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pensight · 1 year

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since i have been on top surgery meds my dreams have been getting really cool and vivid, every time i even nap another one comes along so gonna write em down

the group of justice people that wears all leather that i for some reason trusted, assigned me with a task of figuring out the local drug lord in the area and execute him. They supplied me with a little balloon of silly putty.

This was no ordinary silly putty, though. The balloon cracked open and the highlighter yellow silly putty oozed out, before taking the rough shape of a scraggly kitten, still bright highlighter yellow with no color variations. They explained that this silly putty had tiny nanobots that were the hivemind of a tiny kitten they found on the side of the road.

For some reason this putty was intelligent enough to understand me and it could be commanded or trained to take different shapes. It was also a little scrunkly guy that wanted attention and affection but could not be killed because it was silly putty.

(Much better than my usual anxiety dreams where i am entrusted with an itty bitty cute soft very fragile creature and get distracted right away and the creature gets into perilous situations or i accidentally squish it somehow while i was trying my hardest to be careful)

this dream had a b plot and a c plot, b plot was that my family and i won a sweepstakes to get to watch up close how a movie gets made and we get to hang out with the actors and stuff. The main actor guy happened to look a lot like Jason GoodPlace, and we were becoming best buds because i was nailing all the conversations and he was cool about me being awkward.

I am always shocked when someone thinks i am cool right away, and that added a x2 bonus to the starstruck disease i get around famous people

(i hate the idea of being a fan of someone who is just trying to go about their day, and in my mind fan engagement = working in a celebrity’s pov, so i dont want to force someone to work on their time off and therefore a part of me wishes to either flee as soon as i can or pretend i dont know they’re famous [but then i am a lying liar who lies and that will take juggling the fiction i have made in the back of my mind] but this guy was someone i hadn’t watched anything in, i just Knew he was famous because he was in a starring role in a movie production; it was a very impostor syndrome feeling thing to just be in anyone’s presence because i felt like i didn’t wanna understate the work they might’ve done to get there but also if i were them i wouldn’t want to be put on a pedestal. i have another shpiel about how celebrities arent even really hot shit and do not deserve special treatment anyway [born into it often or born with the means of going through the training often and besides they live in a whole different society from me with different priorities that can restrict their knowledge of certain things. i cite george bush sr. not knowing about lazer scanning cash registers for several years as an example] but i need to remember this dream before it leaves me.)

Jason was chill, is the main point. His mom was Not chill. She had really cool shoes, though. Very special silk looking sandals with floral decor on them, that were the bright teal you saw on 70s refrigerators. I never saw them on anyone else. I couldn’t see anyone’s faces when i first encountered The Drug Lord, but one of the people in his entourage had her shoes. I didn’t jump to conclusions yet, but i ordered the silly putty kitten to injure the Shoes person’s feet or fuck with the sandals in some way. Kitty turned into a knife and stabbed through the sole of the shoe so Shoes escaped into a limo with their bleeding foot/sandal sticking out the window?

So the next time i saw Jason’s mom her foot was wrapped in bandages and wasn’t wearing her special shoes. Ah-ha!, I thought, I am closing in on The Drug Lord.

C plot was that my grandmother was also Getting Into Antics on the movie set, figuring stuff out so she could do it herself once we got back home. Giving advice to the electrical people and the set design people that kinda made it where the place didn’t run into as many difficulties. She was also trying to be friends with Jason’s Mom. We were Poors and that made Jason’s Mom very put off. She left for Pizza. I didn’t know if I should tell jason that his mom is in league with a dangerous murdering Drug Lord.

Never managed to do it before i found a business card for the Drug Lord, it was so stupid just ‘Drug Lord’ and his main business place address. A friend of mine worked in a pizza place that didn’t have their address number in front of it and it only occurred to me to show him the business card. “Oh my God. That’s where I work!” He was so shocked and afraid that the Drug Lord had been working under his floors the whole time.

Anyway they got wrangled by the Justice Organization but I was also brought in under suspicion, so I had to work fast.

I told Kitty to flatten itself through the cracks under the door, go up Drug Lord’s pants leg, and go up his butt to release shreds of glass in the most dangerous places Kitty could, in order to carry out the execution.

It was like the Drug Lord had been poisoned in Skyrim? And the Justice Organization let me out because I’d killed The Drug Lord. Kitty got washed and returned to me and we have always been best friends ever since. Kitty hated fireworks though. And never could grow any bigger. Sometimes you accidentally stepped on Kitty and they turned into just flattened sillyputty with a shoeprint on them for like 10 minutes before they limp back to you and they are fine after they get pettings and sorries.

after the conclusion of that i woke up in the middle of the night to go piss so that was that one done. sure there are some loose ends but it was a dream.

#dream journal

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cyntax-err0r · 3 years

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Tranquille Moments In Chaos (1)

The start of several moments that fill in the gaps of developing a friendship, then relationship, with Hancock.

Hancock x reader/sole.

