#unemployment really is a bitch huh

[thedragonkween]

Gosh it’s been so hard trying to find a full time job. I’m so sick of sending tons of cvs and attending interviews with no results apart from a lot of anxiety… I really want to start earning adult money and be independent, but nothing prepared me for that post-grad soul sucking cycle of job searching. The worst part is that even with two degrees, I will still probably have to settle for a job that doesn’t even come close to what I’ve studied.

[propertyofwicked]

revenge

she just loves to cause chaos on the timeline, especially with the recent news of her best friends unemployment.

fewtrell!reader x platonic!f1grid smau

masterlist the playlist

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yourusername training.

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user1 she really said james vowels sleep with one eye open

landonorris timbers? shivered.

⤷ yourusername keep this attitude up and you're next.

⤷ landonorris who's first?

⤷ landonorris does it rhyme with tames towels?

user2 uh oh james is gonna reinstate the y/n williams ban

⤷ user3 there was ban? why?

⤷ user2 it was rumoured that james banned her from williams after australia due to a "heated conversation" about alex driving logan's car eek

⤷ yourusername i prefer the term "defending the innocent"

alex_albon remind me never to get on your bad side

⤷ yourusername as if you need reminding, albon

⤷ alex_albon i said i was sorry :(

⤷ yourusername you were specifically told no eating my cookies, no bullying logan and no bribing him for them either

⤷ yourusername and i caught you shouting "ill give you a tenner for that cookie u evil american bastard"

⤷ logansargeant and how do you plead alex_albon?

⤷ alex_albon ...guilty, your honour 😔

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yourusername 'wanna make him really jealous, wanna make him feel bad...

tagged: lilyzneimer, logansargeant, oscarpiastri

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user2 get him back lyrics in the caption??? what does it mean???

⤷ user4 'get him back' like enacting revenge on jv?

⤷ user3 i was thinking like she's getting pre-traumatised logan back?

⤷ yourusername perchance. mayhaps. potensh.

⤷ user2 you can't just say perchance??

user5 heavy on the "wanna make him feel bad" huh

user6 did someone say...twin bitches?

⤷ yourusername twin bitches.

⤷ logansargeant twin bitches hopping off a jet skiiiiiiii

jensonbutton have a good summer break guys!

alex_albon how burnt is he?

⤷ yourusername he's looking a little red....

⤷ oscarpiastri im covering him in aftersun as we speak

⤷ yourusername he looks like a squashie

⤷ logansargeant tf is a squashie?

⤷ logansargeant nvm i googled it you guys are mean

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yourusername that one unemployed friend on a random tuesday

tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell, lilymhe, logansargeant

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yourusername p.s why have i been golfing more than once in the last week what has my life come to?

logansargeant too soon....

⤷ oscarpiastri not soon enough

⤷ logansargeant yo?

⤷ oscarpiastri i meant the joke not your career

lilymhe i love you, i love you. lets never go golfing together again.

⤷ yourusername what about pirate themed mini golf?

⤷ lilymhe i could be persuaded, but only if we dress up

⤷ yourusername deal. but i bagsy being a parrot.

landonorris you should stick to minecraft

⤷ yourusername google “lando norris biting the curb in 4k”

maxfewtrell the day you get good at literally any sport is the day i will stand corrected

⤷ yourusername oh yeah? and hows your career in sport going?

⤷ landonorris gagged.

⤷ yourusername the man dubbed no-wins for the majority of his career is piping up?

⤷ landonorris im on your side???

user5 all of y/n's friends absolutely violating her golf skills is sending me

⤷ yourusername friends? bro it's my own flesh and blood

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yourusername my favourite animal is lando resisting the urge to get behind the dj booth

tagged: landonorris, maxfewtrell

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user8 tell him to stop resisting.

pietra.pilao you look so pretty 🤍

⤷ yourusername leave my brother, run away with me 🤍

user6 i don't understand how she knows like everyone??

⤷ user3 she's max's sister, but closer to oscar and logan in age so she met them when max was in f4 & f-renault

⤷ maxfewtrell ...much to my dismay

⤷ user4 logan really out here ensuring lando is never far from a fewtrell

⤷ yourusername truly 🙏 you'd think he'd be more grateful...

logansargeant nice shoes....

⤷ yourusername it’s my payment for being a portable friend, therapist, and comedian

⤷ logansargeant comedian is pushing it - pain in my ass, maybe

⤷ yourusername it'll be my foot in there next if u don't stfu

⤷ logansargeant kinky

maxfewtrell that is my 3rd pair of shoes ruined. you owe me.

⤷ yourusername were you not the one shouting "we should do shots!" anytime i came back to the table????

⤷ maxfewtrell doesnt matter. not everyone has rich friends to buy them news shoes when people throw up on them

⤷ yourusername true, not everyone does - but you do??

⤷ maxfewtrell he’s not my friend. we’re lovers.

⤷ pietra.pilao ???

⤷ landonorris ???

⤷ yourusername ???

creds to @/lecomptedelee on twitter for the picture

[nqueso-emergency]

Yes, well deserved vacation to the unemployment line. That bitch fit really hit at a bad time in the industry, huh? I hear they have apples on Wednesdays though!

[so-writing]

Sugar, Honey, Ice and Tea - Matthew Tkachuk (2)

All parts in the master list

Matthew didn’t come back to the room the two of you were supposed to be sharing to get any of his things before practice started. You got dressed and slowly made your way to the rink, expecting him to be as much of a handful that evening as he was during the morning skate. 

“You really like to start shit, huh?”

“What?” 

The same assistant you’d shit on Matt with the day before laughed before shaking his head and patting you on the shoulder, “Tkachuk basically demanded a room reassignment. Sutter pretty much told him to grow a pair and get the fuck over it. He’s not happy and it is showing.”

He waved his hand toward the ice and you looked up just in time to see Matthew shoot a puck directly into the glass, causing it to explode in a million shards and cover both the seats positioned near it and the ice. 

“Tkachuk!”

You winced at how harsh the sound of his name came out of the coach’s mouth, “get off the ice! Cool down! Now!”

Matthew skated quickly toward the bench and hurried down the tunnel, not bothering to give either of you a glance. 

“You’re going to have to fix whatever is going on between the two of you. He can’t do this tomorrow during the game.”

You knew he was right. You knew that despite how shitty Matthew acted toward you, you needed to be the bigger person and talk—apologize—to him for whatever he needed. He needed to get out of his head and you unfortunately had to be the one to help him. 

“I know,” you whined, “but I don’t want to!” 

“What even is the problem with you guys? I know I haven’t been here long but I’ve picked up on the disconnect that you have with him alone.”

“He’s never liked me. I don’t know what I did.” 

“That sucks, but you better figure it out and squash it. This is bleak but if it comes down to your or him, your ass is out and you know it.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to you. You’d been uncool with Matthew for such a long time that you thought it was something that would just exist in the background but not actually matter. 

It was naive and quite frankly stupid of you to not consider what might happen if the tension between yourself and Matthew escalated. You were a casual, easily replaceable assistant to the coaching staff and he was the heart and the future leader of the team. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

But, if you didn’t get it together, you were going somewhere and that was right out the fucking door and into the unemployment line. 

*

You got back to the room first, showering quickly and settling yourself into the corner of the room with your laptop on your knees so that you could catch up on some work. The goal was to stay completely out of Matthew’s way. 

The plan was to start slow. You would tuck yourself away until he was willing to tolerate you and then, slowly, you’d apologize and try to create a relationship between you that was civil and wouldn’t cost you your job. 

The door opened about an hour after you returned. 

“Fuck,” you watched from where you sat as Matthew ran both hands over his face and through his curls, “this is going to fucking suck.”

You said nothing and he didn’t notice you sitting in the corner on your laptop. He must have assumed you weren’t back yet, because he stripped his shirt off in the middle of the room and tossed it to the floor. 

His joggers and boxers followed suit. It was obvious that he had no idea you were in the room and you should have looked away as soon as he removed his shirt but he was a man getting naked in front of you and you were a woman with needs and as much as you hated him, you couldn’t deny that he was fucking hot.

“Holy shit!” 

Matthew turned to make his way to the bathroom to shower and just happened to meet your eyes on the way.

“What the fuck?! You’re here, why didn’t you fucking say something?!”

Your cheeks burned red as you watched him stumble around the hotel room, trying and failing to cover his body. 

“Sorry, sorry,” you rushed out, “I didn’t want to bother you. I wanted to leave you alone, I didn’t know you would-”

“So you’re a bitch and a fucking creep! Lucky me!”

He cut you off before hurrying to the bathroom, slamming the door hard behind him. 

Shutting off your laptop, you ignored your nightly skincare routine and desire to brush your teeth as you hauled your ass into bed. You definitely weren’t planning to be awake when he came out of the shower. 

*

The clock on the side table read 2:46AM. Rolling over, you realized the other side of the bed was vacant and your stomach shot up into your throat. Matthew was going to talk to the guys about what happened and you were definitely getting fired. 

Soft snores pulled you out of your thoughts and you leaned over the side of the bed to see Matthew Tkachuk passed out on the floor with a blanket far too small for his body covering him. 

He hated you that much that he would rather sleep on the cold, hard, nasty hotel room floor than in a bed with you. You didn’t blame him, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt your feelings just a little bit. 

“Matt,” you gently nudged his shoulder, “Matt, wake up.” 

“Hmm?”

He rolled around a little bit before finally waking up and the neutral expression on his face turned sour as soon as he recognized you. 

“Fucking, what?” 

“Get in bed. You can’t sleep on this floor, it’s going to fuck with your back. You can’t do it.” 

“I’m not getting into bed with you.” 

Fine. Fucking fine. You suppress the urge to roll your eyes and think about how much you like your job and the benefits and the salary.

“I’ll sleep on the floor, I don’t mind. You need to get all the rest you can.” 

“Fine,” he huffed and waited for you to get out of bed before taking his place opposite the one you’d been in.

The floor was cold and Matthew took the blanket he’d been using to bed with him so you were left with nothing but what you were wearing and an entirely too flat to be any kind of comfortable pillow. 

Sleep never came and when his alarm went off in the morning, you closed your eyes and pretended as he stepped around you, making more noise than necessary and slamming the door closed too hard as he headed down to team breakfast. 

You immediately jumped up as soon as Matthew was gone and headed for a shower. As soon as the water heated up, you hopped in and hauled your ass to the ground. Pulling your knees up to your chin, you began to cry. 

Fuck, you hated crying, especially at work but last night had been awful. It was obvious now that you and Matthew would never strike up a civil relationship and maybe it was for the best that you find another job. 

[musicrunsthroughmysoul]

Okay, so this is gonna be way TMI (aka vulnerable *the first verse of ”Entertain” by Sleater-Kinney ‘randomly’ starts playing*), but I needed a place to write about it and even though I haven’t been posting here frequently for quite a while: oh look, there’s Tumblr, a place to put intensely personal shit where no one who knows me IRL will read it (probably. Please don’t take that as a threat. 😂) . You all know the drill. Or I trust that you do, anyway. (PLEASE absolutely do not reblog this. Thank you.)

So, since I last posted here (or, like, posted personal stuff beyond YAY concerts WHICHISTILLWEARMASKSTOTHANKYOUVERYMUCHANDWILLCONTINUETO), kind of a lot has happened. Early this month - we don’t know for sure when, just when it was found - my mom’s car was stolen out of our covered parking area and apparently some integral parts to make the car run were stolen and other damage was done to it which my mom’s insurance won’t cover fully because her car is over two decades old. So, long story short, my mom asked to borrow money from me to pay to fix the car (the one I don’t drive, because I’ve never driven and as far as my anxiety goes do not plan to learn or do for as long as possible) ON TOP of the fact that I’ve been paying our ENTIRE rent for 6-7 months now which, uh-huh yeah, for the record is literally MORE THAN I MAKE MONTHLY because I’m only working one part-time job (my other part-time job that I had before the pandemic hasn’t called me back to work at all and YEAH I’VE ALSO BEEN PROCRASTINATING CONTACTING THEM AND ASKING THEM FOR WORK). And my mom doesn’t work at all, and hasn’t for literally over a year now. And I haven’t even mentioned how I’ve BEEN doing the bulk of household chores for so long (I’ve done them because my mom is getting older so her physical abilities are changing, but also because I KNOW she suffers from depression so I do them or I fear they won’t get done) OR the fact that for 4 months I was paying another key household bill and I’m still paying other little bills on top of my own, personal bills. (The only reason I’m not almost homeless considering how much I’ve been paying in rent and bills is because of unemployment during the pandemic, which I know my mom is also exploiting. It’s funny, that entire time I was getting unemployment I kept thinking, ‘Huh, this isn’t REALLY my money.’ Joke’s on me, bitches - it’s not! It’s everyone’s money BUT mine. That’s my poverty-traumatized mentality that is STILL talking. But I was planning on saving that money to move out of this apartment and into a place of my own so that maybe my mom would be pushed to finally deal with her addiction on her own, because I must acknowledge that me living with her is not helping her get sober, as possibly contradictory as that is.) So I’m fucking stuck here grappling with enabling my mom AND feeling taken advantage of by her WHILE ALSO WANTING HER TO GET BETTER AND ALSO GET A JOB. WHILE PART OF ME wonders if it is literally even possible for her to stay sober while holding down a job, because she mostly wants to do social work (that’s related to what she got her degree in, after all) and as anybody would be able to guess is high-stress work and I fear that the only coping mechanism she believes works anymore is drinking, although I also know that people’s relationship to alcohol when they’re addicted to it is different than people who know how to and are able to drink responsibly. Oh and also, on top of all that, what is obvious to me but might not be so obvious to others, is that I’ve also been constantly worried that my mom is going to drink herself to d*ath, and I DON’T want that to happen because I love my mom and if she di*s I will literally, physically, familially (relationship-wise), etc. be totally alone in this world and my extended family would probably try to gaslight me into thinking I’m not, which is also exactly why I would be. SO. In unrelated conclusion, that’s why I’ve been listening to “Feel a Thing” by Meet Me @ The Altar obsessively lately, and in fact why MMATA is the only band or music that MAKES me feel fucking anything irony intended?.

I’ve also been playing Pokemon Shield obsessively lately, and I think that is because it’s no longer a coping mechanism but an escapist method because I cannot stand a single second in my head to think about what I’m dealing with.

The thing about growing up as an only child with a single parent with substance abuse issues is that you learn to take absolutely anything thrown at you silently, because god-for-fucking-bid you ruffle any feathers whatsoever (PREFACE BEFORE I SAY THIS - THE FOLLOWING ARE THOUGHTS WAY TOO PERSONAL TO BE GENERALIZED AND I AM NOT SPEAKING ON BEHALF OF ANYBODY BUT MYSELF, so I am NOT condoning this and am simply sharing that this tends to be MY personal thinking, or trauma response, if you will: if you do: your life is over, you’re b*tt*r off d*ad, that kind of thinking). I think that’s one reason that reading the Trickster trilogy I have not started reading the final book btw but read the first two by Eden Robinson kind of...triggered a lot for me and made me depressed - I identify with Jared and his relationship with BOTH of his parents (despite me only having one parent) so much, and his literal desperate need to escape his destiny is one that I, too, feel deeply, without the magic/magical realism part. Oh and also not knowing who his true dad is. lol Jared, my dude, I feel you WAY too hard. It’s insane, and has certainly made ME insane. They’re excellent books though, by the way (although the ending of the first book was kinda rough, but I really like Eden Robinson’s writing style), and I totally love Jared also.

Anyway, evidenced by the way this post went absolutely everywhere and nowhere all at once, my mind is ten balls of yarn tangled together in a puddle of rain water (not a puddle of tears like normal for me, because I haven’t even really been able to genuinely cry lately, unless it’s because of music which always works, LOL). Which is to say, finally...I am simply not myself these days. And that’s frightening to me in a way I cannot even fully express. I mean, really, I think that’s one ginormous reason that is making it hard for me to breathe, that is truly the biggest weight on my chest. Because if I cannot be my passionate self (if I MUST be anyone at all and must exist at all) then why in the everloving fuck am I here? Riddle me that, universe.

Oh, and P.S. I am still, obviously, very obviously, depressed as shit. But, as my therapist told me yesterday, in the instances of fight, flight, or freeze, I am frozen. That’s why I’ve still been able to do...everything I’ve still been doing. Because believe me, for the love of the universe; if I had not been frozen this entire time I think/wonder, I would be languishing in my bed right now, probably suffering from su*c*dal *d*at*ons. (But, have no fear! I’m not. I guess that’s a win? I don’t fucking know.)

[plasticnightmaredoll]

Well, it’s 2021, and my birthday week, so life has to just put more stress on me by having my back suddenly start hurting. Like, seriously, what the actual FUCK? I am going to be 34 years old this week, NOT 64 YEARS OLD. I am in good shape physically. I mean, I exercise regularly and eat decently enough. Mentally, I’m a mess but physically, this shit shouldn’t happen to me.

But I’m not even mad (anymore). This is just 2020 part 2, and the good times keep on avoiding everyone.

In order to cope with this newest drama, I decided to write a short self-insert involving Arkham Knight Riddler. It’s mostly me being a stubborn, bratty bitch and him being a bratty, stubborn bitch.

As it SHOULD be.

But there’s some fluff in it, too.

And maybe a hint at some suggestiveness if you squint.

