this can be a touchy subject and I will take full responsibility if I write anything offensive or incorrectly. As I've said in previous pieces like this, you are welcome to call me out on any mistakes so I can learn and do better. I personally am not biracial nor have I experienced racism of the sort but my inbox is always open if you need support or someone to stand with you. Also, I apologize but I couldn't find credits for some of the gifs used. I take no credit for the making of them.

TW: General racism, bullying

JIN:

Jin couldn't believe it when you pulled up an antis hate themed blog focused around you. He knew there would be some heat once your relationship was revealed to the public but he never thought people would be low enough to create an entire blog to bully you and insult you just based off of your skin color. It almost blew his mind that someone would take the time to put you down so badly. Jin would gently take your phone out of your hand and close the page, setting the phone down and out of view.

"Don't pay attention to a word they're saying. They're not worth your time, you're perfect the way you are."

Jin made sure the blog and nasty racist comments thrown at you were forgotten quickly, reassuring you that they were meaningless and simply not true.

YOONGI:

Yoongi had been out with Jin picking up food for the two of you when you decided to watch a few video compilations on YouTube that some fans had created for your relationship with him. Most of them were cute and wholesome videos with nothing but positivity in the comment section and you found yourself smiling widely throughout your time reading them. However, on the last video you had chosen, the comments made your heart sink. You weren't sure why they were there all of the sudden but many users had written harsh racist insults towards you, some even going as far as writing out threats. You knew it was stupid and the words were empty and didn't really mean anything but you couldn't control the tears that were forming in your eyes, eventually beginning to spill down your cheeks. Just as you were at peak sobbing and second guessing yourself, wondering if Yoongi really loved you as much as he said, he walked in the door, food bags in hand. Immediately, when he saw you curled up on the couch crying, he dropped the bags and sat on the cushion adjacent to you. He started rubbing your arm, unsure whether or not doing anything further was going to upset you.

"Woah, what's wrong sweetheart?" Your boyfriend asked, his voice soft.

Between sniffles, you did your best to explain how so-called 'fans' were being incredibly racist towards you and saying Yoongi deserved someone of his own race.

Yoongi couldn't believe what he was hearing and was only able to muster out a quiet "What the fuck?" He was pissed to know you were upset and pissed that anyone could say such things to you.

"Don't listen to those assholes, they don't know you and they will NEVER know me. I love you, you're perfect the way you are. They're probably just jealous that there's nothing even mildly interesting about them. They mean nothing."

HOSEOK:

*Ping*

*Ping*

*Ping*

Your phone had been blowing up more than usual. Your boyfriend, Hoseok, was sitting next to you so you opted to check it, wondering who else would be sending you so many texts. Lit up on your screen were texts from your best friend, telling you not to listen to what people are saying on Twitter and that all of those people were wrong about you. Confusion washed over you as you opened the Twitter app to see what was going on. The first thing you saw was your relationship with Hobi on the trending list. Your heartbeat sped up as you tapped on the link to checkout the corresponding posts. As soon as it opened, you were met with post after post about the live you did with him yesterday, where you had revealed your face for the first time. There were comments saying how pretty you were and how sweet you seemed, of course, but among these comments were floods of hate speech. Every single negative comment had to do with the fact that you were biracial. You suddenly closed the app, tossing your phone to the side, startling Hoseok. He closed the book he had been reading in the chair across from you and asked you what was wrong, moving to sit aside you when he noticed tears pooling in the corner of your eyes. All you told him was to check Twitter. Taking out his own phone, he clicked on the trending HoseokxYN link and skimmed through the posts and comments. He very quickly put his phone back into his pocket, unable to read anymore racist words against you. Pulling you into a tight hug, he reassured you that he felt sorry for those people, telling you that they must feel so badly about themselves and have such low quality lives that they had to spew meaningless hate towards you. If anything, they were lower than you and were only doing it to feel better about themselves. Even though the remarks were towards you, it felt painful to read such things and he was overwhelmed by disappointment.

NAMJOON:

As you and Namjoon made your way through the intensely growing crowd inside of the airport, fans yelled and screamed various words of encouragement towards Namjoon. You loved to hear other people showering him with love and positivity, despite the craziness of the crowd itself. You were smiling widely while walking hand in hand with your boyfriend, listening to the fans, until you suddenly heard someone take a jab at the color of your skin. Namjoon heard the person too, stopping for a brief second to turn and glare at them. He shook his head as he turned back around, gripping your hand tighter, pulling it up to his face to lightly kiss your knuckles. Like a chain reaction, that one person being brave enough to say such things to you in front of him set off a wave of more racism. Namjoon began walking even faster, guiding you the whole way, wanting desperately to get you out of there.

"Those aren't my fans. If they were, they would never say such bullshit things to you."

JIMIN:

Jimin witnessing you beginning to cry after seeing racist comments saying you weren't worthy of being with him because you weren't Korean hurt his heart. Your laughter was his favorite sound in the world and he lived to see you smile. Seeing you so upset was painful and made tears prick his own eyes. You were so important to him and yet strangers were bringing you down with nonsense hate. Jimin made sure to pound it into your head that he wanted you and only you; if he wanted someone who was 100% Korean, that's who he would have chosen.

TAEHYUNG:

After a long chat, you and Taehyung decided to reveal your secret relationship to the public after having been together for over a year. Taehyung took the bold leap by posting a couple of cute, romantic photos from Valentine's day on his Instagram. Knowing that it would warrant a little bit of craziness, he did it late at night before the two of you went to bed, planning on checking on it in the morning.

That next morning, Taehyung had woken up before you. Rather than waking you up, he went into the kitchen, fixed himself up some breakfast, and got comfy on the couch with his phone, ready to checkout the reveal reactions. He found himself giggling at some of the comments, even feeling happy over some of the supportive ones he read. Not long after reading, though, he stumbled upon comments he wished he hadn't seen. Many racist insults and death threats filled the comment thread. They were targeting you because you were biracial, spewing hate and saying he deserved better than you, someone who was fully his own race. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"How could these people say things like this?" Taehyung whispered to himself, still trying to be careful about waking you up.

The thought of you waking up excited to read the reactions of army only to see your race being the main focus of the thread made him very upset. He pondered whether he should delete the photo or not, wanting to shield you from everything. After a while of thinking, he simply turned off the comments to the post.

When you finally awoke, the first thing you did was ask him about the public's reaction. He produced a white lie and said the staff recommended that he turn the comments off but allowed him to keep the photo up. Although you were disappointed, he would much rather have you thinking that's what happened, instead of being aware of the nasty racist comments that flooded the post.

JUNGKOOK:

The last thing Jungkook expected when you tagged along on a flight and exited the airport with him, navigating through the crowds of screaming fans, was to hear several death threats and racist remarks thrown around towards you. He gripped your hand tighter and tighter with each disgusting comment he heard, knowing he couldn't do anything in that very moment. He glanced at your face multiple times, checking if you were still mentally there, only to see that you had begun crying quite hard. Instantly, Jungkook removed his jacket and held it over you to cover your face as various people with their phones and cameras hounded you. When you were both sat safely inside of the car waiting for you guys, Jungkook pulled you in close, kissing the top of your head while you buried it into his chest.

"You know I don't think of those things, right? I don't care about your race, I love you for you. Don't listen to those people, they aren't real army."

[bnha-dumpster]

Employee Harassment: Chapter 1

i have been talking about endeavor x secretary reader for a while on this blog and i finally deliver. enjoy some gross endeavor. it’s finally beginning 

pairing: yandere endeavor x male secretary reader chapter warnings: masturbation, endeavor is gross word count: 2.2k

There are a number of reasons as to why you wanted to work for Endeavor. The obvious ones are the pay, the chance to be around the number one hero, furthering your career with his employment on your resume, but none of those happen to be the main reason. Sure, they’re all perks and all you’ve wanted is to work under a hero. There’s just something else that has you grateful for your current job.

Warmth. 

The hero seems to only take on sidekicks that have fire related Quirks. The agency’s average temperature is hotter than other places, the air conditioning barely doing anything thanks to all the fire Quirks in the building. Office buildings have a tendency to be extremely cold, even in the winter. Working in a normal place is near impossible. It’s something that makes your life miserable. 

You’ve had issues with blood circulation since you were young. It was caught early on and you were diagnosed with Raynaud’s. A few years went by before anyone was able to figure out why you had it in the first place. Only after your Quirk went out of control in elementary did they figure it out. 

Everyone had already been on edge when you developed your Quirk. Sub-zero temperatures began to envelope your body- no, it came from your body. But within seconds, you began to suffer from hypothermia. While you were able to get it somewhat under control once you were being treated at the hospital, you never truly learned how to keep yourself from using it. It’s always a few degrees above freezing around you. A crisp temperature of 32°F that radiates from your body, always making your life hard. You’re always craving warmth, always wearing winter clothes. 

So the constant warmth of the Endeavor Hero Agency is a blessing. You still wear your winter clothes, but you don’t have to worry about a cold work environment worsening your condition. What’s even better is that you’ve landed a job as Endeavor’s personal secretary. You’ll be around him and his flames often enough that life might be a little easier. This could be considered the one good thing to ever happen in your life. 

The first day has started off well. The senior staff have introduced you to the other employees at the agency, along with any sidekicks that are around at the time. Everyone seems nice, professional but nice. It’s the least you expected of the employees at your new workplace. None of them seemed to mind your Quirk, nor did they mind your out of place outfit. You can’t help that you need to wear a sweater no matter what. You’re just glad that they mind their own business or at least decide to talk behind your back. 

It’s just the main event of the day that worries you. 

“As his personal secretary, you’ll be in charge of Endeavor’s schedule. His appointments, media appearances and other day to day activities will be up to you, but you will be expected to coordinate with his wants. Planning certain events will also be up to you. You have the full cooperation of the secretarial staff when it comes to events.” The senior staff is filling you in on what you have to do. “You’re expected to maintain a good public standing as you’ll be his correspondence. Endeavor is going to rely on you for pretty much anything and everything. I hope you’re up for the task.” 

You give the staff a nod. Secretarial work is something you’re familiar with so the adjustment shouldn’t be too bad. At least, you’d hope so.

“Endeavor is currently on patrol, so I’ll show you to your desk.” 

Your desk is bigger than any of the desks you’ve had before. It’s modern and empty, perfect for you to make home in. The chair looks comfortable too. 

“Thank you.” You give them a small smile before settling into the chair. Out of habit, you check all the drawers for anything in them. It’s something you’ve come to do when you’re taking another person’s job- people almost always leave something behind. But you honestly don’t expect anything to be in the desk this time. That’s what leaves you in shock when you open one of the cabinets and find a brand new mini heater inside. It sits in the drawer neatly, cord still tied together. The heater must’ve just been taken out of the box and put in the cabinet. 

Setting it on the desk carefully, you look it over. Not only is it new, but it looks to be high quality too. You look for an outlet, finding one on your desk. Right, those new desks can have outlets on them. You plug the heater in and place it in a spot where it won’t get in the way. The heat is nice, but not enough. With no hesitation, you turn up the dial. It’s not the highest setting, but it’s enough that normal people would find it too much when it’s not cold. 

“I should probably thank Endeavor for this…” You mumble as you fiddle with the settings, “Wait, who gave this to me?” 

Eyes search for a note on the heater, then look in the cabinet in case it might’ve fallen off while you moved it. There is one, a small slip of paper still in the cabinet. You grab it and turn it over, reading the note. 

“To make your working conditions less stressful…” Your voice is quiet as you read the note aloud. It doesn’t have a signature on it, so you have no idea who wrote it. Hopefully you’ll find out so you can thank them. Having a personal heater for your desk means more to you than they know. You smile for a moment before grabbing your laptop and opening it. There’s bound to be emails with schedules waiting for you. Even if it’s your first day, you’re sure that you’ll be getting to work right away.

And you’re right. There’s a document with Endeavor’s schedule in your email. It’s packed, unsurprisingly. You have it sent to be printed out-  you’ve always preferred to have paper copies of things in case your laptop was compromised. 

As you’re about to head down to get them, the phone on your desk rings. You sigh and pick it up, but not before you page someone to bring up the papers for you. Within minutes of sitting down, your job has already begun. Since you were ready for it, you’re able to slip into your professional skin without any issue. The world becomes solely your work.

Hours pass and the day goes on. Your desk is already covered in neat stacks of papers, organized with sticky notes and paper clips. The phone has been in the crook of your neck as you type away on your laptop, talking with a reporter. 

Unlike your previous phone calls of the day, this reporter has been far too persistent. Endeavor rarely does press interviews, especially one-on-one. But no matter how many times you tell the reporter no, they continue to beg. It’s beginning to get on your nerves and the area around you is suffering. When your emotions get intense, your Quirk does the same. You’ve had to turn your new heater on max but even then, things are starting to get cold. And you’re no exception. 

“Endeavor is not taking interviews at this time. No, no- you don’t understand. He is not taking interviews and your begging is not going to change that.” You stop typing to massage the bridge of your nose in hopes of staving off a headache. “If you come to the agency without an appointment, you will be escorted out. No, I am not going to set something up.” 

Because of your focus on the reporter, you manage to miss the presence of Endeavor himself entering the floor. He watches you intently. The way you’re taking charge and appearing so professional is impressive to him. The hero is far more used to his secretaries being weak willed and soft; it’s why he goes through so many. You’re clearly already working hard, far harder than anyone else on their first day. He can also see how annoyed you are at whoever you’re speaking with. The look on your face is almost cute.

Truthfully, he hired you on a whim. He saw your previous employment and thought you had enough experience to keep up. But he doesn’t hire just because of experience- there has to be something more. And the only thing that got you this job is how interested he is by your Quirk. 

Endeavor spots the mini heater on your desk. It’s already hard at work, just like you. A sense of possessiveness fills him at the fact that you were so eager to use it despite not knowing who gave it to you. He watches you from his spot in front of the elevator for a little bit longer.

Despite knowing your age from the resume, he wasn’t expecting you to look so young, so… pretty. People normally look ugly when stressed, but you manage to look good. Your furrowed brows and the way you gnaw on the inside of your check when the person on the phone speaks is strangely attractive. Your sweater- something only allowed because of your Quirk- looks like it’s just a bit too big for your form. It’s a turtleneck and it flops over a little, exposing the bottom of your jaw and the beginning of your neck. He can feel his cock throb just from imagining how soft the skin of your neck must feel and he has to compose himself. 

“No, this is final.” Your aggressive tone peaks the hero’s interest even more. “There will be no interview and if you show up, you will be escorted off the premises. Goodbye and do not call back.” 

You practically slam the phone back onto the receiver and sink into your chair, sighing. There would have to be one frustrating thing on your first day. Your eyes close for a brief moment until you hear heavy footsteps echo. 

“Working hard already.” His voice is deep, deeper than what the TV catches. “You were assertive on that call.”

“I hate when people try to pry their way into schedules when they clearly have no right to.” You sigh but give the hero a small smile. “I hope your day has been as smooth as possible, Sir. If you’re up for it, I’d like to go through this week’s schedule with you.” 

Straight to the point and polite: he likes you even more now. You know your place and address him with an appropriate title, maintaining your professionalism. This is more than he could’ve asked for considering the circumstances of your hiring. 

“Brief me in my office.” 

From the corner of his eye, he watches you gather the schedule papers and stand up. Despite your sweater, you’re wearing dress pants. You’re as formal as you can be. Endeavor holds the door open for you, nodding for you to enter before him. It’s a chance to examine your body a bit closer. 

When he settles behind his desk and you stand in front of him, he’s half focused on the words coming out of your mouth. He’s more focused on imagining you without your clothes on, what you would look like bent over his desk and begging for him to touch you. Once again, his cock twitches in his hero costume. He shamelessly palms his growing erection, not caring if you notice. You don’t and when you finish speaking, you excuse yourself.

Endeavor watches your form as you leave. As soon as the door closes, he pulls his cock out. It slaps against his stomach and he notices that he’s harder than he thought he was. With his eyes closed, he takes a moment to paint a picture. 

You’re on your back, turtle neck pushed up so he can pinch your nipples. He tries to imagine what you would sound like, what your reactions would be. Would you moan? Would you whine? Your cocks rub together as you pathetically buck your hips against him. He’s barely started and you’re already so needy for him. He spits on your ass and pushes in, not caring about whatever protests you might have. Have you been fucked before? Has anyone touched you before? You must be so tight, so soft around his cock. You cling to him as he ruts into you, eyes glazed over and tears falling down your cheeks. His cock is big enough to make a noticeable bulge when he’s fully sheathed inside you and he can’t help wanting to reach out and touch it-

He opens his eyes and looks down. The hero has already reached his end, hand coated in his own hot cum. He takes a moment to picture you licking the cum off his fingers before he grabs a tissue to clean his hand off. There’s a part of him that should feel ashamed for cumming so quickly but he honestly couldn’t care. He’s the only one there. No one can judge him. 

Your personality has sealed your fate.

[dulafer]

TWIN REVENGE

This is an old one, just thought I’d share..... Its of my shortest stories. Any feedback appreciated - dclouser@mac.com 

REUNION

I’ve always been the odd twin out. Will and I were both named William C. Witt with the only difference being our middle names – Charles and Conner. I’ve never liked being called ‘Willy’ while William preferred ‘Will’. Growing up, our parents couldn’t tell us apart - we even have the same birthmark on our chins. 

I’ve always been jealous of Will for being the favorite. Many times, I’d answer to my brother’s name on purpose or force Will to swap places with me. The first time I was Will was when he was failing algebra in 9th grade and didn’t want our parents to find out. We swapped places so I could take his tests. My condition was that I stay as him for the day – soaking up my parent’s adoration and love. Will was definitely our parent’s favorite which pissed me off the older I got, often lashing out for attention. In high school I started impersonating my brother to get him in trouble. Sometimes, I would get caught because my brother would have an alibi with friends backing him up, or I’d would slip up wearing my hair differently or some other little detail. 

By our junior year, I started hanging with another group of friends and dealing drugs. My reputation for trouble followed me as my ‘business’ grew. Will knew what I was up to because people would mistake him for their dealer. Weeks before graduation, the principal caught me selling drugs red handed, thanks to a tip from Will. Since Witts are a powerful family, Dad worked a deal to allow me to graduate on the condition that I spend the summer in rehab.  The deal was made and the day after graduation, Dad drove me to the rehab center. I lasted a week before escaping and never being seen again.

My drug pals smuggled me out of Los Angeles to northern California.  San Francisco was the perfect spot for me. With my college age looks, I blend in on local high school and college campuses where my business grew exponentially. I wear the college gear that fit the campuses I was working daily. I’ve always been thrifty with my earnings and always a light user myself so I saved my money for a future free of drugs. When I can, I sit in on college classes, mostly political science since my father was always drilling politics into Will and I. 

Will on the other hand, was the perfect son. He attended college for political science, becoming a staunch conservative. But Will wasn’t always perfect. After two years in college, he dropped out and was hired at Prager U as a campus correspondent to interview students and follow trends. Will quickly picked up a fan base nationally and within months was buying a condo and new car – with the help of a proud rich father. Will travels the country giving speeches, interviewing people and blogging.

Mom and dad have all but forgotten about me. I faked my own death and changed my name when I heard my family was looking for me.  It was convincing enough that the Witts even had a funeral for me. 

CAMPUS LIFE

I’m at Stanford University working my regular ‘route’, supporting my boys with product. A few girls spot me, come running over and one screams. “Oh my god, Will! I’m your biggest fan.” 

I wonder why they’re calling me Will and fawning over me? “Hi, thank you so much.”

“We can’t wait to hear you speak.  You going to do a ‘man on the street’?” the other one squeals.

“Sure am.” Not knowing what that is even. I see one of my boys coming over for his weekly stash. “Excuse me ladies, I’m meeting an old friend.”

Tyler comes over with his usual swagger carrying his backpack. “Do I have competition bro?”

“No, not at all! You know you’re my main man.” We do his frat’s handshake. Anyone watching us would see us both in Stanford gear and just assume we’re students. We take a seat on a nearby bench, talk business, two minutes later, he’s leaving with my backpack full of drugs.

I walk around campus, wondering about those two girls calling me Will.  When I get to the campus hub, I see my face plastered all over the board. The flyers reads ‘Will Witt, Prager University, Topic: Campus Diversity’. I pull one off the board, fold it up and place it in my backpack pocket. I’ll be damned, my little brother in town. I have to see this for myself.

