I think it's been a bit over a year since I posted or interacted with Tumblr at all. I keep meaning to come back here because my friends tell me it's still ok.
Plenty of stuff has happened with me in this last year, but I'm only posting right now to say I changed my name from "morbidsimplicity" to "pagemouse", which is what I'm going by on most things now. I also changed my name to Chris in my info, because I've been trying it out.
Also here's my BlueSky for any friends who might be here and haven't found me over there yet: https://bsky.app/profile/pagemouse.bsky.social
I should really start reblogging some things as this is a side blog to promote my writing but... for now i just want everyone to see my horny cover art that I paid and artist for.
No AI, no Photoshop stock models, just a pen and objectification. Maybe tomorrow i should post the opening as a teaser...?
Oh look, I'm doing the thing I said even if it's been a few days. I'm also going to do something unusual. Right now I'm working on getting this up through Amazon and Draft2Digital, but those take some time, some money, and I'll be real, I got laid off in February just after I started my final major editing pass. In the interest of sellin' some books and also providing an alternative I'm going to sell the book directly as well for payment via PayPal, Venmo, or CashApp if anyone wants to buy it right now for $2.99.
I'm also going to give 10 copies out for free, in ePub, mobi, or PDF as you prefer for your reading comfort. Check my pinned post to make sure that's still a valid if you're into that. All I ask is that you read it and if you enjoy it, tell your friends, give me a reblog, spread the word. If you really want a copy and can't afford it, send me an ask anyway.
And with that, here's where this story begins:
If I don’t get out of here soon I’m going to die of boredom, Andrea thought to herself as she lay in bed. It was a comfortable evening, cozy even as she lay partially under her red patterned blanket with an unread book on her lap. She’d intended to start reading it soon, anything to escape the creeping ennui that had become her life, but now the pulp crime novels she’d picked up at yard sales just reminded her of who she used to be. Sure, things were nice enough. A comfortable husband comfortably laying next to her as he stared at the television in their comfortable bed in a comfortable second floor condominium in New England. It was all she needed for a long, comfortable retirement, and she’d grown to hate it. It was dull. Every nice day was a day without a challenge, without anything to move her forward.
Bill wasn’t a bad husband by any means, but he was never more than a convenience. A perfectly nice man with a perfectly nice job that didn’t gather any attention or ruffle any feathers. An unexceptionally competent middle manager for a local retail chain who earned enough that people didn’t notice when something looked just a bit extravagant. Bill never noticed the occasional luxury either, seeing as Andrea handled all the books between the typical expectations of a childless housewife. She cooked well, she kept things clean, and she spent her idle time crocheting or working on little paintings Bill liked. At least, that’s what he knew about, and that’s what she wanted him to think. Andrea Gall as he knew her was just a nice thirty-something woman with a typical office job and a lot of charm, happy to retire from her position as an assistant at a local insurance company in order to tend the house. It wasn’t much money anyway, certainly less than they’d pay for maid services, and she told him how she never cared for the job anyway.
It was all so damn 50s she might as well be a star in the Nick at Nite lineup.
But what could she do? She was right to pick Bill from the roster she’d scouted after the last job - he offered safety, anonymity, a way out with her money and pride in tact. He was a simple man looking for a housewife, and she could play that role easily with her experience.
She sighed, looking over to the empty glass on the mahogany nightstand.
“I’ll be right back honey, do you need anything?” she asked as she swiveled her legs to the side, throwing the blanket off them in a smooth motion.
Bill took a moment to react, too engrossed by the awful melodrama for his brain to immediately process the offer.
“Hrm?” he started, brown eyes meeting hers with a swing of his doughy face and neatly trimmed brown hair, ever the perfect salaryman.
“Oh, no dear, thank you” he said before turning immediately back to the arguing couple.
Andrea didn’t wait for him to finish the sentence before she was out of bed, knocking her book onto the floor as she went to put something more interesting in her water glass. It announced its fall with a thud and she grumbled, bending down to retrieve it. Bill didn’t say a word, and neither did she as she exited the bedroom.
Andrea glanced at the time on the television as she entered the living room. Just past seven, sun set over an hour ago. Dinner was long finished and more interesting people were enjoying their time watching movies, playing games, and the lucky ones were probably having sex that was worth remembering. She shook her head to try and clear the thought; yet another way Bill was competent but far from exceptional. There had never been a spark and, while he certainly tried to attend to her needs, she rarely felt any true satisfaction. Maybe I should find someone on the side like Rebecca. Thinks she’s so clever with her cleaning boy coming over in the daytime like nobody will figure it out.
