Writings created by fans of Pocket Waifu go here.
A wave of relief came over you when you found her still lying in bed. Her head was resting on her arm. Her right arm was stretched out, reaching for the place you had been lying up until twenty minutes ago. She was breathing softly. You'd say she was asleep, but…
“I can see you're awake, Mary.”
“Nooo, dearest, I'm asleep. Please, wake me up,” Mary said. Her voice sounded a bit raspy and was deeper than usual. You knew she couldn't have been awake for long. Perhaps she only woke up when you re-entered the room.
You smiled. Hiding the present behind your back, you crawled on top of the bed. Mary always looked so mature in the way she was always caring for people and her plants, but you loved her childlike side at moments like these just as much. She had her eyes shut to keep up the pretence of being asleep, but when you were close enough for her to feel your breath on her face, a smile broke the facade.
Mary was gorgeous. Even up close like this, you couldn't find a single flaw. Her skin was smooth, her nose had a cute little curve to it and her hair – even though the night had made it messy – looked like delicate strands of gold in the morning rays that were filtered by the curtains. Balancing yourself on one arm, you pressed your lips against hers and were greeted by their answer. Mary giggled.
“Good morning, dearest,” she said.
“Good morning, Mary.”
“You were gone.”
“Only for a little bit.”
Mary opened her sapphire eyes. Despite the fact that she had just woken up, they weren't puffy at all. No, they were sparkling. God, how unfair how she could do that. But thank God you were the one able to wake up to that. Out of all the potential timelines out there, you happened to live in the one in which you got to meet such a divine woman.
“Well,” Mary said, smiling, “I am glad that you're back. Come here.”
Mary stretched her arms out towards you. Normally, you'd gladly let yourself be drawn in for a hug and some loving, but today was different, so you stopped her. Mary was clearly taken by surprise. You hadn't ever refused a hug from her before.
“Before we do that, there's something I wanted to give you.”
“To give me?” Mary repeated, clearly puzzled. She planted her hand on the bed and rose herself up. As she shoved her butt between her hands, the blanket fell to her lap, uncovering – what you believed to be – the finest pair of breasts in the world, packed in a purple négligée. Mary rubbed her eyes and looked at you.
Your heart was beating in your chest. Calm down, you thought. It's not like you've never given her a gift before. And it's not like she would think it's weird. It's just… been awhile, you guessed. From behind your back, you took the marble mortar you bought earlier that week, filled with brightly coloured marigolds. The mortar came with a pestle you had tagged with a small piece of paper saying her name in curly letters; the feminine touch you didn't know you had in you.
“Happy Mother's Day, Mary,” you said and immediately regretted. It sounded weird coming out of your mouth. In your head, it passed as endearing, but now that you've said it out loud, it sounded perverse.
But, yes, it was Mother's Day; a day you hadn't celebrated… been able to celebrate in a long time. Not since your ninth. Not really. Dad had told you to welcome his new wife as if she were your mother, but no matter how hard you tried (and the Heavens know you have), she's never felt like the real deal. There was always something off about the whole situation, but in retrospect, it may just have been an issue with getting comfortable with a new mother.
“I'm sorry,” you corrected yourself, staring at the sheets. You felt your face turning red. “I just meant to say… You're the most important woman in my life.”
Mary let out a giggle. Feeling like this scene had tickled her funny bone, you looked at her. She noticed your clear discomfort and swallowed her laughter.
“Oh, silly,” she said. “Don't be sorry. I know this day tends to be a little difficult for you. I understand. It was just so adorable. I'm sorry for laughing.”
“Don't be. I was just worrying too much.”
Mary flashed you a quick smile. She held out her hands, to receive the gift you'd so carefully picked for her. You gave it to her and sat down next to her on the bed. Her tender fingers closed around the mortar and pestle. Her beautifully big and blue eyes glancing over the yellow flowers crowning her gift.
Picking the flowers was difficult for you. For any other girl, roses would've done just fine, but for a woman so into gardening, you felt like that just wouldn't pass. The day before, on your way home from an early leave from work, you had stopped by the gardening shop Mary frequents. A small, but cozy store, with shelves full of gardening seeds, soils, utensils and – in the back – a variety of flowers. You had asked the owner that would look beautiful on top of the gift you'd bought for her. Of course, he'd taken you for any other customer and suggested a couple of – as far as you could tell – beautiful roses. But, no, after telling him for whom the gift was, he had come to the same conclusion you had. Instead, he had shown you the calendula officinales and you had chosen them without a doubt. The doubts had come hours afterwards. You wished you could've gone for the traditional breakfast in bed, but-
“It's beautiful, dearest,” Mary said, waking you up from your train of thought, just in time for you to not see it getting derailed. “I love it.” Mary put her present on the nightstand and turned towards you. “And I love you. A lot.”
Mary leaned against you, resting her head on your shoulder. The warmth of her body gave you the feel of comfort only she could give you. Her right index finger drew circles on your thigh. She tilted her head to look at you. Her gaze was full of never decreasing affection.
“I love you too,” you replied. Your lips met in a tender kiss. A kiss that grew more passionate with each passing moment. A kiss that could've led to much more if you hadn't been interupted.
“Happy Mother's Day, mommy!” A young girl stood in the doorway holding a tray in her hands. Your nine year-old daughter entered the room, walked to her mother's side of the bed and handed over the breakfast she had tried her best on. The toast was slightly burnt and the orange juice had spilled over the edges of the mug, but both Mary and you were full of pride.
“Thank you, Jessie,” Mary said, praising her child with a loving pat on the head. Then she glanced at you. “You were trying to keep me here, didn't you?”
You winked. Busted.
Mary grabbed your hand. Looking at it, you saw that the golden ring shone as bright as the day you put it on her finger. All was well.
2018-07-03, by @HeroicOutlaw
“You can't throw me out!” she screamed back at you. Her face was just inches away from you. Her tan skin had a soft shine to it because of the sweat. Her eyes were wet. It was apparent that she was on the verge of crying, but she tried her hardest to look as angry as you. “Not over just a couch!”
“Just a couch?” you repeated angrily. Your voice was raspy as this scene had been going on for an hour. “This couch has costed me more than you have ever contributed to this household.” You made sure to point to the floor when saying that to stress that you were angry, and not just mildly annoyed that this girl had spilled some nail polish on your couch. It was pent-up frustration, all coming out at the same time now that it's finally reached its peak. She had to feel that.
Her eyes went down to the table, but then shot up to yours again. “Look, I've said I was sorry, okay? Why do you insist on being a little bitch about it?”
“That's it!” Words didn't cut it, so you had to support them physically. You grabbed her by the hair and…
She kissed you.
As she pulled back, no trace of her scared anger was left on her face. Masako smiled at you, showing her perfectly white teeth. “That. Was. Amazing!” She grabbed you by the shoulders and pulled you on the couch, where she pressed herself against you and wrapped a leg around you. A beautifully tanned leg. “Your angry face could use some work, still, but your voice? You're so good! You made me feel like you were actually angry at me, not gonna lie! If it wasn't in the script, I would've been, like, so scared of you.”
You had been helping her practicing this scene for a straight hour. Since it involved a lot of yelling, you were out of breath, so you let the young Japanese girl talk.
The scene you've been rehearsing was part of an audition Masako would do next week. It was a theatric play about a selfish girl who always got her way, until she gets thrown out by her boyfriend. Having always lived using others, she doesn't know how to do much else. She visits guy after guy, waiting for the next fool to fall for her lies, but once she has found the right guy, her lies start to catch up to her. It wasn't exactly the cinema yet, but even though she was ambitious, she knew that she had to start somewhere.
In a way you were glad they had chosen this particular part of the play for the auditioners to perform, as you probably wouldn't have been able to help Masako out otherwise. You could absolutely relate to the character you had to stand in for, as you've been in a similar- no, you've been in the exact situation before. You made a note in your mind to thank Raquel, albeit subtle and definitely not too expensive.
“…I wanted to try making my lip tremble, but nobody would see that on stage, right? I need to focus on my voice more. Yours was, like, dokan ~! It was fan-ta-stic! Have you ever considered taking up acting?” Masako stopped talking because she noticed you were physically tired from rehearsing. “Mou ~ Are you even listening?” The gal shifted her weight and moved on top of you.
“I am, I am. And, no, I don't really consider myself to be an actor.” you replied.