I get home and study the flyer, find the Prager U site and start watching my brother’s videos. We’re so alike with our political beliefs – neither of us have fallen far from our father’s tree. We both have the same attitudes and beliefs as good old dad. He even sounds like dad did, around the dinner table our entire life. I then log into his Instagram account, using Will’s password he’s been using for a decade. I’m getting envious of my brother’s life – he’s still the golden boy and I’m sure dad is super proud of him. He’s traveling all over the world thanks to this Prager gig. On top of that, he’s become famous on Fox and other mediums for being very articulate and full of energy. 

As I watch him, I’m getting very envious of Will. I’m as smart and talented as my brother. I could have been the favorite son, the celebrity.  ‘Should be, could be, will be.’ I think to myself. That should be my life.

The next day, I head to a theater supply store and buy a fake belly, beard/mustache and some make up. I’ve got to see my brother in action today. Will is scheduled to do a ‘man on the street’ interview on campus this afternoon, then the speech later tonight. 

I show up for his man on the street interview but hang way back, out of sight of Will. With my disguise, I’ve gained 50lbs, a full beard, sunglasses and wearing a tie dyed hoodie. I watch and listen as Will, his producer and camera man set up everything. I record everything with a shotgun microphone - hearing the back and forth banter between Will, his cameraman Gavi and Mike, his producer. That evening, I attend the lecture in another disguise just to be safe. I’ve haven’t seen Will in over two years but he’s still the same arrogant Will in private. In public he’s very friendly and charming. As I’m listening to Will speak, a plan starts to formulate in the back of my mind. Willy is already dead to the world, so why not become Will. It’s not like I’m inexperienced in doing it. It would always piss Will off when I would steal his identity and fool his girlfriends. While he was taking a shower, I would get dressed first, take his clothes, phone, car and pick up his girlfriend who was clueless. Will would be pissed but I would apologize and he would forgive me. One time Will called his girlfriend while I was impersonating him and couldn’t convince her that he was actually Will – I was that good. 

I start tracking my brother via his emails, calendar and social media. Will is flying from Los Angeles to Washington for a week, with Turning Point USA to promote Prager U and himself. Our parents will also be gone on vacation to Europe for months, with plans to hook up with Will in London for lunch and a show in a month.

MOVING TO LOS ANGELES

I need to formulate a detailed plan. Will has lived the good life long enough, it’s my turn now.  I start with cleaning up my life here – telling my friends that I need to disappear again. They buy it easily as it has happened before. I clean out my bank account – about $1m, and drive to Hollywood where Will lives.

I rent a furnished apartment across the street from Will’s condo. It’s perfect – from my living room and bedroom, I can see his entrance and garage. I keep my fake beard and baseball cap on all the time, and only use the back entrance to go anywhere. On his departure day, I watch him being picked up by an airport service and confirm his flight took off on schedule. I head to my bathroom and remove my beard and hide my longer hair under a baseball cap. The condo manager gladly provides ‘Will’ with a spare key when I tell him I lost mine.

Will’s condo is very nice with an open floorplan. There’s 3 bedrooms and 3.5 baths. The lower level is a 2 car garage, lots of storage, a large video recording studio and utility room. His silver Porsche 911 Cabrio is parked next to a motorcycle. On the wall is some leather gear, boots and helmet. The 2nd floor has a large living room with exposed brick walls, huge flat screen, fireplace, bar, gourmet kitchen with top end stainless steel appliances and a personal office. The 3rd floor is all bedrooms with a huge master suite with large bathroom and large walk in closet. The one spare bedroom is sparsely decorated with just a bed, dresser and chair. The other bedroom is mostly empty. It’s a great ‘crib’ but I’m certain daddy helped pay for most of it.

I get to work quickly with my plans.  I try to check out his studio’s computer but its password protected and I can’t get it to unlock. This isn’t a problem after I plug in a thumb drive with keystroke tracker and some other tricks. In a minute, I gain access to all his computers and social media accounts.  The password was his usual password but backwards.

His iMac Pro is a wealth of information – full of his unedited videos, speeches and even a digital diary. I thought he stopped doing a diary in 11th grade but apparently not. He updated it just this morning before leaving. I’m sitting there for hours reviewing his life since I left. His comments about my death and funeral are cruel to say the least.  He blames me for fucking up life with my death, how mom & dad are glad it’s over and they’re all better off. Even my father agreed with him. That’s fine by me, they won’t miss Will at all when I take his place.

I decide to spend the night here and continue my studying. In his basement studio there is a green screen, professional video cameras and teleprompters set up in one corner which he uses to make his cutesy videos. I turn on the equipment, click on a file and up pops the words to his last blog on the teleprompter. On another display in front of the green screen pops up the empty stool where he sits. On the stool is a remote I believe is for controlling everything. I plop my ass down, face the camera, and see myself, or Will on the display in front of me. I fuss with my hair to give me Will’s prominent cowlick, press ‘record’ and the words start moving for me to perform. “What’s up guys, Will Witt for Prager U” I repeat his performance, then delete file before passing out at 2am, after seeing his posts on landing in Washington DC. 

LOOKING THE PART

My brother prides himself on his hair, especially the huge cowlick that he’s proud of. According to his calendar, he had a haircut a few days before leaving for Washington. I make myself at home taking a shower, and pulling on some of his clothes – dark gray skinny jeans, t-shirt, jacket and his black high top converse sneakers. I’m missing his clunky watch and ring he wears all the time, and also his rope crystal necklace he’s been wearing since he was 15. The one time I was with one of his girlfriends, not having that necklace on, gave away my identity. I jump in Will’s Porsche and find a salon with a great google rating. I ask for my usual and show her pics from two days ago. They’re very close up and detailed. In half an hour, I’m smiling at Will in the mirror, running my hand through his cowlick. 

Back home, I pull in to the garage and before I can close the door, some pretty little thing is running over to me. 

“Will! Hey there, I’m glad I caught you.”

“Oh hey, you caught me.” I smile and act surprise.

“Tammy and I are having a party tonight.” She hands me a flyer ‘Jen and Tam’s Big Party’.

“That sounds like a blast, ‘Jen’.” Hoping she’s the ‘Jen’ on the flyer.

“I was just going to slip it in your mailbox. Thought you were going to Washington or someplace exotic again.”

“My DC trip was postponed, so I’m here.” I give her a typical Will smile. 

“Washington’s lost is our gain. You have to come. Besides you can crawl home if you get drunk like unlike last time.”

“I’ll try my best but super busy here.” I chuckle with her, not sure what she’s referring to but Will’s diary will probably help me remember some of it. I’d love to go but there’ll be lots of iPhones around and plenty of pics/videos posted on social media.

A friend sent me a lot of WiFi HD fiberoptic video cameras and microphones to bug my brother’s place. I place a few in each room then sync them to my iPad. Walking from room to room I test them all for activation. It takes all day to hide them properly. Later on, Will’s latest VLOGs and antics from Washington start appearing on his desktop. 

His video reminds me how different our styles are. Will was always conservative dresser while I went for the grunge look. His videos confirm his tastes haven’t changed at all except becoming more expensive. I’m making myself at home – it’s going to be my future home soon anyway. With my new haircut, it only takes a little of his gel to look exactly like him.

 It was always fun turning myself into Will when we were younger, it’s still a turn on now. I print out some pics from his PC files, showing various outfit he’s worn.  I’ve got to nail his ‘look’ perfectly for my future life. There’s one of him in a sharp black suit, white shirt and black tie playing a piano, with a red lapel thingy at a Prager U gala a month ago. We both took piano lesson but I was always a little better.

It’s easy finding the outfit in his very organized closet.  He took it off, left the lapel pin in and probably hasn’t worn it since. There’s a video of the gala in his files that I watch, providing me glimpses of his shoes and watch. I strip out of his jeans, and into the outfit. I couldn’t find his watch – it’s probably in Washington on him but I slip on his pinky ring and a different watch from his jewelry box. Back in the studio, I start a new file – Prager Gala, pretending that I’m Will being interviewed about the night’s events. I sit on the stool, hit record and adlib the event starting with Will’s signature “What’s up Guys” intro, including flashing his two fingers. Being Will is all very natural for me. I’m up half the night learning the equipment, checking out his videos and closet. I just need a few weeks of studying him before I replace him. 

To access his cell phone, a friend puts me in contact with a local guy who clones Will’s iPhone. It costs $2000 but I now see his text messages, calendar and listen to his voicemails. I can also listen in on his calls while he’s talking to people. I can’t speak to them, and they can’t hear me but it’s perfect timing. With him in Washington, his entire life is going through his cell phone, providing me with up to the minute information. He’s working on his schedule for the next few months. With access to all this, I’m learning who his coworkers are, listening to work conference calls, what they’re working on and what Will’s job entails as Prager’s ‘social media influencer’.

Will has a spare set of keys for our parent’s place so I visit just to see what changes have been made while I’ve been gone. The most obvious change is the lack of pictures of me. Their mantel has no pics of Will and I together. It almost looks like they have only one son – that I never existed. Everything else is pretty much how it was three years ago. As I was leaving, Mrs. Tarantolo, their neighbor sees “Will” and comes running over to say hello. She thought it was sweet I was keeping an eye on their place while they were away “Such a good son.”  She claims to be my biggest fan and hasn’t missed any of my videos. She’s clueless about me, as she should – when even our parents couldn’t tell the difference, I’m not worried about anyone. 

My week consists of listening, watching and reading everything he’s up to. I take his Porsche out to grab lunch or dinner to remote places so I’m not seen by anyone that could know him. A few times, fans mistake me for Will and I sign autographs using “What’s Up Guys”. They’re thrilled and its harmless fun for me.  

The week flies by and I return to my apartment across the road.  I return the spare condo key to the manager after making a duplicate of it. On schedule, Will returns via  LAX shuttle service. My surveillance system works perfectly as he moves around his condo.  I see him taking a shower, changing into sweats and working in his studio.  His buddy Mike arrives later with pizza and they brainstorm in the studio about their next VLOG and ‘man in the street’ topics. Listening to their banter helps me learn the lingo and their personal relationship.

Will has not changed a bit since I left Los Angeles – same old anal retentive asshole. It’s fun watching and learning about him. He’s still an avid runner, and like clockwork, he does five miles around a nearby park most mornings. Prager U is just a few miles away and he’s there daily unless he’s traveling. He has a new girlfriend he casually hooks up with but it’s not serious, so that’ll be easy. He writes about meeting her in his diary. He’s got his work schedule planned for the next few months and I know enough to handle it. After a few weeks, my gut is telling me I’m ready to be Will Witt. 

Will’s next major trip is to London for a scheduled Turning Point USA promotion/MOTS and speech at Oxford University – same as he did at Stanford. My plan is to replace him when he arrives home. This gives me another 10 days to get up to speed with his life. I watch him pack, see LAX shuttle service pick him up and confirm his plane took off as scheduled. I make myself at home but keep a low profile, rarely going out. 

Between his phone and computer, I’m kept busy 24 hours/day just keeping up with his life. He’s definitely a video freak, not only recording content for Prager but also everything else like his hotel room, what he had for breakfast, his shopping excursions. I can’t wait to wear his new $7000 bespoke suit he purchased during his shopping expedition on Saville Row. I listen in on his phone calls with our parents, his friends and girlfriend Lisa. This helps me get up to speed with what’s going on in his life. Mom & Dad meet Will for lunch at his hotel, then go to see Hamilton. There’s plenty of selfies and videos to make his life mine. He’s spending a fortune on food, wine, clothes, cigars and trinkets. 

A few hours before he returns, I’m armed with chloroform, truth serum and various knock out drugs.  I hide in his bedroom, ready to pounce with a heavily soaked rag of chloroform. It’s almost enough to knock me out just holding it. 

HONEY I’M HOME

The door lock jiggles and Will enters, plopping his luggage inside the door. He makes a beeline to kitchen and opens the refrigerator. He’s there quite a while before I hear him dragging his very large suitcases up the stairs. I’m crotched in the corner, behind the door as he struggles to get both bags through. The perfect moment happens when one of the bags get stuck in the door jam and I hear him say ‘fuck’. In a split second, I pounce and have the chloroform soaked rag over his nose and mouth. A split second after that, he almost falls to the floor as I catch him. I drag him out into the hallway, and finish putting his bags in the bedroom.

“Welcome home Will, have a good trip?” I look down at him passed out and ask.

“Awesome trip man, had fun with the TP USA team, saw Hamilton with the parents, and hit up lots of pubs and cigars. I’ll have to show you all the pics I took.” I respond to  myself in Will’s typical enthusiastic lingo.  

I drag Will to the empty bedroom and start stripping him. Of course, he’s in a sport coat and tie to travel. It’s so ‘Will’ I think as I carefully remove everything from him, amazed at how alike we still are. I strip off my old sweat pants and t-shirt and put them on him. I pull him up into a metal chair I anchored to the floor, then handcuff his hands and feet so he can’t move an inch. I kneel down next to him, grab his face, then rotate it side to side to check his appearance close up. My sideburns are about a quarter inch too long so I head to my bathroom and trim them to match exactly. 

 I carry ‘my’ clothes back to my new bedroom and slowly start my transformation into Will. I love pulling on the outfit he’s been wearing all day—his sweat and scents mixing with mine. Everything is still warm as I put on his black briefs and socks. His charcoal dress pants fit perfectly as I pull them up. His shirt has gunmetal gray cufflinks and is monogrammed on the sleeve with our initials ‘WCW’. I pulled the black lace up shoes off his feet without untying them. I wiggle into them, tuck in my shirt and fasten my belt. In the bathroom mirror I put on his tie using the same technique dad taught both of us.  I pull on his cool black sport coat with large dark gray plaid patterns. There’s a video of him wearing this outfit for red carpet Oscar interviews. I check his breast pockets, locating his iPhone, keys and wallet.  Tucked inside an outside pocket are his glasses. Slipping on his ring, leather wrist band and watch completes my transformation into Will Witt. I adjust my hair using his Cremo hair cream—Will is always fussing with his hair. Staring in the mirror, I only see Will Witt, just as he was traveling first class earlier. I grin at myself as I adjust my shirt cuffs and admire my looks. I do his usual MOTS intro flawlessly – “What’s Up Guys”. From this moment on, I’m Will Witt and no one will have a clue I’m not. 

My iPhone buzzes in my suit pocket, it’s Will’s girlfriend, Lisa calling. 

“Hey Lisa, I just got in the door babe.” I answer watching myself in the mirror, smiling and playing Will flawlessly.

“I thought you would be, I’ve missed you so much Will.” She whispers seductively.

“Same, may I take you out for dinner?” I ask as charmingly as Will does, remembering their conversation from a day ago, and Will promising dinner and a surprise.

“I would love that.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up at 7, Let’s dress up and go someplace nice. I’ll wear a suit and tie.” This gives me the afternoon to get settled into my new life. 

“Okay Will, can’t wait.”

“Bye Babe.” Will’s cutesy name he uses for all his girlfriends.

‘It’s show time’ I think to myself. I head back to my brother who’s finally starting to stir from the chloroform. I start slapping his face and he becomes more aware.

“Wake up Willy, Willy wake up.” I say playfully. 

He looks confused, slowly recognizing me, his eyes bug out, then starts to struggle. “But you’re dead?”

“Rumors of my demise have been greatly exaggerated. Don’t struggle bro, you’ll only hurt yourself.” I laugh at him.

“What’s going on Willy? Why are you in my clothes?”

“From now on, please call me Will and they’re now my clothes. I just got back from London and I’m really jet lagged.” I stand proudly, straighten my tie then reach into my breast pocket for my new wallet.

“Asshole, what do you think you’re doing?” he yells and gets pissed as he’s now fully awake.

“Well, remember when you planted drugs in my locker, turned me into the school principle and ruined my life?”

“Yeah, that was a good one! They all bought it too. Got rid of you for good.” He laughs.

 “Well, laugh all you want.  I’m borrowing your life.”

“You’ll never get away with this. Whatever you are planning, won’t work.” He predicts.

“Well I’m taking Lisa out to dinner tonight to celebrate my return. In other words, I need pussy but Will doesn’t talk like that. Let me rephrase it – I’m taking my girlfriend out for dinner and hopefully make love to her. Better?”  I leaf through my wallet checking it out, pulling out the debit card. “Bro, is your PIN still 8991? I may need some cash for my date. You only have a $40 in here.”

By the look on his face, I know he never changed is PIN. “Thanks bro, just needed to confirm that.” 

“She’ll know you’re not me, don’t even try it.”

“Bro, you’re talking to the guy who fooled all your girlfriends in high school. You’ve been dating her for what? About 6 weeks after meeting her at Jen’s last party where you got wasted and don’t remember getting home.”

“You’ve been reading my private diary?” 

“Well, you could say it’s my diary. So, I was just reviewing my life for the past few years.” I laugh at him. “Which brings me to a new issue – where should I take her for dinner, and do afterwards?”

“Fuck yourself.” He yells.

“Bro, I’m hoping to fuck her, not myself. You don’t want me to do something brash, ‘unWill like’ and ruin your relationship do you? I bet she doesn’t even know you have a twin brother, am I right?” I laugh at him. 

“Willy, what are you doing? Just untie me and I’ll forget this ever happened. I promise.” Trying to soften me up.

“Let’s get this straight, for the time being, I’m Will Witt, you’re nothing, don’t call me that again.” I yell at him. “Now, you’re going to help me be you or I’m going to really fuck up your life. You know I can do it. If you lie to me, there will be repercussions. Do not test me.”

“Okay.” He responds defeated.

“Okay, what?” I demand.

“Okay Will. Lisa loves Italian and there’s this little family owned restaurant called ‘Papa Joe’s’ near her house. She loves it and so do I. That’s where I was planning on taking her tonight. I always get the ‘Lombardo’ dish with an ice tea of course.” He answers defeated. 

“That’s good information bro, I really appreciate that.” I watch his face and have always been able to tell when he was lying. “What after that? What are her limits?  I need everything to be you with her. Give me the full history.”

He proceeds to tell me everything I need to know about Lisa – at least I hope so. 

“Now I need details about my job.  I know where you work, and what you do but more details about the people, office layout, where your office is and how I get in?” He gives me looks that could kill. “What’s up guys?” I mock him with his catch phrase. 

“My work ID badge gives me complete access anytime. It’s in the front pocket of my backpack. I have an office on the second floor, just left as you get out of the elevator. My name is on the door. You can’t miss it.”

“What do you do when you first get there, in the morning? Routine? Pals? Coffee? conference room? Where do you go for lunch? I need it all Willy. You don’t want me to mess up your perfect little life, do you?” I subtly threaten him.

Once I pump him for everything, I grab the bag from the corner, pull out a needle and inject him. He screams at me for about two minutes then become docile. I walk him to the bathroom and order him to relieve himself. Once secured back in his chair, I give him dose of Midazolam that will keep him out for 12 hours and put a ball gag in his mouth. I shut and lock the bedroom door, head back to my master bedroom finishing my unpacking. 

I slip easily into Will’s routine.  My shirts and suits will go to my cleaner per the receipts in the Porsche, the rest go into the washer. Carefully tucked inside his luggage is his new Saville Row Huntsman, a few new dress shirts and the Big Ben charm I bought Lisa in London. I can’t help but try on the new suit, admiring the fit and material. I head downstairs and see Will’s work backpack he has with him all the time. I take it down to the studio office and start going through the content…. A few cameras, my passport, iPad and MacBook Pro.  There’s a printout of my next Prager assignments and hand notes he made in the margins. I find his work ID, clip it to my suit, repack his backpack and head to the office. 

A DAY IN THE LIFE

I’ve followed Will to Prager U but have never stepped foot inside. I pull into an empty parking lot, and park in his assigned spot. Will says no one is ever there but he sometimes goes in to get a jump on Monday. My ID badge opens the main door. I easily find his office and make myself at home. On the wall I notice the signed photograph of Reagan that dad treasures and wonder how Will has it. I plop my backpack on the chair next to my desk and start exploring. I open my MacBook and it starts syncing with the LAN. I easily log in and upload my videos as Will does after all his events, according to his logs.  

I explore the entire building and everything is as he described – Boss’ office, video production, media center, studio, executive conference room etc. I confidently walk around taking in the names of my coworkers. In the men’s room, I smile at Will in the mirror and clean out my coffee mug. 