The train of thought was interrupted as she noticed that both the lights and television were on despite the room being empty. Bill had simply wandered into the bedroom seeking more comfort than the light chill of this room and not bothered to clean up behind himself. Don’t care, Andrea told herself. Save it for the way back she decided, heading into the kitchen.
At least this room had a little more flavor to it. The white tile floors were conventional at first, but the grout had an almost blood red quality to it, a deep finish that she adored and played a perfect contrast off the smaller white tiles of the wall set into that bright cherry. It looked energized against the grey and white marble countertops, and she took no small amount of satisfaction in that, having chosen it herself. She liked it even more contrasted with the pinot noir she’d poured into the short water glass.
Always the rulebreaker she thought as a smirk crossed her face, walking back into the living room to see the news report from Boston, just an hour away. A crime alert? Oh, this should be fun she decided as she took a seat. Wonder who messed up.
The volume turned up and she saw the picture in front of her. A thirty seven year old woman, a little tall, with narrow shoulders and a lean frame. Her face heart shaped face was framed by blonde shoulder length hair that draped with a soft curl in front but severe, ice blue eyes offset the softness implied by her outfit and features.
It was her. That was her. She stared as her ears began to ring, forcing her to raise the volume on the set.
“…record of fraud, now at the center of a new investigation with police now seeking homocide charges.”
“What? I never-!” she started to shout before stifling herself. It had been ten years since her last mark, and murder? Never. She had a line she wouldn’t cross. Her hand started to shake, tossing the wine about, interrupted by a sharp knock on the door that steadied her arm instantly as old instincts kicked in. There was no way it was the police. It was a cliche, a joke almost for them to arrive right now. But…they were looking for her. They can’t assume she wouldn’t see the news.
She stood from the green couch, making sure to wipe the droplets of spilled wine from her wrist. She still looked presentable at least, dressed in her white open button-up over her favorite red pencil dress. Nothing suspicious now as she moved to the doorway, looking out the peephole to see a silver bun barely visible at the bottom of the glass. She smiled, laughing for a moment before pushing the relief back down as she opened the door.
“Why Mrs. Hemmingworth, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
The old woman looked up and smiled at her. She was always a nice one, very polite as she toddled about in her sky blue mumus and slippers. She didn’t talk about herself much, but Andrea had gathered she grew up quite poor and came into an inheritance later in life. She clearly wasn’t spending it on herself, which lead Andrea to believe most of the money went to — or was a least set aside for — her family.
“Oh I’m so sorry to bother you at this hour dear, but my grandchildren are over and I’m showing them how to bake cookies. They simply love the fresh ones, but I’m out of sugar. Do you have any I can borrow?”
Andrea smiled, nodding as she remembered she hadn’t turned the TV off.
“Of course, just a moment” she said as she closed the door to the sound of a “Thank you Mrs. Gall!” from the hallway. She hurried to the remote, shutting the TV off, and back to the kitchen to grab a bag of sugar, setting her drink down on the counter. Not like she didn’t have spares, and it was certain more than a stereotypical cup would be needed with kids over.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm her nerves, returning to the door as Mrs. Hemmingworth knocked again. Not usually so impatient, but knowing her it was either to insist she only needed a little or to express that the grandchildren had her in a hurry.
“Coming!” she called as she quickly moved back, opening the door to a new face, one just above her own height. One dressed in a blue shirt, matching jeans, and a mustache.
“Tessa Hood?” the man asked.
She threw the bag of sugar at the man’s face before slamming the door, twisting the deadbolt, and running for the closet as her thoughts caught up to her instinctive reaction — to Tessa’s instinctive reaction — at hearing that name for the first time in ten years. She’d always known this day could come, and she’d been prepared. She just didn’t think it would come now. Not after all this time. Not for a murder charge, especially.
***
Andrea moved in such a hurry that she couldn’t remember the moments from the instant she slammed the door to finding herself dangling from the rear balcony, reaching for a pipe to slide down. Her feet instinctively grabbed first, wrapping her legs tightly before her arms followed and she descended quickly down the cold metal. She landed firmly, but the padded black flats she’d always kept in the kit for emergency use did the job and let her start running the moment she was on the ground.
How? she asked herself as she began to run. Not once in her active years had she needed her escape kit. What could I have done? That gave her pause as the implication hit — she wasn’t Andrea anymore. Andrea hadn’t done anything but Tessa had done plenty. Tessa had an escape kit, and Tessa finally had to use it.