“It’s not, like, I’m dying or anything,” I said, almost attempting to sit up but then I remembered the soreness in my back. “I just...need a little time to recover.”

“And tell me again how continuing your exercise routine and going back to work will help?” Edward demanded, crossing his arms as he narrowed his eyes at me.

“I just need to improvise, ok?” I explained slowly, deliberately, my voice starting to reveal the agitation that was boiling up inside me. “I just need to avoid doing certain movements and avoid lifting anything too heavy. Make sense?”

“Excuse my bluntness but, have you suddenly become stupid?!”

“What? No!”

“Gee, you could have fooled me. Tell me, where is the logic in putting yourself through unnecessary physical stress when you already have back pain?”

“Because this exercise routine is important to me, ok?!” I hissed, and my tone managed to startle Edward a bit, so I brought my mood back down to earth as best as I could. “I’ve been doing it for 6 years now, and it makes me feel good about myself because it helps me look good. It’s also one of the few things in my shitty life I have control over. It’s something to look forward to, something that’s kind of a reward, a way to unwind. If I lose it then…” I shrugged. “What do I have? Gaming?”

“Your obsession with your physical appearance is causing you to make the most ridiculous decisions.”

“It’s not a vanity thing! It’s not something I expect you to understand because you’re a guy, and guys don’t often face the same objectification as women --”

“So, that’s what this is? You’re trying to cater to society’s pointless opinions on physical beauty?”

“No! I mean...yes, but it’s also helping me. I don’t want to sit around all the time and do nothing. I want to do something, and I want to look and feel good while doing it.”

“And about this job of yours...it’s beneath you! I told you this before. You are paid piddlies while doing monotonous work for 10 hours a day -- oh, excuse me, a night -- and you are surrounded by people who probably all share one brain cell! You don’t deserve to be trapped in such a suffocating environment.”

“I won’t argue with you on any of that.”

“Because you agree.”

“Yes, but what am I supposed to do? Quit?”

“Yes!”

“Ok, then what am I supposed to do about money? Getting unemployment takes a century, and it’s not even going to be as much as the ‘piddlies’ I’m making now -- which is barely enough to get by as it is.”

“I can help you,” Edward said, kneeling down beside the couch where I lay. “Whatever you need I can provide. I have money now -- lots of it! More than I need.”

“I don’t need a Sugar Daddy,” I said as I tried to take a deep breath to calm myself but the stinging pain I felt as my ribs expanded with my lungs put an abrupt halt to that effort.

“It’s not that kind of arrangement I’m offering,” Edward said, sounding a little calmer now. 

“I know, I know but...I don’t want help.”

“But you need it.”

“Maybe but I don’t want it.”

I started to sit up but the sharp pain in my back stopped me, and I let out a strained breath as I continued to try and force myself up.

“No, wait,” Edward said, pressing me back down by my shoulders. “What are you doing?”

I could tell he was worried by the somewhat fearful look in his eyes, and while I appreciated his concern, I wasn’t in need of being babied.

“I’m thirsty,” I said with a huff, frustrated with the entire situation. “I want something to drink. Now, if you’ll excuse me --”

“No!” Edward said sternly, holding me down. “Stay. I’ll get what you want.”

“Water with ice, please,” I said, too tired to argue anymore.

I laid there on my couch, feeling sorry for myself but also determined to NOT feel sorry for myself. Yes, I was a weakling when it came to pain, I bitched all the time, I could be quite lazy, and I could also be very snotty. I couldn’t just lay down and give up, though, and I didn’t want charity. In fact, I didn’t want to rely on anyone for help. I already bothered my parents enough -- even if they said they didn’t mind helping me whenever I needed it -- and I didn’t need to rope in someone else. 

My life was shit and that was my problem to sort out.

When Edward returned, he set the water on a coaster on the table next to the couch before kneeling down on the floor.

“Just think about my offer, ok?” he said, and I could tell he wanted to be more aggressive about it because of the tension in his voice and shoulders but he managed to keep his feelings under control for the time being. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me. At all.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “Thanks, though.”

“Well, you...were there for me when I lost everything and…” he started blushing, clearing his throat quickly before continuing. “I want to return the favor.”

“For now, maybe you could just...rub my back?”

“Huh?”

“My back...I want to try and crack it, or just massage the muscles but I can’t reach.”

“Oh! Ok, yes, yes, I can do that.”

Edward helped me turn over, and I didn’t push him away. I was, as I already mentioned, too tired to argue, so I just let him assist me. I instructed him where to put his hands, how much pressure to apply, and I hugged the couch cushion tightly as I experienced some discomfort. I did hear -- and feel -- a few cracks, though, and they honestly felt … kind of good.

“Oh!” I said, lifting my head up a bit.

“Was that too much?” Edward asked, removing his hands.

“No, no, not at all. That...that felt kind of good, actually.”

“I’ll keep going then. Tell me if you feel any pain, though.”

I nodded and rested my chin on the pillow in my arms, wincing a little here and there but overall, his hands were helping more than hurting me. In fact, it must have been very relaxing because I woke up later in my bed, covered up and even cuddling my plush rabbit (that thing was as old as me, and luckily, Edward didn’t pass judgment about it). Looking around, I wondered if he had already left, seeing it was getting to be late in the evening, and my heart sank a bit. But he had a right to leave. He had his own life after all, and I didn’t need to be babied, remember?

Carefully, I rolled onto my side and pushed myself up, my back aching but I just pushed through it. When I was finally sitting on the edge of the bed, I took a few breaths to steady myself as I prepared to stand. That was when the door to my room opened just a bit.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Edward said, stepping into my room. “Are you ok? Do you need help?”

“I just need to pee,” I said, waving my hand. “I can do that by myself.”

“All right...do you think you might want something to eat?”

“Uh...yeah, maybe. Not sure what, though.”

I stood up and rubbed at my back, grimacing at the soreness. Edward was at my side before I could say anything and I gently pushed him aside.

“I got it, I got it,” I said, laughing softly. “I’m not an old lady.”

As I made my way to the bathroom, a thought came to me, a thought that got my heart racing and my face turning red. But I was compelled to ask Edward something, and...he was right there…

“Eddie?” I said, meekly.

“Yes?” he responded from the doorway.

“Could you, um...stay tonight? I-In case I need something.”

“Oh, um…”

“I mean, you don’t have to. I’m not, like, trying to --”

“I’ll stay.”

I felt so much relief upon hearing that I almost cried.

“I could stay...for a few days if you’d like?”

“I couldn’t ask for that much.”

“You’re not. I’m offering.”

“I’d appreciate it, honestly.”

“Then it’s settled then,” Edward said with a pleased hum. “I will just go grab a few things of mine. Do you think you’ll be ok on your own for a bit?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. I’ll be ok. Thanks…”

“In the meantime then, take care...my...Darling Devinette.”

Edward was gone before I turned to look back at him, surprised by the nickname. It wasn’t like he hadn’t used nicknames with me before but this time he sounded...different. Like...he was being...affectionate instead of just teasing? Or maybe I was just reading too much into it? 

As I waited for Edward to return, though, I couldn’t help but push my pain aside and wonder if he’d call me that nickname in an endearing tone again while staying with me? I also hoped he wouldn’t mind rubbing my back again because, yes, it did help with the stiffness but it also...felt good for reasons I wasn’t going to admit out loud.

I shook my head as I heard Edward enter my apartment again, feeling like I was just being silly. He was a friend, we were friends, friends helped each other, friends had nicknames for each other, and back rubs weren’t always sensual. I was experiencing some back pain after all. So, no reason to get excited….

Right?

-----

And that’s it...for now.

Will there be a part 2? Maybe.

Will it get smutty? Possibly.

Is this self-indulgent? Definitely.

Is Arkham Knight Edward in character? God, I really hope so.

[amidst-thestcrs]

8 Facts about my Muse(s).

Tagged by: Someone at Summer’s old blog 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ Tagging: @feralspace-bitch / @speck-of-stardust, @fightan0therday, @tr0ubled-s0uls, @starrys0nder, @hiemaleyes, @implausiblynaive, @defactomatriarch, and anyone else interested!! (You guys totally don’t have to do this if you don’t want to either ofc!) 😌👌❤❤

Morti

1) Despite having “freedom” while living with Gary, Morti actually missed out on quite a bit of typical things that other kids genuinely experience around her age. This doesn’t really bother her until other people start making her feel like it’s a problem though. Gary always had a convenient excuse for everything: they didn’t have enough money to afford cable so they only had a dvd player; most of his family had either died or lived far away so they didn’t ever visit extended family; they lived too far away from signal towers to get wifi so they didn’t have internet; etc.. Due to this, I imagine she missed out on quite a lot of normal things and probably hasn’t even done something as simple as been in a car before.

2) Morti responds well to kindness and doesn’t comprehend mean or abrupt people as she doesn’t understand why someone would be that.

3) Her favorite animal is a frog! She adores frogs so much and used to adore the little pond by their house when she lived with Gary. He actually caught one for Morti as a pet which she still has and named Henry! It’s her most prized possession and best friend. ❤

4) I think if Morti wasn’t able to form a strong bond with the Smith family when/if she goes back home, Morti would 100% be willing to go back and live with Gary again if that ever became an option, even despite all the lies. 

5) Despite living with Gary for most of her life, Morti was still a “Morty” underneath it all as she’s always had a fascination with space even as a kid. She owned many astronomy books and even Gary brought her home a telescope for her that she used all the time to see the stars at night.

6) Morti has no memory of the Smith family whatsoever. She doesn’t remember any of them and will always feel bad for this especially since she feels like she’s probably supposed to remember them.

7) I think she puts up with the name Morti cause she doesn’t think anyone really cares enough to call her otherwise, but if given the choice, Morti would much rather go by the name September/Ember as it’s the name she’s used to and the one that feels most like her to her.

8) The Ricks have given Morti a card to stick in her pocket when she goes off on her own in the citadel. It’s basically just a little business card of sorts that she’s suppose to hand out and get back that literally says, “Hi, I’m an identity confused Morticia/Morty (not September/Ember or any other weird shit she says) from dimension C-323. I’m not lost or abandoned, I’m just annoying but they’re looking for my Rick so don’t take me. Okay, now fuck off. Scram!”. As you can tell, she did not write this note herself. 

Rick

1) Rick’s been alone most of his life. After his parents died in the crash, he never really had any friends and was never able to marry so no other family either. Really since they died he’s been on his own.

2) In truth, I imagine Doofus Rick really wanted/wants a family like how all the other Ricks have, but it just never happened for him. The Diane (or other versions of Rick’s ex-wife) in his universe just wasn’t interested in him and honestly just felt like he was beneath her-- something she actually admitted to his face when they were in college and he tried to ask her out. Mostly any other time he tried to ask someone out since has had the same result anyways.

3) Medical science has always been more his area of expertise than other kinds of science which is the main reason why he was able to cure cancer in his dimension among other forms of awful diseases. I think he’s well known in his universe as medical genius and hero, but really he just considers himself just a regular person, nothing special.

4) He probably owns way more books than he’ll ever read in his life, most old science books and such.

5) My Rick never got a Morty like in the tv show, I imagine he tried once and the council laughed in his face. Due to this, he instead simply tries his best to help any other Morty in need that he can.

6) Rick occasionally volunteers at the Morty Daycare Center when he has free time.

7) If it wasn’t for his lack of time, Rick would most likely get a pet to help out with how lonely his life can be at times but I think he genuinely worries about not being home a lot to be able to take care of it. If he was home more, I could totally see him getting a rescue from a shelter somewhere, but he doesn’t want to burden an animal with lack of human interaction.

8) Rick’s not as stupid as everyone believes him to be, he’s actually fairly smart and can hold conversations really well. The thing with him is just mainly anxiety that makes him extremely awkward. If he didn’t worry so much about what others thought of him he’d probably have the confidence of a regular Rick but still way nicer than a typical Rick.

Summer

1) It’s common knowledge to everyone at this point that Beth turned into an absolute disaster of a mother after Jerry died which is the main reason why Summer and Beth have such an explosive and abusive relationship. Pretty much everyone in their neighborhood, their extended family, and at Summer’s school knew about the bad blood between those two but everyone just stays quiet about it tbh, even after Summer started showing up to school with bruises. Everyone assumes these two have always hated each other, but something that isn’t really known by others is that Summer actually loved Beth a lot when she was very little despite the abuse her mother constantly took out on her. She was young and trusted the only adult in her life even if she didn’t love her back, this is something Beth sometimes brings up in arguments to either annoy Summer or in attempts to guilt trip her. Usually it’s something along the lines of “I remember when you used to love me! You thought the world of me back then!”.

2) One sure-fire way to get Summer to shut up/get under her skin is to tell her she’s exactly like her mother or even looks like her. Summer wants absolutely nothing to do with Beth and even though the two of them are very similar in looks, she does not want to be associated in any way to her mom. She heard Beth say too many times that the two of them were way too similar that even the notation of that coming from someone else, especially someone Summer considers close, will immediately struck her silent and it will bother her immensely. 

3) Summer absolutely loves astrology and knows a lot on the different zodiac signs. She’ll sometimes even guess someone’s zodiac before even knowing it and will even point it out all the time just to mess with people-- for example: “That’s such a Gemini thing to do too, you really are one, huh?”.

4) Although Summer’s attitude is a big reason why it’s hard to get close to her, that’s not the main reason why. It’s actually Summer’s trust issues that prevent her from having close relationships with people outside of her inner circle. Summer is very particular about who she trusts and lets into her life. Her trust is very hard to earn and very easy to lose. If she feels her trust has been broken, she’s very quick to immediately discontinue a friendship/relationship with someone and back away. “Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice shame on me.” as the saying goes. Now with that said, it is possible to gain Summer’s trust back again depending on the person, but just know it’s gonna be ten times harder to gain back the second time than it already was the first time. So good luck!

5) Summer started smoking at the age of fourteen due to it being an appetite suppressant. Since Beth spent most, if not all, of her unemployment check on alcohol, there wasn’t really ever food in the house for them to eat, at least not food that was safe to consume. On the rare times they did have groceries, Beth would sometimes hide food when she was drunk then forget where she put it, eventually leading to it going molded. However instead of throwing any expired food away, she’d always save it and then serve it to herself and Summer at a later date. Due to this, Summer often had a lot of food poisoning growing up and got most of her meals from school or a friend’s house. Smoking helped her not feel hungry on times when food wasn’t available to her so she actually was a much heavier smoker as a teenager compared to now. Being out on her own now, Summer has cut back quite a bit, going from about a pack or so a day to smoking maybe four cigarettes a day. She doesn’t really smoke in her house much either, always goes outside when she wants to have a smoke.

6) Despite not being religious in the slightest, Summer went to church with Tricia ( @tr0ubled-s0uls​ ) on the occasional Sunday just to cause drama with her friend. The two of them would often talk/giggle really loud, take turns “coughing” while not-so-subtly stating “God’s not real”, and in general doing whatever to interrupt church service. The two of them would often find a way to leave early to go smoke out in the parking lot or bathrooms and would get breakfast after service. The main reason they’d do this is because Tricia’s dad often times forced her to attend his church services as he was a pastor. Needless to say, Tricia’s dad did not like Summer, for more reasons than just one.

7) Summer still visits Jerry’s grave from time to time and leaves fresh flowers on his tombstone. She’ll never admit it cause she thinks it sounds stupid, but sometimes she just vents to his graves or talks to him like he’s actually there even though she doesn’t believe in ghosts.

8) Speaking of which, Jerry is the one who actually named Summer! The only reason why she knows this is primarily because of her grandparents, but also because she has a vague memory of him proudly boosting about that when she was little. The reason why he named her was because shortly after Summer’s birth, the doctors asked Beth to hold her and feed her in attempts of bonding with her child but she wanted nothing to do with her. Instead Jerry did these things for Summer and when asked what she wanted to name her child she claimed she didn’t care. This in turn left the responsibility on Jerry in which he chose the name Summer because she was born during the summertime and he thought “Summer Elise Smith” sounded beautiful.

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Not as it Seems

A Horror Septics Story

(This is not what I planned to post today, but things came up and I had this in the works. Enjoy reading the next series of events that happens to Stacy and her family, and also this weirdo called “John” who seems to know a lot. It’s pretty long, but not as long as the last one fjdskafh)

—————

There was a good few inches of snow on the ground, courtesy of the blizzard last night. Luckily the roads had been plowed quickly, or Stacy would’ve had a hard time driving. Still, the roads were slippery, and she elected to park two blocks away from the coffee shop and walk the rest of the way, braving the cold instead of risking driving the rest of the way.

Thus, she was even more relieved to step inside the warm, coffee-scented air of the cafe. She sighed, unwinding her scarf from around her neck as she scanned the shop.

“Stacy!”

Someone was waving at her from a table by the cafe’s front window. Stacy smiled, and walked over, sitting at the same table. “Hey, Jaqueline,” she said. “Sorry I’m late, driving was a bitch.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” Jaqueline said, leaning back in her chair. “I knew you’d show up eventually. You want to order?”

“Sure.” Stacy noticed the table was empty of drinks. “You didn’t order already?”

“Nah, I wanted to wait.”

“Aw.” Stacy smiled, touched. “You didn’t have to.”

“But I wanted to.” Jaqueline shrugged. “Besides, it’s no problem.”