Masako smiled and sat back, leaning on your knees. You had a full vision of her. She wore her dyed hair in a blonde side ponytail that messily obeyed gravity. Her tanned torso was adorned with a bright yellow top and a small silver heart-shaped necklace, while a black shoulder cardigan was tied around her shoulders. With her sitting back like this, you could catch a tiny glimpse of her abdomen, where you could see the tan lines from her bikini shoot out from under her jean shorts.
“Anyway, I want to thank you for your help. It's really nice to get support.”
“It's nothing. You're a natural, so it would be a waste to see you languish behind a cash register.”
“Mhm~” Masako smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “I am really grateful.”
Your lips locked into hers. You embraced the twenty year old actress and pulled her body against you. It was moments like these, the really tender and intimate ones, that you could appreciate the finer details Masako put in her appearance. The taste of grapes in her lip gloss. The faint sweet smell of her shampoo. You wanted to tease her a little and pinch her butt, but you were distracted when you felt something wet on your face.
“Masako, are you crying?” you asked after breaking the kiss. Upon closer inspection, it seemed like she was indeed crying. Two defined shiny paths ran from her eyes to her chin.
“No, it's fine,” Masako said while attempting to dry off her face with her arm. “It's just my contacts. I'll clean them. Do you me to bring you anything to drink on my way back?”
“Oh, umm… If you could bring me a beer, that would be just fine.”
Masako flashed you a quick, faint smile and left for the bathroom. You followed her (well, to be precise, her denimclad butt) with your eyes until she was out of sight.
A curious case, that girl. The day she came to you was one for the books. Andrea had looked a bit panicked that day. A sight you started to fear, as it often meant laying low for a while, whatever that meant, since you were bound to the house, anyway. But after a period of laying low, she immediately started slaving you again. That day, however, did not go according to her plan.
Just as Andrea had calmed down, the doorbell rang.
“Don't answer!” Andrea hissed. You obeyed her and hid in the corner you hid in whenever there were door salesmen who made it a habit to peek through his windows to make sure he truly wasn't at home and not just pretending to be away. You waited and listened, but you were full of questions. Why was Andrea so tense?
“Hello? Anybody home?” a voice asked from outside the window next to you. It was someone with the same habits as the salesmen; impatient and not giving up easily. You held your breath. You recognized something in the voice. It sounded… Japanese. Sakaki? No. Sakaki wouldn't yell through the window. This person was more energetic than Sakaki.
“My script was blown into your backyard and I would like to get it back, please.”
A script? Your IT-mind initially went to DOS and PHP, but since those can't be “blown into your backyard” you understood that it must've been the kind of script actors would use.
What would you do? You glanced at Andrea, who was angrily biting her thumb, in thoughts. Being invisible to anyone other than you, she used that ability to take a look. You heard her mumble to herself. Most of it was inaudible, but you could make out some parts about her “not understanding it” and a lot of what ifs of which you didn't hear the rest.
And then, silence.
You waited what felt like an eternity, before you dared to move. You moved towards the ground and crawled towards the front door.
“What are you doing?” Andrea asked. “Get back here!” However, curiosity had taken you over. You wanted to listen to the door. Maybe even peek through the little window in your door. There'd be no way the girl outside would know you were even there. As you moved from one hiding spot to the next, you noticed that she hadn't left yet. That script must've been important to her.
You hid closely behind the door and peeked through one of the small windows that let some light into the hallway. You saw a pair of tanned legs, with bright pink leg warmers above the white sneakers the girl was wearing.
Had she'd been a postman, she'd proven James M. Cain, or whoever directed the movie adaptations, right. Being so close to the door, the ringing noise scared you. In a movement not unlike movie cliches, you flinched back and knocked over the umbrella Yasu had left against the wall. The sound of the handle beating the floor resonated throughout the hallway. For a moment you hoped the door would dampen the noise, but through the windows you could now see two blue eyes staring directly at you.
“You idiot!” Andrea yelled.
“Please, sir, I really need my script!” the young girl begged.
You looked at Andrea in a both apolegetic and panicked way. She bit the nail on her thumb, looked at the girl and sighed.
“Fine. Open the door and give her the script. But the moment I am sure I can't trust her, we bounce, you hear?”
You stood up and opened the door. Before you stood a young, tan Asian woman with bleached hair and light-colored make-up around her eyes. Her outfit was brightly colored, but didn't hide her healthily slim figure.
“Yahho~!” she greeted you, with a waving gesture, not showing a sign of the worry she just displayed. “Sorry to bother you, mister! Were you sleeping?”
“Something like that,” you replied. Just what the hell were you doing before all of this? “What can I help you with?” You thought it was safest to pretend you really didn't hear her earlier.
The girl brought a finger to her face as she looked at you. Before this fashionable girl, your attire seemed a bit dull. You were painfully aware how bad your gray shirt and comfortable – but loosely fitting – pants looked compared to her… colorful outfit. She didn't seem to mind, though, as she looked at you from head to toe – wait, did she just look at your crotch for a bit? – and smiled friendly.
“I was walking past and, like, the wind started blowing. I was reading my lines for an upcomin audition and, pyuu, the wind blew the sheets out of my hands, into your backyard.” Her explanation came with gestures you didn't completely get.
“Oh, I see. Come in, then we'll look for them together.”
“What do you think you're doing, letting her in like that?” Andrea yelled inaudibly to the girl in front of you. You didn't know what got her so on edge that day, but decided to not go against the succubus.
But the Japanese girl had already stepped inside.
“Wow!” she exclaimed. “So this is a true American home, ne?” Her eyes lit up like a child's in a candy store. As soon as you closed the door behind her, she walked into the living room. She was visibly excited. Andrea, however, did not like it one bit. She walked around the girl, inspecting her, probably to see whether to trust her or not. Andrea commanded you to ask some things about her.
“I assume you haven't seen many houses, if you're already that excited by mine?” you asked, which was followed by a facepalm from Andrea.
The girl tore her eyes from your bookcase and smiled at you.
“I've seen some,” she replied. “I've been invited to parties from fellow students. But those houses were… How do you say that without being rude? Trying too hard?” Sudden embarrassment came over you as you became aware of how simple your interior must be. Your uninvited guest noticed your unease, made a quick motion with her hands and followed up with: “No, no! I actually like it simple!” Even though you knew she meant well, it felt like another blow to your ego, since she confirmed your interior was simple.
“So… Where are you from?” you asked to change the subject.
“Oh!” Only now the girl seemed to realize she hadn't introduced herself yet. “I'm Hayakawa Masa- Ettoo ~ Masako Hayakawa. I have always been in love with America, so when I was done with high school, I came here to study. I wanted to experience the culture, you know?”
You introduced yourself. There was no need to, probably, since you'd likely never see this girl again. That thought stinged a little. For as little as you had seen her, she seemed really interesting. She was clearly Japanese, like Sakaki, but far less traditional. Where Sakaki had the grace and serenity of a shrine maiden, Masako had the flair of a Japanese idol. And did she really look at your crotch just now?!
“Oho! Now I remember!” Andrea suddenly said. “I didn't recognise her with this… look.”
You looked at the succubus in surprise, only to look back at Masako as to make sure she didn't catch him looking at something that wasn't there, but she had already continued her tour through the living room.
“This could be interesting. Say, stud, you like her?” Andrea inquired. She walked behind you and put her hands on your shoulders.
The question invited you to take another good look at the girl. She was an unnatural beauty, with her gyaru looks. Her summer blonde hair looked great with her tan skin. She had a nice figure, too. A cute butt and breasts that were a little smaller compared to Raquel. Masako was exotic, in a strange, but definitely not unappealing way. And she was definitely interested in you.
“Good answer” the voice in your ear replied. “I'd have to make some preparations. Rather sooner than later, so get her the papers and invite her to come back some other time.”
“What are these thing laying arou-”
“Sorry, Masako, but – err… I have some things to do today. Shall we get your script?” You interrupted her.
“Oh, okay!” she answered. She seemed a bit disappointed that her tour had to end already.
“It's fine, you can stop by again at a later time. Then, I'll give you the full tour.”
The idea of being shown around in such a normal house was apparently really exciting to her. She nodded and followed you to your yard.