Back in the office, I settle into my desk and go thru my drawers, check my work email and respond to some.  I hear someone coming up the stairs, calling my new name, approaching my office.  I recognize it immediately as Will’s producer and friend – Mike.

“In here.” I yell out to him.

He pops his head around the corner. “Welcome back, how was your flight?”

“Uneventful, good to be home but jet lag.” I casually answer.

“My flight yesterday was delayed an hour from Chicago but not too bad.”

I heard their last conversation before Will took off this am, and continued it. “I’m good with the final edits from MOTS, just uploaded it so Alexander can add the graphics.” 

I pull up the video, knowing Will made a few cuts on the flight over, and show it to him.  

“You’ve been busy man, looks great. You want to grab lunch?” 

“Sure, you drive and pick.” I can’t resist the thought of testing my ‘Will skills’. 

Mike takes me to ‘In & Out’ for burgers.  He doesn’t suspect a thing, readily accepting me as his friend and coworker.  We talk about the trip, work and future trips. I feel as if I was actually there. He drops me off and I head back to my office and continue to familiarize myself with everything for a few more hours. 

My big test will be ‘my’ girlfriend Lisa.  I stay in Will’s slick outfit, donning his favorite Ray-Bans for the drive. She’s waiting for me outside and jumps into my car. Her unexpected full tongue kiss surprises me but I quickly adjust and give her full tongue back. We make out for a minute then I take her to Papa Joe’s.  Will was telling the truth, Lisa lights up as I pull in front and valet the Porsche. I use my brother’s pics, diary, blogs and text messages to talk about my London trip. When desert comes, I spring the Big Ben charm on her. She leans in tenderly, kisses me deeply and invites me to spend the night. 

At her place, we strip and jump right into bed.  In minutes, she’s moaning as I work her pussy, slowly penetrating it with the tip of my head. She starts moaning softly ‘oh Will, oohhh Will’ making me harder, pushing deeper into her as she climaxes. I explode in her, then collapse onto my back as she curls up under my arm and we fall to sleep.  She wakes me up with a blow job and homemade pancakes – Will’s favorite she notes. I’m not a big pancake fan but eat them eagerly as Will would. I’ve replaced Will completely and now have his sexy girlfriend. 

DAY TWO

I check on Willy when I get home and he’s starting to stir. My schedule today calls for video editing at Prager U with Gavi and Mike. I take a quick shower put on an outfit that screams ‘preppy conservative’ – which isn’t difficult as that’s all Will has in his closet, making my job easy. 

I pop my head in to the bedroom and see that he’s wide awake.

“Morning sunshine.” I cheerfully say.

“Let me the fuck out of these straps now!” he mumbles as I remove the ballgag.

“Sure thing, but first a little shot so you can take a dump and eat a little something. Hungry?”

“No, don’t drug me, it’s a fucking weird feeling.” He pleas.

“Sorry man, I can’t chance you getting free and having a fake Will running around.”

“You’re the fake Will, ass wipe.” He screams.

“Hmmm Lisa and Mike didn’t think so.  I ran into Mike in the office yesterday while uploading my latest VLOG and MOTS video, then had lunch with him.  He’s a good friend of mine. Oh, and Lisa… Damn did I hit her sweet spot last night as she moaned my name softly in my ears. She really loved the Big Ben charm I got her and the ‘Big Will’ I gave her. I think I’m in love bro.” I grab my crotch so he knows what I’m talking about. 

“You fucking bastard!!  Fucking asshole!! You’ll be caught. You can’t slip into my life that easily.” He screams.

“Now, now, Willy.  Guess you didn’t notice the video and audio bugs I installed throughout my new condo or the keystroke tracker on your computers. I’ve been catching up with you since Stanford. Your condo manager was gracious enough to give me a key after you lost it.” I run and grab my iPad and play some of the videos for him, then I show him the cloned phone and play his last conversation with Mike. 

“Guess I don’t need this cloned phone any longer. I have to admit, you’re quite the busy person. Your phone never stops ringing and beeping but don’t worry, I’m keeping up.”

“Fuck you Willy!  When I get free, you’re going to jail or worst.”

“If you get free, which I doubt. If you haven’t noticed, you’re bolted to the floor. Oh, don’t worry, I’ll have new carpet installed at some point. Nice thing bro – between my bank account and yours, I’m quite wealthy with a lot of future potential. In fact, after this gig, I’m thinking of running for office. Dad would love it and back me financially.”

He mutters. “Fucker.”

“Hey bro, don’t worry, I’m taking good care of your life. Enjoying it immensely, especially Lisa. She really knows how to wake me up but I’m not big on the pancakes.”

He thrashes back and forth in the chair screaming more obscenities at me.

 “Bro, seriously, how do I look? Do you approve my work outfit? I’ve noticed this sport coat is one of your favorites. Oh, and my new suit from London fits great and feels incredible. I just had to try it on.” I taunt him while adjusting my shirt sleeves and checking my watch.

“What are you doing here?” he quietly demands.

“Well the drug career pays quite well but is extremely dangerous.  After seeing you at Stanford, I decided a career change was necessary. Don’t you agree it’s a good career move?”

“You’ll never fool them for long.  There are things only I could know. You’ll tripped up.  What about mom and dad?”

“Are you serious?” I laugh out loud. “Mom and dad could never tell us apart, you know that. I did visit the house while you were in London and from the pictures displayed, it looks like I, Will, am an only child. They’re the least of my worries.”

“Oh, they’ll know you’re not me.”

“Why would they? Just look at me bro. I was always a better you than you, when I wanted to be. I do have to get fully up to speed with my new life, friends and girlfriend but that’s what all my new drugs are for. I kind of like your style so I’ll only wear what you already have in your closet.  I’m enjoying your preppy style. I think I’m rocking the Will look, you have to admit it.” I tug on my sleeves not interested in his rants.

“What about work?” He counters.

“Oh bro, that’ll be easy too. I’ve watched all your videos – the work and personal, edited and unedited. I taught myself iMovie to edit my MOTSs for uploading. I’ve seen you brainstorm with Mike on MOTS topics and question. It’s amazing how we even think alike politically. I’m ahead of schedule for today.  Like the anal person you are, I was in the office all afternoon while you were sleeping. I cleaned out my scummy coffee mug, organized my desk and left a note for Alexander on the graphics I’d like to see before the end of today. I can’t wait to meet the boss, have been a fan of his for years.”

“You can’t be me!” He slumps his shoulder in deeper defeat. 

“I am you, no one will have a clue I’m not.” 

I inject him with truth serum and a powerful muscle relaxer.  By the time I come back with breakfast, he’s docile and defeated. A few protein bars, quick trip to bathroom and he’s safely secured again. The truth serum is remarkable. I have a totally different discussion with him.

“Hey bro, how do I look? You like?” I spin around to model my outfit.

“I’ve worn that exact outfit before I think.”

“Thank you, now see, it wasn’t too hard to be nice, now was it?”

He spills his guts to me about all his coworkers, and what he thinks of them. While he’s drugged, I hit him up on family issues and his feelings towards me. He basically threatens to kill me and will since I’m already dead. It’s been on his mind since he woke up chained to the chair. I snicker to myself, knowing he’s the one who’s days are numbered. It’s almost time for work today, so I knock him out for another 12 hours.

My first day of work is a breeze.  I visit Alexander and review the graphics I want. Mike and I review the schedule and brainstorm future MOTSs and VLOGs. Will has the easy part and probably makes the most money. Prager’s staff writes his MOTS questions and helps him with upcoming speeches. He provides the topic, they handle it from there. Will was good enough to do my outline for his University of Texas speech next week. I turn them in and talk to Marissa, our content producer. I have the best gig – I just need to be the hip preppy conservative face of Prager U and get to travel all around the world. 

When I’m leaving Marrisa’s office, I run into Dennis Prager, the president of Prager University. He puts his arm around me and leads me back to his office.

“Will, good to see you, how was London? I just saw your rough video and it’s great”

“Thank you, Mr. Prager. London was great.” I respond and his face immediately looks puzzled.

“Since when am I Mr. Prager?”

“Dennis, sorry it just came out. I’m still out of sorts with jet lag and the British are so formal.”  I try to recover.

“I understand boy, plus you probably had too much wine and cigars I’m sure.”

“I sure did. I brought a few Charatan Robustos back with me” I chuckle knowing their conversations about them and using them to solidify my identity.

“And you’re not sharing? Will, Will, Will, how could you?” 

“I’ll bring them in tomorrow.” 

“Let’s grab lunch son.” 

I can’t believe I’m having lunch with Dennis Prager. He’s thrilled with ‘my’ work, wants me to do more TV appearances like Fox & Friends but also liberal networks. My ratings are through the roof. I talk about my London trip, showing him pics of my parents and selfies I took. We talk politics, going back and forth on issues. We get back to the office and I easily fit in and learn the ropes. By the end of the day, I’m very pleased with my new life. I pass on happy hour claiming I’m still of out sorts due to jet lag. 

CHECKING IN

Back home I check Willy. He’s awake but groggy.

“What’s up guy? How was your day?” I ask cockily as I strut in.

“How do you think, you sick fuck.”

“So sorry to hear that. My day was awesome. My latest VLOG and MOTS are killing it. I had lunch with my friend Dennis and he wants me to do more TV spots. It was probably the best day of your life, I mean my life.”

“My life! You fucker, my life.” He screams with pure rage.

“Wow bro, you smell. We’ll have to get you a shower but first I need to change. Be right back.”

I run to my closet and throw on a pair of running shorts and a Prager t-shirt. I keep my cell phone on me as it’s been going off all day. When I get back to Willy, he starts yelling at me.

“What are you up to? Did you get me fired? The truth, you owe me that at least.”

I laugh. “Now why would I mess up my career bro?”

“It’s my life and career. You’re going to pay for this you fucking asshole.” He continues to rant. 

“I’ve had enough of you already.” I grab the ball gag, shove it in his mouth and he starts thrashing again. My phone rings, it’s Mike calling.

“Hey Mike, What’s up?” Willy’s eye light up watching me.

“No, I’m fine, it was just jetlag and you know me…I tried all the beers and cigars in the pubs…Yeah buddy…thanks for your concern.”  I hang up and look at Willy. “Hey that Jetlag excuse will be good for another few days till I get the groove completely.”

He starts mumbling again but the phone rings again with Lisa calling. 

“Hey babe, how was your day?” I sincerely ask. Willy starts squirming and getting louder. 

“Hey babe, hang on, I’ve got my producer calling.” I put her on hold, walk over to Willy and gut punch him with all my force. I impale him and he shuts up.

“Sorry babe, did I thank you for last night?...Oh yeah, I’d love to but I’ve got a lot to catch up with…My parents are coming back Wednesday from their European vacation and we’re suppose to do dinner Thursday? Would love for you to meet them….Okay… love ya.” 

“Bro, see how easy this gig is for me? I still need you for some additional information like the combination to the safe in your office.” He stares at me but is keeping quiet. I grab my little box of drugs and mellow Willy out.  A quick shower, shit and change of clothes and he’s back in his chair. I feed him a sub and water that he quickly inhales. 

“Now Willy, what’s the number to my safe?”

“Go fuck yourself.” he mumbles.

“Willy, you know I could give you some truth serum or beat it out of you.”

“17858” he spits out as in disgust. 

I head down to his safe and open it up.  Inside is a gun, his birth certificate, social security card, and a stack of other seemingly important papers. I grab it all and take head up to review with Willy.

“Nice Glock Willy, let’s review what’s in my safe and why it’s there. Some quality bonding time. Most of this I know but the rest?”  I ask nicely.

“My contract with Prager U, noncompete, mom & dad’s will, my will, some stocks dad gave me.”

I leaf through it, reading it all and ignoring Willy. In between docs, I feed him some granola bars from the kitchen. I play with the unloaded gun in front of him, on purpose. I’ll have a use for it soon.

“Ok brother, more work questions. There’s ‘PR shots’ on calendar for tomorrow afternoon. What’s with that?”

“Joel, our CMO set them up.  It’s just ‘glamour’ pics for his new marketing campaign.”

“Oh, so that’s what my new suit is for I’m guessing. The email to Joel saying you’re all set after you bought it?”

“Yeah, please don’t fuck things up for me Willy. I’ve worked hard this past year.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I’m Will.” I gut punch him again.

“I’m sorry Will.” He cries in pain.

“That’s better Willy. So, tell me what to expect.”

“Easy, take suit to work, some of my shirts, ties and jewelry.  Collette in our makeup will take care of the rest. Just smile and do what they tell you in front of the camera.” he answers, still in pain.

“Shoes?”

“The black derbies I had on yesterday, I bought for shoot specifically, wanted them broken in. Doesn’t matter though – they only shoot from waist up.”

“Now that’s more like it. Don’t fight me, help me so I don’t fuck up your life.” as if he’s ever getting it back, I think to myself. 

“Yes Will.”

HANGING WITH FRIENDS

“Now, my friend Tommy wants to go out tonight, grab dinner. What would ‘Will’ do?” 

“He wants to do 71Above – it’s the highest restaurant west of the Mississippi. Tricia, his friend is host there and can get us in. Very high end, suit and tie required.”

“That sounds great.”

“Yeah, he’s picking me up, I’m paying.”

“I’m paying!” I correct him. “What were you going to wear?”

“There’s a black Tom Ford suit with a red lapel pin on it, I’ve only worn it once for a few hours. White shirt and any tie.”

“Oh yes, my outfit from the Prager gala where I played ‘blue moon’ on the piano. What tie, what shirt?” I demand.

He looks at me shocked. “There’s a new gold paisley tie, white spread collar shirt with cufflinks.”

“Why thank you brother. I better go and get ready.” I shove another granola bar in his mouth.

I easily assemble the outfit he was going to wear. After all my spying, I’m sure I would have selected something as tasteful. I skip the gold paisley and decide on a ‘men in black’ look, almost exactly as he had on at the gala. A quick shower, 20 minutes with my hair and another 20 to dress and I’m still 36 minutes early for Tommy.

“How do I look Willy? Now be honest.” I ask walking into the bedroom.

He checks me out head to toe. “You look good Will. You’re wearing my good watch?”

“My good watch brother, remember? You wore your smaller ring at the gala but I stuck with what I had on coming back from London. I think I looks great. Went with the gold black onyx cufflinks. And dude I even had my name embossed inside the suit, sweet!” I open up my jacket.

“You’ve been watching my videos.” He realizes.

“Of course, and reading your diary, all the way back to when dad drove me to ‘New Starts’ and abandoned me. I’m good Willy, been watching you for a month.”

Just then my phone rings in breast pocket. I pull it out and see it’s Tommy.

“Now keep quiet Willy or you know what’ll happen.” I warn him as I answer. “What’s up Tommy? On your way…yeah early is good, I’m ready… Okay, that sounds good, see you soon.”

“Please don’t drug me bro, I’ll be quiet, I promise.”

“Sorry Willy, can’t take any chances. Besides, Tommy mentioned about having a drink when he gets here. Sounds like it’s routine for you guys. What does he drink?”

“Rum and Coke, lots in the fridge just for him.”

I grab the knock out needle and give him a dose.  He doesn’t fight me at all.

“Why thank you bro. I’ll see you later tonight maybe, if you’re awake.” I laugh as I leave and lock the door. 

Tommy walks in without knocking, making his way to my bar as I make my way down the stairs. He sees me and lifts the glasses.

“The usual?” 

“Sure, sounds good to me.”  he’s right at home, grabbing the rum and coke.

“Cheers!” he hands me one, we clink glasses and swig.

I follow Tommy’s lead the entire evening but I know enough about Will to discuss his trip, girlfriend and work. Tommy talks about his auditions for a few movies and a commercial. Sadly for him, I’m a bigger celebrity than he is, as a few people ask for my autograph while waiting to be seated. Tricia has seats for us right next to the window with the best view of LA. It a fun night as a few of Tricia’s friends join us. It’s easy playing Will and his friends. I have everything put on my tab. Thank god he has an early audition for a new Marvel movie, so we leave and I’m home by midnight. 

MORE WORK

I’m up early but Willy is out cold still. He looks like death, probably from all the injections and being upright on the chair for days. Not that I really care as it gives me more ‘Will Time’. To keep in character, I put on some of his work out gear, grab my iPod and do my usual run around the park. I work up quite the sweat but it probably helps with all the alcohol Tommy and I consumed. I check on Willy and he’s now awake and not happy. A quick injection allows me to get him relieved and toss him in the shower. He’s not putting up any resistance so I give him breakfast, leave him in the tub but making sure to securely handcuff him to a grip bar. I take my morning shower in the same shower so I can keep an eye on him.

Willy is so beaten that he’s stopped resisting completely and is cooperative even. Believing that by helping me, I’ll get what I want from him and leave him to his old life. What he’s doing is sealing his fate faster. Once I no longer need him, we’ll head up to my parent’s cabin in the mountains and he’ll be fertilizer. 

After I towel off, I sit on the toilet seat next to Willy.

“How you feeling Willy?” I ask trying to sound concerned.

“Please Will, can I stay here in the tub all day? I promise I’ll be good.”

“I think I can do that but you have to be knocked out. But sure thing. Tommy is a fun guy bro. He sure loves his rum & cokes. We had a blast. I think he was hurt that women were coming up to me for my autograph but not him.”

“Yeah, that’s happened before when we’re out.” He looks really down.

“What is it bro? you look sad.”

“What do you think? I’m chained up and I can’t believe people are falling for your act.” he gets a little feisty.

“Come on bro, how could they not think I was anybody but Will Witt? Don’t worry, no one suspects a thing, so we’re good but I need your help with today’s schedule – sorta of ‘what would Will do’ session just to make sure I don’t fuck anything up for you. Okay?”

“Sure Will, it’s what I live for.” he responds sarcastically.

“How do you come up with the topics for your MOTSs?” 

“Who do you think? Dad, you know how opinionated he is. When we had dinner in London, he rattled off six topics for me to cover and things he’d ask these snowflakes.”

“Ah I thought you sounded a lot like dad when interviewing people. That explains the notes on your iPad. By the way, I’m having dinner with the rents Friday night, having them meet Lisa.”  I just smile at him. “Now about today’s pics, what should I wear? ‘What would Will wear’?”

“We’ve been through this – my new bespoke suit.”

“Exactly what you’d wear today – into the office and for the shoot. I’m just trying to help you Willy.”

“Dennis is always pushing for me in more suits and ties, to be taken more seriously outside the campus forum. Keep it simple – black button down shirt, my charcoal brooks brothers suit. For the shoot, the bespoke of course and take all my new dress shirts and ties, many pairs of cufflinks. I love my gold paisley tie, the one you wore last night. Hopefully you didn’t ruin it.”

“No, I went with a black tie, so the paisley is fine.”

“There’s a large suit bag in the back of my closet that can hold everything you’ll need.’

“I have to tell you bro, I’m gaining a real appreciation for your closet. My tastes have really matured in the past months. What’s with the glasses though?”

“They’re for eye strain bro, giving my eyes a break now from the contact lenses. I also wear them for important interviews or meetings where I want to look more mature and smarter.”

“Well your glasses and contacts work great for me too. My eyes have been changing but I never had them checked. Now, what about the shoot? Who’s going to be there?  How does it work? What does Will do?” I press him.

“It’s a larger version of my down stair studio. Someone will come get me when it’s my turn, take me to changing room, then make up, then to the set – green screen. It’s easy really.  There’ll be people in and out all day long.”

“People like who?”

“Candace, Charlie Kirk, Dave Rubin, Guy Benson and many others.  It’ll be a few days of craziness.”

“Nice!  Do I have any nicknames or personal things with any of them?  Like, how do you address Candace? or Charlie?” He stutters and hesitates. “Spill it or more drugs. Besides, you don’t want me to fuck up anything with your friends now do you?”

“Candace is ‘Candy’ jokingly, she’s getting married in a few weeks.” He continues with the others. I’ll use the information but it sounds childish – something a more mature, evolving Will would never use.  I’ll phase that nonsense out. 

“Good to know. Thanks. I’ve got to get ready for work.” I grin at him.

Dennis Prager alluded to my evolving image during lunch and that I should be wearing more conservative outfits. I agree completely with the boss and love the image. With that in mind, I ignore Willy’s suggestion and go ultra conservative. I remember a beautiful light blue shirt with white contrasting collar and cuffs that ‘I’ve’ worn a few times. It would be ultra conservative with my gray Brooks. 