Find it on ao3 as well!

(1853 words)

“Come with me.”

You had begun to question your sanity before the words fully escaped your lips. You leaned against the wall of the State House in Hancock’s disorganized bedroom, attempting your best not to look like a complete mess inside.

You saw how his blackened, clouded eyes looked you up and down. It was casual, and it reminded you of how the “cool kids” - you deemed them - would look through your flimsy persona back in high school. His dry and malformed lips stretched into a grin, and you could see amusement play across his face.

Hancock let out a short, breathy chuckle, before reaching into his back pocket of his trousers for the crumpled pack of cigarettes. “So lemme get this straight,” he started as if you were merely having a casual conversation. He pulled out his lighter from his other pocket, leaving you hanging off his words, until he lit up the cigarette and took the first drag.

“This is your… what, second week? Roamin’ around the Commonwealth like a stray dog?” That amused look slowly turned into a scrutinizing smirk. “Fahrenheit told me all about how you turned on Bobby. Can’t even hold a gun without the recoil throwin’ your arms all over - and you wanna run with me?”

The heat of embarrassment crept up to your face. True, you still weren’t terribly handy with a gun, despite your ex-spouse having military experience, but you made plenty sure they kept that sort of violence outside the house, what with the arrival of your newborn. Oh, how you would come to regret that rule.

But if there was one thing you were good at, that you honed over your college years, was how to fake confidence. You steeled yourself and pushed off the wall, standing your not-so-tall stance against Hancock. Sure, your cheeks were still very red, but you fronted a coy smile and a raised brow.

“I dunno, Hancock. You said it yourself - you’re soft. I may have been out here for a few weeks, but you’ve been lounging around longer than I’ve been surviving. Are you sure you can run with me?”

You stared into his dark eyes, appearing so sure of yourself. You began to falter inside, however, when his playfully degrading look turned to one that was serious. He took another painfully slow drag, starring you down all the while, then blew a puff of smoke into your face. You suppressed your cough, but the tears from the stinging smoke escaped.

Hancock chuckled darkly. “I can admire a babe willing to stand up to the man. Alright, hot stuff. I’ll tag along and maybe give you a few pointers.” He winked at you then, deciding he was done with his half-burnt cigarette, tossed it down and squished it out with the heel of his boot.

“First I gotta address the people; give ‘em a big mayoral speech. Don’t wait up.” He pressed the tip of his tricorn hat down, as a way to physically show he was switching over to his “business side”, and disappeared through the white door next to the wall you had leaned next to.

You released a sigh. There was no way you could keep up that air of confidence for long, especially around the man who radiates pure confidence. Pair that up with his natural ability to remain cool and keep it all from going to his head, and you looked like a nervous teenager on the first day of work next to him.

You heard the guards that stood outside the door to his bedroom snicker. You didn’t blame them. There was one thing that made you feel a little better about devolving into a mental puddle around Hancock. Irma had told you all about how he used to be a major hit with the ladies, and sometimes the gentlemen, and it wasn’t unusual when a person or two would fall at his feet. Of course, this was all before he turned into a ghoul, and yet…

Something tells you his ghoulification only amplified his charm.

He made good on his promise, even if it was made in jest. In your days wandering with this alluring ghoul at your back, he had taught you how to properly hold your 10 mm gun, and when you felt ready for rifles, he taught you how hard to press the stock against your shoulder and how to safely handle them. Although seeming to be intimately familiar with most common place guns, he himself preferred the ol’ reliable shotgun.

You’ve also come to be acquainted with his way of life and his morals. He lived up to his self-proclaimed title of “freedom fighter” with his rebel-rousing, tough guy nature who kept an eye out for the little man. He tried telling you after he shanked Finn to death, but you didn’t quite believe it then. A mayor, fronting as a freedom fighter? It didn’t make sense. It wasn’t until one dark day with a downpour to rival a waterfall that would change your mind.

After one particularly bad firefight, you both found shelter in a half-dilapidated, vacant home. You had a friend in this neighborhood many years ago, although he moved away to another town to attend high school.

You sat on a dust covered cushion near a fairly in-tact windowsill, watching languidly as the rain fell heavy. One leg was tucked under you, while you stretched the other so that Hancock could remove the bullet deeply embedded in your thigh. You didn’t feel much of his makeshift surgery, what with the drug concoction he fed you. You were more entranced by the rainfall, and how the droplets pattered on the crumbling road not far from the house. The only light you had to serve was the half burned candles from the last squatter at the residence; five waxy candles that illuminated a warm, flickering orange against the cold darkness of the rest of the house.

“Hancock?” You quietly called for him, never moving your stare from the outside world. He hummed in response.

“Did you-“ you paused yourself. Your drug-filled mind struggled to figure out how to word your question. “Were you… Did you grow up here, before the war?”

Although the pain was completely numbed, you did feel an intense pressure from his work. You felt that pressure stop momentarily, before starting again.