It wasn't a lie; the sheets of paper really were strewn across your backyard. Masako didn't really remember how many sheets there were supposed to be, but after finding the closing words on page seven, you were fairly sure that once you had found seven pages. There were a couple in and under the hedge, one in the tomato garden Mary had planted and the rest had found their place on the grass when they were out of the wind's reach. When handing her the final sheets, you noticed that she had underlined all the lines of a character named Linda Loman.
“And that's the last of them,” you said. “When are the auditions?”
“Next Thursday,” Masako replied.
“Let me know if you got it, okay? They'd be fools not to take you.”
“Yeah, absolutely! I'd love to hear all about it, some time.”
Masako smiled. It was a genuinely happy smile, the kind of smile a child would have when you tell them their drawing is beautiful and you'll hang it on the fridge.
A week later, Masako had returned. You had given her a tour of the house and started talking. Masako didn't get the part, for the simple reason that she was too young to be playing a wife and mother. She told you that her she dreamed of playing a role in a feature film, but that she wanted to gain more experience in American style acting first.
You also learned why she liked your house so much. Just like art, trying too hard to make it perfect would make it lose all of its charm. But when you put your all into your home to make it your own, it's the imperfection that would make it perfect, as it made it your home. She believed that houses, too, couldn't be considered great if they didn't have any heart in them. Besides, yours looked more like the houses she had seen in imported Hollywood teen drama movies and series.
She kept visiting you. You had dinner at your place together and at some point, she stayed the night every now and often, if her lectures didn't start too early. The more you time you spent together, the more you started feeling for her. You had fallen for her quirkiness and her energy. You loved how she was quick to bounce back after a disappointment and how she found new things exciting. Even the little things, like how she sometimes used Japanese words because those felt more natural to her, or how she told stories with sound effects that were Japanese, you loved. You had become smitten with the gal.
Masako returned with not blue, but her natural brown eyes.
“They kept stinging, so I took them out for today,” she explained. She let herself fall on the couch next to you and handed you a green-ish bottle of beer. You took a swig of the European brand and let the mild bitter flavor run through your mouth.
“Do you think I'll get this part?” Masako asked, staring at her glass of juice. You swallowed your beer and put your hand on her lap.
“If not, I'll write a really bad review on them.”
Masako laughed. She rested her head on your shoulder, leaving another silence.
“I've been meaning to ask you,” you said to break it, “why are you set on playing in American movies?”
Masako tilted her head towards you.
“I think it's the reach,” she answered. “American movies are shown throughout the whole world. Japanese movies don't really get shown much outside of Japan. Back home, people would complain when American movies… ettoo… What do you call it? White wash Asian roles? But they also don't like a wrong representation of our culture. I don't blame you, though. We do the same with Americans.” All of a sudden, you felt like asking Yasu to recommend you an anime in which there were American characters to see how the Japanese portrayed people from the States. “But I want to see that changed. I want to show America the actual Japanese culture and I want to show the Japanese the real American people. I think that we can blend the ideas and make great entertainment together.”
You were amazed by the amount of thought that had gone into the young gal's dream. Back in elementary school, or even middle school, most girls dreaming of stardom were in it for the money. For the celebrity status. For that one hot actor fifteen to thirty years older than them to notice them. But not this one.
“And,” she continued after a sigh. She emptied her glass of juice. “And I want to show that it isn't insulting to your own culture to, like, take ideas from another.”
“Was that so much of a problem in Japan?” you asked? Masako nodded.
“I have been called a traitor. I'm not the only Japanese who obsesses over America and I'm not the only gyaru, but combine them and people will resent you.”
“I didn't know,” you answered. You put your arm around her. “So that's when your dream began? Of being an actress, I mean?”
Masako put her hand on the one you put around her.
“Oh, no. That started way earlier. I've always liked playing a role. Playing house used to be my favorite thing to do. Especially if I got to dress up, too. For a long time, I wanted to perform on a Noh stage.“ (She made some movements as if she put something on and off her face) “You know, with masks and costumes. I also was in the drama club in koko - I mean… High school? It wasn't until I said that I wanted to become a professional actress that people started to reject me. All of a sudden, they told me what to do with my life. My clothes were too loud and my make-up too eye-catching. It sucked the soul right out of me, so I told my parents I wanted to study abroad and came here.”
“I'm glad you did.”
“Mhm~ Me, too.” Masako grabbed your hand and kissed it. “You're in my corner, right?”
Masako threw herself on your lap again, like she'd done earlier. This time, her eyes weren't wet, but full of determination. Determination and love.
“So what role do you want me to play tonight? Schoolgirl, maid, or…” Masako leaned in closer. Her chest pushed against you. She brought her mouth closer to your ear and whispered: “wife?” It wasn't just your ears that perked up.
Name: Masako Hayakawa
Birth Date: April 12th
Place of Birth: Machida
Blood Type: B
Height: 161.5 cm (5'3”)
Eyes: Brown (Blue contacts)
Hair: Dyed summer blonde in a side pony tail
Bra Size: B
Dream Job: Actress
Interest: American Culture
2018-09-05, by @HeroicOutlaw
Andrea's loud voice woke you up from your sweet, holidays-inspired dreams. It was something about you and Mary… And Sakaki… And Cleo, Raquel, Anna, Leilani, Yasu, Eva and Valentina, all celebrating Christmas together. All around the Christmas tree, sipping eggnog and hot chocolate and exchanging gifts. You know it was only possible in your dreams, but it still felt so real. So real… and nice.
But the succubus had pulled you from that moment of peace, back into the real world, where you felt bad about nine-timing every girl and where you were the only one who could hear Andrea's bossy voice. Actually, no. You were glad you were the only one who could hear her. Had she been audible to Yasu, who slept in the guest room down the hall, your little step-sister would've probably thrown a fit.
“What do you want?” you asked groggily. You turned away from her and buried your face in the sheets. When you opened your eyes, you were met with the sight of what seemed like a decapitated head. Amber eyes stabbed at your comfort. A dastard grin, filled with sharp teeth, was spread wide. Andrea's head was soon followed by the rest of her body, as she seated herself on the spot next to you. She crossed her legs, but because the pillow elevated you head, you could still see the reflection on her genital piercing.
“I've got a job for you to do.”
You closed your eyes and moaned. Knowing Andrea, this “job” would only make you feel worse about the job you were already on for her.
“Come on, you'll like it! And besides…” Andrea paused, probably to leave you in suspense for a bit. Given how less you cared about it, it wasn't very effective. “You get to be outside for a bit.”
Okay, scrap that. All of a sudden, you were wide awake. Outside? Did you just hear that right? The only times the succubus let you go outside were in your own backyard and the short trips to the store. But a job outside? That was new.
You looked at her sceptically.
“What kind of job?” you asked.
“Got your attention now, haven't I?” Andrea laughed. She reached from behind her and grabbed a piece of paper, which she threw in front of your face.
You rubbed your eyes before you grabbed the leaflet. On it was a man in a Santa suit, with a question mark where his face would be. Reading the text, it seemed like a local mall was in need of mall Santas for the weeks leading up to Christmas.
“You want me to be a mall Santa?” You lowered your voice on purpose. Yasu was still a fond believer of Santa Claus and not only did you not want to have her hear you talking to some ethereal being she wouldn't stop talking about until at least Easter, you also couldn't bring yourself to crush her childlike cheerfulness around these days. “I thought going to crowded areas was supposed to be dangerous.”
“It is,” Andrea said. “Or at least, under normal circumstances it would be.”
“And this is different, because?”
Andrea grabbed the leaflet from your hands and pointed at the fat figure.
“This is what's different!” She said. “You'll be in a costume that even makes your generic face unrecognizable. Even if one of your pets would happen to see you there, they wouldn't know it's you even if you stuck your dick inside of 'em. Maybe that creepy bitch might sniff you out, but I'm fairly sure she ain't here in this– during that time.”
“I don't get it,” you said. “Why do you want me to do this?” With some dramatic flair Andrea placed her hand on her chest, somewhere near where her cold, dead heart would have been if she was human.
“It's Christmas. Even I can be in a giving mood, sometimes.”
You raised an eyebrow, which Andrea ignored.