Before tonight, the only time she’d come close was in the middle of a grift. That mark drew the knife that left the slender scar on her arm she always told her husband was from hopping a fence as a girl. After that she was even more careful, more meticulous with her planning and her stories, and it had taken ten years of cons to even have that slip up. Could he have put it together? she wondered as her feet pounded against grass and asphalt, dashing straight for the apartment garage before she overcame the adrenaline.
No, that could be a trap. They might expect me to run for the car. I can’t take it yet.
She looked around - no sign of chase, nor any neighbors outside. The courtyard likely had a few people, but an escape to the outside of the building had prevented that issue. The people on the bottom floor might have seen her drop down, but she couldn’t be sure. Best to assume so and change her path in case somebody thought to ask questions. She needed a safe place for a night or two, then she could retrieve her car, switch the plates, and get the hell out of the state.
But where first?
There was a bus stop nearby - anyone on at this hour sure wasn’t likely home watching the news, and her face would be covered with a scarf anyway. She started running again until she reached the road, slowing down as she moved onto the sidewalk. Look calm. Act calm. Just another pedestrian, just another barhopper, just another shopper. Don’t draw attention.
Just keep walking. Don’t let them know you’re running.
The nearest bus stop seemed ages away and she walked in crowds past multiple police cars to get to it, but she found herself safely on the Number 9, bound for…Damn it! she cursed internally, remembering she’d left her phone in the bedroom. For the best, given how easily they could track her movements with it, but she had no idea where she was headed now.
Didn’t matter. Even inexpensive hotels carried prepaid phones in the vending machines now, right next to the razors, toothbrushers, and prepaid phone chargers that would cost an extra twenty. There would be a department store or supermarket nearby as well, surely. She’d ride the 9 either to the city center or outskirts of town, but either was just as likely to have what she needed nearby.
Her breathing and thoughts both seemed to accelerate in her seat on the quiet bus, tucked away in the back, sitting sideways. Dottie? Surely not her, not just Dottie asking for sugar she decided. Whoever that was must have shoved her aside, Tessa reasoned, though she hoped she didn’t cover the nice old woman in sugar as she deflected her would-be captor - or perhaps assailant. Could it be a hire by someone she’d conned? Tessa started to recount the victims as she thought back. There was Terrence, the slumlord. He’d lost at least half his properties after she was through, he’d have more reason to be angry than most. Shaun was an abusive trust fund kid who took everything out on his wife, he’d be the type certainly. William was a would-be executive making a killing in a Wall Street ponzi scheme she uncovered, and he died shortly after. His family wouldn’t have any legal recourse given the illicit nature of his funds; they could certainly want blood after this. Her thoughts rewound, sticking on William, insisting on a concern for him. Why am I worried about William? she wondered, then gasped in her seat.
Oh, poor Bill’s not going to take this well she realized, frown crossing her face, but he’ll be fine she concluded. Just needs to meet some bland young secretary, same as he thought I was. Tessa took a deliberate breath, holding for a count of four and slowly releasing for the same before inhaling slowly. It’ll be much worse when I take the car, she decided, but better than it going to waste in the garage. He’ll get plenty of attention and fans after this,I’m sure. Just like that man who was married to that Russian spy.
A grimace crossed Tessa’s face; she didn’t know the man’s name. Everyone knew Anna, nobody remembered her husband. It was just about convenience, Andrea. You paid your rent in emotional labor and household chores. And stop calling yourself Andrea, she’s wanted by the police.
A sign on the road caught her attention as the bus rolled by - a chain motel across from a superstore. Perfect. Get off at the next stop, walk back, check in, and go get a burner once it’s later and the crowds have died down. A day or two of rest and room service, then the car. Plenty of money stored in plenty of accounts that nobody knows about.
Tessa pulled the yellow cord and slipped quietly through the rear exit as the bus stopped. She wasn’t sure where she’d go yet, but it wasn’t her first fresh start. Plenty of spare identities, plenty of money. Easy for a conwoman to slip back into obscurity in another state. They’re not after a con. They’re after a murderer, Andr - Tessa. They’re after a murderer, Tessa. They won’t stop at the border, this could become federal. Tessa felt a lump rising in her throat, followed by the strongest urge to vomit she could ever recall. This was the first time she hadn’t been in control in years. This was not the excitement she wanted. Tricking shitty old men out of their money, that was as much about fun as making a living. This was terrifying. This was real prison time she was looking at, and maybe worse if someone was after revenge.