The two of them went up to the counter and ordered. Stacy got a mocha latte with whip cream and Jaqueline got an americano. They chatted while they waited, just general small talk about the surprising blizzard last night, unusual for the area. The barista quickly filled their orders, and the two of them sat back down at the table.

“Y’know, you should really be wearing a coat, Jaq,” Stacy pointed out, taking a sip of her latte.

“Oh, I have a coat right here,” Jaqueline said. “I just took it off. Which you could stand to do, it’s warm enough in here.” She settled back into the seat. “So, how’s the job hunt going?”

Stacy sighed deeply. She shouldered off her coat, draping it over the back of the seat. “Not good. I keep getting denials online. Y’know, the whole ‘thank you for your application but we don’t think you’d be a good fit here,’ that whole shebang.” She tried not to let on how worried she was about it. She hadn’t gotten a job once since arriving in this new city of Rysbuwich. That was insane; surely she should’ve found something by now?

“Maybe you’re being too picky,” Jaqueline said, as if reading her mind. “You’re only going for food-related ones, right?”

“Well, I mean, that’s where all my expertise is, so yeah,” Stacy nodded. “It’s what’s on most of my resume. I’d prefer baking, like my old job, but I’ll take anything similar.”

“Hmm.” Jaqueline nodded. “That’s understandable. But, y’know, there’s only so long you can support two kids on unemployment. Maybe get a job you’re less qualified for, but one that’ll take anyone.”

“Yeah, I’ve started to do that,” Stacy agreed. Really, she’d only sent about two applications for positions like that,and both had been rejected. “I wonder if there’ll be a lot of those online...I’ve been seeing some help wanted signs around town, maybe I should just walk in.”

“Hey, it’s better than nothing.” Jaqueline chuckled. “Where have you been seeing them?”

“Uh...a bookstore, an arcade, a couple fast-food places, I think there was a toy store…” Stacy had been making a mental note of every place she’d seen one of the Help Wanted signs, but she couldn’t be sure she was getting them all. Staring out the window, she stifled a yawn.

“You seem tired, Stace,” Jaqueline said. “Long night?”

“Yeah, had something with my other friend,” she replied. “It went late.” She paused. “Y’know, I mentioned you, and he got real weird about it. Asked me if I knew your last name.”

“Really?” Jaqueline raised an eyebrow. “That’s a little weird. We only just met, and it’s not like people go around introducing themselves as So-and-so Last Name.”

“That’s exactly what I said!” Stacy laughed. “And, I mean, I don’t even know his last name, so it’s not really fair. Do you know my last name?”

“Yeah, it’s Allen, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Guess I told you.”

Jaqueline smiled. “Yeah.”

Stacy paused, taking another sip of her coffee. “So, what’s yours?”

“Wait a sec, I just realized something.” Jaqueline frowned. “Your friend is a guy? And he got real weird about you seeing me?”

“Uh-huh.” Stacy nodded. “It was...it came out of nowhere, honestly.”

“Hmm.” Jaqueline pursed her lips. “You don’t think he could’ve been...well, protective of you? In like a...y’know. ‘Has feelings’ way?”

“Um...I don’t think so.” Stacy cast her mind back. “I mean, John’s a little...weird. Kind of crazy. Don’t tell him I said that,” she hurried to add. “‘Cause I know he has reasons for acting the way he does, even if I’ve never asked. And besides, he knows I’m still not over my, uh...he knows I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“Which is totally understandable,” Jaqueline assured her. “But I’m just saying, I’ve known some guy ‘friends’”—she made air quotes with her fingers on that word—“who would act weird and suspicious when their female friend started getting friends outside them. Just consider it.”

“I will, don’t worry,” Stacy took another drink. She really didn’t think John was the type to do something like that, but then again, she didn’t actually know that much about him. He helped her out back in the last town, Bronainise, with that...thing in her house. And she knew he had experience with things like that. And she couldn’t help but feel sorry for him after seeing him have that nightmare last night. But...she didn’t really know that much about him. She didn’t even know his real name. Stacy shook her head, putting those thoughts away for now. “Anyway, enough about me, how have things been going with you?”

* * * * * * * * * *

She arrived back home in a significantly better mood than she had been when she left. Being with Jaqueline always did that. They’d only met up twice since their initial meeting a few weeks ago, but Stacy could already tell she really liked her. There was just something about her that left Stacy feeling happy; like she was just full of energy and it rubbed off on her. She was really glad they’d met each other.

Walking into the house, she was greeted by the sight of Larkin lying on the couch, reading. “Hey, Lark,” she said. “What book is that?”

“Hi Mom!” Larkin said. He lifted up the cover for her to see. “I got it from the school library. It’s one of a bunch of series, The Magic Tree House. Mr. Teller said I’d like it.”

“Oh? And do you?”

Larkin nodded. “I like Annie.”

“That’s great!” Stacy smiled. Larkin was doing a lot better in English in this new school. Apparently all he needed was an encouraging teacher, who would point him towards books he would enjoy. He started to put more effort into trying to read, and had leaped ahead to be one of the best readers in the class. “Do you know where Mathew is?”

“Uh, I think he’s in the backyard.”

Stacy headed out back. Mathew wasn’t actually out in the yard, but she could clearly see him. Over the small brick wall. In the empty lot behind the house. She hurried over, snow crunching under her boots.

It appeared Mathew was talking with John, who had cleared a spot in the lot free of snow and was now trying to set up his tent. Stacy picked up their conversation as she approached. “—and I’m told that you get the true ending if you do a pacifist run, so you don’t hurt anyone, but I never got around to playing it when it came out,” Mathew was saying. “But I dunno...should I get it on my Switch?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” John said, busying himself with trying to set up some of the tent poles. “I played it, and I loved it. It’s seriously really good, totally worth your allowance.”

“You did?” Mathew asked skeptically.

“What, just ‘cause I live in a tent and don’t own anything electronic now doesn’t mean I never did,” John joked.

Mathew smiled a bit. “Are you sure you don’t need any help?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thanks for asking, though.” John glanced over, noticing Stacy. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said. “Just checking on you two.”

“We’re good, Mom,” Mathew said, with a hint of what she called the “duh” tone that teenages sometimes used. “I just wanted to talk to John about games.”

“Nice.” Stacy nodded. “I’m going to make lunch. You good with sandwiches and chips?”

“Sure.”

“Um...John, do you want lunch, too?” Stacy asked tentatively.

John shook his head, not looking away from his tent. “I’ll get something somewhere.”

“Where?”

John shrugged. “You know.”

Stacy frowned. “Alright. I’ll make an extra one, if you change your mind.”

“...thanks,” John says softly. He managed to pull one of the tent poles into a standing position, using a spare rock to pound a stake into the ground. “So, Stacy. You, uh...saw your friend today?”

“Yes, I just came back,” Stacy said. Mathew, sensing the appearance of adult small talk, turned and hopped back over the wall into the yard and then the house. “It was nice.”

“Good. Good.” John sounded a bit curt. “Had fun?”

“...yeah.” Stacy narrowed her eyes. “You sound a bit, um...is everything okay with you?”

“With me, yeah. What about you?” John finally looked over at her.

“I mean...it’s going alright,” Stacy said haltingly. “I’m still looking for a job, but at least I’ve made a friend.” A friend, being key. Jaqueline was the only person she’d met in town who’d seemed interested in...well, meeting up with her more than once. Though it was hard to meet up with people when you didn’t have a lot of places to go. No job to socialize, and Larkin and Mathew were still making friends of their own so she couldn’t even chat with their friends’ moms.

“Hmm…” John pulled the other tent pole into place. “How’d you meet...her? She goes by Jaqueline, right?”

“Yes, that’s her name. We, uh...met in the grocery store.” Stacy smiled awkwardly. “I was shopping, she was shopping.”

“She approached you and started talking, then?” John drawled.

“Yeah.” Stacy couldn’t quite remember their first conversation, but Jaqueline had been so friendly it had left a good impression of her. “That’s how most conversations work. Usually you don’t walk up to someone and go ‘hello, there’s a demon in my house, can you help me?’”

“It really, really isn’t a demon in that house,” John said, frowning. “I told you why I don’t like that word for them.”

“Mm-hmm.” Stacy watched for a bit, just long enough to make sure John got the tent up. Then she turned around. “Well...I’ll be around.”

“Wait!” John suddenly stood up.

Stacy spun back around. “What? What is it?”

“I…” John now seemed to be regretting calling after her. “You, uh...really like this friend, huh? Y’know you should be, um...you should be careful about talking to strangers.”

“Yeah...I know.” Stacy raised an eyebrow. “I’m not seven years old, I know all about stranger danger.” Evidently she was feeling a bit sassy today. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

“I know. You’re, uh. You’re smart.” John shifted awkwardly on his feet. “Very careful, I could tell when I saw you. Just, uh...remember to be careful, okay?”

“...okay.” Stacy backed up. “Talk to you later.” She turned and left, glancing back over at John as she hopped over the wall. John still seemed to want to say something, but she walked away before he could.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, she went driving around town while the kids were at school, looking for a few of those Help Wanted signs she’d seen throughout the town. Retracing her usual routes, she was sure she’d run into one of them. But to her surprise, there wasn’t a single one. Strange...she wandered around for a while, glancing into store windows, but still saw nothing. After a bit, she stopped outside a bookstore that she distinctly remembered had a Help Wanted sign in the window. She would go in herself, talk to an employee, and see if they were still hiring.

Walking in, she was greeted by the small tinkling of a bell and soft music. It was a big enough shop, but still had the sort of atmosphere of a small bookstore. Stacy immediately thought that this wouldn’t be a bad place to work. She walked up to the counter, looking around. There was an employee with their back to her. “Um...hello?” she called. “I have a question.”

The employee straightened, and turned to face her. “Stacy?”

“Oh!” Stacy blinked. “Jaqueline! I didn’t realize you worked here.”

Jaqueline chuckled. “Really? I could’ve sworn I told you. Thought you were checking up on me.” She frowned exaggeratedly. “Aw.”

“I mean, if I’d known I might’ve,” Stacy said. “Are you guys, uh...hiring?”

“We were, but the position was filled yesterday,” Jaqueline sighed. She pointed down the shelves at a young man. “New guy right there. Sorry. It would’ve been great to work together.”

“Yeah.” Stacy sighed. “It seems nice. Looks like they have a lax uniform code to start, if they let you wear your jacket.”

“Hey, it’s cold. Management understands that.” Jaqueline smiled.

Stacy smiled back, but it quickly faded. “I just...I could’ve sworn there were more people hiring in town.”

“Well, jobs at places like this tend to get snatched up quickly. High turnover rate, y’know. I’m even new here.” Jaqueline reached over the counter and put her hand on Stacy’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay, y’know. Someone with your skills is sure to have many opportunities.” Jaqueline withdrew. “Most organizations actually favor online applications over in-person ones these days. Keep trying there, and keep talking to them about the application. It’ll get you somewhere eventually.”

“You think so?” Stacy asked.

“I know so,” Jaqueline said, reassuring her.

Stacy breathed out. “Thanks.” She already felt a bit calmer about the situation.

“Hey, you want to meet up next week? Maybe on Friday?” Jaqueline asked. “We could spend an evening together.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I don’t have anything else to do.” Stacy paused. “Well, I’ll see you then, then?”

“I’ll meet up outside your house,” Jaqueline said.

Stacy frowned. “Do you know my address?”

“Yeah, you told me. And I told you mine, remember?” Jaqueline shook her head. “Sometimes I worry about your memory, Stace.”

“...huh.” Stacy considered this. Maybe her time back in Bronainise with the thing in her house had messed with her memory. Who knew? “Well, see you.”

“See you.”

Stacy left. She didn’t bother to check any of the other places she thought had hiring signs. Evidently all those posts had been filled.

* * * * * * * * * *

The week passed quietly, without change, and soon Friday arrived. Stacy was about ready to go out to meet Jaqueline when she got a call from the babysitter.

“Are you absolutely sure you can’t make it?” Stacy asked.

“Sorry, Ms. Allen,” the sitter said. “Nobody could’ve seen this coming. And it is an emergency.”

“It is, it is,” Stacy said, nodding even though nobody could see her. “Sorry to hear about it, by the way. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Ms. Allen.”

As soon as the sitter hung up, Stacy sighed, staring at the phone screen. It froze for a moment, the image freaking out briefly before settling to normal. She filed that away in her mind, to be worried about if it came up later. The more pressing concern was what she was going to do now. She’d promised Jaqueline she’d meet up with her, and though she trusted Mathew to be able to watch Larkin and himself for a day, she worried about the two of them being left alone for the night. Should she...just leave and trust the kids for the night? No, what if something happened?

Just at that moment, she heard a knocking sound. She jumped, and spun around, peering into the kitchen where the sound came from. John was standing at the glass door at the back of the house. He knocked on the glass again. 

Stacy walked on over and opened the door. “Hi. What’s up?”

“I really need to talk to you,” John said.

“Oh, um. Okay. I was actually planning to go out—”

“With Jaqueline?” John interrupted.

“Yeah,” Stacy said, surprised. “How’d you know that?”

“Just a guess,” John said. “Look, that’s what I need to talk to you about. She’s not what you think she is.”

“You’ve never even met her,” Stacy muttered.

“You’re right, I’ve never met Jaqueline,” John said. “But—”

“Well, then, why do you care if I’m going out with her?” Stacy asked.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt!” John slammed his hands down on the kitchen table. “Look, you barely know this—this person.” He spat out the last word like he couldn’t come up with something better, and thought the one he’d found didn’t quite fit. “For all you know, she could be  a serial killer!”

“I barely knew you when I gave you a ride to this town,” Stacy pointed out. “You were in the car with my kids and me for two hours, and you didn’t take the opportunity to do anything.”

“Yeah, but I’m different!”

Stacy blinked. “Wow. That sounds...kind of…” Entitled, if she was being honest.

“Okay, maybe I could’ve phrased that better,” John admitted, backing down. “What I mean is that...I-I know what she is.”

“A woman?”

“No!”

“Oh wow.” Stacy took a step back. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I don’t think you, as a man, have the right to judge someone on their womanhood. Especially someone you’ve never met before—”

“What—how the fuck did you jump to that conclusion?!” John gaped at her. “Look I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Um, kinda sounds like you did—”

“No shut the fuck up and let me talk!” John blurted out the words, and immediately his expression shifted to regret. “...sorry.”

Stacy took a few steps backwards. “I think we both need some time to cool down,” she said after a while.

“No, look, this is important, I have to tell you before you meet...your friend,” John said, approaching as Stacy retreated. There seemed to be genuine fear and concern in his visible eye. “I-I—what I mean to say is that, this friend of yours isn’t actually your friend.”

Stacy sighed, irritation rising. “You still don’t even know her. I’ve barely told you anything.”

“You’ve barely told me anything because you barely know anything!” John’s voice became hushed. “If I asked you what her eye color was, would you be able to tell me?”

“Of course, John.”

“Alright, what color are her eyes?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything,” Stacy snapped. “Look, she’ll be here any minute. I gotta go.”

“Just answer the question!” John suddenly lunged, grabbing onto her wrist as she turned to leave.

Stacy yelped, and instinctively slapped him across the face, startling him enough to get him to let go. Immediately, she backed up and then turned and ran. She was at the front door and heading out before John even had time to call out to her.

There was a car outside the house. When Stacy approached, she saw Jaqueline inside, who rolled down the window. “You okay, Stace?” Jaqueline asked. “You look a little shaken.”

“I’m fine,” Stacy dismissed. “Tell you about it later.” She rounded the car and got into the passenger side door. “Let’s just go.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Jaqueline ended up driving the two of them to a part of town that Stacy wasn’t too familiar with. When the car pulled into a parking lot, Stacy looked out at the nearby building and immediately frowned. “Is this a bar?”

“Well, no, it’s a restaurant with a bar inside it,” Jaqueline said. “Why, is that a problem?”

“Um...I don’t drink anymore,” Stacy explained uneasily.

“That’s alright, we’ll just get food,” Jaqueline said. “This place has great chicken.”

“...well...I do like chicken,” Stacy said slowly.

“I know! You’re gonna love it here, just give it a chance.” Jaqueline smiled, and stepped out of the car. Stacy hesitated, then followed.

They ended up sitting at the bar area, but that was because the place was packed. It seemed that this was one of the most active places in town, and on a Friday night that meant there was barely any room to sit anywhere. It also meant the wait for food was long, so Jaqueline suggested they ordered drinks to start. Stacy agreed, but stuck with just water while Jaqueline jumped straight into ordering a martini. After their drinks arrived, Jaqueline asked, “So, are you gonna tell me why you were so shaken when I went to pick you up?”

“Hmm? Oh, I did say I’d tell you later, didn’t I?” Stacy sighed, and took a big drink of her water. “Nothing, it’s just...I had a fight with my friend.”

“The same friend who started acting weird when you mentioned you were hanging out with me a week and a half ago?” Jaqueline asked.

“Well...yeah,” Stacy admitted.

“Hmm,” Jaqueline hummed. “What about?”

“Uh...well...you.” Stacy muttered the last word into her drink. 

“Oh. Well, then.” Jaqueline sipped her martini through a straw, finishing the whole thing in one big drink. “That’s an interesting coincidence.”

“I mean, it’s not a coincidence,” Stacy said. “He just...really thinks I shouldn’t be hanging out with you.”

“I see. You ever ask him if he, y’know, liked you? In that way?” Jaqueline flagged down the bartender again, ordering another martini.