You heard Hancock let out a scoff. It didn’t sound rude, but baffled. “What makes you think I’m one of those pre-war ghouls?”

“You’re a ghoul.”

Hancock laughed quietly. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m in my thirties?”

“Thirties?” You lulled your head, rolling lazily on your shoulders to face Hancock. Your vision was blurred by the pain killers, but still you could see the deep ravines in his skin. His eyes appeared exceptionally black, and where his nose rotted off long ago appeared darker. At the sight of what would have frightened you 200 some years ago, you smiled. “You look amazing for your thirties.”

“You should’a seen me before.” He looked up to wink at you, before reaching for a roll of bandages he kept hidden away in his coat pocket. “Drugs are a hell of a… drug.”

“Drugs can make you a ghoul?”

“Not just any drugs. This stuff,” he blew air from between his recessed lips as his mind dove back into his memories. “they didn’t even have a name for this stuff. Picture it - a vial of this scary glowing liquid that promised to give you a high that was outta this world. And get this, there was only one more hit of it left. You know what I did, doll?”

There was something so charming, so endearing, about the way he spoke. It was old school, but his rumbling voice, no doubt caused by their decay via radiation, kept you enraptured. Your smile grew more silly and enamoured. “What did you do, Hancock?”

“I shot it up.” He began to wrap the bandages around your thigh. “Lemme tell you, there’s nothing else in this whole damn world that’ll make you see - no, feel - the things I did. Everything else pales in comparison.” He tied them off with a yank, and gave your leg a light pat before continuing his story. “‘Course, it came with a price. That price is this gorgeous mug you see before you.”

You giggled at his display of gesturing to himself and giving you an exaggerated smoulder. He shifted over to the cushion that was beside the one you sat on and took his place beside you. You came to an agreement to wait, guns ready, for the rain to pass before moving on. Hancock leaned his back against the wall from where he sat, and in your drugged-up haze, you slumped over against him.

“Good Neighbour didn’t mind a ghoul for a mayor?” You asked, unaware of how your line of questioning came across. Still, Hancock answered freely.

“I wasn’t a ghoul yet.”

“How did you become mayor?” You asked him, moving your head to look up at him.

Seeing no harm in telling you, Hancock regaled you in the bigotry of Diamond City, and the reign of terror Vic held over Good Neighbour. He told you, laughing through it as he explained how the red coat of John Hancock could speak to him, and with the courage of drugs and a take-no-bullshit attitude on his side, he and a group of fed up people stormed the town hall. He went into gruesome detail of gunning down Vic’s men, and how they tied a noose around Vic’s neck and hung him over the same balcony Hancock would give his speeches. It was then, with unanimous decision, that John Hancock became mayor of Good Neighbour. It stayed a safe haven for everyone Diamond City rejected, and the rest was history.

It was then, as you stared up at Hancock with a mixed look of disbelief and admiration, that you truly believed he was, and is, a freedom fighter.

“And you traded a life of gunning bad people down for office work?” You nudged him playfully.

“Hey, I can do both, can’t I? Good Neighbour’s full of good people. They can fend for themselves while their fearless mayor cuts his teeth on some raiders.”

You attempted to nod in agreement, but found your head heavy and comfortable against his shoulder. You let out a yawn, the last thing you remembered, before the haziness you felt finally took over your senses and dragged you to sleep.

Hancock glanced your way and lightly chuckled at your slumbering form. He gently moved your wrist in your lap to peek at the time on your Pip-Boy. It was getting well into the evening, but still it was early enough that raiders and gangsters didn’t roam quite yet.

He reached up to tip his hat down over his eyes and slouched against the wall. There was a long night ahead of you both, and if there ever was a time to nap, a dark rainy evening was certainly it.

“Sweet dreams, vault dweller.”

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antiiva · 4 years

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la douleur exquise with a pairing of your choice

la douleur exquise (french, n.) - the heart-wrenching pain of wanting the affection of someone unattainable

***

Bokuto knows that, realistically, the rules that govern soulmates are prone to change.

First off-- the concept of a single soulmate seems, at least to him, a little silly. What was the point of swearing off love if he were to stumble upon his soulmate twenty, thirty, forty years down the line? His heart is full and he just wants to give and give and give, regardless of what the words written on his inner thigh really say.

Second-- some people find their soulmates without even knowing. The mark on Bokuto’s skin indicates the first words that will be spoken to him by his soulmate, but some people just have ‘hello’ or ‘good afternoon’ or something similarly mundane that slips under the radar. As a student attending a rather large university, he encounters so many people every single day that the thought of worrying if anyone around him could be his soulmate is exhausting.

Third-- and arguably most importantly-- what was the point of waiting for his soulmate when Kuroo Tetsurou was right there, when every teasing glance or absentminded bump of their shoulders sends Bokuto’s heart into a tailspin?