“Where is your holiday spirit?” Andrea continued. “Think of the happiness you could spread. The faith in Santa Claus that would make it easier for parents to keep their kids in line. Imagine all the smiles you could bring to the child–” Andrea made a sound as if she retched. “I have no clue how you people do it. Fucking getting excited about some fat creep allowing children on his lap, on the birthday of some stoner claiming to be the son of God… Look, here's the deal. Mall Santas attract crowds, right? Children, and more importantly their mommies who are just dying for a new dick to impale them since their husbands have become some alcoholic sports fan who does nothing but drink beer and watch tv. Or single mothers looking for some fun since their divorce. And then there are the sluts who want to take pictures with Santa to get likes on their social media. Single women abandoning all shame and ask Santa for a man. There's tons of potential fresh meat there who might be of use. And, hey, you wouldn't be opposed to getting a new dick warmer for Christmas, now would you, stud?”
That was a lot to take in. Especially her avid description of the mothers with deadbeat husbands made you think that she had seen that before she met you and took your soul. You weren't sure what she was going on about, but you also knew you had no choice in the matter. Andrea had set her mind on it, so it had to happen. You sighed, a little worried about the outcome of the plan. You had the sneaking suspicion Andrea's plans often turned out chaotic, resulting into her nuking the girls with Lust Dust so you could fuck their brains out to keep them happy. Maybe there was something good about it, after all.
Several weeks later, a week after Thanksgiving, you started you first shifts. You've had a couple of weeks worth of training beforehand. Lessons that would definitely make you even more popular with Mary. How to hold children, how to talk to them (especially helpful, that one), how to keep your cool when you got pissed on, how to comfort them when they are scared of this big red man with his giant curly beard. There were also some… less interesting classes you had wished you could skip. How to care for your pet beard was a prime example of lessons you'd rather had not taken, as now you knew all the steps that went into curling a beard. How was that going to help you?
The weeks went by in a blur. An often painful and smelly blur. Your respect for mall Santas had grown, as you now knew that they had not only to deal with a sweaty woolly suit, but also the exact amount of piss they got on their suit and the exact force that their shins took whenever those parents had no control over their fucking kids. Watching children cry in fear of you had become normal and – at times – even entertaining to you. You were grateful for coming home in an empty house. Yasu was out of town, so it was easy to come home without having to explain what you had been up to. It was also nice to not have to deal with her chuuni crap when you were tired from Santa-ing.
Andrea had been right about the crowds mall Santas attracted. There were a lot of mothers. Young mothers, old mothers, hot mothers, cute mothers. They often asked you what their kids asked for, so they could buy it. In all honesty, you often forgot, as you saw so many kids. You started to notice that your mind had a better grasp on the wishes from kids with the prettier moms. Andrea hanged around you and checked the women that came to you. Sometimes you heard her mumble something to herself, as if she made mental notes.
Your final day as a mall Santa had come upon you. It had paid well, but it started to wear you out. You made long shifts, got a lot of pictures taken and listened to a lot of selfish, materialistic wishes from kids of all ages. You had heard the same selection of cliché Christmas songs over and over to the point where you could name them all in the order they were played in. As usual for these last days leading up to the actual day, people had lined up for you. A young girl had just asked for a playhouse and next up there were two late teens who each took a knee to sit on.
“Tell me, Santa, have we been good girls all year?” the blonde one asked. She brushed your cheek with her fingers. You let out the most Santa-esque laugh you could muster.
“There's still enough time to get on the naughty list, girls,” you said, trying not to sound creepy as the words escaped your mind through your mouth. “So be good for the remaining days and Santa may give you what you wish for.” The girls grinned.
“Anything, Santa, baby?” the brunette asked teasingly. Her leg rubbed against your inner-thigh, close to you crotch.
“Well, even Santa has his limits, dear.”
“Can we get your number?” the brunette asked, which was answered by a nasty giggle from the blonde girl. You remembered the type from your high school days; girls who would definitely classify as hot, with push-up bras and plenty of makeup on their faces, totally aware of their beauty. And to tease nerds like you were at the time, they would make suggestive remarks towards you to make you uncomfortable, because they knew you knew you'd never had a chance with them.
“I don't think Mrs. Claus would like that very much,” you answered. Luckily you were trained for this, too. Always play it off like a joke. “But we could have our picture taken.”
The girls took a couple of seconds to fix their hair, create more cleavage and made use of their position to give you a kiss on the cheek on both sides and positioned the blondine's smartphone in such a way all three of you were well in frame of the selfie cam. As the picture was taken, you let out a jolly “Ho, Ho, Hoes!”.
“Thanks, Santa,” the girls said in their whiny voices. They walked away, giggling about the picture. You ogled them for a bit as they walked away from you and showed you their best sides, but soon corrected yourself to focus on the next customer.
Your heart sank. All the way to your black leather boots.
Before you stood a white-haired maiden. One blue and one amber eye looked at you nervously. You had trouble not to gasp her name as Yasu approached you. She held her green winter coat closed with her hands and had a little blush on her face. You tried to find your composure. You couldn't give away you knew her, so you tried to apply what you had learned.
“Ho, ho, ho, dear!” you said. “Are you here to see Santa in person before he goes on his worldwide trip to spread happiness around the world?”
Yasu nodded, but said nothing. Crap. You had never seen Yasu so silent. Normally, it was all “High Priestess Yasu Teramura is here to vanquish all evil”, “Banish this world!” and “Demonic Ether this-and-that” with her, but now, she was silent. Almost like the children that you've seen hiding behind their mothers. You slapped your knee to invite her on your lap, hoping that Andrea was right about the disguise with every fibre of your being and your costume. You noticed that Andrea was just as tense.
“Play it cool!” she mouthed, apparently forgetting that she couldn't be perceived by anyone but you.
“Come sit with me, dear girl. Please tell Santa your name.”
Hesitant, Yasu sat down on your leg. For a moment, your step-sister looked at your face, but immediately looked at her hands on her knees. Her expression revealed that she hadn't recognized you yet, so that was good.
“M-my name is…” Yasu opened her mouth, as if to say something, but closed her mouth again and shook her head. “Yasu, Santa.”
“Well, that's a mighty fine name, Yasu,” you said. “A good name for a good girl.” You had hoped it would lift her spirit a little, but Yasu didn't respond. Instead, she was trembling. “Is there anything you'd like to ask Santa?”
Yasu still didn't look at you. Her heterochromatic eyes were fixated on her hands.
“Did you receive my letter, Santa?” she asked in the meekest voice you've ever heard coming from her. Good, you thought, these were standard questions. You could do this.
“I am terribly sorry, Yasu, I fear it may come with the next delivery of letters. Perhaps you could tell me what's in it in person?”
Yasu shook her head. Her locks of hair moving around like an animated blizzard. Within that snowstorm hid the bright red beacon that was her face.
“I-I can't, Santa…” she said. “There might be Eager-eared Imps about.”
There it was, the chuuni-speech you've come to expect of her.
“Then Santa will wait until he's read you letter. So how about what you want for Christmas this year, Yasu?”
“No!” Yasu stood up with a raised voice that startled a kid waiting in line, causing him to start crying. “No, Santa! You don't understand!”
The crowd started murmuring in disdain. A little worried about the state of this conversation, you gently grabbed Yasu's hand and tried to calm her down. Please, Yasu, don't cause a scene…
“It's all right, Yasu. Please, sit down and tell Santa what he doesn't understand.”
Yasu looked at the ground and nodded before returning to her place on your lap.
“You see, Santa…” She said. “I can't ask for anything this year. I've been naughty.”
You regretted asking, as you had a good idea of what she meant by that. There was, after all, no way she was talking about the glass she broke back in June. Or the mess she makes in the kitchen whenever she attempted to brew a potion with God knows what in it. There were more certain instances that she could classify as naughty and you were damn sure that that was not something you'd have your sister say out loud with other people present. Your little sister has been rejected by enough people as-is. She didn't need that coming out. You had to figure your way out of this, but Yasu made that unnecessary.
“I'm not here to ask for a present, Santa,” Yasu said. “I have been naughty and I'm at peace with that. I will try harder next year, but, if I may, there is something I would like to ask of you.”
“And what may that be, dear?”
Yasu clenched her fists on her knees, tightly gripping her coat. She was silent for a second, but started gathering all the courage she could.
“Could you take my brother of the naughty list?” She looked at you with determination in her eyes.
You didn't know what to say.