In Will fashion, I lay out my work outfit on the bed, adding all the details. When I’m satisfied, I pull it on my underwear and socks, pull on my pants.  After I add the belt, I pull on the Brooks shirt.  To keep with the Brooks theme, as Will likes to do, I select the Brooks tie that he wore previously. The whole image screams ultra conservative and looks great. I add white gold cufflinks, his smaller ring and gold watch. I pull on the jacket and stare at myself in the mirror. I put some gel in my hair then fix it exactly as in the pic I found in an old MOTS video. Oh, almost forgot my tie clip. He’s famous on Instagram for his tie clips? I clip one on and it completes my image. I flash a Will smile and fingers. “What’s Up Guys?”. 

I must have nailed the look because when I entered the toilet, Willy’s mouth dropped. In the bathroom mirror, I admire myself, tug on my cuffs and adjust my tie. I don’t say a word.

“Well aren’t you Will Witt.” He comments snidely but I ignore him for a few more minutes as I run my hand thru my hair.

“Who else would I be?” I turn around to face him. “What’s Up Guys, Will Witt for Prager U.” flash my peace sign to him, pretending I’m holding a microphone.

“Probably a better choice for today. No pocket square Will?” 

“Oh shit, totally didn’t notice.”

“In drawer under jewelry box.”  He answers me without even asking. I run to his closet, find a nice silk white one neatly folded in a square. I tuck it in my suit pocket and check myself out in the mirror quickly.

“Better?” He’s silent.

I pull out his preppy glasses and put on and off. “Glasses, no glasses?” I look at him.

“I don’t care, up to you.” 

“Know what, think I’ll have pics taken both ways. I think they make me look older, which would kill my ‘frat boy’ image on college campuses but might help me with the older generation.” I turn to look at his expression but he looks broken. “I love this suit bro, it fits me great. I made sure the knot was right by noting the length of the tie, and location of stripes. Not used to wearing one, almost forgot the tie clip – my fans would have blown up over such a faux pas.”

“True, they watch everything I post.”

“Ok bro, I need to get to work, busy day ahead. I’ll probably be late tonight because Mike wants to do Furley’s for happy hour. I’ll let you in the bathtub so you’re comfortable but how about something to help you sleep?”

“No don’t do that please, I’ll be good.” He begs.

I ignore him, grab the needle and knock him out for the day. 

I jump in my 911 and head in for another day in the life of Will Witt. The suit bag weighs about 30lbs and takes up the entire seat of my 911. Everyone accepts me and I keep learning more and more.  The lingo is coming naturally to me. The routine of emails, small talk and understanding my role is easy. 

I hang my suit bag and jacket on the back of my office door, grab my coffee mug and ease into the day.  Just before lunch, Nicki, one of the film staff comes for me – it’s my turn. I’m seated in in one of the dressing rooms, in a makeup chair, in front of the mirror. Collette comes in all smiles. 

“Will, you’re looking great.”

“You too, so let’s get started. I’ve got a lot to do today on top of these pics.”

“There’s something we’d like to do different this time.”

“Oh yeah? That sounds ominous.”

“Well, how about we cut your hair some?”

“Oh, I don’t know about that Collette, it’s my signature, my “conservative with the best hair”.” Sounding uncertain for effect.

“Well, I was talking to Dennis and Joel, and we feel you should be the focus, not your hair. We’re not talking about shaving your head, just toning down the cowlick some. If you don’t like, it’ll be back in a few months.”

I think about it for a minute, running my hand through my cowlick, looking at Will in the mirror. I’ve seen videos where the wind destroys his giant flop, part of his gig but in the end, I nod in approval and let Prager U redo my image. 

The ‘Will’ PR shoot was so simple, but time consuming.  They brought in some famous stylist from West Hollywood to cut my hair – it took an hour! They went through my suit bag and laid out a number of outfits but didn’t question my taste. They took multiple pics of me in 5 different outfits including what I wore in this morning. I was there for hours. At the end of the day, we head to Furley’s as planned for happy hour. I left on my new suit and last outfit I was photographed in. What a happy hour – hanging with Charlie Kirk, Ben Shapiro and other famous conservatives was incredible. Thanks to Will’s unedited interview videos, I knew exactly what small talk he had with a number of these conservative celebrities and played them perfectly. 

When I get home, my first stop is to taunt Willy still tied up in bathtub.

“Hey bro, this suit is simply amazing. You were right, the shoot was really easy, except for having to change every 20 minutes. Like my haircut?” I tease

“What did you do to my hair?” 

“Willy, remember, it’s my hair. It’s a shorter, more mature, conservative cut. Everyone loves it.  I still have the best hair of any conservative. I texted it to mom and she loves it too.” I open up the iPhone and scroll thru pics from the shoot, then laugh and leave to change into sweats. Following the same routine, I inject Willy, help him to bathroom, feed him and put him to bed. In just a few days, he’s totally changed from being in control to being dependent. He’s definitely a shadow of himself but I’m now casting his shadow.

Every day as Will gets easier as I seamlessly take over his life.  I’m sure I’ve slipped up a few times but since no one knows Will has a twin, who would suspect me? Wednesday at work was incredible. I helped with the rest of the PR shoot, chatted with all of my new conservative friends. I especially liked talking to Dave Rubin and Candace Owens.  I had dinner with everyone that evening and it went really late. By the time I got home, Willy had wetted himself. I was so pissed that I shoved a hot pocket in his mouth, hosed him off and drugged him heavily. 

On Thursday Gavi and I do a man on the street, at Santa Monica Pier. I nailed it – quickly picking up Will’s attitude and methods. It was easy after watching all his videos from the past year. Back in the office I sit down with Gavi, edit his video and work with Alexander to add the graphics.  

Willy is awake when I get home. His eyes scan me from top to bottom then he starts yelling through the ball gag.

“Hang on Willy.” I pop out the ball gag.

“I hate you Willy and I’m done playing your game.” He spits and hits me on my shorts. 

I gut punch him with all my force, then inject him to keep him docile. “Now Willy, we’ll get you on the potty and fed quickly. I don’t have a lot of time, Lisa and I are going to dinner at mom and dad’s. I really like her.”

I get Willy settled, take a quick shower and head out to pick up Lisa. Dinner is a breeze as Lisa is the center of attention. There’s no discussion of Willy at all – just about me and how proud they are of everything I’m doing. As I expected, they were totally clueless I wasn’t their precious little Will. I have to admit, it felt great being home. I showed Lisa my old bedroom and got a BJ on Will’s bed. It was like old times, like his other girlfriends I fooled. Mom and dad announced they’re heading to Hawaii to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary and ask me to watch the house while they’re gone. More time to get reacquainted with my new life as their loving son Will. I spend the night at Lisa’s but get up early to take care of things at home, then work.

Willy is awake and pissed more when I check in on him. 

“Morning Willy.” I cheerfully announce.

“You’re Willy asswipe.” He yells back.

I gut punch him with all my force. “Don’t make me repeat myself Willy, now who am I?”

“You’re Will, Will Witt.” He’s barely able to speak, I hit him so hard.

“Now that’s much better Willy. Let’s get you to the bathroom and fed.” I inject him and continue talking while it takes effect.

“So, mom and dad love Lisa bro.  I think she’s really falling for me.  She gave me a BJ in my old bedroom. Sadly, your old bedroom is now a workout room with no trace of you at all. I showed Lisa my swimming and track trophies, tried on my old letterman jacket and gave her the whole Will Witt history. Can you believe mom and dad are celebrating their 30th wedding anniversary? I can’t!” I lay it on thick as the caring son that Will is. 

“Fuck off.” The mumbles.

“Oh Willy, don’t make me hurt you more.” I warn him. I can see the drugs have kicked in, and start untying him. Just as I loosen the last night, Willy tries a fast one on me, trying to tackle me to the floor.  I’ve wrestled him too many times and know his ‘plays’ and another gut punch and I’m dragging him into the bathroom. A quick shower, shit and breakfast bar and he’s good for another 12 hours.

Once he’s secured, I jump in shower and prep for another day in the office. Fridays are so routine with a team strategy meeting for upcoming projects/videos/content.  This is followed by lunch and office time till happy hour at Furley’s. After happy hour, I meet Lisa and a bunch of her friends out for more drinks and dancing, then back to her place.

END OF THE ROAD

I’m up early and skip out of Lisa’s, telling her I have some chores to do for my parents and I’ll be tied up all weekend. Willy is awake and thrashing about trying to get loose. I enter the bedroom smiling, and clap my hands.

“Willy, good news! Road trip bro! We’re going to the cabin to take care of some things for Dad. I thought you’d enjoy it.”

He stares at me, blood shot eyes, a week of facial hair, looking like crap. “Good, could I sleep in one of the bunk beds?”

“Sure thing bro, then we’ll talk about next steps here.” He calms down, feeling better, probably thinking he’s getting his life back.  He’s not. 

I drug him, give him a shower, get him dressed and fed. The next morning, I get him ready for 4 hour trip to the cabin. The dosage I gave him should keep him out for most of the trip. I pack some clothes and fishing gear in case I get the urge. We leave at 5am to avoid any traffic. 

He sleeps the entire journey and I don’t stop once. I’m careful to drive the speed limit to not attract any attention from state police. I pull up to the cabin before 9am. There’s no one around, no one on the lake even – all peaceful and quiet.  With Willy securely tied up in the car, I walk around the cabin inspecting the place, reminiscing about our family outings and fishing trips. In the rear about 500 feet from the house is an old well that’s been dry for years. Dad has been talking about filling it in for safety for years, but never did. It’s the perfect place to hide a body.

When I get back to the car, Willy is stirring. I help him out of the car and walk him inside the cabin. 

“Will, untie me please. My arms and wrists are killing me.” He pleas.

“Sure thing.” Knowing he’s drugged still and couldn’t run anywhere or harm me. 

We walk out to the back porch and I hand him a coke and sandwich. He sits on the step eating and enjoying the partial view of the lake.  I laced the coke with enough fentanyl to kill him – he’ll just pass out and die peacefully. 

“So what’s the plan Will? I guessing this is it for me.  Am I right.” As he takes a large chug of the coke.

“Yeah that’s about it Willy.  You won’t feel a thing though, you’ll just fall asleep. Hope you enjoyed the coke, no after taste?”

“Nah, it tasted fine. You know I need a few cokes a day to keep the energy up.”

“Yeah, it’s a habit I’ve had to adopt. You know Willy, I’ve always been a better you and this life is perfect for me. Don’t worry, I love my new life and have seamlessly integrated into it.  I’ll take good care of it.”

He’s in a daze now, the drug is kicking in. I help him up and over to an Adirondack chair near the fire pit.  He puts his head back and starts breathe erratically. Within minutes he stops breathing. I waste no time stripping and dumping him in the well. I grab a shovel and start shoveling dirt into the well until I can’t see any evidence. For good measure I add another foot of dirt on top of that. 

I’m exhausted after that, take a shower and dress in clean clothes. In town I grab a bite at Palmer’s diner – a dive with good food. As I’m sitting there finishing up with a piece of Apple pie, Rob Decker, an old friend of me and Will come up to me. He’s a local who owns a few small businesses, most inherited from his father. 

“Will! How are you man? Why didn’t you let me know you were coming?” He grabs my hand and shakes it hard. 

“Rob, good to see you! Dad asked me to check on the cabin and I needed a break from LA. I’m heading back to tomorrow.”

“Dude, got your gear?”

“Of course, was going to try the old creek before heading home.”

“I’ll join you, heck, even Tommy will go.  He’ll be thrilled to see you. He was talking about your videos on Facebook.”

“Sound great Rob, stop by tomorrow morning whenever.”

Back at the cabin, I start a campfire and relax. Once it’s burning good, I grab Willy’s clothes and toss it all in. I have an overwhelming sense of accomplishment and freedom now. I have a few beers and watch the fire slowly burn out. Sunday morning Rob and Tommy show up at 6am. They don’t even mention my brother Willy even though we were all friends growing up. We have a blast and they want to come to the big city and party with me soon.

I fly back late Sunday afternoon and clean up my condo – unmounting the chair, smoothing over the holes in my carpet, cleaning the bathroom and tossing out the rest of Willy’s clothes. I call Lisa and invite her to my place tomorrow night for dinner and love making.

Monday morning I’m in full Will Witt mode. I wake up and take my run, shower and fuss with my hair for 20 minutes. In keeping with Dennis’ wishes, I up my conservative appearance to match my new haircut. My new bespoke Saville Row suit anchors my identity as the only Will Witt. It’s teamed with my favorite blue Brooks Brothers shirt with white contrasting cuffs and collars.  I pair it with my new shoes and favorite tie I’ve worn a few times.  Joel loves my new attitude and appearance. At lunch, I pull a typical Will move – I escape to a nearby restaurant, hang out and work on my schedule as is habit. 

Life is great now. I have tons of friends and fans. Prager U is very lucrative and I’m in demand across the US and world for speaking appearances. No one suspects I’m not Will. I love the notoriety and acceptance. I even love my preppy wardrobe and new style. It’s grown on me and I’ll maintain it.  

[mprjanedoe]

Hi there folks. I really did not intend to make this blog a regular update situation. I intended for the information to be out there for those to read and that really be the end of it. But a number of noteworthy things have happened and I feel they are worth talking about.

Please repost this if you see this.

Nothing in this post is legal advice directed to anyone or from anyone. I am not a lawyer. I know lawyers, I have spoken with lawyers, I am reading what lawyers have to say – but this is not legal advice.

I am here expressing my opinion on this situation and how it has been handled.

At no point in talking about this, in any correspondence on this blog, my twitter, or my Instagram, has my intent been malicious. I am not talking about all of this with the intention of saying any of it to harm Michael, or any members of Steam Powered Giraffe. And I would venture to say that Bunny and David, when they’ve spoken about what Michael’s done, also had no intention of harming Michael by speaking about this. It is a pervasive and toxic myth that the vast majority of people who would ever speak out about abuse have something to gain from doing so. I have absolutely nothing to gain from this. Even in my personal life – non-anonymously, I have nothing to gain from this. I am putting myself at risk of retaliation in various forms. I am doing this because I care about the people Michael harmed, myself included – and they all, we all, deserve the respect and dignity of people knowing what happened in our path to healing and recovery from the lasting harm caused by Michael.

I was informed by multiple people, publicly, and privately/anonymously that Michael has threatened legal action against Steam Powered Giraffe LLC and has used the word “libel” to describe what legal action he may choose to take. This is likely the reason Bunny chose to delete her tweets about Michael. I have been asked to remove the public conversation around this. I am not going to do so. The person who publicly mentioned this to me deserves no negative attention for doing so. The access fans and supporters get to SPG when becoming patrons is merely a paywall.

So let’s talk about Michael’s response, and let’s talk about libel. Libel is the legal term for written defamation of character. The legal definition of defamation is as such: “Generally, defamation is a false and unprivileged statement of fact that is harmful to someone's reputation, and published "with fault," meaning as a result of negligence or malice. Libel is a written defamation.”

Steam Powered Giraffe has mentioned on public posts on Patreon that Michael has “denied everything”. Steam Powered Giraffe has mentioned on public posts on Patreon, verbatim: “The evidence is far from unfounded. It's all damning and there is no ifs, ands, or buts about it. The evidence is overwhelming.” (sic)

I do not know who all has reached out to Steam Powered Giraffe’s members and what they have all come forward with about what Michael has done. I only know what I have experienced, what I have personally witnessed (in person, and online/over the phone), and what I have been told (and shown, in photos, texts, chatlogs, etc) from other victims. I have no reason to believe Steam Powered Giraffe is hyperbolizing, exaggerating, or making anything up about the situation. I also have made no hyperbole or exaggeration. To my knowledge, there is a significant amount of evidence and a significant number of victims to prove that Michael has caused the harm that has been spoken about. There is no indication that Steam Powered Giraffe has posted anything that is not true about him in this situation. That in and of itself, nullifies the idea that there is libel occurring.

In addition to this – as I said earlier, I have nothing to gain from this. I am at risk of more harm in this. Steam Powered Giraffe as an entity also has nothing to gain from this. From what they’ve said, it appears they have not been working with Michael for a while, and while I imagine some sort of legal residual financial situation for royalties will have to remain in place, what I cannot imagine is that Steam Powered Giraffe is paying Michael so much in royalties that they would lie or seek to tarnish his image just to find a way not to pay him. Steam Powered Giraffe is also at risk for talking about him, and it is a financial risk to put their reputation on the line for being associated with him for a number of years to talk about this.

In my opinion, Michael’s threat is at best, an empty one, and at worst, a foolish one. Legal action of any kind is expensive. From what I’ve read, a libel/defamation lawsuit can cost on average $15,000, over a process of at the least $1,000 a month to pursue. Not to mention Michael is not in the US anymore, and we’re in the middle of a pandemic where legal cases are not as easy to just initiate and process. In addition to this, much of what Michael has done, that I can personally state I know there is proof of, was and is illegal. Statutory rape, possession and distribution of illegal drugs, providing alcohol to minors – all of these things were and are illegal. To initiate a process where Steam Powered Giraffe would be in a position to present the burden of proof of what he’s done, would be a significant risk to “open up a can of worms”, so to speak. It would not be in Michael’s best interest financially or personally to pursue legal action against Steam Powered Giraffe LLC or anyone talking about the things he has done.

It is not uncommon for perpetrators of abuse to threaten legal action in an attempt to silence victims and those who would bring their actions to light. In the case of directly attempting to silence victims, there are laws called Anti SLAPP laws. SLAPP stands for “A strategic lawsuit against public participation is a lawsuit intended to censor, intimidate, and silence critics by burdening them with the cost of a legal defense until they abandon their criticism or opposition. In the typical SLAPP, the plaintiff does not normally expect to win the lawsuit. “ These laws and these types of lawsuits typically are talking about domestic violence cases wherein an abusive spouse threatens legal action to try to prevent a victim from seeking help and talking about the abuse they’ve experienced or are experiencing. This does not apply directly here, but it is an indicator that these behaviors from abusive people are not necessarily a rare occurrence.

I have some grievances about how Steam Powered Giraffe – namely David and Bunny, are handling this situation. Is it reasonable for the Bennetts to make sure to cover their brand and their *assets*? Absolutely. But not everything is black and white. I believe that not enough is being done by David and Bunny to appropriately make it known the harm Michael has caused. This is a morality issue, and I know not everyone has the same morals as I do, but I would hope with the things David and Bunny appear to stand for, that they would care more about Michael’s victims than Michael’s threats or the potential at Steam Powered Giraffe being looked at negatively by being associated with Michael. Here’s the thing – Michael’s harm cannot be divorced from his associated with Steam Powered Giraffe, and Steam Powered Giraffe handling this appropriate and respectfully would make people who care about things like this respect and admire SPG more. Currently, it feels as though SPG is more committed to doing the absolute bare minimum and focusing the rest of their attention on protecting themselves from a perceived threat as opposed to caring about the severity of the situation and doing their part to help the victims.

David said, in a tweet on July 3rd: (I have not checked to see if this tweet is still up) “I’d trade everything with Steam Powered. Giraffe if it meant I could go back in time and stop Mike from joining the band in 2009, so he might not hurt anyone”

David said on a tweet on June 30th “I feel sick having hired him for gigs in 2017, knowing this all now” and in another tweet “To know what he was actually doing sickens me”

Bunny has also stated a number of emotional and remorseful things which have mostly since been deleted:

She stated that she “almost couldn’t” love him anymore (in the past) because of “the sheer panic attacks” she got “around him and fans”

She said “I know the band wasn’t harboring an abuser knowingly or anything like that, but it’s hard not to feel like I was. I will be asking myself that for. The rest of my life. I should’ve said something. I should of stood my ground. We had nothing to go off of except an irate fan and a girl who didn’t want to press charges or do anything about it”

Bunny also said – presumably on behalf of SPG as a whole: “We’re talking, we’re listening, and we’re horrified at the accusations against Mike”

She also said “I can’t express my disgust. I can’t express the rage and hurt I have inside of me boiling up” and “I will fucking tear down this band and burn it to the ground if that gets the fucking bile out of my mouth” and “I’m watching this bastion of hope we created be sordid by someone we let in… gave the benefit of doubt to… MULTIPLE TIMES. I don’t know if SPF will ever be the same for me – every guitar lick… every phat beat he wrote. Tainted.”

David said in a tweet “We stand with the victims who have come forward to us privately, publicly, and those that haven’t.”