Alright, so it wasn’t like being infatuated with one of his closest friends was easy. It had all started when Bokuto, a struggling freshman in on a sports scholarship, had turned to the tutoring program and matched up with with that sardonic, messy-haired nerd who had stolen his heart. Bokuto was rarely certain of anything and his sexuality was no exception, but when he dragged Kuroo to volleyball practice one day and watched the grin that spread over his face at a blocked spike-- he was gone, just like that. No questions asked.

(Only, there were questions asked. It’s now their junior year and Kuroo has yet to find his soulmate, and despite his insistence that he doesn’t care, Bokuto often finds him scratching at the skin of his back where the words are printed.)

“I just don’t see what the big deal is,” Kuroo proclaims on the walk back to their shared apartment, “about soulmates.”

At his words, Bokuto instantly perks up. “Right?” he says, enthused, “and there are, like-- billions of people on the planet, anyway! How are you supposed to find ‘em?”

“I mean, that’s not quite true.” Kuroo taps his chin. “You have to take in things like age and gender for stuff like that, too. I really doubt my soulmate is a seventy-five year old Colombian man.”

“You never know,” Bokuto replies.

“I’d like to think I know that. Plus, it probably isn’t anyone under... I don’t know, ten.”

“Oh, gross! You’d date a ten year old?!”

“No! No, I just mean that even if I meet her in forty years, I wouldn’t want to date someone more than ten years my junior.”

Bokuto laughs. “That’s still gross to think about.” A brief pause. “You know it’s a she?”

“Eh. I’m pretty sure, at least.” Kuroo glances over at him, then, in that calm and analytical sort of way. “Are you?”

“No.” Bokuto hadn’t exactly planned on using this moment to come out, but he wasn’t even ‘coming out’ as anything, so what was the harm? “Er, I mean, I don’t know.”

Kuroo gives a slow nod, pulling out his keys as they approach their building. “That’s fine,” he says. “Not knowing is fine.”

***

As Bokuto finds out through an embarrassing series of trial and error, he cannot hold his booze terribly well.

It’s not as if drinking is his first choice. He’s an athlete, after all, and getting his scholarship revoked was a one-stop trip out of his university-- still, sometimes he gets a little stressed, or a pretty girl pushes him in the direction of the kitchen, or he just wants to feel that pleasant little buzz behind his rib cage.

Their apartment is rarely this crowded, but exam season finally being over was cause for celebration. Bokuto weaves his way through the small clusters of people and falls into an open seat in the couch, squishing himself between another wing spiker named Iwaizumi and the arm. “Hey,” he says, maybe a little too loudly, “have you met your soulmate?”

Iwaizumi takes a tiny sip from his nearly untouched cup. “Yeah,” he mutters, voice darkened, “but I think soulmates are bullshit.”

“Oh.” Bokuto glances around-- maybe his soulmate was at this party-- “Why?”

“Because mine is bullshit.”

“Oh.” Had he already said that? “Sorry. Do you wanna make out?”

“Not really?”

“Okay.” Bokuto fiddles with his own cup, now empty, and Iwaizumi wordlessly hands over his own. “I’m not sure if I’m into guys.”

“Making out with someone might not tell you that.”

“Maybe not.” Bokuto leans in, fixating strangely on the smell of Iwaizumi’s clothes-- why did they smell familiar? The same fabric softener that someone else he knows uses, perhaps? “But there is someone I wanna make out with. A guy.”

“So go make out with him.”

“I dunno if he wants to.”

“Ask.”

Bokuto gives a long groan, twisting to rest his forehead on Iwaizumi’s shoulder and then taking a deep breath in. “Who’s your soulmate?”

A beat of hesitation. “Does it matter?”

“No.” Bokuto looks up at him and grins, taking in the sharp, suspicious look in Iwaizumi’s eyes. “I just wanna know.”

“Mm.” Iwaizumi looks away. “Um... Oikawa Tooru.”

“Hey! I know that guy!”

“I know. You’re on the same team.”

“Right.” Bokuto straightens, almost spilling his drink, and presses his fingers into Iwaizumi’s arm. “He’s cool! Super talented, too, and pretty! That’s great!”

“Not really.”

“Why not? Aren’t you guys, like-- super close?”

“He’s straight. The universe made a mistake in pairing us up, or whatever, because he’s straight and once we figured out we were soulmates, he’s been very adamant in insisting that I am never what he could want.”

Bokuto squints up at him, noticing the unhappy purse of Iwaizumi’s lips, and straightens himself out. “Maybe he’s... what’s the phrase? In the cabinet?”

“Closet.”

“Right. Maybe he’s in the closet.” Bokuto strains to see over the back of the couch, spotting that familiar head of black hair bowed and playing cards at the table. “Like I was. Am. Was?”

Iwaizumi lapses back into silence and Bokuto, his new cup now also empty, rises to his feet. “To stupid soulmates,” he says, raising his cup regardless, “and-- and whether or not they exist, or if that matters, or whatever!”

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi gives a harsh little laugh, then raises his cup and clinks them together. “To stupid soulmates.”