“No, but I can tell it’s not just that.” Stacy took another drink. “He’s paranoid. I think he thinks you’re gonna be, like, a murderer or something.”

Jaqueline laughed. “Wow. We’ve never even met! What have you been telling him about me?”

“Nothing, really. Just the normal stuff.” Stacy paused. “I mean, I understand why he is the way he is. Something happened to him that made him so crazy. And, well, at this point, it is a little crazy to be so paranoid about someone you don’t know. But there’s a reason, and I know it’s a bad one.” She sighed. “I feel kinda bad for fighting with him.”

“Hey, no matter what someone’s past is, that shouldn’t lead them to interfering with other people’s lives,” Jaqueline said.

Stacy nodded. Slowly at first, then she sped up. “Yeah, you’re right. You’re right.” She took a sip of her drink through the straw.

“Honestly if he’s bothering you this much about it, it sounds like it’s a problem that needs to be addressed,” Jaqueline said.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if you’re right and something happened in his past that made him like this, it sounds like any paranoia on his part is kinda just a reaction because of how, like, his mind formed or something,” Jaqueline said. Her voice, though it wasn’t any louder than anyone else’s, really stood out against the background chatter of the restaurant. Its familiar tone was soothing. “Maybe he should talk to someone professional about it. Sort out these issues.”

“Huh. That’s a good point.” Because John clearly had some sort of issues. Stacy had noticed them. He was paranoid about everything, about people with phones, about strangers, and about so much more. He lived in a tent, and she got the feeling that was because of a choice he made and not because he had no other option. Or maybe it was both. And she hadn’t forgotten how he had a criminal record back in Bronainise. For petty things, like pickpocketing and minor vandalism, but still. He had a past of being a bit...disruptive.

“Maybe you should just, like, remember that,” Jaqueline suggested. “I’m not saying you do anything about it unless it gets bad. You want a second drink?”

“Huh? Oh sure.” Stacy waved the empty martini glass she was holding. “Didn’t even realize I finished.”

“I’ll get you another one of those.”

“That would be great. Thanks.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The next thing Stacy knew, she was waking up on a cot in a holding cell at a police station with a pounding headache.

“Wh…?” Stacy tried to sit up, and immediately winced as the ache intensified. “Um...hello?”

A uniformed police officer outside the cell turned to look at her. “Oh good. You’re awake.”

“What...am I doing here?” Stacy asked, looking around.

“You don’t remember? Well, it doesn’t surprise me.” The officer shook her head. “With a BAC of 0.21, I’m surprised you were even able to keep walking.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, what?!” Stacy tried to stand up, but instead ended up rolling out of the cot onto the floor. “Th—that’s impossible, I don’t drink!”

“Well, you did last night,” the officer said, raising an eyebrow.

Stacy shook her head in disbelief. This was impossible. She’d sworn off drinking. “What happened? Why’d I get arrested?”

“Disorderly conduct,” the officer explained. “You and some other lady were making a ruckus on the street, walking all along Fleet St. for a couple hours. Ended up throwing some bottles and tipping over wheelie bins.”

“Oh my god…” Stacy whispered. “This other lady, where is she?”

“Some family member of hers posted bail an hour ago. She said she’d be back to post yours. Should be any minute now.”

Stacy nodded vaguely, muttering another “Oh my god…” before settling down on the cot. She put her head in her hands and started to wait. She’d sworn off alcohol. After her husband died, she fell pretty hard into that rabbit hole. She hated it, but she’d hated remembering what happened more. She was lucky enough to pull herself out of it. But it seemed that last night she relapsed. She’d thought she was doing pretty good...but now,the whole town will only know her as the lady who caused some crazy drunk disturbance.

It must’ve been ten minutes later when Stacy heard, “Wow...you don’t look good.”

Stacy looked up, and sighed. “Thanks, Jaqueline.”

“No problem.” Jaqueline flashed a smile of teeth, then nodded at the police officer, who unlocked the door of the holding cell. Stacy quickly left. “Wow, crazy last night. I’ve never been arrested before.”

“Really?” Stacy asked idly.

Jaqueline shrugged. “C’mon, I’ll drive you home. God, that whole thing last night must’ve been crazy. I walked out of the station and all the officers were staring at me.”

Stacy winced. Then the first statement really registered. “Oh my fucking god, I need to get home! I left the kids!” She hurried out of the station, Jaqueline following close behind.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Jaqueline dropped her off at her house, Stacy immediately rushed inside. “Mathew?! Larkin?!” she called, running into the living room. Upon not immediately seeing either of the boys, she ran down the hall, tripping over her own feet. She cried out, catching herself by grabbing the wall.

“Be careful, there.”

Stacy paused, then backed up, glancing into the entrance to the dining room. John was inside. He was sitting on the floor, back braced against one of the dining room chairs, one of her books in his hands. “How’d you get in here?” She asked, startled.

John folded over a corner of the page and set the book on the chair behind him. “You let me inside last night, remember?” He said, standing up. “And when you left, I figured, y’know, nobody was here to watch your kids for the night.”

Stacy flinched. “I-I didn’t mean to leave so suddenly. The sitter quit, she had a call from her mother in the hospital—I was going to stay, really!”

“Hmm.” John folded his arms. “I do agree it was...most unlike you. You must’ve really, really wanted to meet up with your...friend.”

“Well...yeah, but I wouldn’t have—!”

“Yeah, you would’ve,” John muttered. “When in this situation, anyone would’ve.”

Stacy blinked. “What?”

“Tell me, Stacy.” John took a few steps towards her before stopping and leaning on the nearest wall. “Why do you hang out with this...person?”

“Wh...Jaqueline?”

“If that’s what you want to call—yes, fine, Jaqueline.”

Stacy frowned. “John, you really shouldn’t be so concerned with this. You’ve never even met her, why do you care so much about me—”

“Because you just up and left your kids!” John suddenly shouted. “Overnight! In a town you’ve only lived in for a month and a half! For what, this thing?! Stacy, we haven’t known each other that long, but I know you wouldn’t ditch your kids without supervision to go out with friends. I can tell you care about them too much to do that. So maybe you should think about why you left them last night and I had to stay in your house with your fucking computer and electronics just so I could make sure nothing happened to them!”

Stacy bit her lip, holding back an immediate response. She took a few deep breaths before continuing.  “John...I didn’t mean to leave last night. I was angry and not thinking clearly, but I know I shouldn’t have left all night.” She paused. “I...actually got arrested.”

John blinked, then his eye suddenly went wide. He ran over and grabbed her by the shoulders. “What did you do?! What did it make you do?! How are you back here now?! What does it plan to do next?!”

“Jesus christ!” Stacy grabbed John’s wrists and threw his hands away, taking a few steps back. “What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?!” John suddenly calmed, shaking his head. “No, of course you don’t, I was talking to you earlier and you still called it by that name, but what’s it going to do next? What is it planning? This isn’t normal, it’s moving too fast.”

“John…” Stacy said softly. “Are you alright?”

“What?” His head snapped up. “Well, technically no, but as of my current standard of ‘alright,’ yeah, I guess.”

“Look, it’s very weird—no, that’s the wrong word, I mean...I know you’re aware that this way you’re acting isn’t normal,” Stacy emphasized.

John laughed. “Nothing about me is normal anymore.”

“It’s, um...it could be harmful,” Stacy said delicately. “To yourself, or others. Maybe you should talk to a therapist about it.”

That just made John laugh harder, bracing against the wall. “Oh, that’d be a great idea! Y’know I don’t really feel like being put in an institution again! Honestly, what I should be doing at this point is be fucking dead, but no way! Not gonna let that happen! It’d just love that!”

Stacy took another step backwards. “Look, I know it seems a bit ridiculous, but...I’ve been thinking recently, and you...well, you need help.”

John’s laughter suddenly cut off, and he leveled her with a single-eye stare. “Did your Jaqueline tell you that?”

“Look, this is exactly what I’m talking about!” Stacy said, exasperated. “You’re so focused on someone who didn’t even do anything.”

“Oh, a lot of people would disagree with you on that,” John muttered.

“Jaqueline is the one person who’s been friendly to me in this town!” Stacy shouted, her voice cracking. “She’s funny, gives great advice, always wants to hang out—”

“—makes you so happy to be around that you can’t wait to meet up again,” John jumped in. “So happy that you probably don’t even remember that you’re still looking for a job, or that your kids sometimes need help with school, or that you’re running out of food in the fridge—yeah, I checked that. A happiness so intense that it’s basically an addiction.”

“You don’t get addicted to people, John,” Stacy said flatly. “Look, I gotta check on Mathew and Larkin. I don’t...can you leave? By the time I get back downstairs?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and went back down the hall. She felt John’s gaze on her the entire way, but when she came back down, he had left, just like she’d asked.

* * * * * * * * * *

Two days later, she finally found a place with a Help Wanted sign in the window. Her mood immediately lifted. She’d been applying heavily online, calling businesses just to make sure they were absolutely sure there wasn’t a spot open, but had got no results. This could be the game changer. She walked inside; this place was an arcade, so she was instantly hit with a wall of beeping electronic sounds and flashing lights. She walked up to the counter and asked, “Hi, I noticed you had a hiring sign? Is that still applicable?”

“Oh, yeah,” said the employee at the counter. “Hang on, let me get my manager, he’ll talk to you about it. Brenda? Can you man the till?”

Only a few minutes later, Stacy was sitting at a table in a back room, talking to an older man who identified himself as the manager and owner. An interview! Finally. And so quickly, too. Maybe she’d finally get a new job. And from there, she could continue her search on the side, but at least she’d have a source of income besides unemployment and her savings.

“Alright, just one more question, I have to ask this for security reasons,” the manager said, writing something down. “Do you have any sort of criminal record?” He asked the question like he already knew the answer.

“Oh...um…” Stacy tried not to squirm. “I mean, I got...arrested once.”

The manager stopped writing and looked up at her.

“It wasn’t for anything bad!” Stacy hurried to say, before it suddenly occurred to her that this would seem super suspicious. “I just—it was really recent, it was just for disorderly conduct, I got drunk—” The manager frowned slightly. “—but it was just a few days ago, and it was just the one time!”

“I see.” The manager wrote something else down. “Well, thank you Ms. Allen. Can I get your phone number? We’ll be in contact.”

Stacy gave him her number, but walked out of the building with a heavy heart. ‘We’ll be in contact’ was what employers said when they weren’t really considering you.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Hey, Stace!”

She was in the grocery store, three days later, and her lingering gray mood hadn’t faded. But then she looked up and saw Jaqueline approaching. Her mood suddenly lightened, and she beamed. “Hi, Jaqueline.”

“You looked a bit down before I showed up,” Jaqueline said in a joking tone. “What’s up?”

Stacy sighed heavily, grabbing a box of Lucky Charms from the shelf—it was Larkin’s favorite, but harder to find in this country. “I just...still haven’t had luck.”

“With the job hunt?”

“Yeah, and just...life.” She put the box in her cart. “I swear, people keep staring at me.”

“Me too,” Jaqueline said, tone sympathetic. “I think someone filmed us last Friday night and shared the video online, so we’re pretty well-known now.”

“Oh…” Stacy groaned. Of course it would be like that. Of course life would add another scoop of ice cream to the bad-luck sundae that was the past few years of her life. The metaphorical bowl must be overflowing by this point. “So now we’re both known as the crazy drunk ladies.”

“Yeah, it sucks,” Jaqueline sighed. “But, y’know, you look even more upset than that would warrant.”

“I just...still no job. Mathew and Lark are having a hard time making new friends. And now nobody’s gonna want to talk to me…” Stacy sighed again, this time blinking away tears.

“Maybe you never should’ve moved here,” Jaqueline said.

“Maybe I never should’ve moved here,” Stacy repeated. “Yeah...I mean, why’d we have to leave the whole town? The thing was probably only in that house, we could’ve just got a new one. The kids would be a lot happier, too.”

“Wait, you want to leave?” Jaqueline asked.

“I mean, nothing’s been good ever since we got here,” Stacy said. “I can’t work, I’m fighting with John all the time, I got drunk for the first time in months...yeah.”

“Aw, but I’ll miss you!” Jaqueline whined. “But...I understand. It’s for the best of everyone.”

“Yeah…” Stacy nodded slowly. “Yeah, it’s for the best.”

* * * * * * * * * *

She started idly making plans to move back to Bronainise. She didn’t book a moving van, or go online to look for houses like she had upon initially moving away, but she did bring it up with the kids. Larkin seemed vaguely okay with it, like he didn’t really care, but Mathew was confused about moving back when they’d only been there for a little under two months. Stacy had explained that she could tell the town wasn’t a good fit for any of them, but he’d still been a bit upset about so many moves in such a short time. But he relented.

Stacy was a little concerned about what to do with John. He probably wouldn’t want to move back, but should she ask him anyway? After all, if it hadn’t been for her, he wouldn’t even be in this town in the first place. Maybe she should at least offer to give him a ride. But then again, she hadn’t been seeing much of him lately.

Until about four days after she’d initially gotten the idea to move back. She pulled into the driveway after picking up the kids from school, and was greeted by the sight of John, wearing a backpack with his rolled-up sleeping bag attached, carrying a full duffel bag, rounding around the side of the house. She stepped out, followed soon by the kids. “What’s going on?” she asked, confused.

John stopped, letting go of the duffel bag. “I’m moving. I packed everything up, and I’m leaving.”

“...oh.” Stacy said. “Um...why?”

John rolled his visible eye. “Because you clearly don’t want me nearby, of course.”

“Hey, that’s not true,” Stacy said. Behind her, she heard Mathew and Larkin climb out of the car and walk up the drive to the front door, going inside. “I’ll be in in a minute, boys!” She called after them.

“Look, I think it’s best for both of us if I leave,” John said. “I never meant to hang around anyway. But I’m human, we get attached. Unless we’re pretending.”

That was an odd statement. Stacy stepped forward. “If this is about something I said, I’m sorry—”

“It’s not just that,” John interrupted. “Look, before I go, I just want to straight-up tell you what I’ve been trying to get at for the last three weeks. Apparently just hinting at it hasn’t worked.” He paused. “Your friend, Jaqueline? Is not human.”

After a long, quiet moment, Stacy sighed deeply. “John—”

“I know, you think it’s your friend, your only friend,” John pressed forward. “But it’s making you think that. You haven’t talked to anyone else because it’s made you focus on it. You’ve been acting weird because it’s been influencing you. You shouldn’t trust it.”

“John,” Stacy said sadly. “I really do appreciate you helping out with that thing in the house, but not everything is tied back to something supernatural.”

John laughed. “Oh, you don’t know my life. But trust me, this time, it is. I’ve seen this thing in action before.”

“John…” Stacy could only shake her head. He must’ve been so immersed in this world, so affected by whatever happened to him, that he saw it everywhere. “I’m sorry—”

“Y’know, I believe you, in some way,” John interrupted. “But this just proves I should go.” He picked up the duffel bag again. “Maybe we’ll see each other again.” And he started walking down the sidewalk, snow crunching under his feet.

Stacy watched him go. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of what. After a few seconds, she turned, and went inside.

She didn’t see the way John froze, stopped walking, and looked back.

* * * * * * * * * *

Inside the house, Stacy was dialing a number on her phone. She waited anxiously while it rang.

The other line was soon picked up. “Hello?”

“Jaqueline?” Stacy asked, already her mood brightening.

“Yeah, Stace? What’s up?”

“I just...I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Aw, that’s great! Hey, why don’t we meet up tonight? What about seven, in the park?”

“Sounds great.”

“You should bring your kids, too. I’ve always wanted to meet them.”

“Alright.”

“And we might be a while, so like, grab some entertainment for them. Books and stuff, y’know.”

“Yeah, they’ll get bored soon if we’re gonna go do something.”

“I’ll see you then.”

“See you.”

Jaqueline hung up. Stacy realized she’d been smiling the whole time. Well, that would be something to look forward to.

* * * * * * * * * *

Just before seven, Stacy gathered her kids and their entertainment and piled them all in the car. Of course, Mathew and Larkin questioned it. She explained that her friend wanted to meet them, but that they might get bored. Neither of them seemed too happy about that explanation.

“Mom, isn’t it a little late?” Mathew complained. “Larkin has school tomorrow.”

“I don’t mind staying up,” Larkin piped up.

“It shouldn’t take too long,” Stacy assured them. “Jaqueline’s great, you’ll like her.”

Mathew groaned. “Do you want us to call her ‘Aunt Jaqueline’?”

“Of course not!” Stacy said. “Not if you don’t want to.”

“Mom, I can watch Lark for the evening, it’s fine,” Mathew insisted. “You can go.”

“It won’t take too long,” Stacy repeated. “You have your Switch, fully charged. What would you be doing at home? Playing on your Switch.”

Mathew grumbled at the accurate statement. Meanwhile, Larkin was staring out the window, frowning. “Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the park, honey,” Stacy replied.

“I don’t wanna go,” Larkin whined.

“Why not? It won’t take too long.”

“I dunno,” Larkin said. “But I don’t wanna go.” He slumped in his car seat. “It feels...like this isn’t good. A bad idea.”

“It’s just a short meet-up, Lark,” Stacy said gently. “If you still want to leave after, just let me know, and I’ll drive you back home.”

