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The World Will Collapse If You Don’t Wear the Skirt
🕑 Added 2026-01-18 14:00:22 +0000 UTCThe cold metal table burned my elbow as I looked up wearily at the big guy in the suit across from me, making no effort to hide how little I cared about whatever he was saying.
– Ashley... – his voice came out like a smoker’s baritone, like he was trying to sound authoritative, even though I’d seen guys like him dozens of times. – Do you even understand how serious what happened is?
I tilted my head slightly, resting my fist on my cheek. My fingers felt the warm, silky tone of my new skin – fucking weird. Inside, I was still boiling from the fact that I ended up as... Ashley. A girl. Thin, fragile, with those damn long hairs tickling my neck and slipping into my eyes. I kept mentally repeating that this was temporary. Just a glitch. A system error.
Even though it had already been two weeks.
– Mister... – I squinted for a second, trying to remember his name. Still couldn’t get used to how these long strands instantly dropped into my eyes, damn them. – Ah, right. Mister Brown, when are you finally getting me out of here?
He shifted his gaze to me, one of his eyebrows arching.
– Get you out? – Brown smirked with the corner of his mouth, eyeing me with a look that was part genuine surprise, part annoyance. – You’ve been Ashley for two weeks and you’re still asking that... – he paused meaningfully, stepping toward me, the sound echoing in the empty room – You could at least wear a skirt.
I swallowed, feeling a shiver run down my back like someone was deliberately reminding me of the absurd shitshow I was in. Me, a 42-year-old retired captain, former interdimensional gate security specialist, a man who, until recently, believed men should be men, women – women, and all this multiverse “blending” – a joke for the nerds in the science division... A skirt?
– I’ve heard that one too many times already, Mister Brown, – I exhaled, looking away. – From you, from my so-called mom here, and from...
– George?! You actually talked to him? – I flinched. George. Fuck. Ashley’s boyfriend, that damn jock who, ever since I started acting not like the Ashley everyone was used to – the giggly cheerleader laughing at his dumbass jokes – but like... well, like me, he hadn’t shown the slightest interest. And that was the last thing I needed... The last thing...
– If you don’t live like Ashley, it’s all gonna collapse, sweetheart, don’t you get that, Ashley?
I exhaled sharply, feeling my breasts shift again under the T-shirt with the movement. I used to think stuff like that didn’t matter. Now every single breath reminded me I was no longer me.
– But I’m not Ashley, old man, I—
– YOU ARE ASHLEY! – he barked so loud the walls seemed to shake, and something in the air snapped, making the space ripple like film fluttering in the wind. – And there’s no other option, Ashley! Either you live like her, or there’s no you, no me, no one in this goddamn version of the universe!
I clenched my teeth, the fist under my cheek trembled, nails digging into the smooth skin of my palm, feeling how soft and thin it was.
– I already know that, – I muttered, lowering my gaze to the side, just so I wouldn’t have to look at his smug fucking face. – You keep repeating it like a broken record. “Ashley,” “skirt,” “smile”... I’m fucking sick of it all.
– Sick, huh? – he smirked, leaning on the table with both fists and looming over me again. – You know what makes me sick? That damn T-shirt, those shorts, and that miserable look you drag around campus. People look at you, and the fabric of the universe starts to tear at the seams, because sweet Ashley – from their perspective – is not some tomboy who glares at George like he’s a bag of cement, but a sweet, flirty girl who enjoys life. You get what I’m saying?
I rolled my eyes, though honestly, inside everything had already curled into a tight knot of humiliation. Just thinking about being that “sweet, flirty girl” I was supposed to pretend to be – it felt like spitting in my own face.
Old Volkov… captain, security specialist… And now here you are – shoulder-length hair, Tits that move with every step, and a guy asking you out on a date.
– I need time, – I forced out, feeling the lump in my throat getting heavier. – You want me to dress up tomorrow, smile at George, and pretend to be… that?
He leaned in closer, his gaze turned sharp:
– Yes – he said calmly, but that tone... it sent chills down my spine. – You’ll grab that pink purse, do your makeup like a fucking princess, and put on a sweet, dumb expression.
I looked away sharply, staring at a patch of peeling paint on the wall. It looked like if I just stared at it long enough, all of this would disappear. This new world, this new me – gone. I swallowed, trying to keep my breathing steady.
– How long? – my voice came out hoarse, like it was scraping its way up my throat. – How long do I have to... put up with all this?
Brown straightened, shoved his hands in his pockets, and smirked like a man who had figured everything out a long time ago.
– A year, – he said, stretching the word out like poison. – A year, Ashley. You play the part – and the door back opens. That’s it. End of the nightmare. Your captain’s tie again, your epaulettes, your man’s boots.
I said nothing. A year. A fucking year.
But his eyes... His eyes told a different story. There was this strange glint in them, the same one I noticed the first time we met after the “incident.”
– You’re lying – I whispered, tilting my head down and letting the long hair fall back over my face. It tickled my cheeks, pissed me off, but I didn’t move it away. I just kept breathing through clenched teeth. – It’s not a year...
He didn’t answer. He just turned his back to me.
– A year – he repeated. The walls began to tremble, his silhouette started to fade, becoming semi-transparent. – Either you make it... or there won’t be any ‘or’ left...
His words grew fainter and fainter as he disappeared, and in his place the features of a now all-too-familiar room began to emerge — my room. Posters with dumb quotes, plush toys on the shelves, that fucking pink heart-shaped lamp shining right into my eyes like it was mocking me.
Instead of the metal table and chair, I was now sitting on a bed covered with a pink blanket, scattered with cloud- and cat-shaped pillows. My thin thighs pressed against each other, and I instinctively wrapped my arms around my knees, lowering my head and cursing those long damn hairs again.
– Ashley! Can you hear me?! – came a voice from behind the door. Mom’s voice… I mean, Ashley’s mom. – Come downstairs! Your father wants to talk to you!
I clenched my teeth, remembering how, right before my little chat with Brown, Mom – goddamn her – had given me a full-on lecture about “feminine dignity.” About how a “proper girl should watch her reputation,” how I “shouldn’t disappoint George,” and how “everyone’s so worried about me after the accident and how much I’ve changed.”
The accident... Changed... Yeah, if only she knew her daughter was now in another fucking dimension, in my... in MY damn body, while I...
– Ashley! – she shouted again, tapping on the door. – You’re acting like... like a boy again!
I winced. I wanted to yell something back, something sharp, but the lump of anger and fear in my chest made it hard to even breathe.
– Coming – I forced through my teeth as I got up from the bed.
A year, huh... A whole year...
But I’ve got this feeling Brown’s not telling me everything. Fine. Fuck it. I’ll figure it out. Somehow.