***

[send me a word & a pairing!]

#hope u approve of my pairing(s) anon!! and ty for the ask :)#my writing #bokuroo #iwaoi #kuroboku #oiiwa #bokuto koutarou #kuroo tetsurou #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #haikyuu #hq #haikyuu fanfiction

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the-voice-of-hell · 3 years

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Rent is Theft, part 21

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here. Note: My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not. If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

***

When I woke the next day, head aching as bad as I expected, but there was a sort of pulling sensation I didn’t quite get. I pawed at my temples. There was a fresh wrap on my head that I did not remember putting there. Leimomi must have done it in my sleep, and maybe a bit tightly. I adjusted it.

Then I realized that meant she would have had at least a few moments alone with that fucking bitch Reverse Courtney. I was very alarmed by that. What if she made it seem like that was my inner thoughts, that her hateful trash was my real feelings? I couldn’t stand that.

Leimomi was nowhere to be seen. I stood up too quick, grabbed my head, and staggered around a moment. She appeared in the doorway, all clean and wrapped up herself, the daylight lining her body. She looked at me in concern, and I searched her face for a hint of Reverse Courtney trauma.

“Did my stupid-ass head mouth say anything mean to you when I was asleep?”

“I think so, but I don’t remember. I only had it out for a moment, and I covered it. I was real tired.” She came into the darkness with me and held me in her arms. “Are you OK?”

I closed my eyes. “Real hungover, but really good too.” I lolled my head at unpleasant memories. “I’m gonna try to forget my apartment exists for a few more hours, heh.”

She kissed me and it turned into a little makeout session, right there. I loved wrapping her in my scrawny arms, rubbing her all over. I hoped it didn’t feel too much like being flogged with skeleton bones.

Leimomi got me a bottle of water and then joined me on her bed. I was still in the bathrobe from the other night, she was in capri leggings and a t-shirt. We stayed on top of the blankets.

“Thanks for helping me clean up, baby. We gotta figure out a cleaner way to do all that. Or just set my apartment on fire when we’re done with everybody, heh.”

“It’s OK, Courtney.” She ran a palm from my chest down to my belly, parting the robe. “We’re both nice and clean. You wanna fool around?”

“Maybe just a little. I dunno if I can go all the way with this headache.”

“Aww.” She pulled her hand back.

“In for a penny, in for a pound?”

“What?”

“You don’t wanna fool around a little, gotta have a big climax or it isn’t worth your time?”

“I dunno. Why just do sex stuff a little? That would be frustrating.”

“Sometimes it can feel nice.” I rolled onto my side to better look her in the face. “Like, I’d love to kiss your *redacted* but I don’t think I’ve got the stamina to finish what I start. But you might still kinda like it, even if it’s frustrating? I know I’d like it.” I made a grabby hand gesture in the air to underscore my point. Give me those things, please.

“Mm, OK, but if I get lady blue balls, I’m gonna be mad at you.” She whipped off her shirt.

*sex scene redacted for tumblr*

Maybe we both fell asleep after that, or she just let me sleep for a bit, until we were roused by a knock at the door.

I wrapped myself up to answer it, because Leimomi still had to wrestle her bra back on.

“Marcie, hey. Sorry I can’t invite you in just now. You wanted to see Momi?”

“I just wanted to see you, thank you for helping Mikey!”

“Hey,” he said. The daylight in the apartment had me a bit blind for looking into the hall, with its weak electric lights. I hadn’t noticed him lurking behind her.

“Mike, hey. Feeling better? Or worse?”

“I’ll be alright. Being green was kinda like being high, so I’m not too hot right now, but Marce is takin’ care of me. She’s a saint.”

“Well great. I love you guys. Have a nice one,” I said.

“Love you too, girl!”

I came back in, feeling nice, despite the low thunder in my head, and lay down on the bed again. “Mike seems great. It’ll be good to get done with this shit, but I just can’t do it again tonight.” I laid a paw on her arm.

“I figured. That was rough.”

“I know we can’t afford to wait for the next full moon. Maybe we’ll just take one night off and go back to it. I can try to come up with different spells for all our problems.”

“Would you kick me in the stomach like Mike?”

“Never. Might have to shave your pretty hair, though. I hope not.”

She had a moment of alarm at the prospect but then shook it off. “That’s silly. I’ll be glad to go bald for a while to get rid of this problem.” Then she looked sharply at me. “But will you love me if I’m bald?”

I grinned. “Hell yes.”

“But why? That would be so ugly.”

“No way, baby. You’re real cute. I love your hair but I haven’t seen it in a while, y’know? I’m still coming around.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.” I was about to say it would make her look more gay, and I’d love that too, but I knew that conversation would tread into territory where I’d find out whether she really thinks of me as a woman, and it killed my mood.

“What do you like about me? Is it just my big *******?” She was looking coy, which is great, because I couldn’t handle her self esteem problems right then - not as well as she deserved.