Larkin still looked a bit upset, almost nervous, but accepted this. The rest of the drive was silent, and soon Stacy pulled up to the city park. “Alright, here we are,” she said, opening the car door and stepping out. It was a bit darker than she’d expected, the sky a dark, dusky blue. It was cold too, but luckily she and the kids had thought to bring their coats. Snow covered the grass in spots where there would’ve been shade in the daytime, and it crunched under their feet. There was a hole in the park, marked with stakes around it, attached with tape. A large shovel was shoved into the ground, standing upright. Stacy glanced into the hole. There was a pipe running along the ground. It appeared this was maintenance for something or other, probably a water pipe. Stacy ushered Larkin away from the hole, just in case.

“Hey Mom?” Mathew asked. “Is that your friend?”

Stacy glanced up. There was a figure standing nearby, underneath an elder tree. She instantly recognized the red hoodie. “Yes, that’s her,” she said, smiling. “C’mon.” She grabbed Larkin’s hand and walked on over, Mathew following close behind. “Hey!” She called.

“Hey, Stacy,” Jaqueline said, waving. “Glad you could make it. These are your kids?”

“Yep.” Stacy closed the distance between her and Jaqueline. “This is Mathew, and this is—Larkin, what’s wrong?”

Larkin had stopped walking, and now looked very pale. He pulled on Stacy’s hand, backing up.

Mathew, noticing this, frowned. “Lark, what’s up?”

“Moooom?” Larkin said in a whisper-shout. “I think we should leave. I don’t think your friend is coming.”

Stacy blinked. “What are you talking about, sweetie? She’s right here.” She pointed at Jaqueline.

Larkin whimpered slightly, and tried harder to pull Stacy away, causing her to stumble.

Jaqueline laughed. “Wow, he must get his sight from his father.”

“What? I mean, if you mean he has his father’s eyes, that’s not right, you can see he takes after me there…” Stacy trailed off. What an odd thing to say.

“Ah, I’m sorry, it’s dark,” Jaqueline said dismissively.

“Oh. It’s okay.” Stacy turned her attention back to Larkin. “Honey, what’s wrong? Do you want to leave?”

Larkin gestured for her to bend down. She did so, and he got up on his tiptoes to whisper in her ear: “Mom, we need to leave soon, before the monster catches on.”

The genuine fear in his voice made Stacy’s heart stop. This wasn’t even the sort of fear she’d heard in his voice when he was younger and scared of monsters under the bed. This was raw, real, life-under-threat fear. “What do you mean?” She asked quietly.

Larkin glanced back over at Jaqueline. “Mom,” he whispered. “I think the demon is tricking you.”

Slowly, Stacy straightened. She slowly looked back over at Jaqueline. This was...this was wrong. Why would Larkin be so afraid of her, call her a monster and a demon? She was perfectly normal.

But...

John had warned her away from Jaqueline. And...and he would know, wouldn’t he? He had a lot more experience with this kind of thing. He’d straight-up said that she wasn’t human, that she was tricking her. And Stacy had brushed it off as paranoia. Which...was sort of true, John was a bit paranoid, but he also knew his stuff. Wasn’t it a good idea to listen to the expert, even if the expert was a bit strange?

Jaqueline laughed. “I’m not good with kids,” she said dismissively. “Maybe he should wait in the car or something.”

“Alone?” Stacy asked, frowning.

“Of course not! The other one can go with him to make sure everything goes okay,” Jaqueline said, her tone soothing. “It won’t be too long while we talk.”

Stacy found herself relaxing, but then it struck her that she shouldn’t be relaxing. She wasn’t about to leave her kids alone in a car while it was dark out! Why would Jaqueline suggest that? Didn’t she know that wasn’t something you were supposed to do with kids?

Wait...had she ever told Jaqueline that she had kids?

She couldn’t remember...

In fact, she couldn’t really remember the specifics of most of their conversations. When she tried to recall how she’d met ‘Jaqueline,’ she only came up with a vague, fuzzy memory of being in a store somewhere.

She squinted at Jaqueline. “You’re just wearing a hoodie. No coat? There’s snow and everything,” she said slowly.

“Oh, I had a coat. I left it in my car cause I didn’t think this would take that long,” Jaqueline said dismissively.

But there wasn’t another car nearby. Actually, she couldn’t even remember what Jaqueline’s car looked like. “And...the hood up?” she asked. “It’s dark.”

“Oh, it’s not too dark.” ‘Jaqueline’ laughed. “What is this, an interrogation? I thought we were just gonna talk.”

Stacy didn’t say anything. She was too busy thinking. Had she ever seen Jaqueline without the hood up? In fact, had she ever seen her without the hoodie?

She then remembered one of the very first questions John had asked her about Jaqueline: What color are her eyes?

She realized she didn’t have an answer. She couldn’t picture Jaqueline’s eye color in her mind. She couldn’t even picture the shape of her features, or recall the pitch of her voice.

Eyes wide, Stacy took a step back.

Jaqueline tilted her head, and took a step closer. “What’s wrong, Stace? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um...Mom?” Mathew asked, confused. Suddenly remembering her kids, Stacy pushed Larkin behind her and went to stand in front of Mathew.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Jaqueline said. Her voice was soothing...intoxicating.

“I just remembered—we left the lights on,” Stacy said casually. “Don’t want to run up the bill. We’ll be right back.”

“It won’t be that bad if you leave them on for a couple hours,” Jaqueline said in that lovely, luring voice. “Don’t worry about it. You worry too much, Stace. I just want to tal—”

WHACK!

Jaqueline’s head whipped to the side as she was hit with enough force to knock her over. Stacy blinked, stepping back, pushing her kids behind her. She looked to the side, and then she saw him. “John?” she whispered.

John backed up, holding a long shovel in both hands—the one from the hole she’d seen earlier. He was breathing heavily, at first looking a bit panicked, but then he turned his eye to Stacy and the kids, and his expression softened with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Stacy said. “How’d you—”

Crack.

The noise drew her attention back to ‘Jaqueline.’ She watched as she—it—slowly stood up. Its head was twisted to the side, far more twisted than it should’ve been. Stacy gasped softly. It rolled its shoulders, the movement accompanied by snapping, crackling sounds. The sounds of bones and stiff flesh. Its hands reached up and grabbed its head, twisting it back into place with one more Crack. A smile stretched its face, just a bit too wide. “Well. That was rude.”

Larkin cried out, burying his face in Stacy’s side. Mathew’s eyes widened. “What the fuck?!” he shouted, staggering backwards. Normally Stacy would’ve chastised him, but in this case, she’d allow it, as she pushed him back behind her.

Before anything else could happen, John stepped in front of Stacy and her kids, holding the shovel in both hands like a weapon. “Back off,” he said, voice firm.

The thing that looked human laughed. “Or what? Are you going to hit me with a shovel again?”

“If I have to,” John retorted. He glanced over his shoulder at Stacy, his eye darting between her and the surrounding areas before turning back to look at the thing.

The smile stretched wider still. “Wow. Good luck with that. This has nothing to do with you, øħŐÁê. Unless...oh, oh you’re the friend she keeps talking about, aren’t you?” John didn’t answer, but the thing gasped like he had. “Oh, you are! She’s calling you John, I suppose you don’t object because it’s not too far off. You’ve been warning her away from me, but she hasn’t listened, has she?”

“Hey, I mean, it paid off in the end.” John glanced back at Stacy again, who was frozen in place, trying to figure out what that one word the thing had called John was. “Here we are, she’s on the other side of you. You failed, so go. Isn’t that sort of your thing?” John looked around the surrounding areas again, glancing back at Stacy with some urgency in his eye. What was that…? Stacy realized he was glancing back towards where she’d parked her car. He was telling her to run.

“So you assumed I wanted her for myself?” The thing sounded amused. “Oh, no. I’ve found humans with children are more resistant than the ones with no family. They have that connection.”

Stacy glanced back at Mathew and Larkin, squeezing Lark’s hand. She also glanced in the car’s direction, and luckily her kids were a lot quicker on the uptake than she had been. Mathew nodded firmly, and Larkin squeezed her hand back, biting his lip and straightening.

Confusion crossed John’s face. “...what?”

“Humans know each other, do you not think that things like us know each other?” The thing smirked. “Misery loves company, and I’m willing to do it a favor.”

The confusion gave way to realization. “Oh my god…” John whispered. Stacy tensed, her eyes wide as she reached the same realization.

“Gods have never been any help to you,” the thing said tauntingly. “Now, if you’ll just step aside—”

John stood up straight. “No.”

The thing’s mouth curved into a scowl, and for a moment its teeth seemed a bit too sharp. “Move,” it growled.

“No. What’re you going to do, kill me?” John smirked, suddenly confident. He gave Stacy one last look. She nodded imperceptibly. A part of her wanted to ask what he was going to do. She didn’t want to just abandon him. But...she had her kids behind her. They were practically everything she had left. She had to protect them at all costs.

Oddly, the thing seemed reluctant to move forward with John in the way. It stepped to the side, only for the movement to be shadowed by John. It hissed, and looked over his shoulder, gaze landing on Stacy. “Hey, Stace,” it said, tone shifting into something more human than not. “Maybe we should—”

Stacy turned and ran, grabbing Mathew by the arm and pulling him and Larkin behind her. She heard a decidedly inhuman shriek, followed by a few sounds of footsteps, then John yelled, and there was a heavy thump! Mathew tried to look over his shoulder, but stumbled and faced forward again.

They reached the car quickly. Stacy pulled open the driver’s side door. “Get in, get in!” She shouted, and Mathew and Larkin climbed into the car through the driver’s door. Larkin tumbled over into the back seat while Mathew smushed against the passenger side window and tried to untangle his legs and sit. Stacy turned the keys—which she just now realized she’d left in the unlocked car—and the engine started. Without even bothering to put on a seatbelt, she hit the gas and threw the car into reverse. It shot out of the parking space, and after a moment of squealing and turning, darted off.

“Mom…?” Mathew said slowly. “What’s going on?”

Stacy glanced at him. “It’s...a long story, Mat. Just...remember how our last house had a ghost?” Mathew’s eyes widened, and she looked away again, back into the park. She could make out two figures rolling around, one apparently pinning the other to the ground. Hitting the brakes, she watched, trying to make out details. But they were...fuzzy. Her eyes were going out of focus, her vision doubling at times. She backed up, pointing her car towards the fighting pair and turning on her high beams. Light flooded the scene, just in time for the figure being pinned to throw off the other and back up. That one was wearing a red hood…

Instinctively, Stacy hit the gas and the car lunged forward, surging over the curb, across the sidewalk and onto the grass. The red hooded one stood up, and seemed to look in her direction, surprisingly unbothered. But perhaps she was making that up, since it was only a few seconds before the front of the car slammed into the red hooded thing. Stacy shouted, Mathew yelled, and Larkin screamed as they all felt the four wheels bump over something. Stacy quickly hit the brakes again, jolting forward. Pain burst in her face, and blood started to trickle from her nose. “Ow! Fuck!” She shouted instinctively, then turned to look at her kids. “Is everyone alright?”

Mathew sat up straight, rubbing his forehead where it had hit the dashboard. Larkin poked his head around the back of Mathew’s seat, looking shaken but unharmed. “We’re okay, Mom,” Mathew muttered, and Larkin nodded.

“Good,” she muttered, and then she rolled down the window and poked her head out. “John?!”

John was standing a mere six inches away from where the car had barrelled forward. After Stacy called for him, he grabbed the back car door and threw it open, climbing inside. “Jesus fucking christ, Stacy!” He shouted.

“Look, I panicked, I didn’t want you to get hurt!” Stacy said.

“Fucking hell!” John slammed the car door closed. “Drive!”

“Drive?” Stacy repeated, puzzled.

“Drive!” John twisted over and pointed out the back windshield. 

Stacy turned around to look, as did Mathew and Larkin. There was a crumpled form laying on the ground, but soon it began to move. Bones audibly snapped back into place, and the thing in the red hood arched its spine, lifting itself up onto its hands and feet in an extreme backbend. With another jerking motion, it elevated onto the tips of its fingers and toes, balancing its whole bent weight on those small points. Its head cracked to the side and back, and its smile widened.

“Oh fuck!” Stacy hit the gas again, just as the thing rushed at them, still in that bizarre bent-backwards position. Stacy swerved to the side and back onto the sidewalk, then off the curb onto the road again. As soon as she hit the road, she sped up even further.

“What was that?! What was that?!” Mathew cried.

“Mat, it’s a monster! Demon!” Larkin said. “Duh!”

“Don’t tell your brother ‘duh,’ Lark,” Stacy said automatically. “And yes, it’s a monster.”

“It was doing like, the crazy thing from The Exorcist!” Mathew shouted. “I thought that was Mom’s friend, was it possessing her?!”

“I don’t think so, honey,” Stacy said. “I think it was always like that, but it made me think it was a human, a-and it got close to me, and—wait, when did you watch The Exorcist?”

“Mom, I think there are more important things to think about right now!” Mathew protested.

“Yeah, I gotta agree with him,” John jumped in. “Keep driving!”

“I’m not stopping!” Stacy snapped. “Why don’t you drive?!”

“I don’t know how,” John said casually.

“You know what that was,” Stacy said to him. “You warned me against it. Then you hit it with a shovel!”

“I would not recommend anyone else to do that,” John said. “That’s just my special circumstances.”

Stacy laughed hysterically. “What special circumstances would let you wrestle an—an eldritch horror to the ground and walk away unhurt?!”

“What, do you want my whole life story?” John asked defensively.

“No, but maybe just something! I’m so sorry for doubting you,” Stacy hurried to say. “Really, I am. But I really don’t know—well, anything about you! I don’t even know your real name.”

John laughed. “I told you my real name! Guess you forgot, too.”

“When did you do that?” Stacy asked, confused. “Did that...thing mess with my memory? Can it do that?”

“Slightly, I think,” John said. “Really it just...it’s really good at suggesting things, to say the least. You lose track of time. Want to spend more time with it. Will do anything it asks. Last time I saw it, it had wormed its way so far into someone’s head that it made him lose his fucking mind, the guy was so out of it and just screaming for this thing to come get him.” He shivered a bit. “Anyway—”

Slam!

Stacy screamed as something hit the back of the car. Something red that rolled right off the back windshield, leaving a long group of five scratches. The kids screamed in unison. “Holy shit! What the fuck?!” Stacy started to hit the brakes, then glanced in the rearview mirror and saw a figure in a red hood standing up. She then decided to speed up instead of slow down. “How’d it get here so quickly?!”

“Oh, what, you think the laws of space govern these guys?! No! If anything, it’s the other way around!” John looked out the back again. “Fuck, you need to get out of town. There’s no time to get anything from your house.”

“What? Noooo,” Larkin protested.

“Lark, honey, do you want the demon to find us again?” Stacy asked.

Larkin closed his mouth, and silently shook his head.

“It doesn’t usually follow people who get away,” John muttered. “This is weird…” He glanced at Stacy. “Did you get the same feeling that I got?”

“That this thing was somehow working with the thing in that house?” Stacy asked.

John nodded.

“Well, if we get out of the city, it’ll leave us alone, right?” Stacy asked hopefully.

“Uh...no.” John sounded almost apologetic. “I know this one. It’s not bound to one place like the house thing was. It’s a wanderer. It’ll be able to follow us anywhere we go.”

“What?!” Stacy slapped the steering wheel. “Where are we supposed to go, then?!”

“Uh…” John trailed off. “I mean...you can always do what I do and...go around. Not stay in one place too long.”

Stacy paused. “Wait, is this thing the thing that…?”

“Ohhhh, no.” A slightly unhinged smile grew on John’s face. “Definitely not.”

Stacy fell silent for a while. She appeared to be concentrating on the road and not hitting anything at high speeds, but she’d still glance back at John every so often.

“Look, what do you want me to say, Stacy?!” John suddenly snapped, picking up on the glances. “That I clicked on some random video online that I thought was just an ordinary scary Internet video like fucking Blair Witch and then the video freaked out with glitches and my life went to shit from that moment on?! Cause, y’know, I don’t feel like talking about my time in literal hell!”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” Stacy said. Then she sighed, and repeated, more sincerely, “I’m sorry. I’m just...we can’t just wander around. The kids need stability, and to, you know...not be in danger.”

“That would be nice,” Mathew muttered.

John nodded silently. After a moment, he said tentatively, “There...might be one place it won’t follow us.”

“Where?” Stacy immediately asked.

“It’s a town in Ireland,” John said. “It won’t go near there.”

Stacy paused. “Why?”

“Uh...well.” John hissed, sucking air through his teeth. “More...supernatural shit. But if you don’t go into the woods, you should be okay. And at least you can, y’know, stay there. Instead of travelling all around Europe, afraid for your life.”

Stacy thought about it for a while. It was either this, or constantly flee. She sighed. “Alright, fine. How do we get there?”

“Uh, well, first you need to get to Ireland, so head west.” John glanced out the car window. “We’ve left town already, I see.”

“West. Okay.” Stacy awkwardly dug her phone out of her pocket—difficult under most circumstances, more dangerous when she was going this fast. She handed it to Mathew. “Mathew, can you use my GPS, please? Tell me how to head west.”

Mathew nodded, opening up the Maps app. Then he suddenly gasped. “I left my phone in the house.”

“We left a lot in the house,” Stacy sighed.

“I mean…” John piped up. “I grabbed your handgun.”

Stacy jumped, then coughed as Mathew and Larkin stared at her. “You...did, huh? When?”