“My dear Yasu, I don't know-”
“I know he is, Santa. But it isn't his fault. He tries his hardest to fight the Demonic Ether, I'm certain of that, but it's hard on him. It's eating at him. I can see it in his eyes. And in the way he acts. He lives with guilt in his heart because he can't get rid of the Ether. I know he's grumpy sometimes, but it is not his fault, you see? It… It's mine. I wanted to save him. Get rid of the Demonic Ether.” Salty liquid pearls formed in the corner of her eyes and her shoulders started to shake in a rhythmic motion. The articulation of the self-proclaimed high-priestess started to become less clear with every sentence. “And because of that, he now has to work harder. For me. Because I am here, too. I've thought of leaving. So he doesn't have to work so much. So he can have peace. Even with the Ether. But I can't. I love him. I love him too much. I don't wanna leave. I am happy. I am selfish. Not him. He's nice. He's done naughty things. Buthe'snice. Heshouldn'tbethere. Onthenaughtylist. Pleasetakehimoffofit, Santa. Please? He deserves ahappychrimmas. Please givvimdat. I'll begood neggsyear. So. Please.”
Her sobbing had turned into crying. A cry like a child would cry. Her mouth open, her eyes closed.
Oh, Yasu, you thought, getting swept up in the emotional display of your little sister, I'm sorry if I've ever given you the feeling that this was all your fault. It isn't. It truly isn't.
You didn't know what to do. Do it by the book? Did the book even had a chapter on how to deal with your delusional little step-sister who breaks our crying in front of you, because she thinks your problems are all her fault, even though, in reality, they are caused by a short-tempered sex demon who forces you to have sex with girls you legitemately have fallen in love with, but can't juggle because you respect each and every one of them? Fuck the book. And fuck the parents in the line who angrily put up their arms to check their watches every goddamn second.
You reached out to Yasu and embraced her. Yasu buried her face into your fake beard, making it hard to distinguish where your beard ended and where her hair started.
“It's okay, Yasu,” you whispered in her ear. “This just shows me that you don't belong on the naughty list. As for your brother, I am sure he is dealing with his own issues, but, this Christmas, he will not be on Santa's naughty list, either.”
Yasu pulled her face out. Her eyes were red and puffy. Her face was glistening wet from the tears.
“Rea-?” Yasu sniffed. “Really, Santa?”
You smiled and nodded. You felt your own tears burning behind your eyes. Yasu let out a “yay” that sounded broken by emotions. She threw herself against you and hugged you. Or, no, actually, she hugged Santa. It was a different hug than she usually gave you. It wasn't an “I love you”-hug, but the hug of a girl that was a child at heart who just heard she wasn't on Santa's naughty list.
“Ugh, feelporn. The only kind I do not sign up for,” you heard Andrea complain. But you didn't care. You did just make your little sister the happiest girl in the world, which was a feeling she could never understand or take away.
“So, dear Yasu,” you said when you both stopped embracing each other. “Now that you're on the nice list, what do you want for Christmas?” This was a Christmas wish you definitely would try hard to remember. Knowing this has been burdening her all this time, you'd buy her anything she wanted, as long as it was in the realm of possibilities.
Yasu looked up, visibly thinking about her answer, but it didn't take long before she gave you a wide smile and an answer to go with it:
“All I want for Christmas, Santa,” she said,”is to have the best Christmas ever and to see my big brother smile.”
Every muscle in your body ached while you resisted to stand up, tear off your fake beard and kiss her right there. She was so precious, the fact that she was your step-sister who loved you so much that she'd ask Santa Claus for your happiness, was a gift in itself.
“Ho, ho, ho! I will order my elves to make him a big dose of holiday happiness, my dear Yasu,” you said, trying to retain most of your mall Santa persona.
Yasu stood up and did a little twirl.
“Thank you, Santa!” she said cheerfully. She really was just like a child. “Oh! And if you can, please tell your elves to wear warm clothes and drink enough orange Spirit Essence, because the weather spirits are a bit rowdy, these days. We've had winter in June, so who knows what those dastards will be up to on Christmas Eve.”
“I will, Yasu. I will.”
“Okay! In that case, I will go home and wait until my brother comes home from work. I will show him just how much he means to me!” Yasu smiled and waved at you. “Merry Christmas, Santa! I'll leave you some cookies and milk!”
“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Yasu!” you replied. And hidden within you beard, where nobody could ever hear it: “I'll see you at home.”
by @HeroicOutlaw, 2018-09-14
The silence in the book store was broken by an unpleased groan. Annoyed by the ending of the story she was reading, for which lackluster would've been a compliment, she put down her phone. Willemijn raised her eyes upwards to the ceiling and sighed. Such a waste of potential. She usually loved reading web novels from independent authors, because they weren't fine-tuned to the wishes of the market, but whenever a story like this popped up, she understood the importance of editorial departments. That is, until she read the next masterpiece that wouldn't have gotten through one. There was this certain purity in these writings that you couldn't find in published books. And, yet, here she was, working in a book store for some fat nerd who was…
Standing in front of her, apparently. The muscles in his face working hard to make him look angry. His arms supporting his weight on the desk. He said some words, but Willemijn didn't hear them, because two folk singers from the 60s were drowning him out with a song about the noise of muteness through her earphones. When she took them out, he was already halfway in his rant.
“…and it's already the third time this week that I catch you being a part of the furniture rather than being a book seller. The only way I let you get away with a warning is because there aren't any customers…”
Which is why I've chosen now to do some reading, dumbass, Willemijn thought, but didn't say.
“…but what would customers think if they were lining up for you with their purchases and you were somewhere in fuck-knows-where in your phone?”
Customers lining up? That's a big if, there, buddy.
For the iforgothowmanieth time, it's Willemijn, asshole. Like “eye”, not “ayy”.
“…any other employer would've fired you, but your knowledge and skills are valuable in this branch. I'd like to keep you for those…”
Oh, sure, it's not like I haven't noticed that you've been undressing me with your eyes since the moment we met. “Knowledge and skills”, my ass. It's that the pay isn't bad and that you wouldn't have the guts to lay one greasy finger on me that I'm still here.
“…but could you do me a favor and try to stay in the here and now during working hours?”
A sharp breath. An inaudible sigh to blow away the words that were marching from her mind to her mouth, waiting to storm the enemy. Instead, Willemijn put up an apolegetic smile.
“Sure. I'm sorry,” she said. “It won't happen again.”
“Good!” her employer said, visibly relieved that it didn't escalate. “I could use some help with the new shipment. Can you put the new books up on the shelves?” He pointed at a large box on a cart, where books that had just arrived were ready to be put on display. “Right away, sir!” Willemijn replied. She got up, put on her glasses, put her phone in the pocket of her hoodie and pushed the cart to the front of the store. Behind her, she heard her employer go back to his office.
It had been half a year that she started working there. After coming to the States, it was difficult for her to find a job. She had hoped it would've been easier to find a job within her field of interest than it was back in the Netherlands, where she was always rejected in favor of more experienced editors. Apparently it wasn't that much different in the States.
For a change of pace, a friend had invited her to a party. She normally wasn't that much of a party animal, but her friend was right. All that stress wasn't really benefitting her, either. And so she went and met Jonas. He was a bit awkward, but as soon as they got to talking, it was apparent they both shared an interest in reading. Literature was his big fetish. Big novels that really expanded on what they could do. She had some experience in that field, but her taste had changed to lesser-known authors since she was bombarded with high literature back home. Jonas told her he owned a book store and he wouldn't mind having “such a taste” to add to the team.
And that's basically what happened. Minus the team. There was no team. It was just him running a small book store with more variation than he could handle while also working the shop. That ended up beneficial, since he could pay her a little extra.
But as time went on, he started to show his true self. He began to act like she should be thankful that she could work there, while at the same time blaming her for every little thing that went wrong in the store, saying that “they didn't happen when it was just him”. To the point where the lack of customers were because of small things she did, be it reading from her phone, dressing too casually or even having lunch break, since she couldn't eat it in the store, but also couldn't leave for a bit because a customer might've shown up at that moment. Jonas wasn't a bad guy, but his accusations were often unfair. She knew it was because he was stressed and that he now had to pay an employee. That's why she didn't say what immediately came to mind, even more so than usual.
She never really confronted people openly. Such negativity would only lead to more unpleasantries and nobody would've gotten any better from that. Sometimes it was just best to keep the peace, swallow your commentary and just nod. Try to keep the best atmosphere possible. Or as her people would say “Keep it gezellig.”
She made a turn at the foreign literature section and started sorting the European literature when she heard a voice from the other side of the book case. Someone, a male, possibly in his early twenties, was talking in a low voice. He sounded like he was… arguing with someone? Willemijn shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time a customer was on the phone with someone and disturbing the peace and quiet.