“Yes, hahaha.” I squeezed * ***** maniacally and she pushed me back until my head squished into the pillow, threatening to lose the headwrap. We settled down and I grabbed her hand. “Seriously, I love everything about you.”

“You don’t know everything about me.”

“You aren’t who you used to be. You’re who you are right now, and I know who that is. You’re my girlfriend.”

“I guess that’s true.” She put an arm behind my head and I snuggled into place.

“I was thinking about it. I don’t know if I ever dated an Islander before.”

She smiled. “Just how many people did you date, Courtney?”

I gripped her around the waist and shook her around. “Grrr!” I flopped back down beside her. It was too much effort. “You win, I’m a huge slut. Huge hungover slutty slut.”

“I love you, slut.”

“I love you too, honey.” I relaxed again. “Anyway, I just mention that Islander thing, because it feels significant. Like, I’ve never dated anybody that looks like my people. You don’t look like the average Pinay, but if you flipped the islands probably a few Leimomi lookalikes would fall out.”

“That’s weird. Why you say that?”

“I can imagine a different life, where we were from the same place. Same neighborhood. Where we grew up together.”

“Oh no, you don’t wanna be in Pearl City with my family.”

“That’s not what I mean.” I touched her face. “Get with me on this. Just hear me out.”

“OK...”

“We’re in some kinda place that never existed. Pilipwaii. It’s a nice island, low key people working hard and not so many hustlers and problems.”

“Pilipwaii? What’s it look like?”

“There’s a mountain but it isn’t an active volcano, pretty worn down. The reefs around the island got so big they shelter it from storms. The city is on a little plane, growing stuff like cane, bamboo, coconuts, bananas, mangos. The only school is a catholic school, so we grew up being chased around by nuns with rulers.”

“Why mean nuns? You want the story to be nice.”

“I want it to be believable. So trouble in paradise, baby. Anyway, you and me are schoolgirls together, best friends.”

“How could I be friends with you? You’re smart and--”

“There aren’t so many kids in a small town. Everybody knows everybody, and we just like each other, right? I hope you can find that believable, because you’re my girlfriend.”

“I’m your girlfriend in the story?”

“Not yet. Listen.”

“Hmm.”

“We’re just friends. Best friends. It can happen all kinds of ways. You know, I’ve always had friends that are different from me. Maybe I got hurt and you helped me out, or I helped you with your homework, or you were sad and I was nice to you one time. And it stuck, we stuck together. Best friends, in Pilipwaii.”

“At the school with the mean nuns.”

“That’s right. So one day, I’m in love with this boy, and he’s mean to me. He tricks me and then says he doesn’t like me in front of some other girls and everybody laughs and stuff.”

“This is too sad. Did the nuns laugh too?”

“They did.”

“I’ll kill ’em.”

“It’s OK. So I run home, I’m all sad and it’s terrible. You find me and help me feel better, hug me and say nice things.”

“I love you,” she said, and gave me a little squeeze.

“That’s right. Something like that. We’re there, say, in a gazebo. Big blue dragonflies are flying by. It’s hot but there’s a cold breeze blowing off the ocean. We’re schoolgirls, best friends, and you hold me and say, Hugo is a stupid ugly boy and I deserve better, and you love me and stuff.”

“I hope the nuns don’t hear that.”

“Well, you just mean, you love me like a friend, right? We say that stuff, like friends. But this time I’m looking you in the eye and I realize, maybe we could be more than friends. But it’s a little island, so nobody ever told us that being gay is an option, right?”

“This story is weird, Courtney.”

“Is it OK?” I searched her face. She nodded in approval and I resumed. “Well right, so you and me, we’re there, we’re schoolgirls, and we never heard the word lesbian in our lives, but I’m still super into you. And then I kiss you, and you start to get it.”

“Whoa.” She looked at me, then away to the ceiling, and back again, thinking about it all.

“Is that a good whoa or a bad whoa?”

“Wait. Now I know why people think schoolgirl skirts are sexy.”

“Hehehe, nooo, I’m not trying to be a pervert. I’m just saying, for all it matters, we could love each other any kinda way. Like, it doesn’t matter how we got here. Let’s just say we came from Pilipwaii.”

“OK, but tell me about our skirts. Are they kinda short?”

“No, they’re long. It’s a little island. Very conservative. But our shirts have short sleeves and we have little bow ties.”

“That’s cute. And you kissed me, and I start to get it, like, hey, we could love each other. No Hugo.”

“Yeah. So we kiss and it’s kinda sloppy and stupid because we don’t know what we’re doing or know what to do.”

“And I start to figure it out,” Leimomi said, “like what I wanna do.” She reached inside my bathrobe, *redacted*

“Oh no, I gasp! I shy away. It’s all so fast. What are we doing? Have we gone crazy?”

“Whut.”

“It’s part of the bit. Like, there’s a push and pull. Will we or won’t we?”

“Oh. But we will, right?”