Bunny said “This is something that will haunt for years. I’m personally energized to spend the remainder of my life contrary to what Mike and people like Mike do. When the world heals and touring begins again, know that if you take advantage of our audience, we will be there with other performers like us to hold you accountable. And our audience. And your audience.”

On July 12th, Bunny said “The best part of this is that Steve and Mike get away scot free. They don’t get their comeuppance. I dunno if “vengeance” is the way to live life, but I know for a fact the next decade is going to be spent finding my own happiness in truth and loyalty.” “Mike has denied it all, even in the fact of damning evidence. We gave him the benefit of doubt too, and we contacted his family. No regrets, no justice in the slightest. And there are still people singing his praises”. She goes on: “Trying to describe my feelings on Steve and Mike’s behavior and how for years I’ve defended them… all the while being lied to is… heartbreaking to say the least. I know things are confusing, but you can’t make this shit up”

On the specifics of Michael’s behavior: “Mike’s stuff is so much worse. I was afraid Mike’s underage grooming habits would be somehow lessened or forgotten in the wake of Steve’s behavior back in the day… which while deplorable, have at least been owned up to.” “Stringing together tweets is the worst way to address all this, but I suppose a video about it or something down the line is called for. Right now I’m far too upset and rattled to reflect on it all. I don’t know how SPG will be salvaged from all this”.

Why am I repeating all of this? I want it to be cleared that David and Bunny expressed remorse, disgust, regret, anger, grief, shame in all of this. I see that. I acknowledge that. And in seeing these statements, I trusted them to handle this in the best way they could manage. But it also needs to be acknowledged that there has been a harmful failure on their part in how they’ve responded beyond these tweets. I am not the expert on how best to handle horrible situations like this, but as both a victim and an ally to other victims and a person who has been a fan of SPG before, I think I know enough to say that not enough has been done, and inaction in and of itself causes harm as well.

I’d also like to address the unfortunate situation that David and Bunny maintain they had no prior knowledge of Michael’s behavior. Here’s the thing: while I 100% believe they did not know all of the details of all of the harm Michael caused, there were definitive patterns and red flags and there needs to be actual accountability around this. Bunny said that the band gave Michael the benefit of doubt multiple times. She also said that Michael was caught and reprimanded for kissing a teenage fan in 2011. If my math is correct, at the time Michael would’ve been 25 and the fan was 17. That’s nearly a decade of difference, despite the fan being almost 18. On top of this, this was a fan and a minor and not only is there a power dynamic at play with age but also setting and influence. Bunny also mentioned Michael had been reprimanded for being “too friendly” around fans as young as 14. As an adult in my 20s, if I had a peer and friend my age who had a pattern of getting friendly with teenagers and minors of any age, that would be a huge red flag. Let ALONE a bandmate, a coworker or sorts – or technically a contractor level employee. I would see anyone like that as a liability I could not take the risk of associating with, and as a likely dangerous man to be around. That was an entire decade ago, and nothing was done beyond a slap of the wrist. On top of this, as someone who was Michael’s friend, I went to multiple Steam Powered Giraffe shows to support him. I also was apart of online fan communities as well. I saw how visible he was with his predatory “friendliness” towards young fans, and I saw fans gossip about his friends and give them a sort of adjacent celebrity status as well. While I was young and being manipulated myself and not in a position to prevent harm – I am saying this to state that I witnessed the public visibility of Michael’s predatory behavior. I take issue with the claim that there were no signs and that no one could’ve prevented this sooner. I’ve seen some fans say that Michael would’ve “always been this way” and found ways to harm other people had he not been in Steam Powered Giraffe. While this could be true, it cannot be denied that being apart of a successful band like Steam Powered Giraffe that gained a cult status online and in the local scene and had a significant YEARS of DAILY exposure in a family setting to minors, cultivating a fandom of a significant amount of younger fans, giving Michael the upper hand of minor celebrity and influence, travel, etc, cannot be divorced from this situation. This is not inherently Bunny or David’s fault. But it is a factor in the breadth of harm Michael was able to do, and it is a factor in knowing there were opportunities for him to have had the resources he gained and used to cause harm pulled from him much sooner than now, when he has already removed himself from the band as it stands.

The past is the past. It cannot be changed. As David and Bunny both lamented that they’d go back and stop things if they could’ve, well yes, to a degree, there were opportunities to prevent further harm, but it’s too late now. Now is the time to make things right, and to prevent the potential for further harm.

Currently – there is absolutely not enough publicly visible and available information on the harm Michael has caused on Steam Powered Giraffe’s social media presence. This is made worse by the fact that consistent promo and every day band stuff creates a wider and wider gap between the leftover posts about Michael’s abuse on Twitter, Facebook, and Patreon. It is now becoming a game of chance whether a fan of Steam Powered Giraffe will know what Michael has done. I have seen numerous posts and tweets from fans asking what happened, saying they are confused and in the dark. It has been less than 3 weeks since Bunny first tweeted about this, and it cannot fade to memory.

It is unfair and grotesque for fans of all ages, including children and parents of children, to unknowingly hold Michael dear in their hearts as an admirable, safe, kindhearted person – without knowing what he has done. It is unfair to not let people decide for themselves whether they still look up to him, whether they still admire him, whether they still support him. Michael’s victims cannot safely have a platform to speak openly about his violence without harming themselves by being exposed to backlash and being triggered by repeated exposure to their traumas out in the open. However, Michael’s victims deserve to have their voices heard, their grievances aired, and deserve to get some slight respite after years of abuse at least knowing that what they suffered is no longer a secret and people are not *unknowingly* offering praise and fame to someone who has done such disgusting and lastingly harmful things.

Bunny expressed that Steve and Michael got off “scot free” and that there was “no justice”. I am not advocating that SPG or myself or any of Michael’s victims be the ones to make any attempt at giving Michael consequences for his actions or enacting justice. However, Bunny and David can do things to make the burden of harm lighter.

Here is what I believe can and should be done, at the least, to do the right thing in this situation:

-SPG needs to make public statement(s) about Michael’s harmful actions on ALL public social media. Not just Patreon and not just the statements that have already been made. These statements should not be deleted.

-Michael’s likeness should be removed from all SPG’s media, within the realm of whatever royalties or residual contractual obligations will allow

-SPG should take a moratorium on normal fandom posts: promotion posts, art prompts, casual band updates on band specific pages. Every promo post, every art prompt, every band announcement will detract further and bury the information if not given the space and respect to allow the information to be seen and processed. The moratorium should at the very least last a week, if not more.

-I and Michael’s victims that I know would appreciate the original statement of harm reposted on Steam Powered Giraffe’s social media.  I remind David and Bunny that doing so does not make them legally liable for MY statement, and some fans who have read this statement have also directly encouraged SPG to repost. David and Bunny’s words cannot properly convey the direct harm caused to Michael’s victims. The victims deserve to be heard directly. Using Steam Powered Giraffe’s platform to make this known, the same platform that helped enable Michael to cause harm, is a respectful course of action.

-I also encourage David and Bunny to reflect on their role in allowing Michael to “get away scot free” in this. I have no specifics of personal accountability to ask of them, but I do encourage them to not focus on guilt or shame that cannot be fixed, but to really process this and do what they can to learn and grow from this and not allow the chance of letting harm occur again.

I know this was an extremely long post, and if you stuck through it all, thank you.

I hope that actions are taken in the right direction, and I hope I will have less commentary to offer on the situation in the future so I can focus on healing.  

[thespelldex]

Masterpost

I run a blog dedicated to putting spells, information, magickal tips, rituals, and anything under the sun that involves witchcraft all in one place.

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My tags are not limited to this list, so if you're curious just look! If it's empty, then wait a week or so and check again.

[fallensaints]

Hands of Fate (Michael Myers gift for Voxie)

~ Again, I’m re-posting this here because it’s on a blog where its no longer relevant, I do also own @joohoneybunz so nobody worry that’s being re-posted without my permission! This was a present for @killer-cons when she graduated High School! ~ 

~ I’ve got plans to get back into writing again so I hope I’ll be able to make ya’ll happy with some good content! ~

-

‘When the hands of fate fall on the midnight hour behind this mask of hate I don the devil’s power.’

Stabbing in the Dark - ICE NINE KILLS - The Silver Scream

Michael Myers Imagine for @killer-cons

Enjoy lol - Happy Graduation Day!

-

The elegant cursive is what had surprised you most of all when you’d first started writing to him, the boy who’d murdered his own sister in November of 1963 when he’d been just six years old. 

You never thought you’d even get a reply let alone one so articulate, yet here you were now, a woman grown, boots crunching through the autumn browned leaves of late October slipping a letter into the box for a man who would never even hold it, for Michael Myers was free and returning to Haddonfield, to end what he’d started all those years previous with the death of Judith.

It had all started as a high school project back in 10th Grade, find a penpal they said, they could be anyone, anyone at all, and you’d just happened to choose your towns most famous resident and in the four years since the two of you had been corresponding back and forth at least once a month, though something entirely unexpected had happened, an affection had developed between the two of you.  

Michael was the only person you could tell everything, family issues? he could understand, problems at school? He had similar problems and the sanitarium, any people that were a particular problem for you were added to his list of possible future targets unless you told him that you’d resolved the issue or it wasn’t something that concerned you anymore.  You were his and he’d protect you until the end of his days.

With Halloween fast approaching your plans were set in stone, to stay home and hand out candy to trick or treaters on your parents behalf while they were out of town and look after the house while your siblings went out with their friends, to parties they weren’t supposed to go to and with people they probably shouldn’t be with.

With dusk fast approaching you jogged back to your house, just up the street from the old Myers house, ever since you were a kid you knew the dark wasn’t humanity’s friend, for it is where the boogey man lurks and he is unrepentant in taking those that stay out too late.  Little did you know the boogey man had your name and address.

When you got home on the 31st the house was already empty, your siblings had been and gone, leaving their things from school strewn about in the hallway and grabbing their costumes before running off to their friends houses, eager to not waste a minute getting ready to go and party.  Your costume however took all of five minutes and a dig in the back of your mother’s wardrobe for an old night gown, in mere moments you were a dark haired version of Rosemary Woodhouse, breezing through the house in a long night gown, an elegant ode to Mia Farrow.

The night wound on slowly, most kids coming and going early given that in October of 1978 Halloween had unluckily fallen on a Tuesday and minutes and hours started to pass between trick or treaters, night time TV becoming your only company once the clock hit 10pm.  

If only you knew what or who lurked in your yard, eager to get a hold of you.

Michael watched you intently from where he was hidden in the shadows, he knew your face detail for detail from the one picture of you he’d kept from one of your letters, all others he’d gotten rid of to keep you safe, he didn’t want people using you to get to him, not you, you were far too precious, too pure.

He watched as you turned off the tv, watched you retreat upstairs to your room, not even thinking to check if the back door was locked to his pleasure, this was his in, this is how he would finally get to you and make you his.

He pushed the door open slowly so as not to risk the door creaking and alerting you to his presence before he was ready.  Breathing heavily behind his mask he brushed his hand along the back of the couch, had you sat here and thought of him? Your beautiful mind filled with thoughts of him? A murderer in the thoughts of an angel.

He crept towards the stairs, keeping to the edges of the steps to avoid making them creak as he walked up them, so close to finally getting to be with you, to have you by his side.  

Unbeknownst to anyone a small smile spread across the man’s face behind his mask as he came across your sleeping form tucked up in bed, creeping into your room watching over you quietly for a moment before moving closer, he slowly lifted your blanket and got in beside you, moving an arm around your waist, he felt you start against him but growled lowly, “Michael, your Michael.”

You softened slowly, turning to face him, blanching a little at the mask, “How, why?” you asked softly but he stayed quiet nuzzling his rubber covered covered face against your neck in something that might have been a kiss if there weren’t a barrier between you.

He stayed by your side for as long as he could before he had to slip out to finish what he needed to, but from that moment on he would be a constant figure in your life, watching you and waiting for the moment that you two could finally be together properly.

-

I tried, I’ve never written Michael before and I’ve only ever seen Halloween once, I hope you like it! I’ll write a follow up if you want it but it’s 10pm right now and ya girl gotta sleep.

Happy graduation Voxie! We’ve been talking for like a month but I’m proud of you! :)

[lookwhatbeewrote]

Straight Jacket | Billy Lenz

Warnings: threats, coarse language, NSFW

AN: I had a request for this from my old blog and I finally got around to doing it. More Billy Lenz to come~

The empty corridors were flooded with an ugly greenish light, picking out every scuff and spot of grime in the walls. Some stains just would not come out. The orderly checked the papers on her clipboard, her gaze flicking over the patient registry numbers and the names that corresponded. The first half-dozen had been ticked off for the day with the definitive strike of a black ballpoint pen. The orderly dropped her attention down to the next name, the next number, the next patient.

26790, William E. Lenz

She pressed her lips together into a tight line and held the clipboard against her chest.

‘Let’s get this over with,’ she murmured to herself.

Every day, she and a gaggle of others followed the same routine with rigid precision. They asked no questions and filled in the forms necessary. It was simple work. Dispense the medication, check on patients, ensure that everyone was fed and bathed before lights out.

The orderly’s pristine white shoes squeaked against the linoleum as she went, making her way towards her next stop. The little watch clipped to her breast pocket read seven forty-four and the sun had barely begun to light the external quads. She hated winter in this place. It was eerie and disconcerting. Nevertheless, she did her duty.

She made her way to the maximum security ward which lay at the heart of the facility. Row upon row of padded cells held men and women doomed to spend their mortal lives within those harsh confines. It no longer affected her to think of them there, minds decayed beyond repair, retreating into their own fantasies to escape imprisonment. It was for their own good. It was for the greater good. Stopping by the cell stamped with the appropriate number, the orderly slipped the hatch open, rose onto the tips of her toes and peered inside. The morning light had congealed grey and gloomy in a small square patch on the cell’s floor and its occupant was nowhere to be seen. This was not unusual. She dropped back onto her heels and pushed out a weary sigh, readying herself. She pushed the heavy, time-flecked key into the lock and heard the weighty door’s mechanism clunk and groan as she opened it.

‘Good morning, Mr Lenz,’ she said, stepping inside and closing the door over behind her. ‘How are you feeling today?’ She asked the darkness huddled in the cell’s corners.

Something shifted, its outline impossible to make out.

‘How are you feeling today, Mr Lenz?’ She asked again, never straying far from the door.

There was a long, heavy silence. It was deliberate and the orderly had no time for it.

‘Billy,’ she said, dropping the formal tone.

Billy began to giggle in the gloom. ‘Pretty piggy cunt. You came here for my cock, didn’t you? I know you did. I know you want it. I know, I know, I know…’

She tried to ignore him. ‘Billy, come here. You know how this works. I don’t have the patience for you today so if you cooperate, we can-’

The orderly was promptly cut off by the sudden rattling of chains and deep, manic growling. She pressed back against the door, clutching the clipboard to her chest.

Billy stood wide-eyed, teeth bared, still half-cloaked in the shadows. His arms were bound by a dirty white straight jacket and his hair was a tangled nest of dark waves that few of the orderlies or nurses had the courage to comb out without sedating the patient first. The heavy chains linking his waist to a sturdy iron hoop on the wall prevented him from closing the distance between them. He hauled against his bonds, more beast than man in that claustrophobic space.

‘Pretty nursie…’ He gargled, close enough for her to feel the heat of him mere inches away. ‘Let me lick your pretty pussy…’

‘That’s enough!’ The orderly snapped, reaching for the door handle.

‘When I get out… When I get out of here… Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you, pretty little piggy cunt…’

The orderly stopped, her heart thudding against her ribcage. ‘Is that a threat?’

Billy giggled, retreating into the corner of his cell once again. ‘No, no, no, no… No, pretty nursie… It’s a promise…’

[itsallabigmess]

Of Charms and Threads

A/N: Listen up, beautiful people: Jackson Wang! This amazing human being is my ult bias. I fully blame him for my high expectation in men - and in relationships in general.

 If you read any of my other fics or visited my blog you are very aware that I’m a slut for fluff and corny stuff. So all the cuteness is elevated to a 100 in this scenario. You’ve been warned.

I had the idea for this fic after contemplating how much I need a vacation (from life). It’s a mixture of AUs and I had to do some light research, which was fun. So was writing this story.

Once again, it’s poorly revised -- I’m really bad at revising my stuff -- so I apologize for the many absurd mistakes you’ll find.

A massive thanks to everyone who have been reading my stuff, liking, reblogging... 

And oh, if you want to read any of my other scenarios, I have a masterlist link on my blog. A.

It took you a few seconds to realize that the buzz you were hearing was not the alarm on your phone, but the bell from your front door. You stumbled from the bed, your legs stuck in the sheets almost making you fall. There was a package for you, the delivery man said, giving you something to sign before handling you the small box he was holding. You tried to be polite, smiling and wishing him a good day but only after checking yourself in the mirror you understood the funny expression the guy had on his face.

You took your time on the shower, preparing yourself for the things you had to do that day. You finally saved enough money to give yourself a nice trip. And after months or researching you finally chose your destination: Greece. The place that seemed to have the perfect combination of everything your mind was craving good food, beautiful beaches, a lot of history, and maybe a bit of magic. Even though you were poorly trying to convince yourself the last part had absolutely nothing to do with it.

It was late in the afternoon when you came back home, dropping the shopping bags by the door, glad that you could find everything that was on your checklist. And after you prepared yourself some nice dinner, you finally gave attention to the package you received. You knew exactly what it was and who sent you before opening it. But still, there it was, a small card with your mother’s handwriting.

Hope this will ease your heart’s torments. But don’t forget, love always comes from one’s inside first.

“Yeah, mom. Thanks,” you mumble rolling your eyes, throwing the card over the coffee table.

Inside the box, there was a small book of spells, one you remembered from your childhood, your mother never let you get close to it when you were a kid, even though she used it constantly. The book was passed from generations in your family and now, apparently, it was your time to have it.

It smelled as old as it looked, his pages yellowed with time. Somehow, all the different writings and drawings were completely visible. It was filled with charms, incantations, and recipes, written by the women of your family.

You always ran away from it. Magic. It was much more visceral. More real than the books and movies you grew up with. There wasn’t wands and flying brooms. No magical creatures or making things disappear in thin air. Which was maybe why from a very young age you didn’t see the fun of it. And yes, you used it every now and again when you were filling sick or wanted to make your hair grow faster. But witchcraft, even though was in your blood, never really made part of your life.

A few weeks back, you visit your mother in your hometown, and after a few too many glasses of wine, you confessed how lonely you were feeling. You were in your mid-twenties and had never fallen in love before. You had relationships, but they didn’t last long, you never being able to fully correspond to the other person emotions. It never bothered you before. Your mind was always focusing on your studies and then work. But now, you just felt empty. Like a part of you was missing. And seeing all your friends being happy with their significant others, getting married, wasn’t really helping. At first, you decided to take this vacation to convince yourself that maybe that was all that you really needed: some time off from routine. But even though you were thrilled with the trip, something in you kept telling you that it was not enough.

So, your mother decided to send you the book. “Take it with you on your trip and use it wisely,” she texted you as soon she delivered it the post office. Now that it was in your hands, you chuckled alone, feeling incredibly goofy.

You skimmed the pages until you found the one that had the spell you were looking for. A spell to attract your soulmate.

With the word soulmate shining at you, you remembered this story you heard in one of your first classes when you started college. A Greek myth about how humans used to be almost perfect beings, man and woman together in the same body. Zeus, angry at those humans for wanting to be equal to the gods, cut them in half so they would walk on earth with the curse of always missing the part that was taken from them.

You bit your lip, putting the book over the coffee table. Feeling a strange tingle on your body, you held your legs over the couch. Was your destination choice for the trip, not a coincidence?

If you were going to do this, might as well do it with purpose. You spent your first day in Athens, visiting museums and archaeological sites, heading to the Aphrodite temple last. Maybe doing your chant in the house of the goddess of love would help to speed things up. The sun was almost completely down and only a few people remained at the place. You tried to find a spot outside the temple where no one could see you and started to remove from your backpack all the things you have stored the night before. In a small bowl, you put some water, a few drops of your favorite perfume, a string of your hair you just removed, and some petals of miniature rose. Simple enough, you thought, wrapping the bowl in a red scarf. You read the lines of the book again, just to make sure you memorized it.