Book after book was put between the older residents of the shelves. He Shook Mrs. Cell went between his British buddies (really, they dug that series up from the grave again?) and Epidemia we Wrocławiu got put with his Polish pals. It didn't take long before Willemijn reached the books people actually visited the store for. She pushed the cart around the bookcase, to where the whispering guy was.
To her surprise, he wasn't talking into a phone. His eyes were scanning the bottom shelves, often reaching out to the backs of the books, but not touching them. His free hand was holding a bag. Oh, it was probably one of those earpieces that confused the crap out of Willemijn. She never got used to seeing people talking to themselves on the street.
“Sorry, are you looking for something in particular? Could I maybe help you find it?” she asked the customer. It was her job to help, of course, but she just really wanted him to get out of the way, so she could finish shelving the translated Japanese books.
The guy looked at her and flashed her a little lost smile.
“Actually, you might.” The customer stood up. “I'm looking for a present for my Japanese… friend, but I'm not sure what to buy. She loves reading, but I would like for us to be able to read the same book and talk about it.”
Now he was facing her, Willemijn got a good look at him. He was was average in a lot of ways. Average in heigth, average in build with an average face that wouldn't stand out in a crowd. However, there was also something peculiar about him. But what that was, Willemijn couldn't quite figure out. His eyes were friendly, but they also seemed lacking energy, which might've just hinted at a lack of rest. He looked healthy, but also sick at the same time. Wait a minute! He isn't wearing an earpiece? Then who was he talking to?
“Ehhm…” Willemijn said to distract herself from fully analysing the customer. “Japanese, you say? Well, we've got a lot of options there. Especially for light novels, but if I'd have to recommend a series, it'd be this one by Jess-”
“Ah, no, sorry. I don't think she's into light novels,” the guy interrupted her.
“I see. What does she usually read?”
“I don't know. Most of the time, she reads Japanese books in Japanese, so I don't really know what they are about.”
Very helpful. Thanks.
“So you don't know what genre she enjoys?”
The guy shrugged apologetically. “Last Summer I asked her what she was reading and I only really remembered it was a historical novel about the Edo period, but that's all I remember.”
The gears in Willemijn's head started turning. She brought her hand to her face and started nibbling at the tip of her thumb in thought. She went through the inventory in her mind, reaching into every related drawer for possible titles. Within a few seconds, she had a list of historical novels in mind that would be easy to read for someone unfamiliar with Japanese literature, but also not too easy for a Japanese person.
“Lucky for you, I have a very big mental database. …As well as a digital one.” With a smooth little flourish, she took her phone out of the pocket of her gray hoodie, clicked out of the tab with the terribly written story and went to the search engine. She walked over to the guy and put her screen where he could see it, as well.
“I have a couple of suggestions for you,” Willemijn said. She put her curly brown hair behind her ear. As her thumb poked at the touchscreen to summon search results of the first book, something started changing. There was something about this guy that distracted her and it got worse when she got closer to him.
The following minutes were spent looking at the small screen of the smartphone together. Shoulder to shoulder, they read the blurbs of various translated books, which he then gave his opinion on. Stories that sounded too much like sappy romance stories were rejected immediately, whereas works with a more philosophical approach seemed to interest him. Maybe she underestimated this customer, she thought, and went looking for less easy-to-approach novels. Sometimes, the browser took its sweet time to load a page, so Willemijn thought to ask him some questions.
“So your friend,” she started. For some reason her heart was beating faster under her shirt. Like a nervous beast trying to get out of an ivory cage. “Are you trying to impress her?” She tried to make it sound as cheeky as possible.
Oh, God, what am I doing? I'm being way too casual to him. He's a customer, for crying out loud! I don't even know his name!
The guy looked to be in a bit of discomfort after that question.
“Not really that. She's my g-” He paused, as if someone had pinched or punched him. Wait. She didn't do that, did she? No, her hands were still at her phone. “She's a good friend of mine, but I feel like we don't do much together. You know… Like we don't have a lot in common to talk about.”
He didn't seem to be lying. Her heart calmed down in relief. Wait. Wait,wait, wait… Relief? What was there to be relieved about? Inadvertedly, Willemijn got more and more aware of herself. How close she stood to this customer. Oh, God, I'm standing way too close to him. What am I thinking? How her hoodie had slipped and laid bare a shoulder. Embarrassing! What would he think of a bookseller acting so messily? How her own thoughts had become uncontrolled. Why am I even asking myself all of these questions? What do I even care what he thinks?
“This one looks good.” The customer said, which saved her from drowning in her own wild river of thoughts.
Willemijn looked at the screen. It was a title she didn't know. She must've accidentally tapped a suggestion on the website. A quick scan of the blurb made clear that it was a somewhat fictionalised biography of a famous dramatist from the Edo period. Willemijn took note of the title and looked for it between the other books.
“I'm sorry, it doesn't seem to be part of our collection,” she had to conclude. “But! If you can give me a moment, I can see what I can do for you.”
The guy nodded and took a couple of steps back to give her all the space she needed. Never before had Willemijn felt like she needed to rush putting the books on the shelves. Every now and then, when she had to grab a new stack of books, she looked at the customer. She found herself wondering a lot about him. Something about him was pulling her interest and didn't let go.
When she finished sorting the books, he followed her to the desk. Willemijn got behind it and typed in the title in the catalogue. It only got her a handful of results. Most of them were untranslated, but luckily, she found a translated edition.
“I've got a translation, but I don't have the clearance to order it. It'd be 24 dollar for the paperback. Do you wish for us to place this order?” When the customer agreed, she sent the order to Jonas, waiting for a confirmation. “Now all we have to do is wait a little for your order to be placed.”
It fell silent. Second seemed to take minutes before passing. Hundreds of thoughts flashed through her brains, but none of them reaching her voice. Normally she would've enjoyed the silence, but her curiosity seemed insatiable. Though she couldn't just start invading his privacy with questions, now could she? Willemijn planted her elbow on the desk and rested her chin on her palm, rhythmically tapping her upper lip.
“Oh, right! I'm going to need your number and you address.” Willemijn grabbed opened a document. “For shipping purposes, of course. Unless you want me to come deliver it to you personally, but then I'd still need them.”
Oh my God, am I flirting?
Luckily, he laughed it off and spelled out his address and gave his number. He hesitated, but he ended up giving his name, as well.
“Thank you. We'll contact you if something were to happen to your order. Now, if my boss could confirm the order, I could stop wasting your time.”
“Oh, no, it's fine,” he replied. “I don't have anyone waiting, so I'm not in a hurry.”
“Not even your invisible friend here?” Willemijn asked, with as much of a serious face as she could. He seemed to like jokes, so surely he'd laugh about this, too. But instead of laughing at her earlier remark, this joke seemed to make him feel uncomfortable.
Oh, no, now he thinks I'm crazy. Way to fucking go, girl!
“Just kidding!” Willemijn quickly added. “Don't worry. It's not like 'I see dead people', or anything.” She ended with a nervous laugh. He laughed just as nervously.
Please throw me off a cliff right this moment.
A “pling” from her monitor saved them from this awkward situation.
All right, this works, too.
“Ah, your order has been processed. That'll be twenty-four dollar.”
He grabbed his wallet and paid for the book in cash.
“Thank you for your purchase. I hope you and your friend will like it.” Willemijn said.
“I hope so, too,” he replied. “And if not, maybe you can borrow it one day.”
Willemijn's heart skipped a beat. What? But he winked and put his wallet in his pocket. Right. A joke.
“That'd be lovely,” she answered. “Now I'm definitely going to deliver it personally. Anyway, you'll hear from us. Until then!”
“Have a good one!”
“Yep, you too!”
As he walked away, Willemijn looked at his back until he left the store. He was interesting, for sure. A riddle waiting to be solved. She noticed some things during this short talk and she wanted to know more.
You know what? I'm definitely going to deliver it personally.
Name: Willemijn Coster
Birth Date: November 18th
Place of Birth: Haarlem, the Netherlands
Blood Type: AB
Eyes: Grey with a hint of blue; behind glasses
Hair: Brown curly hair that reaches her shoulders
Bra Size: C Cup
Dream Job: Literary editor
by @HeroicOutlaw, 12.11.2018
“WHAT IS THIS!? WHY IS THIS HERE!? I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME!”