“You fucking know we will, baby.” I kissed her savagely. “But right now,” I panted a little, “I’m terrified of this forbidden love.”

“I’m so sad, I can’t handle it. I guess I’ll cry.”

“Don’t cry, Leimomi. I come back to you, take your hands. What is this? What are we doing? We’re both girls. It isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

“But why? Nobody is around, we can do whatever we want. I want to love you so much, Courtney.”

“It works, I’m like, oh shit, I can’t handle it anymore. I open my shirt up.”

“Heeheehee, yeah, now you’re talking. I open my shirt up too.”

*redacted*

“It’s time for freedom. Young ladies inventing lesbianism for the first time in the Universe, since all the other times it happened for other girls.”

She pulled off her t-shirt again. “Cool.”

I unfastened her bra and *redacted sexy / emotional content*

Were we being romantic or dirty? Both by turns, but those turns proved awkward to navigate.

We *redacted* and talked dirty and sweet until we both *redacted* She’d already worn herself out some that morning, and I was surprised she was able to go again like that. *redacted*

In the afterglow, she didn’t jump up or freak out, which was great. And I hadn’t gone down on her, so there was no question about kissing afterward. We snuggled up, just the thin material of my bathrobe between us to reduce sweat. I was tempted to *redacted* but I resisted the urge to avoid coming off like a total freak.

***

There was another knock at the door. I rolled my eyes, put my robe on, and answered it.

“Hey Patrick. Were you looking for me? Does Perry need help with something?”

“Kinda. I was wonderin’, how do we say who gets ta go next? I’d like to go, get it done.”

“My priority has been whoever is in the most danger of ratting us out, getting us in trouble. You have something like that going on?”

“Naw, it’s just somethin’ personal, bothers me a lot.”

“Well I think we all need some rest tonight so not now, but maybe tomorrow we see about some kind of plan? I don’t think anyone else seems likely to be a problem. Like if Olivia’s head pops up, she can join a circus and make some real money.”

“Thanks, Courtney, you’re a doll.” He reached out to shake hands.

My hands were both behind the door, only my head poking out. “Ah, hands are full. Thanks, Patrick.”

“See ya later!” He smiled and walked away.

I looked down the hall after him. His walk was a little awkward, but was that a clue? What was going on under his clothes? Marcie had two holes in her upper chest, I’d found, little squares that puffed out smoke. Most of the time she could keep it down, but several times a day she had to open the covers to let it out, or she’d feel a burning in her lungs and throat. Never did hear what Patrick and Perry had going on.

I pushed the door closed with the backs of my arms, avoiding getting my wet hands on everything. But that meant my hands were close to my face when she wasn’t looking. I avoided touching my face, but I took a deep inhale, and one little lick of a finger. It was awesome. Sue me.

I washed my hands and went back to her, sitting on the edge of the bed. I was going to just stay another moment, but couldn’t resist laying down again. This time I was on my belly, face propped up with one arm, the other draped over my lovin’ lady.

“I was thinking about the haircut. I think it would be real cute. You could grow it out again later, but for now, it’s fun to play with a different look.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Is it because you’re a grunger?”

“Hehe, maybe. But more than that, it’s like... I know you’re bisexual like me, but you’re in lesbian love now, baby. It might be fun to see you play the part. Girls like me have to be girled up all the time just to have a chance of people treating us like we want. But you? You could get big flannel shirts and tank tops and stuff.”

“Whaaat?” She crinkled her forehead all to Hell like I was trying to teach her quantum mechanics. “Dress like a lesbian? Like, butch?”

“I know, you aren’t really a butch. You’re a sweet lil’ girly babe. But it can be fun to play a different style, y’know? What do you think?”

“I never thought... I guess I could. But how would people look at me? What would they be like?”

“Some people might be mean. A lot of people will be pretty nice. And in this town? Ladies will be on your jock, like twenty-five deep at all times. You’ll have to keep them off you with a baseball bat. Probably some weird fellas too.”

“You’re lying. No way that’s true. Why would they?”

“Lesbians like butches, but most of them are not. It means you’d be a precious rarity. Plus you’re so cute and tall and strong, you’d kill them dead. They’d have trouble walking because their legs would go all wobbly around you. It would be hilarious.”

“Oh my goodness.” She touched her face, which was hot and pink.

I kissed her cheek to steal a little of that heat. It was mine. I put it there, after all. “My cutie.”

She shook off the embarrassment. “You just wanna make the lesbians jealous. That’s mean.”

“I know. I’m horrible. But we gotta eat. I’ll make us something.”

I sprang out of bed and put on the clothes I’d brought over the previous night. Leimomi dressed too, still lost in thought at the prospect of a makeover. She followed me out and sat down across the kitchenette island from me, on one of the tall stools. I got to work on some spam, macaroni, and cheese. I found the sauce from the packets was less gross with some milk and spices added, and randomly found part of a red pepper to mix in.