She slowed her walk again having noticed she was beginning to jog. Slow. One step at a time. You don’t run on thin ice. You watch your step, you shuffle, and you make your way across in due time. The next step was a place to rest and regroup.
vanilla extract smells wonderful but tastes horrific on its own. but mixed with sugar and flour and cream it tastes just like it smells. we need the support of others to reach our full potential
I gotta remember to start tagging stuff again. Also gotta go through my following list and unfillow some people, and figure out how to get rid of some old posts.. I've been on this site for like 11 years though, so maybe that's not worth the effort. I just know I'm different now lol
Need a new theme, too. Where do we get themes from now? Lots of clean up to do around here!
so are you back on tumblr after a while or you're new? welcome! it's a lot nicer here lately, and, shockingly enough, the website actually works a lot better too, thanks to the hard work of a bunch of very talented people. the mobile app is constantly improving, but if you're on desktop and used to use things like missing e or xkit, the latest helpful extension is XKIT REWRITTEN, which you can go download and read about at @addons that was created by @april, who worked on new xkit back in the day and now works at tumblr itself!
here's some other helpful tips to know:
PLEASE REBLOG THINGS. it's the main form of engagement here. there is no penalizing for spam interaction, most people are not looking at your blog directly, and it is the main way people find you and you find good content to follow. for original content like fanart and fanfic, it also REALLY helps people out. likes are better for like, personal posts, and for storing things for later. also, it doesn't matter if you blog is a jumble of things - it's yours, nobody cares, and that's kind of the purpose of the site
MAKE SURE YOU HAVE A PROFILE PHOTO, BANNER PHOTO, AND UNIQUE URL (that isnt like a bunch of numbers or something), or else people will think you are a bot and block you. you don't have to do anything fancy, you can use the default tumblr theme on your blog itself, but just make sure you look like a real account PLEASE
DO NOT CENSOR WORDS. much like on twitter, if you censor a word for a trigger, it will do the opposite of what you want - people's blacklist and mute functions won't work if the word isn't spelled out in the tags or the text of the post. also there isn't post suppression here.
Don't like your dashboard? Getting bored? Feel like your community is getting annoying? JUST FOLLOW MORE PEOPLE (and maybe unfollow some. a block and an unfollow are always ok). nobody cares, or can see about your follow ratio, and it'll help your dashboard feel more lively (you'll also not give as much of a shit about petty dramas). the follow limit is 5000 last i checked
keep your comments to the tags (unless it's like....really funny or adding something good? use your best judgement). the tags are helpful for subject matter, but you should also use them to talk as like side commentary!
Close your ask box to anons and don't share personal information if you don't want to. You are under no obligation to share your name, age, diagnoses, history, location, face, and you SHOULDN'T. and the ask box is great but if it gets overwhelming just close it. If you're a minor, maybe say somewhere that you're a minor, but that's it. (that goes for any social media site)
MAKE YOUR LIKES AND FOLLOWS PRIVATE. for the love of god. just protect yourself.
just like any social media site - be critical about the things people claim are true on here. screenshots, takes, facts, can be skewed and you should do extra research before believing anything just because somebody said it on tumblr dot com
DON'T GET INTO QUEER OR NEURODIVERGENT LABEL IDENTITY DISCOURSE. whether you are young or old, on tumblr or another site, things will just get confusing and weird. if you learn something here that makes you feel affirmed, great! but also please make sure your interaction with fellow queers (or other neurodivergent people) is not limited to just this site. get involved with a local or school lgbtq center if you can, get to know queer people in your life or queer spaces if you can. (and if you can't - go read about queer history somewhere other than tumblr. do research, watch movies and documentaries. look into disability organizing and history outside this hellsite). Label discourse is also how many unknowing queers and others get recruited to T*RFy shit unknowingly so....be careful out there.
Don't get guilted into things on your dashboard. You should definitely care about the things people are talking about, but you don't have to know about every ill happening in the world at once to be a good person. If you're feeling lost, or hopeless and endlessly scrolling or feel guilted by people online, pick ONE thing you can do, for people in your local community, and then just make a reasonable effort to stay informed otherwise.
create an original tag for your "original" posts, aka the posts you make that aren't reblogs, so you can look at them later
explore the QUEUE FUNCTION! you don't have to use it, nobody cares if you reblog spam, but sometimes it's fun!
Don't know who to follow? Go follow the tags of things you like (TV shows, movies, musicians, aesthetics, whatever!), and suggested posts will pop up on your feed, or you can go through the tag and follow some people who look interesting
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