“That night you left the kids alone and got arrested,” John explained. “I found it in your room. Wanted to make sure you didn’t...have anything that could hurt anyone. So I, uh, confiscated it. Put it with the rest of my stuff.” He paused. “Uh...then, earlier today, when I started to leave, I, uh...decided I couldn’t just...y’know, leave...you alone. So I, uh...put my stuff in your trunk.”

Stacy blinked. “Oh...I didn’t lock it?”

“You did. I picked it.” John smiled faintly. “Handy trick I figured out.”

“...huh.” Stacy bit her lip. “Maybe you can teach us how to do that.”

The car sped through the dark night, heading west, not stopping for as long as possible. And somewhere else, a thing in a red hood eventually stopped following. If they were heading where it thought they were heading, it would probably be for the best if he stayed away.

Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat. And more things hidden in the darkness that would be willing to help.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 20

Hey so uhhhh, I feel like this took forever?  

Ao3

00000

“I just don’t understand how you aren’t bored.” The first thing Hiccup hears is Astrid’s voice, on edge and at ease all at once, close enough to surround him entirely. When Astrid’s fingers drag softly through his hair, he doesn’t care about the hazy confusion of waking up somewhere other than his bed. He knows exactly where he is. “There are obvious problems in the league—“

“Problems like the Patriots being the greatest and Tom Brady reinventing the game every year he postpones retirement?” Snotlout snorts, slurring the edges of his words slightly. Drunk maybe, but Hiccup doesn’t care because of Astrid’s touch lingering under his ear. “Those aren’t problems from my side.”

“Ok, but you have to acknowledge that in a league of thirty-two teams, the fact that the competition is between one team and everyone else means that there’s something wrong.” She’s emphatic but quiet, one step below a whispered yell, and she twirls a lock of hair at the nape of his neck around her finger, her nail barely dragging across his scalp. He wishes he could fall back asleep before Snotlout’s reply, but he’s not fast enough.

“Or that the one team is just that fucking awesome.”

“That’s literally impossible.” Astrid’s hand grazes along the back of his neck and pauses to rub at the least pressing knot of muscle in his back.   “The entire point of the draft and the salary cap is to keep the league competitive.”

“But that doesn’t apply, because Brady plays for less because he loves the game.”

“Is that another way to say that he married someone richer than he is and he’s a little bitch who cries when he loses?” Her fingers brush across Hiccup’s forehead before she drags fingernails through his hair again, absent-minded and sweeter for how habitual the motion is. His hip and lower back feel like he’s been sleeping for hours without moving and he gets the feeling that she’s been touching him this whole time.

His arm is asleep and his eyes feel sandy and dry, but he can’t remember the last time he was this comfortable.

“You think men can’t be emotional? That’s pretty sexist of you.”

There it is, time to wake up.

He yawns, stretching slowly with a wince and lifting his head off of Astrid’s lap, elbow on the couch cushion to hold him half upright. It takes a couple blinks to detangle his eyelashes and when he does, Snotlout is staring at him, pale but distinctly smug in the way he only gets when he’s winning arguments about sports.

And he’s in a hospital bed instead of on Hiccup’s dad’s chair at the apartment. His shoulder is wrapped in gauze and his eyes are morphine bleary instead of happy Saturday night drunk.

Right, the hospital.

“Morning sleeping beauty, are you done being a spaz?”

“I’m still breathing, aren’t I?” Hiccup looks at the window, trying to judge the time. It’s too bright to be morning, the sun peeking through dispersing clouds. Early afternoon, he’d guess, given he feels at least partially back on schedule.  

“You were snoring,” Snotlout tells him, forever helpful, “and sleep-talking.”

“Oh,” he sits up, looking sheepishly over at Astrid, “what did I say?”

“Nothing coherent,” she shrugs, rolling her shoulders and folding one leg underneath her, probably stiff from being his pillow for however long he slept. Her blue eyes are bright, teasing above the worry, and the corner of her mouth twitches. “Emphatic though. You really meant whatever you were mumbling about.”

She’s too pretty to be here, smiling quietly at him and cocking her head while he sits up the rest of the way and rubs his face. His greasy, stubbly face with gritty tear streaks from crying. Apparently he got enough rest to be embarrassed that this is the condition of the head he rested on Astrid’s lap for hours, so that’s something.

He preferred being half-asleep, her hands in his hair while she and Snotlout argued in useless circles, like this was just a usual night in a world he wishes he lived in.

“How long was I out?” He stands up and twists slowly side to side, willing the deep stiffness in his lower back to fade and losing the argument.

“Long enough to watch the same football game one and a half times,” she glares at Snotlout, standing to take a sip of water from a second glass that appeared on the bedside table while Hiccup was sleeping.

“Hiccup, you should probably get this sore loser out of here before she starts being sexist again.” Snotlout rolls his eyes, hunkering down further in his pillows and Hiccup recognizes the painkiller grogginess in his face.

That’s how Hiccup must have looked in the hospital a decade ago, down a foot and wishing his dad would leave and let him sleep off the dizzy fog in his head, while his dad insisted on staying, gray-faced and worried.

There’s a short list of days in Hiccup’s life that transected reality and made it impossible for him to go back to living how he did before them. His leg. His parents divorce. His dad dying.

Meeting Astrid makes the list, and the anxious twist at the thought of trying to explain the gravity of that to her builds on the depth of the line being drawn right now. On the precipice of a relationship he’s never thought he’d be able to manage after what happened with his parents, he’s here hovering over someone recovering from a gunshot wound, too involved to let them sleep.

Like everyone with a complicated relationship with their parents, Hiccup has of course feared becoming his dad. He always thought it would have something to do with gaining an unfortunate appreciation for bagpipes or the law, and more than that, he always thought it was impossible as long as he kept generally failing. If he didn’t try, he couldn’t come up short.

But even five years of tax dodging unemployment couldn’t save him from becoming himself. Accidentally like his dad enough for it to hurt, but entirely lacking the easy to avoid roadmap of his father’s footsteps.

“You ok?” Astrid asks, hand twining more easily than he deserves with his.

“Yeah,” he lies, “I could use some fresh air, maybe—”

“Like that’s possible until you shower,” Snotlout rolls his eyes, “it smells like the locker room in here, and it’s not Mr. Sponge-bath’s fault.” He points at himself with his good arm and Hiccup takes a self-conscious step away from Astrid.

“Ok, then some not-hospital filtered air. Will you be—I mean, if I go home for a while—”

“If you don’t, I will call Sharon to kick you out.” Snotlout’s hand hovers over the nurse call button, “don’t test me, Haddock.”

00000

It’s bright enough outside that he checks the time, squinting at his phone screen in the sudden sunlight appearing from behind a cloud. A little past two, but that seems irrelevant, considering he’s not quite sure of the day.

“So, shower?” Astrid asks too brightly, her voice snapping him out of his head for the third time in the last hour.

“Huh?” He blinks at her, sure he must have heard wrong. “If my head was so greasy that you feel like you need a shower now, I apologize. Sincerely.”

“Not at all,” she wrinkles her nose, half-teasing and half looking at him like he’s crazy and he scratches the back of his neck.

“Right, and now that I drew your attention to all this,” he waves his hand in front of his face, “I’m assuming you’re not offering to join me.”

“Hiccup!” She smacks his arm, hard but not as hard as he knows she’s capable of, and he doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that she’s laughing. A real laugh, a relieved laugh. At him, absolutely, but not unkind.

“Wait, are you?”

“The concept of a shower was the only thing to get you out of that room in three days, so I reminded you,” she blushes even though her reasoning is sound, maybe because it’s embarrassing to be essentially propositioned by someone who probably looks like they’ve written off soap as a concept. “You seem a little out of it.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Do you need to go back in there and get yourself checked out? Maybe you concussed yourself sleeping on that shitty couch?” The worried lines between her eyebrows make him want to smooth them out, to assure her the way she did him when nothing but the difficult truth could.

“No, I guess it’s just that nearly losing Snotlout is somehow summing up every trauma I’ve spent the last decade avoiding.”

Great, that’ll ease her mind.

“Every trauma?” She smacks his arm again, sort of gentler, “you’ve been holding out on me, I thought I got your whole traumatic past on our midnight tour.”

“I know we said that wasn’t a date, but I was still following the first date rule of baggage dumping.” He snorts, “you know, get the dead dad thing out of the way so you subliminally didn’t worry about impressing a future father-in-law, but the missing leg would have been a lot. I wasn’t looking for pity.” He can say it because he knows Astrid would never give that to him.

He fell on her when he was at his lowest, most terrified point, and she was nothing but honest and solid, and that’s more comforting than he would have ever expected.  

“Well, I would have had more warning when we found your old leg attached to a murder victim,” she nudges his elbow and starts walking, freeing his feet from the pavement they felt glued to. He thinks if she weren’t here, he’d walk right back to Snotlout’s room, compelled but entirely unable to help.

“Second out of three,” he sighs, back internally creaking like a cartoon door when he forces his gait even, “and there was the foot? With the Ryker letter approximation?”

“I haven’t thought about the note in forever,” she shakes her head, pausing to tap too many times at a crosswalk button, “not that I forgot it, I definitely didn’t forget it.” The light changes color and she starts walking again, pulling him away from the hospital in the only way he’d be grateful for. “But no, we’re talking about your trauma, not Grimborn.”

“The letter attached to the foot sent to my apartment isn’t exactly Grimborn, is it?” He understands the blurring line attached but tugs at it anyway, seeing where in the web of Astrid’s ever-fascinating mind it’s connected.

She sighs, shoving her hands deep in her pockets like having pockets is a novelty. Then she looks up at him, biting her lip and refusing to wince at what she’s about to say, facing the truth again like he trusted her to do when it mattered most.

“Snotlout’s really high.”

“That’d be the morphine for his gunshot wounds, plural, what did he say?”

There was a time where Hiccup would have been mortified to leave Snotlout alone with anyone he was interested in, in any capacity. Let alone Astrid, or someone he felt this way about. Except no, he’s never felt like this about anyone, and her Snotlout tolerance is only part of it.

A part that lets her fit into a life he wants but doesn’t understand how to have yet, sure, but only part of the reason he likes her so much.

“He told me about your dad,” she shrugs, sheepish, and he wants to tilt her chin up to meet his eyes. A sexy chin grab, she called it, mortified and adorable but he shuts that thought off before he can follow it to blood and police and complication.

“I already told you about my dad though,” he laughs, “back when you thought you’d get murdered on a tour with me, which, I guess geographically, we were both close—“

“This, he told me about this.” She stops and faces him, looking so much like she wants to shove him that he looks away, trying to be distracted. The Ripped Tavern is right there, drawing him in like a perpendicular source of gravity, but he can’t focus on it with Astrid staring twin blue lightning bolts into his face.

“My tendency to change the subject?”

“He told me about how it was when he moved in.” Her voice is as gentle as the grip on his arms isn’t. The grip tethering him rudely to present day Berk, the land of trauma wards and messes he has to figure out. The land tethered to Grimborn through mystery, one important and one ephemeral and endless, a mystery resort for fascination without commitment.

As much as people want to live on vacation, when life’s consequences follow, it gets less fun.

“He told me how you found Grimborn-ology.” Her hand slides up to his shoulder, bracing, a little uncomfortable, and worse because he knows how much he trusts her. How right she always is. “And how before, you hadn’t been leaving the house or…”

“I’d just moved here, ok?” He starts walking because he doesn’t know how to talk while standing still. Because the Ripped Tavern is an eighteen-fifties pub that makes him feel grounded and he wants to be closer to it when he says too much and untethers himself again. “When everything happened with my dad, I’d just moved here to this city that he gave his life trying to protect. It felt hostile, but going back to live with my mom would be letting the thing he died for go. And…Viggo Grimborn was the only thing that made it feel like anyone had lived in this city before my dad died in it.”

The words shed more weight from his shoulders than he thinks they will, but for once, feeling lighter is worse. Dizzy, even.  

“And now someone obsessed with Viggo Grimborn keeps killing people.” Astrid makes the leap he’s glad not to be bold enough to and he sighs, resting his head on the wall of the tavern. It’s old brick, sturdy brick, the kind of brick that weathers things it shouldn’t have to. “Centered around you.”

The bass inside kicks up a notch and the ‘Happy Hour, 3-6’ sign to Hiccup’s left catches his eye when the wall vibrates like it shouldn’t.

“Did…did Heather renovate?”

“What?”

“These walls should be solid,” he grabs Astrid’s hand and presses it against the brick, “they shouldn’t move with bass like this unless someone drilled speakers into the walls. Hundred and fifty-year-old stone walls with some cheap Amazon speaker system crumbling the mortar…” He exhales, voice heavy and tired, “there was no building code, just organized chaos relying on intuition, and when you drill into that...”

“Do you trust me?” She asks, chin set stubbornly forward like no isn’t an answer, and it hurts that she doesn’t automatically know that.

“A frankly alarming amount.” His fingers curl around hers against the wall and she nods.

“Good, come on,” she grabs his wrist and drags him after her, explaining over her shoulder as she yanks him around the corner and through the pub’s front door, “we never finished our private tour.”

He freezes just inside, bending his knees to keep her from pulling him over. It works, barely, and she turns around, head cocking under a row of tee-shirts that say ‘Grimborn 1883-?’ in drippy, red lettering, hanging on a newly installed rack on a freshly whitewashed wall. “What’s wrong?”

“Look around,” he gestures with his free hand, “she painted—is that an Alexa? I was joking about the Amazon speakers—“

Astrid cuts him off with a palm pressed a little less than gently over his mouth and chin and she’s too close for him to be this desperate and floating. He bites his lip to keep from kissing her hand like an idiot or licking it so that she jerks back and he can complain about HGTV and how it’s destroying the city’s landmarks.

“You said you trusted me.” She doesn’t let go so he nods, “then let’s finish the tour.”

“Some of the rafters in here are probably American Chestnut, and they’re coated in enough latex paint to look like shiplap,” he says as soon as she takes her hand away, “it’s—“

“You said it was my tour,” she cuts him off, pointing at the side door, her hair bouncing on her shoulder with the motion, “I want to finish it.”

“You said if you knew it was your tour, you would have specified for me to wear the hat.”

“As much as I like the hat, you don’t need it.” She pulls him towards the side door again and he looks at the old wooden booths, buffed smooth and half re-finished. “Hiccup—“

“Just a second, ok?” He impulsively kisses her too casually on the forehead, stubble scraping over her temple, and stumbles with a right-footed hop up to the bar. He raps his knuckles on the newly smooth wood counter and the busboy looks up, startled that someone is interrupting him cleaning a tap, like that’s not an insult to the impoverished people who once depended on beer drippings for calories. “Do you have a pen? And a napkin?”

The busboy stutters something to the affirmative and hands Hiccup a napkin and a branded pen that he chews on for a second to think of his message before scrawling ‘Drilling through hundred fifty year old mortar to install smart speakers, very Orwellian of you’ and sliding the napkin back across the bar.

“Give this to Heather for me when she comes in, alright?”

“Who do I say it’s from?” The busboy frowns but tucks it into his apron anyway.

“Oh, she’ll know.” He pats the counter and turns around, walking with the only immediate purpose he has left to the side door of the bar where Astrid is waiting, thumbs tucked in her pockets, “so, finishing the tour?”

“Or starting a new one, either way,” she opens the door that he’s never opened in the daytime and a direct beam of sunshine streams through, cutting paint fumes the way it never could the tavern’s usual dust.

Hiccup steps outside and half-wonders where he is, because he’s definitely not standing in the creepy, ancient alley he’s started three tours a day in for the better part of five years.

The alley is idyllic in the early spring afternoon, cobblestones clean from what could be rain if he didn’t know about the crime scene cleanup. The usually weatherized lamp post is glimmering and the crowd of people gathering between quaint, ancient brick walls could be from a picture of the outskirts of a small European city just now being recognized by tourists.

Hiccup blinks twice, his eyes measuring automatic distances from the wall to the storm drain, facts about Mary Johnson flitting through his head.

He remembers the first time he saw this alley, at the end of his first Grimborn tour when he was lucky enough to be standing at the exact spot Mary Johnson was found, just how Astrid did on the tour she attempted when she was deciding whether to have him arrested or not. Both times, it was cold and damp and the alley had a foreboding cloud hovering above the ground Hiccup still sees blood when he looks at, and he struggles to put the two images together in his head.

This alley looks like it goes with the Ripped Tavern as it was, before Grimborn-ology got a hold of it. A place where people live, a street that gets them places.

“So, fourth site,” Astrid elbows a guy out of the way of the storm drain and stands on just the right spot, “what do you have to say about it?”

“Ok,” Hiccup rubs his hands together, trying to find his rhythm with the small but irritated group of people filtering past them and trying to stand on the drain with Astrid. Oh, not people, Grimborn tourists, a phrase which makes his stomach churn like he never thought possible. One jostles her and she glares, looking back at Hiccup to hurry up. “Right. Mary Johnson, the fourth site. She was a prostitute looking for—”

“I know that,” she cuts him off, “I know all about the investigation and her last bar tab and how her murder is what got Ryker off of the suspect list for good. I’m asking why you care about it.”