“You didn’t think much about being a lesbian before, huh. What do you think now? Gonna get those intertwined Venus symbols tattooed? Doc Martens?”

“I dunno. If you think it’s a good idea.”

“Again this power I have. I feel like an evil hypnotist from Scooby-Doo.”

“I just don’t care what I look like, I guess. Like, you know why.”

“Sorry, babe. But yeah, I think it’ll be real fun to get you dyke clothes, at least to wear ’til your hair grows back.”

“You’re a weird weirdo, but you’re my girlfriend, so I gotta do what you say.”

“Lovers are supposed to be partners, equals. If you gotta do what I say, then I gotta do what you say. Any requests?,” I said, gesturing to the food I was making.

“Naw. You do it pretty good.”

“Just ‘pretty good’? Sounds like there’s room for improvement. You don’t have to know how to cook to know how to judge food. Just think, would I like this better if we did it like that? I’ve made this for you before. Didn’t do the pepper last time, but I had green onion and cayenne for garnish. What did you think? Was that alright?”

“Green onion, is that the little green rings?”

“The way I cut it that time, yeah.”

“I didn’t mind those, but I didn’t like them either.”

“That’s OK, I don’t have any this time. How’d you like the texture? Like, how it felt in your mouth.”

“It was OK.”

“Coulda been better?”

“I dunno.”

“Don’t make me follow through on that clown thing.”

“Hehe. OK, so what do you want?”

“Was it too creamy, too thick, too sticky, too rich, too thin? Do you prefer a different kind of sauce with macaroni? If it’s really OK, then it’s OK. But if it’s not OK and you’re pretending just to be nice, I’m gonna make us have clown sex.”

“Is that a promise?”

“Alright, so now I see how it is. You really don’t care about macaroni sauce, and you might be into clown sex. These are important things to know, for our future together. I will take these mental notes and never reverse or overwrite them with contravening information. No matter how much you protest, from now on, I will know that you want to look like a clown when we fuck.”

“Don’t make it so complicated.”

“So like, a simple clown outfit, nothing too fancy. A few polka dots, big shoes, a red nose?”

“Yeah. But I thought you wanted me to dress like a butch dyke.”

“You know the ‘D’ word now? You’ll be ready for Pride in no time. Hm... I gotta figure out where to get combat boots with novelty foot length.”

“A butch clown? I don’t think the lesbians would be jealous of you anymore.”

“Damn! This is too complicated. Maybe you were better prepared to go lesbo than I was.”

“Heehee.” She got shy.

“Hey, you’re thinking about something and not telling me.” The water was up to a boil so I turned the heat down to seven and poured in the pasta.

“We both weren’t prepared. We don’t have a double dildo.”

I stood up straight in shock, though by then I should have been getting used to the idea of her knowing more about sex, in her own way. “What. What do you know about double dildos, girl?”

“Well, usually lesbians use a double dildo, right? Like one side goes in my pussy, and, uh...”

“Best place for me to put my end is the back door. But I’m sure plenty of lesbians don’t have double dildos. Where did you hear about that?”

“I just saw a porno once. Some ladies used a double dildo. Guess I thought...”

“We could use a double dildo, if you want. Sounds fun.” I stirred the macaroni, had to bust some apart as they had started to clump in the freshly released flour goo.

“Heehee.” She played with her hands.

“What else do you know about lesbian stuff?”

“Ya know, I never thought about it, but the pornos I saw are different from the lesbians I see around town. Like, in the pornos they have pretty hair and makeup, wear skirts and heels and stuff.”

“Sharp. That’s right. Most of those pornos are made for straight dudes. Might look different if ladies made ’em.”

“Why don’t ladies make ’em?”

“I dunno, but I could take a few guesses. You wanna be like a real life lesbian, like the ones on the streets, or would you rather be a porno lesbian, like in the movies?”

“We get a choice?”

“Always.”

“You are like a porno lesbian.”

“Guess I made my choice. How about you?”

“If I have short hair, I’ll hafta be like a real life lesbian.”

“Or you could mix it up. That’s what they call ‘queer’.”

“So if I have short hair, but I still wear makeup and stuff, I am queer, but if I have short hair and I wear a flannel shirt, I am butch?”

“That’s close enough to right.”

“I dunno. I don’t like to be wrong, to say the wrong thing. Maybe I won’t talk about this stuff with real life lesbians.”

“Just porno lesbians like me, right?”

“Umm, maybe just you. Not another porno lesbian.” She considered that. “Wait, are there porno lesbians in real life, aside from you?”

“Not a lot of us, and I’m sure most of us wouldn’t want to be called that. They also say ‘lipstick lesbian’ for ladies that stay lady-like, though most of them are still gonna do things their own funny way. I kinda like that porno lesbian thing for myself, because I’m not gonna dress like the singer from 4 Non Blondes.”

“I don’t get that one. You lost me again.”

“Hahahaha, you’re in for a treat. I’m gonna look that up for you when we’re done eating.” I served up the food.

***