You waited until it was five minutes before the visitations would end to come back inside the temple. Crouching in what appeared to be the exact middle of the temple, you placed your backpack in your front so it may look like you were searching for something inside of it, and unwrapped the bowl, putting the scarf around your neck. You looked around, but nobody seemed to notice you, the remaining few people too occupied looking for the best angle for their selfies. You dipped your fingers in the bowl, bringing them to your forehead, chest, wrists, and ankles, while you recited the words, asking the winds to show you the way to the part that was missing from you.

You repeated the action a few times before someone else’s voice distracted you. A look over your shoulder and you saw a guard coming in your direction. You closed your backpack and put it your back, and held the bowl close to your body, not having much else to do with it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t speak Greek,” you told the guard as he stopped in front of you.

He gave a good look at you and the bowl in your hands, before giving you a likable smile. “You’re not the first to come to ask Aphrodite to bring you love,” he said with a strong accent. “Visitations are over. You need to leave.”

You looked down, feeling your cheeks burn in embarrassment as you passed by him, mumbling your apologies for the disturbance.

You were in the tub, back in your hotel room, water covered with the rose petals you still had with you and lavender, plants usually used to bring love and sense of peace. You wondered if you should, would feel any different. If it worked, shouldn’t you have a new sensation in your body, feel the heaviness of your heart dissipate?

Or maybe it didn’t work. Because it was stupid after all.

It was illogical, you thought, wanting to find your soulmate at such a young age. Especially if you weren’t even sure if soulmates really existed.

Lying in bed, you tried to brush away those thoughts, deciding you should continue to focus on yourself, and in having fun and enjoying your next days of vacation. You did spend a lot of money on it after all.

Instead of making reservations in a hotel, you decided to rent a small studio in your next destination, Santorini island. The owner of the place, a woman in her forties called Maria, was kind enough to pick you up at the airport, giving a few tips on where to go and what to do on the way to the place where you were staying, even giving you cards of people who could give you tours for a decent price.

Maria gave you the keys of the studio, and wished you a nice stay, leaving you behind mesmerized by the amazing view from the balcony, the sensation you could see almost all of Santorini and the sea surrounding it from there.

You took a quick shower, changed clothes and decided to walk around to get familiarized with your surroundings, takings photos every few steps, already in love with the island. When the night came, you sat in a small restaurant on your way to the studio, accepting the recommendation the waiter gave to you.

There was traditional music playing somewhere in the nearby square, and you followed the sound after you finished your dinner. A few older men were sitting and playing while people surrounded them, some singing and clapping, some dancing along. You were taking a few pictures when you felt someone bumping into you, cold liquid sliding down your body.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” the man who had just give you a beer bath started to apologize, sounding embarrassed at the mess he made.

It took you a second to get out of your surprise state, barely looking at him, more preoccupied with your camera. “It’s fine,” you finally said, putting the camera inside your backpack.

“I swear it was an accident,” he insisted.

“It’s okay,” you looked at him, trying to not sound mad “It happens. No harm was done.”

You started walking away, trying to wipe off the drops of beer you could still feel in your arms when you heard him call for you again. A look over your shoulder and you could see him doing a small run catch up with you “Wait! Maybe you should take this,” he offered the button shirt he was wearing, making you frown at him, confused. “Ahm… your shirt is a bit transparent.”

You looked down only to see that your lace bra was completely visible through the white wet shirt. “Shit!” Your hands flew to cover your breast, as you looked around quickly to see if anyone had noticed. Gladly, you still had your red scarf with you, and you soon wrapped it around yourself.

“I’m really sorry,” he apologized again.

“You already said that,” you snapped back, walking again, faster this time, feeling completely annoyed.

“Still. I’m Jackson, by the way” he said, still following you, but keeping his distance. You didn’t say a thing, holding the straps of your backpack as it would help you to walk faster somehow, looking straight away. “My friends don’t know how to drink without making fool of themselves. Or a fool of me, apparently.”

“Look,” you said, turning abruptly to him. He seemed surprised for a second. “I said it was fine. I would really appreciate if you stopped following me now.”

“I’m not following you. Just keeping you company.”

“Thanks, but I’m fine by myself,” you gave your back to him again, feet moving quickly.

“Are you sure? You do seem a bit lost,” he stayed in his place, hands shoved in the front pockets of his pants.

“I’m not lost,” you mumbled to yourself, waiting to turn the corner to check the directions on your phone. He didn’t seem to continue to follow you, which was a relief. Not that he seemed dangerous. Somehow, he really sounded concerned if you were okay. But still, you didn’t know him, or anyone in the country for that matter, and really didn’t want to have a strange man knowing where you were staying alone. Maybe you should have looked for a protection spell instead of a love one. It would probably be way more useful.

“Have a good night, stranger,” you heard him shout far way back, a prickle in your ankles as you turned around the corner.

Hiking seemed like a good idea for your first day in Santorini. You left early, with the sun still rising, wanting to avoid dealing with the summer heat, even though you knew you didn’t have much of a choice. The hike could be made in a total of 3 hours, as you learned by researching about it, but you were in no rush, wanting to do as much sightseeing and take as many pictures as possible.

You didn’t hire a guide, knowing that if you started the path in the right place, all you needed to do was follow the signs. In any case, you just might as well ask for directions, surely you wouldn’t be the only one in the trail.

An hour later you finally stopped in a villa to drink some water, glad that it wasn’t as hot as you expected. You sat by the white wall that gave you the view of the ocean, taking a few minutes to catch your breath and take some pics of the sea of white walls that made formed most of the houses of the island. Your feet started moving again back on the trail, the sun giving all his attention to the back of your neck, as you heard some steps behind you.

“Hello, stranger,” Jackson smiled when you turned your face in his direction.

“You again,” you said blankly looking at him up and down. He looked casual, wearing shorts, a black tee, and snickers, traces that he didn’t have enough sleep still on his face, his cap a reminder that you still needed to buy one for yourself. “Where the hell did you came from?”

“I’m staying at that hotel back there,” he pointed over his left shoulder. You didn’t follow his gaze “Saw you passing and decided to say hi.”

“Hi,” you said with a little wave of your hand after noticing that his eyes were fixed on you, which was a little worrisome since you both were walking up an uneven trail. He seemed satisfied, eyes now down.

“I felt bad for leaving you to walk alone last night,”

“Why?” you raised a brow at him “You don’t know me.”

“Oh right, you didn’t give me your name last night,” he snapped his fingers, throwing his head back as if he had just remembered something.

“So, you think that just by being aware of a person’s name you already know them...”

“No, but it’s a good start,” he gave you his easy smile, the one that apparently was constantly in his face. “So…?”

After a long heavy sigh, you finally stopped walking and gave him your name, he extending his hand to shake yours and repeating his own, as if he was meeting you in a formal situation that didn’t fit neither you or the place, the seconds of silence that followed starting to make you feel embarrassed.

“I should keep going,” you said apologetic, adjusting the straps of your backpack. You started to walk again, distracted with a new thought in your mind when you felt Jackson walking by your side again.

“You really need to stop following me,” you sounded way less angry than you did the night before.

“Not following. Keeping you company, remember? You are making the hike to Oia, right? Why not do it together?”

“You, making the hike?” you sounded skeptical. “Shouldn’t you at least have some water with you?”

“I can buy some on the way,” he shrugged.

“Aren’t your friends going to miss you? It’s a long walk.”

“Doubt it, they are all passed out because of last night. Besides, I spend way too much time with them already.”

There was no excuse you could find to give him not to keep you company, no matter how hard you tried. You were also certain that nothing you could say to him would make him go away, so you just kept walking, avoiding looking at him, knowing he wasn’t doing the same.

But Jackson stayed quiet most of the trail, which was nice, mostly because you were too busy focusing on keeping breath steady during the ups and downs, even though you were walking in a slow pace – you shouldn’t have skipped the gym. But also, Jackson was cute. Really cute. There was something pleasant about the way he smiled, the way he talked. You didn’t figure out what was it yet and wasn’t sure if you wanted to.

He didn’t mind to stopping every now and again when you wanted to take photos, even offering to take yours. And as the hours passed, even though you didn’t share enough words that weren’t about the view, you felt used, comfortable even, with his presence.

You both dropped in your chairs after finally arriving at the end of the trail many hours later, resting by the shadows of a lounge place that allowed any visitor to use the pool if they bought some drinks and food. You both decided to have lunch there, your stomach growling as you looked at the menu.

The pool was tempting you, feeling almost desperate to have it’s the cold water on your warm skin. Gladly, you had prepared yourself – as always - and were wearing a one-piece swimsuit under your clothes.

“I’m going for a dip,” you told Jackson, as you get rid of your sneakers. “Wanna come?”

“No, I’m good.”

“Mind keeping an eye on my things then?” you asked, smiling at him when he told you to not worry about it.

Jackson watched you carefully as you walked to the pool, eyes resting on the vivid red lines contouring your ankles. When you told you were going for a dip, he imagined you would just jump in the pool. But curiously for him, you entered the pool slowly descending by its stairs, keeping yourself close to the borders until you got to the other side, diving and then resting your arms over the edge where you could look to the ocean in front of you.

He took a photo of you with his phone, mesmerized by how nicely you fitted the view., how distant your mind seemed to be.

The lazy hours you both shared after lunch were spent by getting to know each other, you feeling a bit guilty for sharing so much time with someone and only being aware of his name. Jackson was more than willing to know you better, asking about your life, where you lived, what you did. It was oddly easy talking to him. Like you were old friends that were catching up on all the time lost, sharing every detail that came in mind, you could swear you even knew each other’s mothers birthday as the night arrived.

You shared a cab after giving up on hiking back. Jackson tried to convince you to go for dinner with him later, but all you had in mind was the comfy bed that waited for you. He complained – a lot – when the cab stopped first at his hotel but calmed down when you exchanged phone numbers and you promised to text him as soon as you got to your place.

The red lines in your ankles didn’t stop to tingle since you came back, and as you took your shower, you wondered if they were consequences of the spell. As if it had bounced back, the marks being a punishment for dwelling with magic when you were not used to doing so.

Jackson texted you back when you were already in bed, saying how much he has enjoyed your company, and how he was expecting to see you again. You smiled at the message, biting your lip when you realized that, for some reason, you felt the same.

With heavy eyes and tiredness washing over your body, the last thing on your sight before everything turned to black was the spellbook resting on top of your suitcase.

Running as fast as you could, your legs still tired from the day before, you arrived late at the marina. You still lost a few more minutes trying to find the right boat that would take you on a tour around the island. After the guide showed you where you could keep your bag, you approached the front of the boat where the other passengers were, amazingly not surprised by the fact that Jackson was there too, his infections laugh easily finding its way to your ears.

“Well, who’s following who now,” he teased, getting up and walking towards you as soon as he noticed you.

“And here I was thinking it was called keeping company,” you winked at him, blushing after he gave you a quick kiss on your cheek.

Jackson introduced you to his friends, you already feeling familiarized with how much he talked about them the day before, they all very welcoming, offering some of their beers and asking you to sit with them. Jackson made sure to sit by your side as the boat started moving, a whisper in your ear to tell you how glad he was that you were there.

The boat was taking you on a tour around the most beautiful beaches of Santorini, as it was announced, and twenty minutes later you arrived at the first stop. Not necessarily a beach, since there was no sand, only rocks, but it was a place where people could do some diving and snorkeling. With your camera in hands, you watched amused as people started to jump from the boat, Jackson’s friends screaming at each other as if they were in some form of competition.

After escaping from of his friend’s grip, Jackson looked around trying to find you, only to realize that you were still sitting at the same place, your chin resting in one of your knees, eyes focusing in something that was not there.

“Aren’t you coming?” he asked, now standing by your side without you realizing, water dripping from his body.

“Uhm… no, I’m good,” you smiled weakly, a hand above your eyes so you could see him properly. You obviously still needed to buy a cap.

“Why not?

You thought for a second before answering. “The water must be cold,” the excuse sounding too weak for anyone to believe.

“Well, as someone who was just in there, I can assure you it’s not,” Jackson sat in front of you, eyes squinting “You don’t know how to swim, do you?”

“How do you…?” you started to ask, eyes wide open, not remembering including this information in your previous conversation.

“Yesterday at the pool, you stayed close to the edge all the time.”

You had to remember yourself to close your mouth, biting your lips for a second “Very perceptive of you,” you said looking down, your cheeks burning.

“Are you blushing?” he asked in a chuckle as he sat a bit closer to you.

“No?” you tried to brush it off without much success. “I do just fine at pools or even in the beach, as long as the water doesn’t go above my chest.”

“Ah, I see. Why don’t you come with me? Pretty sure I can handle both of us.”

“What? No, Jackson. Go on. I’m fine here, seriously.”

“Are you really going to spend the entire tour sitting on this boat?

“That’s the plan. I can take nice pictures from here.”

Jackson glared at you, his expression hard to read. “I’m gonna stay here with you then,” he said, making himself comfortable by your side.

“Jackson don’t be silly.”

“I’m not. I was planning on working on my tan, to be honest. I’ve been very pale lately,” he said looking down at his own body, you feeling incapable to not look – again – at his athletic shape.

“Jackson...”

“Besides, I would feel very bad for leaving you alone here in this sad, lonely boat, as I swim through the most beautiful beaches of Santorini,” he shook his head while overemphasizing every single word.

“Are you really trying to make me guilty?”

“Maybe” he smirked, “Is it working?”

“A little bit…”

Jackson got up in a jump, hands brushing his own hair back before he offered his palms to you. “Come, let’s have some fun,” he smiled that big smile of his to you, making your heart flutter. “Just trust me, okay?”

He jumped first but waited for you by the mobile stairs at the side of the boar. You bit your lip, eyes moving from him to the water, then to the stairs, and your surroundings, as if you were trying to find someone to hold you back, regretting coming to a tour that didn’t fit you. Jackson waited patiently, giving you an encouraging look. “Don’t worry. I got you,” he said, his hand moving away from the wet hair that kept falling on his eyes.

You took a deep breath, finally stepping down the stairs, arms wrapping around his neck as soon as your body was in the water, he hugging you back, making sure you locked your legs around his waist. “Better than the boat, hum?” he asked in a tease.

“Can’t believe you convinced me to do this,” you mumble, body shaking as you got used to being this close to him.

“Me neither!” the funny expression on his face making you laugh.

You loosened your grip around his neck as you felt more comfortable, but Jackson didn’t let you go, as he promised. He stayed close to the boat though, maybe to show you that you were not only safe but could go up again at any time.

It was easier on the third stop, the boat stopping close enough to an island for you to jump in the water and still be able to walk until you got to the land. That didn’t stop him to be by your side, you two ignoring his friends to explore the place, finding nice spots to enjoy a bit of conversation under the trees shades before going back to the water.

You had lunch with his friends when the boat took you to a different harbor, the boys looking too red as if none of them were used with being under the sun for long. You laughed between bites as they teased each other, especially Jackson, for abandoning them for you. Not that it wasn’t understandable – their words, not yours.

The last stop of the tour boat was near a cliff, where people could watch the sunset a privileged view only a few people had the chance to witness. You didn’t notice when it happened, but there you were, body leaned against Jackson’s, his arm over your back, his fingertips going up and down on your shoulder, as you watch the blue sky turn to shades of orange and yellow.

Is that how it feels like? To fall in love…Shouldn’t be harder, take longer? The lines on your ankles haven’t prickled the entire day, but you felt your entire body static every time he touched or looked at you.

“Am I bothering you?” he murmured close to your ear.

“No. Why would you think that?”

“Well, something must be, you are doing that thing again.”

“What thing…?” you frowned.

“You do this thing where your eyes become foggy and your mind seems elsewhere.”

You sat straight up, staring at him with mouth open. “Jackson, you weren’t even looking at me!”

“It was just a feeling,” he shrugged. “I saw you doing it earlier today and yesterday when you were in the pool, so I just figure you were doing it again.”

You looked at him incredulously, eyes wide open. It was odd, in an amusing way, realizing how Jackson was picking up on details of you most people really don’t care.  You shook your head, laughing with yourself, and resting against him again, his inquisitive eye on you. “I’m not bothered, Jackson. I’m just… glad. It was a nice day.”

“I was a nice day,” he repeated, smiling. “It deserves a picture” he shuffled a bit to take his phone out of his back pockets, taking some photos of the sunset, then turning the camera to selfie mode so he could take a picture of you two. Smooth, you thought as you inclined your head to rest on his shoulder, he tilting his own head closer to yours. He hid the phone again, dropping a small kiss on the top of your head as you continued to watch the sun disappearing in the horizon, feeling your heart beat a little too fast as he pulled you closer. It was nice to feel that his own heart was at the same pace.

"Do you have any plans for tomorrow?" Jackson asked when you stopped by the stairs that led to your place. This time you’ve allowed him to walk with you, your fingers intertwined, he not being able to keep his touch away from you. "Probably, but what do you have in mind?" “I heard about this wine tour,” he gave you an uncertain look “and I thought maybe we could go together.” You tilted your head to the side, smiling foolishly. "Are you trying to get me drunk?" "I could never!" He put a hand on his chest, looking at you as if you had just offended him you the worst possible, only relax his face a second after "But that could be a side effect on the both of us." You giggled at his overreaction, this scenic side of him not failing to amuse you every time you had a chance to witness it – and you had a lot to see through the day. You didn’t even have to think before agreeing, anxious to spend another day with him. "Can I meet you here at nine?" he asked, playing with your fingers in the hand he was still attached to. "Isn’t that too early to start drinking?” "We’re on vacation, it’s never too early to start drinking,” he stated, “But I was thinking we could go for breakfast before." "I’ll be ready at nine, then,” you nodded, eyes drifting to your connected hands, the sensation that all heat of the day was now burning inside your chest. "You're gorgeous. You know that, don't you?" He said, getting you off guard, probably noticing your flushing. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you said, biting your lower lip, an appropriate compliment failing to fall from your lips as if no words were enough to describe how striking he was. "See you tomorrow," he inclined to give you a gentle kiss on the cheek, sliding over to kiss you again, closer to your lips, staying there a second too long before his free hand cupped your face, your lips meeting his. It was soft, salty, as you could still taste the ocean in him.

Kisses shouldn’t feel like this, you thought. Like nothing mattered before. Like you knew your life would depend on it from now on. "I'm sorry," he broke the kiss, resting his forehead on yours, recovering the air that left his lungs. "I shouldn't have... I mean I wanted to, but..." "Jackson, it's okay,” You said softly, your hand moving up to touch his face too. “I... I wanted it too." "You did?" a breath of relief coming through his mouth. "Yes. I mean, I think that after the day we had I would feel quite offended if you didn't even try to kiss me." He chuckled, moving his face back so he could look you in the eyes "I've been wanting to do it since the first time I saw you." "Oh you mean the night you spilled beer all over me and stared at my breast?" "When you say it like that it makes me sound so unromantic," he rolled his eyes, making you chortle. Jackson caressed your cheek with his thumb, his big doe eyes saving every detail of your face "Can I kiss you again?" You nodded quickly, yearning to taste him again.

Most of your night was spent thinking of Jackson, your fingertips lightly touching your lips as if it could bring back the sensation. But you figured Jackson wasn't your soulmate. He couldn’t be. That's why those damn red lines appeared on your ankles. The spell hadn’t bounced back. In fact, it was giving exactly what you asked to. To show the way to the missing part of you. And the tingling you felt every time you spent time with him was a sign that you were with the wrong person. No matter how hard you wanted it to be otherwise. Because you liked him. Like you never liked anyone else. Nobody ever made you feel like your entire body was about to combust just by looking at you. Nobody ever made your heart skip a beat every time you were touched.

He noticed, during your walks through the vineyards, that your mind was elsewhere, your expressions giving you away. He asked you more than once what was happening. You always brush it off, glad that after a while you could use the wine as an excuse. Jackson was a summer fling and so you should treat it like it. Have fun, enjoy his company while it lasted. Cause, in the end, it was all you could do. Maybe you should’ve just ended it. Whatever it is that you were doing. God, it’s been only a couple of days. And still… still, you were not ready to say good-bye.

So that’s what you were going to do. Be completely egoistic. Enjoy every second you still had. Finding your soulmate seemed so irrelevant when you had Jackson looking at you.

"I have a question for you," he said, you two walking around town, holding hands, as you did for the past week. Your vacation was almost over and you decided to do some shopping around the island. "Apparently there's this beach where people usually go swimming at night when there's a full moon, which happens tonight."We don't need to go too far into the water” he rushed when you raised a brow at him “and I'll be holding you all the time." He stayed a few moments in silence, waiting for an answer, as you looked at the miniature boats aligned in the shelf of the gift shop. "Or maybe we could just sit by the sand and laugh at people making fun of themselves."