He snorts, “it was always quiet. Lonely almost, except not lonely, because under that light,” he points up at the incandescent bulb that so accurately mimics the gaslights of a hundred years ago in the dark and sees a slightly cheesy-looking, oversized eyesore, “it was like stepping into a bubble where everything was the same as it was when—”

“Are you doing a tour?” A woman in a sparkly new Ripped Tavern shirt interrupts him, jostling between him and Astrid. “I thought all the tours were at night, I wanted to do one, but with the murderer still on the loose…”

“It’s a private tour, actually,” Astrid turns to stand beside him.

“He’s doing a tour!” She calls out anyway and a plump older man with a well-loved copy of that idiotic Krogan book under his arm steps up beside her. “I told you I’d find a daytime tour.”

“Do you also do a nighttime tour?” The man asks, “I think I’d prefer it with the ambiance, but my wife is scared.”

“Usually, I do, but…” But Snotlout. But the murders. But the fact that somehow in the last few months, giving tours has turned from getting to talk about his favorite thing to deflecting insensitive people away from questions that make him check corners twice before turning around them.

“See? It’s not safe to be out at night,” the woman giggles, grabbing her probable husband’s arm and tilting the book under it to better show its cover.

There’s a silhouette of a man in a top hat, brandishing a long, wicked knife and sneaking up behind a buxom silhouette of a historically inaccurate prostitute at the end of a dark alley. Hiccup bets the dog-eared pages along the bulk of it, spaced into four conspicuous chunks, are about bodies he doesn’t ever want to describe again.

“The Krogan book,” Hiccup flicks the cover with one hand and grabs Astrid’s hand with the other, “not quality research, half the dates are wrong, and he doesn’t know the difference between a ritualistic Jewish slaughterhouse blade and a steak knife at the Outback steakhouse they tore down the old kosher slaughterhouse to build.”

“Well, I’m not paying to be insulted,” the man huffs, tapping on his book and opening his mouth to make a point Hiccup can’t bring himself to listen to.

“You’re not paying at all, because I’m not giving tours,” he clears his throat like he’s doing exactly that, getting most of the attention in the alley before continuing, “you know, the great miracle of the Viggo Grimborn case is that by documenting a volatile period a little better than normal—”

“Deputy Ryker’s documentation is shit,” someone else in the crowd tries to start another argument that Hiccup doesn’t care about.

“Just a second, I’m leaving, I just want to throw something out there for you all to think about.” He pauses and Astrid squeezes his hand, encouraging even though he doesn’t need it right now, “Maybe, if you all thought about Viggo Grimborn as a fascinating window to what life used to be like, instead of fixating on who died here and how disgusting it was, maybe, just maybe, someone wouldn’t be copying it now.”

“Let’s go,” Astrid tugs his arm, half jogging past the crowd of stupid book wavers and laughing when he stumbles after her. A couple people try and follow, yelling something about the tour leaving, and he pulls her sideways into the narrow alley he hasn’t used since the night he found Jennifer’s body by the storm drain.

Two turns to the right down familiar passageways that welcome them with a faint echo of footsteps and the cool relief of damp air and he feels like he can breathe again, maybe for the first time in weeks. Maybe longer.

He’d like to think that the tall brick walls were thanking him for defending their architectural honor, separate from blood. Really, it’s him thanking them for the quiet as he pauses at the next turn, pressing his hand to the solid, cool stone.

“I doubt that counts as the rest of a tour,” he lowers his voice when the first word echoes and Astrid shrugs, a tentative, almost smug smile pulling at the corner of her lips.

“It did what I wanted it to.”

“Which was?” He steps closer, just barely, cocking his head and pressing against the ghost of a boundary when his eyes dart to her lips.

“I have dealt with so many Grimborn-ologists in the last few months,” she pokes the center of his chest and looks so defiantly at him that he can’t help but lean in, “you’re not one.”

He stops short and frowns, “what?”

“You aren’t well-adjusted—”

“We’re doing this now, ok, odd choice, I thought you were trying to cheer me up—”

“I’m not,” she smiles, pressing her hand flat against his chest, “I’m trying to tell you the truth, which is that you aren’t one of those weirdos obsessed with Grimborn.”

“I’m confused as to how you came to that conclusion,” he shrugs, gesturing at the alleys around them, “considering how we met and half of what we talk about and where we are.”

“I deal with people trying to steal Grimborn artifacts from the archives every week, at least, more often lately. A Grimborn themed bar just painted over a hundred and seventy-year-old building, to make it more comfortable for tourists to take a watered down walk past places where people died horrible deaths. Someone so obsessed with Grimborn’s methods that they had to replicate them has been terrorizing the city for weeks and murder tourism has only gone up.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me,” Hiccup chews his lip and she sighs, shoving him gently away and crossing her arms.

“Exactly.” She shakes her head, “you have an interest, sure, but it’s like you just said, you’re interested in how people lived, not how they died. And learning that you got into Grimborn because of how much your dad loved this city…”

“So, I spend five years giving tours and you’re saying I’m a fake Grimborn geek boy?” He wants to be irritated just as much as he wants to laugh, but the result of the combination is too flat to echo even in the narrow alley. “At least my hat is an actual antique—"

“I’m saying there’s nothing cruel or destructive about the way that you learn things.” She says it like a compliment, tucking her hair behind her ear and looking importantly at him, like she can beam the meaning into his brain if she stares hard enough.

He doesn’t know how much gets through, but the fact that she means it this much makes his chest ache.

“We finished your tour, what now?” It’s either the exact wrong question or the right one because her expression softens to something like worry and she shrugs.

“I’m thinking I should probably go get my phone so that I can ask Fish if his spare room is still available,” she looks around, trying to see daylight at the mouth of one of the alleys, “how do we get out of here?”

“Here,” he gestures for her to follow him around the next corner, “why do you need Fishlegs’s spare room?”

“Because the twins couch is getting old really quick,” she squints as the sun pours into the mouth of the alley, pausing just before she trips on the low gate at the end.

“What’s wrong with your place? I thought you were pretty determined to fight off the serial killer onslaught with the home team advantage.” He stumbles slightly over the gate and catches himself on her shoulder, not that she seems to notice.

“I still haven’t been back after what happened to Snotlout,” she crosses her arms again but it’s more like she’s hugging herself than keeping him out. “I know I should feel better now that he’s obviously going to be ok, but—”

“He was sh—hurt at your place?” Hiccup feels himself go pale and Astrid’s eyebrows furrow, concerned and determined.

“No one told you.”

“I guess location wasn’t important when they didn’t know if he’d make it.”

“Hey,” she rubs his arm through his jacket, “he’s going to be fine though.”

“He was almost the fourth victim, wasn’t he?”

Astrid was right about Grimborn being destructive.

“But he wasn’t,” she assures him, “and now it’s over, the copycat has four murders under his belt—”

“But Snotlout isn’t dead—”

“How would they know that?” She trusts him to keep up with her logic and he doesn’t want to let her down, so he nods for her to continue. “The last thing they saw looked pretty dismal for him and the news hasn’t said anything about it.”

“It’s a break from method, it’s—all those other slum murders in eighteen-eighty-three that people try to put the Grimborn name on to make it a more gruesome story, we know it doesn’t fit because the injury profile was different—”

She kisses him to shut him up, hands on both of his cheeks when she pulls back, “the other sites are in alleys, even today. The first is in an inhabited apartment building that’s not in an awful part of town anymore, a drive-by was probably the most Grimborn thing they could pull off.”

“I don’t want you to stay with Fishlegs,” he tugs her hands away from his face and squeezes them in his. “He doesn’t like me, remember?”

“I don’t care, because I like you, and you have enough going on with Snotlout, you don’t need me in your hair.”

“You like me now, sure, but after a couple weeks with that moustache?” His lame teasing gets a barely there twitch of a smile before she nods to herself.

“I should still get my phone.”

He could let her go alone, he knows that, it’s the middle of the afternoon and there’s nothing dangerous about it. Especially because it’s Astrid, so she’s right, the murders are over.

She’s been good enough to tell him the hard truths though, and she deserves the same.

“I know I’m the one who’s supposed to be giving you a tour right now, but I think if you stopped telling me what to do, I’d be back at the hospital annoying Snotlout and feeling even more helpless than I do now.”

“Come with me,” she suggests but something about his expression stops her, “if I don’t want to see it, you probably really don’t.”

“I just had the Ripped back alley spoiled for me by sociopathic murder tourists, let me enjoy the ‘All Safe’ wall another day.”

“The ‘Al, I. Safe’ wall,” she corrects and he chooses to cement the image of her courtyard wall behind her, stealing his hat and correcting his tour because she couldn’t stand him thinking he was right when she thought he wasn’t, into his head. He doesn’t think it’ll do much against another pressure-washed, professionally, historically scrubbed patch of the ground, but it’s nice for now.

“Maybe you’re the Grimborn-ologist,” he teases, taking her hand and attempting a step towards his apartment, but she refuses to move her feet, one eyebrow raised. “I’m just saying, you’re awfully smug about a post-murder message.”

“A murder that I don’t even think was connected, by the way,” she insists as she starts walking beside him. The alleys aren’t much quicker than the main roads from here, and they’re close to Gruff’s anyway, so he stays on the main road, crossing the street one intersection early to avoid the alcove that Astrid doesn’t mention either.

“You’re still on that?” He nudges her side and she rolls her eyes, bumping her shoulder on his.

This should feel like taking Astrid back to his place for the first time, and it does, but the butterflies in his stomach are tired, more than tired. Suffering from insomnia, actually, because they absolutely didn’t get any rest while he slept on her lap.

She seems to doubt him for a second when he drops her hand and fishes his keys out of his pockets, taking a step back and looking up at the apartments with wide eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

“No,” she watches the key easily turn in the lock before continuing, “this is just a nice place, for a guy who couldn’t afford frozen yogurt.”

“It was my dad’s,” he steps back to let her go first up the stairs, “it was paid off when I inherited it.”

“That explains it,” she smiles over her shoulder at him and he stumbles, catching himself on the handrail. They’re too close on the tiny landing as he unlocks the front door but it’s not close enough.

Of course, his phone rings right as he’s swinging the door open, still on full blaring volume from the hospital when he was worried he’d fall asleep in the waiting room when someone needed to reach him.

“Shit, sorry,” he frowns at the Caller ID as they step into the living room and vaguely recognizes the number.

“Who is it?” Astrid looks over his shoulder her face lights up with recognition, “oh, that’s Ruffnut.”

“Oh,” he swallows hard, wondering how much Astrid knows about the last time he saw Ruffnut, “I should get this but um, make yourself at home?”

Snotlout always sounds like an adult saying that to people he brings home, but Hiccup feels like he’s about to have to scramble for an adult to take the important phone call. But he is the adult, and for the first time in a long time, maybe ever, he doesn’t want to run from that.

“Sure,” she nods, looking absently at the poster above the couch while he picks up the phone.

“Hey Ruff, what’s up?”

“Is Astrid there?”

“Uh, yeah, I didn’t realize she’d hired me as her secretary though, I definitely didn’t accept without seeing the benefits package.” He shrugs and Astrid holds out her hand for the phone, seemingly understanding what he’s hearing.

“I’ll negotiate for you if you hand the phone over,” Ruffnut sounds almost panicky enough to drown out the suggestion, “don’t worry, you’re in good hands, I know all her terms.”

“Is she asking for me?” Astrid reaches for his hand.

“Yeah,” he hands it over and Astrid holds it away from her ear for a second until Ruffnut is done with her evidently loud usual greeting. She listens for a second before sighing and sitting on the couch, hand over the receiving speaker for a second.

“Sorry, this might take a minute.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” He sits on the other end of the couch to take off his shoes and watches out of the corner of his eye as Astrid does the same, punctuating Ruffnut’s chatter with a couple bored ‘uh-huh’ type sounds and rolling her eyes. She bites her lip when Ruffnut says something particularly objectionable and curls her feet underneath her on the couch, fingers of her free hand fiddling absently with the patch on the arm’s old leather.

The comfort he felt waking up in the hospital with Astrid and Snotlout’s gentle bickering above him hits again but harder, closer, purer without hospital antiseptic smells. He wants Astrid curled on his couch, mildly annoyed but flicking impossibly fond eyes at him when she catches him staring more than he’s ever wanted a Grimborn letter he practically bankrupted himself for. He barely stops himself from blurting that out as he jumps to his feet, hands curled into awkward fists at his sides.

“I’m going to go take that shower really quick, ok? Cool, see you in a minute.”

He shuts the bathroom door behind him and sighs, not entirely sure that wasn’t a worse thing to blurt.

[elephantatertots]

This whole coronavirus situation is really a bitch huh

I’ve still been going to work as I work at a Japanese restaurant with a popular take out market which is considered an essential business so I’ve still got work

But like I’ve got this entire other online course load for my college classes and we don’t have internet so I’ve been using cellular hotspot data that thankfully hasn’t run out for this month yet

I have to do all the work signing up my parents for unemployment because I’m the only one with a computer and the only one who understands how to use or how to do, like, anything online and the website only works SOMETIMES and that whole thing has been a nightmare

And my mom smokes and is 55 and I’m worried about catching the virus while running the window at work and then bringing it home and effectively killing her

And in short I feel like everything is coming down on me and I’m overwhelmed and worried about falling BACK into that dark pit of hopelessness that I JUST managed to crawl out of

And I don’t talk a lot on here like just myself but I just feel like I’ve gotta talk about this to somebody and it that a bunch of people who may very well skip this long ramble then at least I’ve gotten this stress of mine out of me into the world

[chimsuga]

Voltron (Klance) College AU

(all of them are roughly the same age here, in order for it to make sense)

Shiro: Aviation Engineering Major, Senior

Pidge: Computer Engineering Major, Junior

Keith: Civil Engineering Major, Junior

Hunk: Mechanical Engineering Major, Junior

Lance: Biochemistry Major, Junior

Allura: Biochemistry Major, Senior

So, Hunk, Pidge, Keith, and Shiro are all part of this STEM Major Club, and one day their advisor, Coran, suddenly says “We have too many engineers in this room,” so he demands them to get more non-engineering members of their club. 

So, Hunk goes to his roommate and BFF, Lance, who is a biochem major, which it counts, who after a bit of coaxing agrees to go to ONE meeting, and brings Allura around cuz GOd knows he ain’t going into a room full of engineering majors alone. 

The rest of the team does try to bring other non-engineering majors but it’s not much, and pretty soon it’s really just Lance and Allura that stick around. 

But now it is Allura that drags Lance to the meetings and study groups because she fell in love with Shiro at first glance and now it trying to “ride his dick into the sunset” “that is NOT what I said Lance!!!” 

Lance hates the club, well no, he hates Keith, self-righteous asshole with nice hands, soft hair, and a ridiculously cute smile who SCOFFED when he heard Lance was biochem, “So, college of the arts, huh?” “and SCIENCES, bitch” 

So Lance and Keith bicker and fight at every meeting and study group “so, keith, was mech eng too hard for you or??” “busy studying for unemployment, arts student?” until it was the weekend after midterms and everyone was over at Hunk’s and Lance’s getting drunk. When Pidge would think it great to lock them in closet, “so their gay asses can chill”

Somehow they are able to do that and so now a drunk Lance and Keith are trapped in the closet. They sit in silence for a few minutes until Lance speaks up, “do you hate me?” “what? No. More like you hate me” “well you were an asshole to me at first” “well, I was nervous, I’m a dick when I’m nervous”

Pretty soon, they clear the air and start telling each other some truths, how Lance wants to be doctor, either a pediatrician or an oncologist, because he wants to do service trips back to Cuba (Keith tries not to melt to how Lance said Cuba), too many people die from things that can be cured. Keith shared that he wanted to be a civil engineer because when he was staying with a foster family once, and the father was a civil engineer and explained to him how he helped people get places by building roads and bridges, that how he is super proud of that because those roads and bridges brought him to them, and so he studies to do that. 

Pretty soon Lance is telling Keith how sexy he is and Keith is arguing back, “noooo, you are way sexier lance,” Lance admits he finds that when he Keith wears his hair up and so he can see the back of neck is super sexy for him and how he just wanted to lick it. then Keith is admitting that when Lance speaks spanish, it is super hot to him and hopes that Lance can just wrap his thighs around his head. “So, you get a boner when I’m talking to my mom?” “shut up.” “Oh, my GOd you do!!” 

But then, Lance just crawls over Keith, sits on his lap, and places his hands on the back of his neck and whispers “dame esos labios, guapo” (give me those lips, handsome) 

Both Lance and Keith are both smiling into the kiss which makes it a little awkward, and it tastes like the tequila Lance had earlier with the cheap beer Keith had but it was like tension was rolling off their backs so they didn’t care, it was perfect.

That was how Allura found them, to which she started crying (drunk off vodka) and Lance to usher her into his room so fast, because “I’ve been after shiro’s ass for MONTHS, and you literally fight with him all the time and there you are making out with him, isssnotfair, LANCE”

then Lance calls shiro over, then whispered into his ear, “i swear to god if you don’t make your move to ask allura out right now, I’ll fight for my med degree early so I can legally cut and bury your balls, do you understand?” 

A pale shiro nods. Lance quickly pats his back happily, “great! don’t have sex on my bed, or rather don’t at all cuz you’re both drunk. now I’m gonna go make out with Keith some more” “wait, wha-” “later!” 

Lance then grabs and stuffs keith back into the closet where they proceed to make out and then pass out huddled around each other. 

(Meanwhile, Hunk and Pidge are eating all the popcorn and chips watching Shrek)

Hope you enjoyed!