You bolt awake and immediately focus on Eva's grief stricken and tear stained face. You're confused on why the usually quiet Eva is screaming at you and crying… until your gaze drifts down to her hand and the hanging from it. Your heart skips a beat and panic seizes your body
“DON'T TRY TO SAY IT ISN'T YOURS, THIS IS YOUR HOUSE, YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE WHO LIVES HERE!”
“Eva please, let me expl-“
“WHAT IS THERE TO EXPLAIN! HOW CAN THIS BE ANYTHING BUT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE! HOW COULD YOU DO THIS!?”
As she shouts the object swings wildly from side to side, a beacon of your sin, a used condom. It's been over a month since you and Eva had sex. Not from lack of trying or eagerness, it's just that whenever you and Eva started to get intimate together you were unable to get it up. You tried everything you could, home remedies, prescription medicine, and all types of stimulation. From your hands, her hands, her mouth, and even having her grind herself on top of you, but nothing you did worked. To make matters worse, whenever you were with your other girls your 'member' worked perfectly, even exceptionally, well. You spent last night with Raquel. Since she's modeling she doesn't want any chance of getting pregnant so she always makes you use a condom in addition to her being on the pill.
“Eva trust me I'm not-” You stop yourself this time, mentally reprimanding yourself for what you were about to say. Not cheating? Could you honestly say that when you're fucking 9 girls at once? In fact, it could be easily argued that you were cheating with Eva, not on her. If only you hadn't made that deal with Andrea… but if you hadn't done that, you never would have been able to meet her, let alone get to know her and fall deeply and truly in love with her.
“Eva, I love you. I can say that with complete and absolute honesty.” It's the best thing you can say in hopes of repairing the situation, but her whispered words shatter tha hope, and your heart.
“But am I the only one you love?”
“Don't. Your hesitation says everything. You may love me, but you also love whoever you used this-” she thrusts the condom towards you “with!” The tears begin flowing anew, and you reach towards her.
“Don't touch me! I don't want your comforting lies! Why!? Why did you do this to me? Was I not enough for you? What did she have that I don't!?” She runs into the bathroom and slams the door. You can hear her slide down onto the floor and start sobbing. Each word she screamed at you cuts you deeper than any knife, you know there's no fixing this, you're going to lose her. You're hit by the memory of a conversation you had with her where she told you about how she was depressed and anxious she was and how thankful she was she met you. You remember how she used to blush and try to hide herself before she got comfortable around you. You remember every time she stepped further out of her shell, and how happy you were to see it happening. You remember her overcoming her anxiety about sex and the night she lost her virginity to you. And every memory you recall crushes your heart and makes you feel worthless.
“God, please…. I don't want to lose Eva, please God help me”
“God? You're looking in the wrong place for help puppet.” You raise your head and take in the image of the being you hate the most in the world. Andrea. The flying bitch.
“….you're responsible for this aren't you?”
“Oh but how could I be responsible? You're the one that sold your soul to me, you're the one that fucked other girls, you're the one that carelessly left a used condom out.” She emphasizes each point by jabbing you with her finger. She's practically oozing joy at your suffering.
“But I fell asleep last night with Raquel, there's no way I could wake up with Eva unless you moved me to her”
“Yes I moved you, but if you had been fucking her like you should have she might have thought it was hers.”
“Why would you do this! She was producing Lust Dust like everyone else! Why would you want to get rid of her!?”
“She produces the least out of everyone, if things had gone as I originally planned she would be one of the top producers but your precious Mary ruined that. Besides, it's been over a month since you fucked her so it's not like you'll miss her apparently”
“I wanted to! I tried so hard! SHE tried so hard! I just couldn't get it up!”
“Couldn't get it up? Isn't that just a flag screaming that you don't find her attractive?” She smiles evilly, and every moment you hesitate her smile grows wider.
“That's not true, she's so beautiful, I love her and the shape of her body”
“Then what was the problem stud? Didn you even try some penis pills? Or were you confident in your youth?” She's clearly egging you on, pushing you into the right direction, towards an answer she knows but you don't.
“I tried… everything. It's almost like there was a super-” You stop. No. No, no, no, no, no! She didn't! She wouldn't! Does she even have that kind of power!?
“Andrea…. did you have something to do with it?” You choke on the words but you have to know.
“Ahhahah, looks like my puppet still has some working cogs in his thick head!”
“Andrea why! What did I do!?”
Her smile abruptly vanishes and is quickly replaced by an ugly sneer.
“What did you do? You didn't listen to me. You argued with me. You started to blow off my threats. You thought that you had some power in this relationship. You don't, I am in control. I own you, your soul, and your happiness. Now, if you don't want to lose that little churchmouse beg.”
“Beg?” You can hardly think, and yet your mind is racing, connecting all the clues that you missed over the past month.
“Yes beg. I have the power to erase her memories. If you want to keep her beg me to do it. Beg me to change the girl that you love to suit your own purposes. Beg for me to take this knowledge from her, knowledge you kept from her, knowledge she has the right to know. Beg puppet.”
She had you. She had you dead to rights. There's nothing you can do, she has all the power. She literally has your life in her hands. Your dream of one day escaping from her clutches and living happily with all of the girls you love crumbles away. But you would do anything for every single one of them. You swallow your pride and whisper,
“Andrea please, erase her memories”
“Andrea please! Erase Eva's memories!”
“I SAID LOUDER!”
“ANDREA PLEASE ERASE EVA'S MEMORIES!” You scream it out loud with all your might, your voice rife with emotion. And then a door opens. Oh God. Oh God no! How could you forget! You spin around and see Eva open the door of the bathroom, tears framing the confused and hurt look on her face.
“Erase my memories? Who's Andrea? Who are you talking to? How many times has this happened? HOW MANY TIMES!?” She shouts the last question as Andrea snaps her fingers. You watch as Eva's expression goes slack before recognition floods back to her face.
“Good morning! I'm glad to see you're up!” Suddenly she reaches up and touches the tear streaks left on her face and asks you a question you didn't know want to answer.\\
“Was I crying?”
By @ILiekGiraffes, 11.12.2018
-Why don’t you ever come and see me anymore?
I’m sorry Raissa, I haven’t been feeling myself lately. Things have just gotten so complicated around here, I’m scared something big is about to go wrong. I’m having hallucinations, detailed ones, maybe even premonitions.
-Do you go to bed at a good ti-…
THAT’S NOT THE POINT!
I didn’t mean to yell… Look, ever since making this deal with Andrea everything has been like an avalanche I just can’t stop it, these girls are being hurt and if I try anything who knows what will happen.
-You’re doing your best I know you are.
-We’re not so different when you think about it.
What do you mean?
-Did you ever notice even if you’re with Cleo in one time and Eva at another, I’m still there. I don’t cross. Much like you I’m experiencing the shifts the fights the miseries. I’m bound to be here.
Raissa, how exactly did you get this way?
[Mannequin-chan remains silent for an uncomfortable amount of time]
-It was a long time ago. A very long time ago. I was born a granddaughter into the house of King Louis XVIII where I lived a life of royalty until there was a collapse in 1789 and his exile in 1791. I needed to leave France-
Wait, you were born in the 18th Century?
-Yes, or at least I think I was. My memories can get messy or sometimes are not there at all
But you weren’t always plastic, right? I want to know why this happened to you.
[Something can be heard moving inside Mannequin-chan]
-Une malédiction, a curse.. and given to me rightfully so. Once France began to revolt I turned to reading our forbidden archives, I learned about a world beyond death. A place unreachable in mortal life so I..
[Raissa is interrupted by Andrea who had appeared just outside the closet a few moments ago]
That’s enough out of you, coat rack. [Andrea snarls]
[You try to put on a tough guy act] Andrea! What are you doing here?
I come and go as I please. [She uses her tail to poke into your upper thigh]
Knock that off! I was trying to talk to Raissa.
Ah, yes, the virgin witch herself. And what has she been telling you..?
[Andrea wraps her tail around your leg]
We were talking about new clothes to buy, not like you care about those, you’re too busy waving your ancient cunt around.
[She tightens her tail to a bind]
That’s not what I heard. Tell me the truth or I’ll go visit Yasu in her dreams later
NO, LEAVE YASU OUT OF THIS SHE’S BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH! “Sigh” She was telling me how she turned into a mannequin.