"We could do that,” you said, turning to him, embracing him by his neck and giving him a quick peck, “or we could buy some wine, some food, go back to my place, and watch the sunset from the balcony,” another peck as he holds you by the waist “Have I ever mentioned that I have a Jacuzzi?” you gave him an innocent look.

There was still an hour until the sundown when you two arrived at the studio, Jackson being even more surprised to see the jacuzzi was actually located in the balcony. You never used it before, not being able to turn the damn thing on. Jackson figured it out in a minute. You went inside to change your clothes and came back wearing only one of your sets of black lacy underwear.

You were gonna going to miss that. The way Jackson looked at you. Like you were the most amazing thing he had laid his eyes on. He was already inside the jacuzzi when his expression going from surprised to hunger in a split. But he kept his eyes on your face, reading you as you got closer, getting up and offering his hand to help you enter.

Sex had always been something trivial for you. Never associated with passion, only to lust. It was just an itch you needed to scratch, your past partners understanding that and never asking more – at least not of sex itself. And now, even that was different. You felt nervous, walking towards him, a new kind of desire building in you.

“You’re oddly quiet,” you noted, entering the tub, trying to distract yourself from your own jitters.

“And you’re stunning,” he uttered, his hands bringing you closer to him, his lips finding yours like magnets. He kissed you slowly, tenderly, with his arms doing the best they could to keep your bodies glued.

You parted the kiss and moved away from him slightly, Jackson looking at you confused. You smirked, pushing him back with both of your hands on his chest, making him sit, so you could position yourself on his lap.

“You had all this planned out, didn’t you?” he asked in a smile, his hands squeezing your hips.

“It was more like wishful thinking,” you giggle, as you caressed the hair on the back of his head. “I want you, Jackson,” you said matter of factly, starting to lose yourself in his round eyes.

“You already have me,” he whispered, pulling you for another passionate kiss.

You didn't want to talk tonight. You did enough talking already. You wanted to feel him, touch him. Discover every inch of his body. Your hands slid to his shoulders, then chest, abdomen, until you found his bulge. You started to caress him, a groan coming out of Jackson's mouth when your hand touched him under the thin clothes that were still between you. "You need to take this off" you uttered, getting on your knees to give him some space to remove his shorts, going back on your action as soon as he threw it to the ground. He let go of your hips to remove your top, spreading sloppy kisses all over your collarbone and chest until he reached your nipple, filling his mouth with your breast.

A loud moan came from his mouth when you slid him inside of you, moving your hips fast, you sure we would leave a mark on your ass considering how strongly he was squeezing it.

"I can’t handle any more" he growled, lifting you both up, your legs attached to his hips. He took you inside, pressing you against the wall, kissing you messily before dropping to the bed a few seconds later, lifting one of your legs to rest on his shoulder, his lips, tongue finding you clit with no trouble as your hand goes to the back of his head, pulling his face against your core.

He stayed there even after your climax, giving small kisses to your inner ties, the lower part of your belly as if he was giving you time to recover. Jackson crawled over you, his warm body covering yours, getting rid of your shivers. One of his hands brushed away the wet hair that was glued to your face, the tip of his fingers sliding through your lips.

"I'm so glad I finally found you" he whispered before his mouth was on yours, as he started to move slowly inside of you.

You woke up in the middle of the night, the cold breeze coming from the window giving you chills. You got up to put some panties and a large shirt and went to the kitchen to drink some water. You stopped at the doorway, glass in hand, looking at Jackson and smiling at the image of him, chest going up and down in a slow steady rhythm, his naked body being illuminated by the moon. 

To hell with soulmates, you thought. Jackson was the only one you ever wanted.

That when you saw it. The red lines around his ankles, same as yours.

Blinking once, twice, imagining you were seeing things, you got a bit closer to have a better look. But there they were. His lines, not only matching the ones you had but going from his ankles to yours, connecting you two. You started to feel your heart race, dizziness taking over you. You did this to him. He was the one that came to your call. And now he was attached to you.

You sat outside in the balcony, eyes burning as the tears started to form. How could you be so stupid? You shouldn’t be messing with magic, even if it was part of you. You never fully embrace it, and now was dealing with the consequences, your charms becoming the curse to another. You heard Jackson calling your name inside, his voice horsed with sleep, he soon found you sitting by the small table, shaking as the tears ran down your face.

"Hey, what are you doing here? It's cold!" He approached you, wrapped around a blanket. He must have felt how tremulous you were. Just like he always seemed to know when your mind was somewhere else. Because you caused this to him. You bonded him to you. 

"What's wrong?" You didn't want to look in his eyes, turning away when he tried to touch your face.

“Please, tell me,” he begged, crouching in front of you, both of his hands on your knees. “Was it something a did?”

“No,” your voice trembled, a knot on your throat. You had to tell him. He deserved to know. “I did something...” You tried to look at him, only to sob even harder.

“Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me,” he tried to assure you, squeezing lightly your knees. “It couldn't have been something that bad.” "I don't know where to start," your voice trembled. "Well, let’s go inside first, and then you can start from the beginning." You told him, because what else could you do? It took you some time for the sobbing to stop and your voice became steady enough. Jackson waited and waited, sat with you in bed, holding your hands and playing with your fingers gently.

You did start from the beginning. From your childhood, from your mother telling you had magic in your blood. You figured it was the only way he would maybe, maybe, believe in you. Your tears came back when you told him about the spell, about your visit to Aphrodite’s temple. You felt him squeezing your hand a bit tight when you told how lonely you were feeling, how much you felt like a part of you were missing. And when you finished, there was only silence.

“How do you know?” he asked after a while, voice sounding calm. “How do you know that it worked?”

“Because of the lines” you lifted one of your legs to the bed, a hold on your ankles as if you wanna hide the red marks. “You can’t see it, but there are this red lines going from my ankles to yours.”

“Threads.”

“What?” you looked confused.

“The right term is threads. I can see them too,” he gave you a lopsided smile. “You know, my mom always told me this story... that after she met my father, she started to have these dreams where they were connected by red threads. After they got married she told it to him and my father confessed to her he used to have the same dreams…”

When he saw how puzzled you looked, not making sense of his words, Jackson couldn’t contain a chuckle. He brought his free hand to your face, sweeping away the tears that remained in your cheeks. “They are called red threads of fate,” he explained, “According to legend, the gods tie the ankles of those who are destined to be together with an invisible red cord.” "Jackson…"

“I knew I there was something about you…”He interrupted, looking at you lovingly” That silly night. Before I actually spoke to you... I’ve seen you a bit earlier and I just couldn’t keep my eyes away. I wish the first time we talked didn’t involve me spilling beer all over you, but you know my idiotic friends, “He giggled “I only saw your threads the day after… at the pool.”

You were trying to digest what Jackson told you, repeating his words on your mind. Could it be, that Jackson and you were really meant to be? That you didn’t curse him like you were so certain you did? “Where’s the book?” he asked you, seeing how you still were lost in your own thoughts. “The one with the spell?” You pointed to your luggage on the room’s corner. Jackson asked if he could get it and after you nodded, he gave your hand another soft squeeze.

He sat in front of you again, book in hands, asking you to show him the spell. “Read it again,” he asked you softly, turning the pages to you. “Out loud.”

You did, looking at him right after as if you were expecting him to explain it to you.

“You really aren’t good at being a witch, are you?!” he joked, “The spell says to show you the way to your soulmate…I know nothing about magic but wouldn’t you need something from me to make me fall in love with you?”

“I… guess…?” you stammered, surprised by his question.

“And did you do any spells after meeting me?”

“No. But Jackson...”

“When was the first time you saw the threads on yourself?”

“The morning after the spell,” you recalled your second day of the trip, still in your hotel in Athens, seeing the red marks on your ankles when you were showering, not making a big fuss out of it.

“Which from what I remember, was the same day I got here. That’s when I first saw mine.”

“Jackson, I...”

“Can you stop being so stubborn?” he cupped your face, giving you a peck to shut you up. “You didn’t curse me or whatever awful thing you thought you did. You just helped us to find each other.”

“Then why didn’t I see the threads before like you did?”

He thought for a second before speaking again.“Maybe because tonight was the first time you completely accepted your feelings for me.”

You were silent again, eyes shifting from the open spell book at your side in the bed, to your hands open in your lap, Jackson caressing one of your palms. Your head was a mess, and you couldn’t understand why was that way. Why it was so much easier to believe that you had damned Jackson than it was to believe in this story he told you. Why can’t you believe in his mother’s story when he didn’t seem to care about you telling him you were a witch. Why couldn’t you believe that you were destined to be together? You wanted so much to find love, to find your soulmate, that now that it, him, was in front of you, touching you, it was so hard to accept it.

“Why are you dealing with this so well?” your thoughts came out in a whisper, eyes down, somewhat afraid to look at Jackson.

“Because you’re not the only one who felt that a part of you was missing. I can be very insecure by the things in my life... but I look at you and everything makes sense.”

Jackson closed the book and put it back in your luggage, the smell of its old pages flying in your direction. Coming back to you, crouching down so you could look at him without lifting your face, he held both of your hands, a long sigh coming out of his mouth.

“I understand if this is too much for you,” he said, voice low and soothing, you certain he could feel the disarray that was your thoughts and feelings. “And I will give you all the space and time you need to think about it. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re ready.”

“That’s the thing, Jackson. I don’t want you to go anywhere,” you exasperated, the memories of all the times your threads tingled every time you left his presence coming clear now. Not a sign of a curse, but a proof of that you should be together, “I’m just scared,” you could feel the tears starting to form again. “I never felt like this before. I didn’t even know I was capable to feel this much.”

“I know,” he stroked your face, a sweet smile towards you “I feel the same.”

You inclined towards him, wrapping your arms around his neck, hugging him as tightly as you could. Jackson got up, carrying you with him, strong arms around your middle, to sit in bed with you on his lap. You stood like that for minutes – hours? – silently comforting each other. It was always easy to be around Jackson. Now you were finally understanding why.

“What are we gonna do?” you asked, your face still buried in his chest as he ran his fingers in your hair “I'll be leaving in a couple of days.”

“Good thing we live in the same country. We can make it work. We’re soulmates after all.”

You lifted your face to look at him, “You promise?”

“Should we find a spell to make sure?” he asked jokingly, pleased to see that you were finally able to smile again.

“I think a kiss is enough.”

[cleverbroadwayurl]

Compromised Retrograde (Michael Mell x Reader)

Word Count: 2801 

A/N: Ahh! I finally finished it! I also definitely watched the movie and honestly, it was really good! I’m happy that this was requested so I could watch a movie! Uhh but as always, if you want something different or want it revised, please don’t hesitate to ask! And keep your eyes on this blog, I have more coming and I’m finally going to do some congratulatory 200 follower things that were requested!! Enjoy! 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of smoking weed, a bong, IF I MISSED ANYTHING PLEASE LET ME KNOW

Michael practically jumped down his basement stairs, hang-time caught at an all time low as he bounded down each wooden structure. He was lucky that his socks didn’t cause him to slip and possibly hurt himself, but his mind was preoccupied. As soon as his feet hit the basement floor, he turned on the lights and looked around. Friday night, meaning you’d be over there in about an hour and a half; meaning that he’d have to clean up literally any mess that he and Jeremy had made from the nights before. He spies the vacuum next to the all too white bathroom that he knew one of his moms just cleaned, because they too had gotten used to the typical ritual of you coming over and spending your evening, and sometimes all night, with Michael. 

“Boy smell” as his moms called it practically lingered with heaviness that could only be beaten with a candle; the one his moms specifically bought for downstairs. It was the same candle they’d bought when Michael was smaller; it had become a comfort and the common scent of home for him. He lit a match, followed by the candle, before walking around the room and picking up stray wrappers, empty chip bags, and extra things he’d just forgotten to throw away while Jeremy was there. There’s a second; a pause that Michael looks around to see what else needs to be done. The lamp has new bulbs, the candle is burning, there’s a Spencer’s gifts bag sitting next to the couch; where it should be—sushi. He almost forgot to order the sushi so his mom could pick it up for you two. It would be an easy task, his favorite place now taking online orders instead of in person or over the phone. He was eternally grateful for that; ordering in class before running off to get it was that much easier. As soon as the sushi order was placed, Michael texted his mom and told her what place, what time, and exactly what he got so she could check his order when picking it up.

The room settled again. He decided on vacuuming the crumbs that littered the ground, especially by the beanbags. Shit, he should really be more careful while stoned so that cleaning before you got there wouldn’t be so heinous. Then again, high him wasn’t going to listen to reason, especially coming from sober him. He let the thought drift out of his head and into the space, knowing it was better forgotten than anything else. Michael walked across the room and grabbed the vacuum, the appliance whirring to life as he ran it over the carpeting—the tropical scent now warmer and gentler than before. When he stopped vacuuming, Michael turned on his sound system, allowing a special playlist for you slipping into the scene. With the sun setting and the golden hour approaching, the room suddenly basked in the beautiful light—you coming into Michael’s mind.

He’d gone to Spencer’s the night before, knowing that this task of cleaning the basement might take a little more time than he anticipated. Jeremy hadn’t gone with him, but instead met him at his house later that night—Thursdays were for best friends, Fridays were date night. So he’d gone alone, choosing that the lead on the newest retro soda in stock was more important than just sitting around at home and waiting for his best friend to show up. But of course, going without Jeremy had its downfalls: he couldn’t use Jeremy as a scapegoat or split the price if it got too high. But that ended up not being a problem, the guy hooking up with something reasonable and actually kind of delicious. He’d bought more than one, too excited to count how many, so he’d decided to just try it. In fact, Michael had to go through the events again, he was pretty sure that Jeremy had managed to pry one from his hands too—wait, no, he’d just tried Michael’s.

He warped back into the present, a digital clock’s blue letters reading that you’d be there in just under a half an hour. Doing a quick check of the room again, Michael noted the controllers that were still out, pillows strewn about, and cabinets underneath the TV open, displaying the dusty consoles and not-so-dusty games that he’d bought before indie games were cool and he hadn’t gone almost completely digital. Each one was sorted almost perfectly, consoles, colors, and names aesthetically pleasing to any eye that was searching.

Moving around, he quickly coiled up the cords to the controllers and placed them on top of their corresponding consoles. There was a moment that he thanked himself for doing that, knowing that he’d be searching for it later. He shut the cabinets, each closing with a satisfying snap. Immediately the area is neater, everything feels less chaotic and feels more in place. It feels more like you’re about to come over and have date night—it feels more like a wonderful night with the person he really enjoys spending time with.

His eyes scan the room once again before they settle on a multi-colored piece of glass poking out from behind the couch—his bong making an entrance into the room. Michael walks over to the small loveseat that had made its way down into the basement when his moms realized that sometimes he fell asleep down there and after they’d bought the new couch. He places the bong further behind the couch, sure that it can’t be seen to anyone who wasn’t looking for it, out of the way of his moms, and that his older brother wouldn’t find it and use it whenever he decided to come home and visit. Of course, the placement was also for easy access when he was too tired or too socially drained to go upstairs to grab it. Suspicion was also avoided when it wasn’t in his room, and would stop Michael from pulling anything too risky with it in his room. As soon as his hand came off of the smooth glass, Michael realized that he wasn’t sure if you wanted to smoke tonight. He decided to just leave it there for now, if you wanted to, you’d ask, right?

As soon as the thought leaves him, Michael can hear your light footsteps above him and his moms welcoming you into his home. He pauses for a second, imagining you gliding across the room with lighter footsteps, the sun hitting your features and giving you a glow that only his dreams could see. He could solidly see you walking towards the basement like you’d done many times before. Your footsteps tapped lightly down the stairs, and Michael quickly adjusted his position so it wouldn’t look like he had just spent the last several minutes cleaning up before you got there. Your smile rivaled the sun that streamed in through the blinds, and he couldn’t help but shoot you one back, one that felt goofier, one that felt more like a laugh that came from sheer surprise and happiness. He can feel his face blooming red, heating more than the candle that was still aflame, home still being inhaled and exhaled as the moment continued.

You walk over to Michael’s TV base and open up a cabinet. Your hand hits the “on” button, green squares coming up onto the large flatscreen. The sound of the Xbox booting up pulls him out of his thoughts, knowing that you thought it was going to be a typical Friday night filled with him playing video games while you marveled at lore. “What are we gonna play today, Michael?” you smile at him, almost as clumsy as he had before, but yours seemed to be beaming extra admiration at him. It was cute, there was no denying that much.

“Actually, I don’t think I want to play anything, if that’s okay with you.”

You let out a giggle, eyes slightly closing at him. He returned the gesture, so excited, so delirious that he had something special for you. Something he’d managed to get his hands on sat upon that couch, and it wasn’t soda. “What are we doing then?” you asked.

“I got a movie for us to watch.”

“Oh! Cool!” You smiled before sitting down in a beanbag, letting him get everything queued up. Michael’s hand grabbed the Spencer’s bag, excitement pulsating through his veins as his fingers gripped the cheap plastic. “Which one?”

Somehow, Michael feels his smile grow wider. You have no idea. His cheeks begin to hurt, answers almost bursting out of him. “I don’t know, but I think someone told me that you really like Charlie Chaplin.”

“Of course, he’s only one of the—Wait.” Realization makes its way through your features, a smile bursting into them after you understand exactly what you two were going to watch. Michael can’t help but smile at your adorable antics, excitement matching his. “Michael, did you—”

“The guy at Spencer’s has a friend who also works there and I managed to get my hands on an actual VHS tape. And it just happens to be The Great Dictator, which is apparently pretty good, but I don’t know, a little cutie just told me that, I think.”

There’s a pause, a moment of breathing, an inhale, before you scream and jump up, your arms wrapping around Michael. He can’t hug back at first, his entire mind racing as the action happens, but wraps his arms around you and returns the hug after a second, his smile turning musical, laughter encasing the room into a sanctuary around you. He can feel your smile against his shoulder, muffled “thank you”s coming out of your mouth at a speeding rate. His hands find a rhythm, gliding across your back as the seconds pass. You pull away first, almost dizzy with happiness and completely infatuated with the boy who stood in front of you. “What happened to Resident Evil 2?” You ask, eyes batting, but the happiness not fading even for a second.

“It can wait! I’m excited about this. I thought we could do something you’re into.”

“Michael, you’re the best!” Another breath, and you’re whisked away, sitting back into the beanbag eagerly as Michael picks up the Spencer’s bag and starts for the TV cabinet that holds everything needed for any entertainment. The door comes open with a little force, a thicker layer of coating covering his VHS player, knowing that it hadn’t been used since his older brother was still living at home—and probably just starting kindergarten. He wipes it down with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, buttons and their descriptions now becoming clear. Michael takes a second before putting the tape into the player, hoping that he wouldn’t have to rewind it for the next 20 minutes. As much as he loved vintage items—the retro eras were the best—if there was one thing he didn’t miss, it was waiting for the VHS tapes to rewind.

The tape didn’t need to be rewound. It actually ran perfect, just like the guy said it would. The music began to play, credits rolling across the screen as Michael walked to the back of the room. He flicked the light switch off before heading over to the small windows that lined the room. He pulled out the darkening fabric and almost immediately, the candle, along with the TV screen were the only two things lighting the room, dark tones seeming to sweep the area without a moment’s grace. As soon as everything was dimmed, Michael pushed his beanbag towards yours, the two cloth—essentially giant pillows—touching, creating a makeshift couch.

Michael pushed up his glasses, checking around to make sure that nothing else needed to be done before sitting himself down and sinking into the beanbag. He made eye contact with you, but you just smiled back, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around yourself. You kissed his cheek as you descended onto his chest, his heart being jumpstarted from 0 to 60 in less than a millisecond. He hoped that you couldn’t feel him trying to even out his breathing, the moment becoming more and more perfect as time elapsed. Sure, World War I was happening on the screen, but Michael couldn’t pay attention to 1940 humor and antics. All he could focus on was you, knowing that this was special, this moment burning into his memory, coded for later and stored for nights when it felt like he was by himself or insecure that he wasn’t a good boyfriend to you. This moment was special; he’d done something nice and completely basically changed his dynamic just for you. Who cared about a new game that he was sure Jeremy would be playing? He had you, who didn’t care for the same virtual worlds, but instead found passion and love for vintage movies. Michael didn’t care about the money he’d spent, your face, your happiness, you were priceless to him. Every moment of hunting down this random guy was worth it, just to feel you smile against him and to relax with you.