[greenergrassinsafermeadows]

Chapter 21

“So what you’re saying is, without meeting or talking to me, your dad has already decided not to like me?”     Clara groaned, tapping her hands anxiously against the steering wheel. “It’s not so much that he doesn’t like you specifically, he just doesn’t really like… Oncelers… In general… That sounds bad I know I’m sorry.” “Yeah it does, isn’t that like, pretty racist? Are the back-country folks gonna kill me for not being white too?”          “This is Vermont Payton. You’re from Texas you can’t honestly be that scared of Vermont.” “I’m from my universes Texas, which you don’t know anything about.”         “Is there ANY universe where Texas isn’t horrible?” “...No.” “Payton… I want this to go as well as it can. Please just… try?”       “Of course I'm gonna try Clara.” Craig crossed his arms, “I don't exactly want them to hate me. It just sounds like I'm at a disadvantage here. Chuck and Amy never hated me- they thought I was great.” “Whomst?”        “Clara’s- uh- not you- Clara’s parents. Chuck and Amy, they knew how awesome I was.” “You are awesome. I know that, I want my parents to know that. Please don’t call my dad Chuck he might kill you.”

Pulling up to a large New England farmhouse in a 15 year old truck isn’t out of place in the slightest. Doing so while Bitch I’m Madonna plays at full volume is a bit moreso. Clara turned the volume down before shutting off the engine and sliding down in her seat. “I really do want them to like you, but listen, if my dad’s a dick than he’s a dick, I love you ok? That’s what matters here.”     “Well yeah, obviously, what’s not to love about me?” “Your unemployment.” Clara smiled, no real malice behind her words. She frowned when he didn’t respond, reaching out and squeezing his hand, “Dude, dude I’m kidding, you can’t even legally get a job yet, it’s ok.” Craig didn’t say anything, but he squeezed her hand back.     They were only able to stall for a few more seconds before Sticks let out a high whine, scratching at the back of Clara’s seat.     “Ok bud, ok.” She sat up, unclicking her seatbelt and hopping out of the truck before leaning the seat forward so Sticks could follow. “Go nuts, run free, piss on stuff, you do you dude.”

Walking up to the house, Craig close behind, she took notice of the significant lack of an SUV parked in the driveway and silently thanked god that they’d gotten there before her aunt Theresa, who managed to harbor even less sympathy for once-lers than her father did. ‘Don’t be anxious,’ She thought, ‘It’s your own home, you can ring the doorbell for fucks sake.’ She hesitated, then knocked.     Thank fucking god, a short woman with bobbed red hair answered the door, throwing her arms around Clara immediately. “Mucize kızı!!! Welcome home!”     “Hi mom!” Clara beamed, lifting the shorter woman up a few inches off the ground. Upon being set down, her mother turned, looking Craig up and down. “You must be the new fella,” She held out her hand, “I’m Mia, I’ll be the only parent you need to be afraid of or listen to, pleasure to meet you.”     Craig took her hand, firm handshake, eye contact, it’s just like a business meeting. “Payton Chavez, nice to meet you Mia.”     Clara breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It wasn’t that she didn’t fully trust him to act like an adult, it was… Exactly that, she didn’t fully trust him to act like an adult, she just wouldn’t say that out loud. She called for Sticks and the party headed inside, unfortunately, the easy part was over.

“Charles! Come hug your daughter will you!?” Mia called from the front foyer, and moments later a man nearly a foot taller than her rounded the corner and pulled Clara into a hug.     “Who’s this? This looks like an adult! Where’s my my kid have you seen her? My favorite kid!” Clara rolled her eye’s, hugging him back. “I’m your only kid. And I hope I look like an adult on account of being 27.”     “Don’t remind me!” Charles smacked a hand over his forehead in mock disbelief, “You can’t be old! That’d make me old!” He smiled, letting go of her and stepping back. Once his eyes fell on Craig however, the smile fell from himself. “You must be Payton,” He said, eyes narrowing slightly, “It’s a real honor to meet you, she never even brought the last one home.”     Craig stiffened slightly, but extended his hand all the same, “That’s me, nice to meet you too.” Charles took it, gripping his hand a bit too hard and locking eyes with him as he gave a firm shake, the air around them nearly froze and then-     “Ok!” Mia clapped her hands loudly, shooting Clara a sympathetic glance, “Well i’m sure it was a long ride up here, you kids get settled in and I’ll fix us all a snack!”     “Of course,” Charles released Craig’s hand. “I’ll show you to the guest room Payton.” “Dad.” Clara finally spoke, “I’m still 27. We share an apartment. Don’t do this.”     “I’m kidding Clara,” He held up his hands in surrender, but the look he shot Craig said that he was definitely not kidding. “Go get settled in, it’s best you bring your stuff in before Theresa gets her anyway.”     Clara winced, before nodding and grabbing Craig’s hand, “Right, Payton grab the bags with me I don’t wanna carry them all.”     “But you-” He didn’t get a chance to finish his protest, she’d already pulled him back out the door.

Craig sighed as Clara pulled his suitcase out of the back seat and handed it to him. “Why didn’t you just, y’know, lie?” He asked, frowning at her as she pulled out her own bag, “Why’d you have to tell them I’m a onceler anyway? It’s not like there’s any records to back it up.” “I don’t want to lie to my parents Payton.”     “It’s not really lying, it’s omitting facts. Facts that make them hate me.” “They don’t hate you Payton. Dad just… needs to warm up to you.”     “He hates me Clara, what was that guest room Meet The Fockers shit? Do I look like Ben Stiller?”     “No- Payton he’s just. Like this ok? It’s stupid and I’m sorry, but he’ll come around.” “I’m trying Clara. I really actually want your family to like me!”     “I know.” She set her bag down and stepped forward, hugging him tightly. “I know and I really appreciate it, we’ve been here for ten minutes Payton, he just. Needs time.”

Clara didn’t explain why she hurried him back inside when she saw Q5 turn onto the driveway, she’d kept quiet all the way up the stairs and down the hall into her room, where she promptly shut the door and dropped her bag on the floor with a heavy sigh. “Welcome to 18 year old me’s twisted mind. We’ve got bugs.”     Looking around, it was clear what she meant. Butterflies and moths covered nearly every inch of the room. From the glow-in-the-dark wall decals to the comforter set on the bed, the aesthetic was clear.     “So uh… you got a tattoo to match your room or was it the other way around?” Craig joked, dropping his suitcase and flopping down on the bed.     “Leave me alone I like moths.” Clara laughed as she spoke, taking a seat next to him. She fell silent for a moment before laying back, staring at the star-covered ceiling. “...Aunt Theresa does hate you by the way. Just uh, figured I should give you a heads up. Ignore literally everything she says ok?”     “Oh.” Craig turned, pulling his knees up and curling into her side. On instinct she wrapped an arm around him, her fingers toying with his hair. “She really doesn’t matter though ok? She barely likes me. Apparently I ‘covet restraintless ambition’ and ‘shamefully chose the path of a sympathizer’ and blahblahmehmehmeh. Seriously. Ignore everything she says.”     “Yikes. Clara is she gonna try and murder me? Like do I need to sleep with one eye open?”     “No.” She paused. “The door locks anyway don’t worry about it.” “Clara that’s fucking horrifying.”     She turned, draping her other arm over him. “She’s not gonna murder you Payton. She’ll just be a bitch. The fact that she’s even here is surprising. She uh, when I was with Thespi she more or less disowned me? Kinda? She wouldn’t have any contact with me and she yelled at dad a lot.”     “So, what you’re saying is at least I’m better than that guy?” Clara rolled her eyes, flicking Craig’s glasses up onto his forehead. “That’s true but not at all the point of anything I just said.”     Craig scrambled for a second, fixing his glasses. “Yeah yeah the point is don’t listen to the crazy lady I got it.”     Clara snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes, “Yes, that, right on the money you got it. Please don’t call her ‘crazy lady’ to her face though that’ll make everything worse.”     “But I can behind her back?” “Well not to anyone other than me.”     “Got it.” There was a knock on the door, “Everybody decent?” Mia’s voice rang out humorously, “Snacks are ready! And Clara you know your father’s rule about keeping the door open if you have a date over!” Clara groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “MOTHER I AM ALMOST THIRTY.”     “Kidding, kidding!” Mia laughed, opening the door and poking her head in. “The food really is ready though, and you’re cousin Josh is here I know it’s…” She paused a moment, “Been awhile. Since you’ve been able to see him.”     Clara sat up, eyes widening. “Is Zigs here yet?” “He’ll be here tomorrow, his flight was delayed but he should get in before the parade ends.”     Clara nodded before turning to Craig. “You’ll like Josh, if we can get Aunt Theresa distracted enough we can come up here and play Mario Kart or something.”

That was easier said than done, it took approximately ten seconds after walking downstairs for an intimidating blonde woman, presumably Theresa, to begin glaring daggers at Craig over her pointed nose. She didn’t say a word to him, only excused herself to the restroom and left. Clara paid her no mind whatsoever, instead turning to the teenager sprawled over the couch. “Dude.” She said, unceremoniously.     “Dude.” He replied, looking up from his phone for a moment in what could only be interpreted as immense respect.     “You gonna shred some toxic masculinity and hug me or nah?” He laughed, heaving himself off the couch and giving Clara a quick hug. “Still psychoanalysing huh?”     “All day every day.” She smiled, turning to Craig. “Payton, Josh, Josh, Payton. Josh please don’t say anything your mom told you to say.”     Josh tilted his head, “You’re a real onceler? Dude you look just like a regular person.” “Josh what did I just fucking say!?” Clara crossed her arms and glared at him.     “Clara!” Charles spoke up, “Language!” “Sorry, sorry.” Josh shrugged, “I just didn’t expect you to really.”     “Dude. Seriously. Enough.” Clara took a step closer to Craig, “Real human here, has feelings. Stop listening to your mom.”     He only nodded, but didn’t say anything else about it. Clara figured that was good enough.

Aside from a few uncalled for questions, Josh proved himself rather agreeable throughout the evening, aside from beating both Clara and Craig at Mario Kart four rounds in a row. Theresa stayed almost entirely out of sight, though Clara overheard her and Her grandmother talking in the kitchen, their hushed tones proving that the conversation wasn’t a very pleasant one. Mia asked Craig the expected questions, what it was like coming into existence in this universe whether or not he planned on filing specialized citizen paperwork and to feel free to contact her if he had any questions about it. Charles stayed quiet for the most part, but he asked a few- surprisingly non-derogatory- questions of his own, primarily about how the world Craig came from worked.     Why had she been so worried again? This seemed to be going well enough, aside from not seeing her grandmother for more than thirty seconds before she disappeared into the kitchen Clara would call this a success.The family said their goodnights without any more qualms or suggestions of Craig staying in the guestroom, and even her father managed a smile before heading off to bed. If tonight was any indicator maybe the dinner itself wouldn’t be all too bad.

Of course the next morning, she remembered. Things had started off fine, letting Craig sleep in while she got up to watch the parade and dog show and answer all the questions her family wanted to ask while Craig wasn’t in the room. Nothing too upsetting was said, not to Clara at least.     Theresa stood at the end of the hallway when Craig came out of the bedroom, Her eyes fixing him with a cold glare. “You don’t love her.”     Craig stopped, taken aback, “Excuse me?” “It’s just in your nature,” Theresa continued nonchalantly, “You don’t love her, and she doesn’t really love you. You’re her rebellious phase, and she’ll realize that soon enough, all the rest of us just have to wait.”     He didn’t respond, instead shifting his eyes to the ground and slinking past her down the stairs. He didn’t say anything walking into the living room, sitting silently next to Clara on the couch. She put an arm around him, but retracted it almost instantly when there was a knock at the door.     “I GOT IT!!!” She was already sprinting for the door, throwing it open with a smile. “Zigzags!” The taller man blinked at her for a moment before he broke out in a smile of his own and lifted her into a near-crushing embrace.     “Clara!” He let her down, coming inside. “Good to see you! It’s been way too long!” “It really has, dude how was the trip?”     “Wet, underfunded, as productive as it could be.” “There’s unfortunately no charity for curing stupid chucklefuckery yet huh?”     “Not yet, you’ll be the first I tell-” “Sigmund!” They were interrupted, Theresa rushed down the stairs and pulled Ziggy into her arms, clutching him dramatically. “Oh I’m so glad you’re here safely! I couldn’t even sleep last night thinking about taking a plane in such awful conditions!”     “Mom!” He smiled, hugging her back. “I’m fine! Safe as can be I promise!” “Well,” She glanced towards the living room out of the corner of her eye, “Maybe we’ll have a good family Thanksgiving after all.”     Clara turned, just in time to notice Craig excusing himself back upstairs, glaring daggers at Theresa, she turned and followed.

“What was that about Payton?” Clara asked, following him into her room before he had a chance to shut the door. He didn’t answer at first, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the floor in front of him.     “Payton,” She tried again, taking a seat next to him. “Talk to me dude what’s up? Did I miss something? I thought this morning was going ok.”     “She said-” He cleared his throat, “Theresa said some bullshit, it’s stupid.” Clara’s eyes narrowed, “What’d she say?”     “Let’s see, that I was a ‘rebellious phase’,” He started, “That eventually you’d realize you didn’t love me- Oh! And my favorite! That it’s “in my nature” to be incapable of being in love with you! Great to know right!?”     Clara didn’t have much of a response for that, she heaved a heavy sigh and pulled her legs up onto the bed before turning and wrapping her arms around Craig. “...I’m sorry. If she wasn’t my aunt I’d deck her in the fucking face. That’s all bullshit and you know it.”     “I know…” He leaned into her slightly, but didn’t say anything else. “Was this… A mistake?” She asked hesitantly, “I mean, mom likes you but if dad and aunt Theresa are being this shitty… Do you wanna just. Call it? Go home?”     “No, Clara it’s Thanksgiving I’m not gonna make you ditch your family just because-” He paused, “Your mom likes me?”     “Yeah? Dude if mom didn’t like you she’d make it very obvious.” “So she tolerates me?”     “No. Listen man, I’ve known my mom for over twenty-seven years. I can tell when she genuinely likes someone I’m dating.”     “Oh… That’s.” The corners of his mouth twitched, a small smile forming. “I knew it. Somebody here has the common sense to see how awesome I am.”     “Yes she does.” Clara smiled, kissing his cheek, “And you are awesome, even dad’s starting to get that through his head.”     “I really want them to like me Clara. They’re your family…” “I know baby… mom does, dad’s coming around. Just ignore aunt Theresa entirely ok?”     Craig nodded, leaning further against Clara.

For a moment, they stayed like that, silent, before Clara spoke up again.     “Would your uh…” She seemed uncertain, but pushed on, “Would your family have- have liked me?” She felt Craig tense a bit and immediately backtracked, “Sorry, sorry. I dunno if that’s like. If that’s even something you’re ok to talk about and especially right now and I’m. Sorry. That was dumb.”     “Clara it’s ok,” Craig turned slightly, staying in her arms. “I guess, I mean, mom would’ve loved you but I could’ve brought home anyone on the planet and it’s not like she’d fucking stop me.”     “...So how would you know she liked me.” “She wouldn’t avoid talking about you at least. I don’t think. Then again maybe she’d be worried because she probably thinks relationships are supposed to be shitty or something. Not like she ever bothered trying for anything else y’know?”     Clara frowned, shifting a bit and leaning back  against the headboard. She pulled him along with her, letting him rest his head on her shoulder while he continued talking.     “It’s like ‘hey maybe DON’T date shitty people constantly all the time’ or like ‘at LEAST don’t let your son back himself into the same fucking situation’ haha right? Maybe provide some kind of positive example or fucking something. It’s obviously not like you don’t care.”     He groaned, burying his face in Clara’s sleeve for a moment before taking a deep breath. “Like if somebody can- can uproot her fucking life to kickstart a business for you and send you to college so you can actually run it and do shit for you twenty-four-seven until you can take care of it yourself you’d think she’d want to, I-I dunno, not throw herself on the mercy of shithead after shithead but hey maybe that’s just how life is supposed to be! It was fucking fine when I did it too right?!”     He was tearing up now, but didn’t notice it himself. God when was the last time he’d even thought about this? “And, and it’s not like I made it any easier! I c-could’ve been an even bigger dick then I was and she wouldn’t’ve said anything like fuck lady will you just-just stand up for something for once!? If you can p-pull it together to take care of your kids you’d think you could, y’know, do it for yourself!”     He sat up suddenly, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, now that tears were spilling freely down his face they were harder to ignore. “So yeah. Yeah she probably- probably would’ve liked you.”     Clara didn’t say anything for a long while. She sat up, pulled him back into a hug, and let him cry. She wasn’t certain how long they stayed like that, not getting up until Mia called that dinner was ready.

The dinner itself went smoothly enough, if not a bit tense, but good food tends to cause good moods, and that was certainly the case in the Esther household this Thanksgiving. Theresa kept her thoughts to herself save for a few passive comments. Clara kept her fists to herself and managed to stop after half a glass of champagne and one rum and coke, trading in for regular coke. Mia wrote out a list of basic references for Craig’s citizenship registration and reminded him not to hesitate to call if he needed help with any of it. Under the powerful influence of tryptophan and pumpkin pie, Charles even informed Craig that he “Seemed like an ok kid.” and somehow that stood out as a major holiday highlight. Clara had more questions sure, but those, those could wait for another time.