Aww see, that wasn’t so hard was it [Andrea devilishly snickers]
But… you did lie to me…
[Andrea throws Raissa onto the floor popping her arm off]
[Andrea is holding you in place so you can’t get to her]
WHY DID YOU DO THAT! SHE’S FRAGILE!! [You squirm and squirm]
Shut up puppet, This hollow harlot has been a pain in my ass for years and if she’s going to spill the beans, I’m going to spill her beans
Don’t ask the mannequin where she’s from! [Andrea releases you and descends back into the floor]
Raissa~ Raissa are you okay can you hear me!? Andrea you BITCH!! Why would you do this…
[You reconnect her arm and stand her up in the closet, kiss her cheek and turn the lights off]
By @Koma Valorina, 14.12.2018
He slowly opened his eyes as the sound of the blowing wind reached his ears. Mary still slept peacefully beside him. He slowly and carefully as to not wake her, made his way out of bed. Looking out of the window he saw that it snowed outside, a light layer of snow laid on the frozen ground like powdered sugar. But surprisingly no sign of winter could be seen in the garden, the sunflowers still stood tall and the roses shined in the white flurry with their red petals. With a low sigh he stepped into a pair of boots to start caring for his plants.
As he stepped into his home a warm smell of ginger and cinnamon filled the air. Walking into the kitchen he finds Mary kneeling in front of the oven, looking on a set of gingerbread hearts within it. As she notices his presence she runs up and hugs him, in an instant all the coldness of winter disappears.
- I’m so glad you’re back honey! What were you doing out in the snow? You could catch a cold!
Realising that it does not make a lot of sense to tend to a garden in the middle of December he starts to ramble with an awkward smile about walks and ice fishing, he totally lost track of himself halfway through, but Mary seems far less worried.
- When I woke up with you gone, I decided to do some baking. And you’re back right on time! The first batch are ready to eat!
Sinking his teeth into a delicious crunchy man-shaped cookie with Mary looking at him with big eyes waiting for his reaction. His problems almost seem to disappear, the nightmares, the hallucinations and the stress. During this moment all seems fine in the world, but he knows this moment won’t last forever.
By @a name, 14.12.2018
\ \ \ \ \ \ A loud voice could be heard along with quick forceful steps. A young man was briefly illuminated by one of the street lights that line Tempelhofer Damm. He wore a tattered leather jacket with mistaken conviction that it gave him an aura of coolness, like one of those squatters over in Kreutzberg. He wore the collar flipped up to protect him from the biting wind and thick snowflakes. Markus was the name his father had given him, but he told everyone his Name was Mark. „Mark, like in Deutsche Mark“ was his catchphrase.
\ \ \ \ \ \ As he passed the airport with it‘s flood lights and American jeeps parked out front he spat on the sidewalk with disdain. Flughafen Tempelhof had been closed to the public years ago when the Americans took over. They used it to get supplies into the encircled city at first, but as time passed operations got increasingly more secret and less charitable. Markus raised a fist like he had seen people do at those rallies his father doesn‘t allow him to attend. But when a light was switched on in the car park janitor's hut, he quickly pulled his arm back and walked on with faster steps.
\ \ \ \ \ \ Markus doesn‘t actually have anything against the American military. They often gave him candy when he was a kid and they threw the best parties this side of the Teltow Canal. But ever since his father started working for them, he had to loathe them by proxy. Okay, that is not quite true. Back when he began his work his father was still normal. The change happened later.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „I‘ll show you, you hear me!“ yelled Markus at a tree on the border to the Old Park as he passed by, „You can‘t treat me like that just because! You didn‘t even care what I felt like. You don‘t care for me at all!“
\ \ \ \ \ \ The tree was unimpressed, but a spooked squirrel dropped down and ran for it‘s tiny life. Standing in awkward silence for a bit Markus felt embarrassed and quickly continued on his path. He was on his way to a Punk concert that his father had explicitly prohibited him from attending. But after today he was determined to not give a fuck anymore. He put his hand briefly on his left cheek to check if it still hurt and winced. The pain was fresh again and so was his bile.
\ \ \ \ \ \ He crossed the canal to Marienfelde. A loafer had told him about the concert and said it was supposed to be near the refugee transit camp where all the people who had fled the GDR were interned.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Fuck you dad! Fuck you snow and fuck you GDR!“, he said with new found mettle.
\ \ \ \ \ \ Markus doesn‘t actually have anything against the socialist neighbor. The German Democratic Republic to him was simply a bunch of backward chumps. Like a zoo of harmless primitives. But it was on a mission in the GDR that his father changed. He used to be a kind, loving man. Strong in his convictions but fair and benevolent. When he returned, he was a different man. He never openly talked about what happened and blamed that on security clearance and nonsense like that.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „That didn‘t stop you talking about your adventures before, you dick!“
\ \ \ \ \ \ Markus had reached Großbeerenstraße, where he had to make a turn. Through a window he saw a family doing the dishes. That sent a bolt of pain to his heart. Markus had not seen his mother in years. She had moved to Dortmund, far away from him.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Or rather far away from you, asshole“ yelled Markus at another unfazed tree.
\ \ \ \ \ \ There was a letter from her in the mail today. Divorce papers. His father gave him a severe beating, when Markus had put the envelope on the kitchen table. Afterwards his father got his Vodka out again and sat down on the kitchen floor. When the alcohol had loosened his tongue he began to talk.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „I was done with my reconna… rec… with looking around. The commies didn‘t suspect a thing. I was going to spent the night relaxing in a pub and return the next morning.“
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Dad, I don‘t care.“
\ \ \ \ \ \ „That night I ran into…“ There was a long pause while Markus‘ Father stared at the bottle in his hands, as if he tried to find the right words. „There was a woman. You have never seen a woman like tha-“
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Are going to fucking tell me how you cheated on Mum?!“ Markus interrupted him in disgust.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „You have never seen a woman like that.“ repeated his Father stoically. „I only had one beer, I swear. But it felt like I was hammered like… like a… like now.“
\ \ \ \ \ \ Markus buried his face in his hands. He had always expected something like that, but he didn‘t want to hear it.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „I lost track of the people around me and the place just faded away, there was only her. Somehow I ended up in a weird room, like a cellar or a… I don‘t know…“ His mind seemed to fade in and out. „I thought I had been discovered and would be tortured. I didn‘t expect her to take her clothes off.“
\ \ \ \ \ \ He fell silent in a way, that disgusted Markus. It was as if he could read the thoughts on his father‘s mind.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „When I came to, everything was changed. The world is upside down and I am a dead man walking. Nobody can be close to me. Nobody can-“ He suddenly froze and looked at Markus with cold horror in his eyes. „Get out of here you shithead!“
\ \ \ \ \ \ Markus narrowly dodged the bottle that came flying and smashed to pieces on the kitchen wall behind him.
\ \ \ \ \ \ Markus had finally reached the refugee camp just as it had stopped snowing and he noticed with confusion that he was crying. He wiped his tears away and began looking for the venue. There was a dimly lit backyard that looked promising.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Hello?“ he began unconfidently as he came near. But there was nobody there.
\ \ \ \ \ \ No, wait. There was a guy standing in the back under a canopy that protected a bike rack. He turned around and looked at Markus with a weird look.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Fear not, Markus“, said the man. Even though now, seeing his face Markus was not sure anymore if it was a man at all. The figure was dressed in a weird flowing overcoat that reminded Markus of the cult members he sees singing on street corners from time to time. The whole thing confused him so much, he didn‘t even question how the man knew his name.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „My name is Daniel“ he said, putting a strange emphasis on the el „and I have been waiting for you. I am sorry, there will not be any punk music tonight“, he continued with a weird smile.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Wh…“, stammered Markus. Daniel took some measured steps towards him and raised an arm towards him. Markus protested halfheartedly but Daniel just calmly placed a hand on his forehead.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Thank goodness, you have not been tainted“, exclaimed Daniel with honest joy in his voice.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „I don‘t understand…“ was all Markus could say. He felt strangely numb.
\ \ \ \ \ \ „Come, Markus. Let‘s get warm by the fire. We have work to do.“
\ \ \ \ \ \ Markus followed Daniel inside like an obedient lamb.
* * *
\ \ \ \ \ \ When the sun rose up the next day, all of his foot prints were covered up with fresh new snow.
By @Archaeo, 14.12.2018