There’s a good 15 minutes before his mom comes down, sushi in hand. She smiles, setting the food down in front of the two beanbags, chopsticks sitting on top of the stack of boxes; different rolls almost pouring out of each one. She smiles, knowing just how important moments like this were, how much they meant to each of you, before stepping lightly out of the basement and closing the door behind her.

After the soft click made its way through space, Michael handed off some chopsticks to you, opening his own one handed. He had practice with opening them in such a way, a controller didn’t allow for any fault or for any mistakes as you do things one handed. You smiled at him before taking the chopsticks into your hand, opening them yourself. Boxes were opened, displaying all different rolls and options for even the pickiest sushi eater, Michael knowing he’d like pretty much all of them. So, if you didn’t like one, Michael was happy to just, go for it. Soy sauce and wasabi is laid out, little plastic dishes providing both strewn about the floor. He goes for one roll but sees you going for the same one. He retracts and lets you grab it, knowing that this night is about you. It’s a date; he wants you to be comfortable, he wants things to be near perfect.

As time goes on, the World War I scene forgotten, sushi gets eaten. Roll by roll, the boxes empty and food disappears. The movie is almost forgotten at some points, affectionate looks and side glances preventing focus on the one thing that actually brought this night into existence. But it didn’t matter. As long as you were happy with the events, Michael could be flexible. If you had requested specific pizza or sushi or whatever from somewhere even as wild as New York, Michael would’ve driven there without any hesitation.

Within the next half an hour, the sushi depletes to one last roll, both of you too full to eat it. Each of you look at it, the roll almost mocking you as it just sits there. With a sigh, the two of you lean back, resuming the position that was given up to eat dinner. The movie continues to play, but nothing is said between you two for a little bit as the leading lady gets made over by the barber. You smile as the scene continues, older physical humor coming from the screen. There’s another second before you nuzzle into Michael’s chest, his heart speeding up faster than it had before. “Thank you,” you mumble, and Michael can feel the vibrations course through his body, almost like light radiating its way through his veins.

“Anytime,” comes his response as he turns his attention to you and kisses the top of your head. Sure, it wasn’t the new Resident Evil 2 that he was sure Jeremy would brag to him about later, but that didn’t matter. He could put up with his best friend’s dumb antics when it came to you. Sweet and amazing you who deserved to have little nights full of things you’re passionate about. A balance between you two, working towards a common, happy goal. He was happy to play his equal part, happy to make you happy, and happy to sit down and really dive deep into something that you were passionate about and loved, because if he was honest with himself, he was passionate and loved you. In this moment, in every moment, Michael wouldn’t have it any other way.

[callboxkat]

Quiet (part 16)

Author’s note: Sorry this one took so long! College is also a thing outside this AU.

Warnings: arguments, misunderstandings, college

Word count: 1574

Masterpost!

Virgil’s break was over, and he was back at work. Currently, he was sorting through recently arrived records and placing them on their corresponding shelves in the shop. His hands were shaking slightly as he did so. A part of him couldn’t believe that he’d actually opened up to Patton, as little as it may have been. Patton hadn’t seemed judgmental, but what if he told Logan about it? Or worse, Roman? Virgil wasn’t guaranteed a positive reaction from either of them. Maybe it would have been better to say nothing at all.

Virgil paused a moment, ran a hand through his hair, and then continued sorting the records.

To be fair, he had to admit, he hadn’t actually told Patton anything new. He knew that Patton had already figured out that his lack of speech wasn’t always by choice, so all he had really done was confirm it.

It’ll be fine, Virgil tried to tell himself as he worked. It’ll be fine.

But he couldn’t help but be nervous.

…

Patton stayed seated where he was for some time after V’s departure. He reread the short note his friend had left for him several times, although he had long since memorized it.

V had confirmed Patton’s beliefs, that he was indeed trying to talk to them, but that “it’s just hard sometimes”. Patton wasn’t sure what exactly V meant by that, but he knew that he believed the freshman’s words. It could be shyness, or some sort of speech impediment, or some other issue, but Patton was more sure than ever that Roman was wrong. V wasn’t not talking because of some superiority complex, or aloofness. He just couldn’t.

Patton and Roman were going to have to have a talk.

…

According to the book Logan had checked out, the steps to proper conflict resolution were as follows:

1.       Identify the root problem

2.       Come up with potential solutions

3.       Evaluate solutions critically

4.       Choose the “best” or most fair solution to all parties

5.       Implement changes

6.       Set a future date to evaluate the results

It sounded easy enough when the book put it like that. Each section had a lengthy description and example scenarios, but Logan felt that these six simple steps should be a straightforward guide.

The only issue was how to get Roman and V together to actually resolve their conflict. Logan took out his phone and texted the person he felt most capable of helping him with this.

…

Patton and Logan met up on that same half-wall where Patton and V had been talking, since it was a short trip for Logan and Patton could simply wait for him there.

“V was just here,” Patton informed his friend as the latter settled himself onto the wall beside him. “We had a talk.”

“About what?”

Patton messed with a loose thread on his khakis. “Well, I don’t think I should say specifically, but he seems like he also wants to solve this problem.”

Logan nodded. “Good.”

With a little help from Logan’s steps for conflict resolution, the two sophomores came up with the beginnings of a plan. And while a part of Logan felt that Patton was just humoring him by referencing the library book, he appreciated the effort.

Because neither of them felt that Roman and V would be willing to talk to each other just yet, they decided that Patton would talk to one of them, and Logan to the other. That way, they could get a better idea of what exactly the underlying issue to the conflict was, and from where each side of the argument was coming.

“If we were to speak to both of them at the same time,” Logan reasoned, “they would likely be too busy arguing or otherwise distracted by their emotions on the matter for us to have a productive discussion.”

Patton and Logan planned to compare notes at this point, then speak to each friend again about what they had heard from the other side.

“And then they can come up with a solution together!” Patton said, swinging his legs so that his heels tapped gently against the concrete.

“Precisely,” agreed Logan, pleased. “After that, all that remains is implementing said solution and monitoring the outcome.”

Patton turned to look up at him, pale green eyes glinting in the evening light. Logan looked away slightly, never a huge fan of eye contact himself, but Patton only asked, “So, who should talk to who?”

“Who should talk to whom,” Logan corrected automatically, then winced slightly at himself.

“Maybe you could talk to Roman and I could talk to the kiddo?”

Logan thought a second. “Actually,” he said, “I was thinking that it might be better if you speak to Roman. His perspective on this matter seems more innately related to his emotions than V’s; and as you know, emotions and I…” Logan grimaced, and he heard Patton giggle beside him.

“They’re the bane of your existence?” Patton suggested, referencing something that Logan had said not long after they’d first met.

Logan allowed his grimace to melt into a smile. “Exactly.”

“Okay. I can talk to Roman, then, and you can talk to V. Be nice to him, though, okay?”

Logan was a little hurt by the implication that that wasn’t a given, but thankfully, Patton didn’t seem to pick up on it. ���Of course.”

…

On Wednesday, after their classes had ended for the day, Patton and Logan put their plan to action.

“You don’t need me to come with to talk to V, right? I could always talk to Roman later,” Patton checked.

“I’ll be fine. Go find Princey,” Logan said, taking out his phone to send a text to V. Patton nodded, then turned to look for their other friend. V had already agreed to talk to Logan, Patton knew, even if he had seemed rather reluctant about it. Patton hoped Roman would also be willing.

The young man in question seemed a little confused when Patton walked up to him. It was possible that “marched determinedly towards him and stopped less than a foot away” would also be an accurate description for his approach, but who could say?

“Patton?”

“We need to talk.”

Roman sighed, clearly knowing what this was about. “Look, I don’t—.”

“Please?” Patton put on his best puppy dog eyes, and of course, Roman was not immune.

“Fine.”

The two of them walked to an empty part of campus, sitting under a large tree behind one of the academic buildings. Patton had suggested that they go to one of their homes to talk, but Roman claimed that this was faster.

“My brother likes to eavesdrop, anyway,” Roman added.

…

“So,” Patton began carefully once they were both settled comfortably, “I would like to talk to you about this whole thing with V.”

“I know,” Roman sighed.

“Can you tell me your side of things?”

“Okay, fine. How about this? You show up with a guy we don’t know who dresses like he only shops at Emos R Us, never deigns to talk to us, and refuses to pay for his food; and you tell us to be friends? A guy who dumped a glass of tea on me and walked out when I tried to get him to pitch in? Are you going to tell me I should thank him for that?”

“I’m just here to hear your side of things,” Patton said. “Why do you think V didn’t want to help pay?”

“I don’t know,” Roman said. “Maybe he feels entitled to free stuff just because he graces us with his presence. Maybe he’s just been having fun messing with us. I don’t know! He could have tricked you into thinking he had a panic attack at the ceremony back in August, and remember that first movie night when he kept refusing all the movies? And do you think it’s a coincidence he dumped black tea on my white prince costume?” Roman growled in his throat. “And then he has the nerve to throw that money in my face like he’s mocking me!”

Patton was silent when Roman finished, a frown on his face. After a few moments, in which Roman quietly seethed and slowly tore up several innocent leaves, Patton spoke in a quiet voice.

“He didn’t fake the panic attack. I was there, and I’m sure of it.” He looked up towards Roman’s face. “Also, about the tea… it looked more to me like he dropped it on you, not like he was throwing it at you on purpose. I think it might have been an accident.”

“I thought you were just here to hear my side?”

“I am,” Patton confirmed, “but Logan’s talking to V right now, and once we have his side, we can figure out how to—,” he broke off, looking down as his phone started to ring.

“Sorry,” Patton said with an apologetic look. He went to turn off the phone, but he stopped in confusion when he saw the contact name. Why was Logan calling? Patton held up one finger towards Roman, then picked up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Patton, good,” the voice on the other end said, sounding relieved. “I believe I may require your assistance after all.”

“Logan, I’m still talking to—.”

“As soon as possible, please,” Logan interrupted, his tone slightly strained.

Patton’s concerned gaze met Roman’s questioning one. He smiled apologetically.

“Okay, I’m coming. Where are you?”

Tag list: @patton-loves-coloring @starryfirefliesbloggo @purplesoul-at-hogwarts  @lotusthatexists @lizaelsparrow @awesomelissawho @amuthefunperson @bunny222 @syndianites @astraastro @momolinia @hamilin-manuel-miranda @goldenkiddos @afilhadehades-blog @virgeofselfdestruction @theresneverenoughfandoms @iris-sanders-athena @super-magical-wizard @jesjessode @rainbow-sides @thefallendog @fanficptsd @zodiac-awesome @lookitsthatquietgirl @soft-boy-patton

[paulasamuels]

Finis

I'm tired, friends. According to my Fitbit, I've walked just over 290,000 steps since arriving in France 2 weeks ago today. Today's the first day I failed to reach the 10,000 step mark, as I spent 6 hours on a train, then another couple of hours on the Metro & RER getting to my airport hotel, where I'm settled for the evening.

Traveling as I do via public transit requires preparation, patience, persistence, confidence (even if you have to fake it), and stamina. Add a language barrier, and expect the anxiety to increase significantly. For me, the benefits far outweigh the difficulties, as many of the experiences I've documented in this blog wouldn't have happened had I been tied to the schedule of a guided tour. I know to expect, though, that there will be challenges and not everything will go smoothly. For example...

Today went something like this: up at 7:00 to shower and get dressed, then breakfast at the "Brioche Chaud" where a lady who wasn't loving her job at all served me a Nutella croissant (yum!) and some other pastry that was so-so. Then back to my room to write out a post card and grab an empty bag to take to the Monoprix to shop for train picnic food. Stop at the post office to mail the post card, but first wait 10 minutes for them to open and then try to figure out which line is the correct one, only to get stuck behind a lady who can't seem to decide which size box she needs to mail her stuff. On to the Monoprix to purchase enough food for a small army, then back to the hotel to check out. Walk 3 blocks to the train station with my backpack, purse, bulging suitcase, and bag of food, being careful not to be run over by a scooter, bicycle, tram, or vehicle. Arrive at the Gare de Nice Ville with several hundred other folks waiting for the track numbers to be posted. Train arrives but is strangely parked beyond the station, and when I go to find my car, voiture #8, there isn't one. Go to an SNCF rep on the platform..."Monsieur, je cherche la voiture huit." He makes a connecting gesture with his hands, and I understand that my half of the train, with voiture 8, will be arriving shortly and connecting to the rest of the train. Boarding at last, I get behind a large, noisy group of Asian tourists who have severely overpacked and can't seem to find room for their gigantic suitcases. That finally gets resolved, I find my seat, share a look of incredulity with the Frenchman seated next to me, fish my earbuds out of my bag, and crank up my music to block out the noise...and it's only 10:00 AM.

Six hours later, I emerge from the train at the Gare de Lyon in Paris, having already mapped out my transit strategy using my Paris Metro map before I left the train. Walk and walk until I see signs for Metro line #1, follow the signs until I find a ticket machine, make no less than 5 attempts before I successfully purchase my RER ticket that will get me to the airport. Stop at an information center to be sure: "Je vais a l'aeroport Charles Degaulle. (Hold up my newly purchased RER ticket.) C'est bon pour le Metro aussi?" Oui. Off to the turnstile, where I make the rookie mistake of pulling my bag through behind me, and it gets hopelessly stuck in the turnstile doors, where no amount of tugging or cursing will release it. Another commuter takes pity on me and puts his ticket in so the doors will release...otherwise I might still be there! Make my way through the Metro correspondence...up and down the stairs with my bags, get on line 1, which is jam packed, then transfer to line 5 at Bastille, then to RER at Gare Du Nord, where I board a North-bound train heading for the airport, terminal 2. This takes 30 minutes, and I have to stand for most of it. Arrive at the airport at last, where I begin searching for the big pink bus that's supposed to shuttle me to my airport hotel. I show 2 guards the screenshot of the email describing how to find said bus, but they don't know where it is. So I move on, eventually finding someone who points me in the right direction, and finally the bus arrives. Initially miss the stop for my hotel because the name is slightly different than expected. Realize my mistake and hop up quickly, leaving my leftover picnic food (and my treasured utensils) in my seat. Fortunately, I realize this in time to retrieve it and get off the bus with everything and walk next door to my hotel.

Dinner for tonight was at a hotel restaurant nearby. Decent omelet, salad and fries, but my stomach was a bit queasy from the anxiety of the afternoon, so I didn't finish it.

My room for tonight isn't much. The entire bathroom is one of those all-in-one-piece drop-in jobs, sort of like an RV bathroom, but probably not as nice. A bunk bed positioned over my bed could well be the source of a bump on the head should I have to get up during the night.

Off to bed now to prepare for another long day of travel tomorrow. Did I mention that I'm tired?

[seenashwrite]

14.07 Round-Up

Hey, good ep! And my cursory research into that *ahem* who was name-dropped right around the time we got a glimpse of what appears to be dollar bin Terminator hath yielded a most interesting factoid and visual aid. Read on!

Where my brain went, bullet style.... well that sounded somewhat violent.... oh, you know what I mean... it’s basically what I would’ve live-blogged

mood lighting in the priest’s office, how romantic

that’s a helluva gastric ulcer along with the consumption

*sigh* you don’t get an MRI and noggin’ monitorin’ along with a work-up for G.I. and/or respiratory symptoms, just in case any of y’all ever come down with the consumption ulcers and hesitate getting it checked out; they’ll do a CT, it’s no biggie, it’s fine, EVERYTHING’S FINE #VACCINATE YOUR NEPHILIM

hammered at The Ox Lodge, eh? Boy, if I had a dime for every time I’ve uttered that same phrase... hey, good on ya, Nicky, for resisting the urge to 86 another of your only leads

hey, Dean, can you talk about ghouls and vamps a little louder, I don’t think they heard you over in the next unit clearly enough

yes, Sam, tests, that’s how it works

hey so was that Pixel commercial national? did everyone get to experience that divine hilarity? FLASH! AH-AHHHHHHH! I digress

yes, Dean, tests, that’s how it works

I love those drag queen fake lashes they always have on Ruthie

do some Castiel dialysis! [seconds later] damn, I’m good

do some Dean dialysis! [seconds later] damn, I’m.... well I dunno what, sounds like he’s getting some angel radio reverb... that needs some analysis...

yes, random person, turn your back on a complete stranger in a dark alley... I hope she’s a vamp... that would’ve been an AWESOME scene.... show Nick’s still got the Luci Juice... why am I not on this writing staff

ah, a Ketch mention... DHJ continues to elude me on the Christmas movie front, though I *did* catch (heh... ketch) one of the two I’m gunning for the other night, more on that later... I also made a Cheesy Christmas Movie bingo card I’ll post at some point once I get it typed up.... I’ve digressed again

so he’s never driven before and his first shot’s at the Impala? I mean, I get the “awwwwww” factor, but ‘cmon, now

oh goooooood song choice

“No. It’s not.” ----> BWAH-HA-HAHAHAHAHAHA

Dean’s a great big brother

see, THIS is the ep they should’ve had the grandparent visit happen in, I’d have found that more of impact, him trusting Dean enough to tell him he’d looked up Kelly’s parents and ask him to take him to their house and then Dean trust him enough to go in there alone and not spill any beans, I’d have liked it infinitely better here vs. the fishing randomness

halftime

straight talk: I’m cool if they let Jack die... I like the kid (and the actor) I just don’t see much story there at this point

welp, glad Sergei the Shaman was but a hop-skip away

Cas sitting on that puffy just made me snort-giggle

I *really* like this character, which probably means he’ll eat it in the not-so-distant future

oooooh.... THE PLOT THICKENS... sort-of.... this Michael arc’s stagnating and I’m about to “I Don’t Care Anymore” level

you know what all this goose chase is gonna come down to, that it’s a deeeeeeemon, Nicky ---> god I’m good

 Abraxas, eh? now that I’m at ‘puter, TO THE GOOGLE

Abraxas is a term used by the Basilideans, a Gnostic sect of the second century, designating the Supreme Being or god whom they worshiped. They believed that Jesus Christ emanated from Abraxas and was a phantom while here on earth. They believed the name contained great mysteries because it contained the seven Greek letters when computed numerically equaled the number 365, which is the number of days in the year. It was further believed that Abraxas commanded 365 gods, each possessing a virtue, so there was a virtue for each day of the year.

Basilides used the voice Abraxas as a name of divinity; He said that he was the supreme deity among the seven principal ones, and that he was endowed with 365 virtues. This was something symbolic and has to do with the Greek numeration: a = 1, b = 2, r = 100, a = 1, x = 60, a = 1, s = 200, TOTAL 365. That is, the sum of the numerical values that they attributed to each letter of the word Abraxas forms a total of 365, which corresponded to the 365 days of the solar year, or what is equal a cycle of “divine action”, the set of the 365 successive manifestations attributed to God in one year.

It was believed that Abraxas was the name of a god who represented Good and Evil, a god and deity worshiped and a feared demon in a single entity. He was considered the oldest of the gods

However, older mythologists place Abraxas among the Egyptian gods, while some demonologists cite him to be a demon with the head of a king and serpents forming his feet. He has been represented on amulets with a whip in his hand. The mystic word abracadabra was derived from his name.

But fuck all that, ‘cause:

Symbology: The meaning of the double snake tail that forms the legs of the solar cock of the Abraxas. One is the ascending serpent, the copper serpent of Moses, the other is the descending serpent.

Abracadabra, bitches. #solarcock 

I can only dream that he’ll be sporting a fedora along with the whip.

dammit, writers, that was prime hand-chopping opportunity right there, c’mon, let practical effects get their shitty rocks off

that big ass scroll for like four lines of Latin or whatever the hell?

if Chuck shows up Imma shart

ohhhh I get it.... I also can’t wait for these gifs of the ooze... minus that last bit, why they insist on dayglo neon on high def instead of a nice creepy fade-in is just *beyond* me... 

but I did want some more Empty / Entity action, so fine, I’ll take it

Okay, well, good ep, and-------

[preview plays]

IS THAT MY BITCH???? IS MY BITCH BACK IN TOWN??? AND DO I DETECT SOME HAIR COLOR MORE IN THE ELLE DRIVER LANE?

Oh, Lily. J’adore.