#and if you are like 'ha! my family wishes they could afford chilis"

[ladylingua]

I have a very genuine question about the tipping post I promise I didnt read it in bad faith: are people who simply cannot afford to tip not “allowed” to eat out? I’m just thinking about how it works where I am from and while tipping is the norm here if someone doesn’t tip because they can’t afford it it really isn’t a big deal (+tipping norm here us only 10%). so if a poor family goes out to eat to celebrate something and they can barely afford the meal would they still be expected to tip 20% because they shouldn’t eat out if they cant afford it? thank you in advance I’m really curious

If it helps, don’t think of the tip as a separate thing. It is part of the cost of your meal. So if you cannot afford to pay for the cost of the meal including the tip you cannot afford to eat at that restaurant. This is something I myself have to calculate when I’m deciding if I want to eat at a particular restaurant- if I have $15 I can’t go to a restaurant and order a $20 entrée and then refuse to pay the remaining cost, and likewise if I have $15 I can’t order a $15 entrée and expect not to pay the server for their service.

Now that doesn't mean families who can't afford a pricy restaurant can't eat out at all. Since it is a % of your bill you can try to go for a cheaper restaurant (smaller bill = smaller tip), or if you go to a counter service place where you serve yourself you’re not expected to tip 20% (sometimes they have a jar out you could kindly throw a dollar or more in, but there is much less expectation to tip because the workers at a place like that receive a full minimum wage, more on that in a sec). I will also say in my lived experience poor families in America understand and tip well, I’ve almost exclusively been under tipped by wealthy people (which is what kicked off the debate on twitter- if your bill is $700 then you obviously can afford to tip a full 20%, no destitute families are spending $700 on one meal).

Technically speaking you can get away with 18% as a tip, and if you go down to 15% your waiter will think you’re cheap and be annoyed (15% definitely implies you were unhappy with their service) but that is the lowest possible threshold of acceptability. 10% is not an acceptable rate here, and 20% is now the expected norm for good service, and going up from there for great service. And I would never, ever not tip at all. I can only imagine not tipping if like the server had done something deeply offensive or dangerous or something. I've never encountered a situation where I felt the server didn't deserve any tip at all.

Because you’ve asked in genuine good faith I’m going to provide some more context to help you understand a bit more why this is the way it is-

Waitstaff in america are wildly underpaid. Our federal government assumes the tips are part of their expected income, and so a) they are taxed on assumed tips and b) it is legal to pay them less than standard minimum wage. Currently the tipped federal minimum wage is $2.13/hr. Now, states set their own individual rates so some states do better, but $2.13/hr is the lowest they can all legally go. And you’ll notice in that link it mentions the assumed tips and taxing them. I said on my original post, when I worked as a tipped waitress I made $2.68/hr and sometimes my biweekly paycheck was like $60 total. Imagine trying to survive on $120 a month, you absolutely cannot. Tips made up my actual wage, and were the paycheck I depended on to pay for my basic needs. I relied directly on customers to choose to do the social convention of tipping for survival, and when someone would choose to do otherwise it was utterly devastating.

Another thing customers sometimes don’t realize is your waiter may not be allowed to keep all of the tip themselves. It’s a common practice to pool tips amongst all the waitstaff and then divide them equally, and many places require that you tip out other employees there. So if you give me $10 as a tip I might be actually giving a large chunk of that to bussers, bartenders, etc. Or maybe we pool tips and someone else stiffed my colleague so now all of us are sharing your $10 tip. So also keep in mind that the money you leave as a tip very often does not go entirely to the actual waiter, so a big tip can actually become pretty small much faster than you would think.

(and that's just legal practices, wage theft and illegal practices run rampant in the restaurant industry, just fyi)

If you are wondering why tipping culture here is so grim, it is because of slavery. Tipping got big here as a way to keep forcing Black Americans into working for free, now with a small tip but still no actual wage. It was designed for oppression. Waitstaff are overwhelmingly not wealthy people. It is very common for them to be on food stamps, require housing assistance, or to otherwise be living under the poverty line. If you are eating out and not tipping because you yourself are poor, you are taking money out of someone else’s poverty wages to do so. When we debate minimum wage here in america, conservatives are really good at painting a picture of waitstaff being perky middle class college kids making an extra buck, or teens from wealthy homes wanting some spending money. There is an implication that they don't really need the money that badly. That is not the reality of who makes up most serving jobs in america. Minimum wage workers are likely to be in poverty, they’re likely to be women and specifically they’re likely to be women of color. Americans of color are significantly more likely to be working at minimum wage than white americans. There is a pretty sizeable number of minimum wage workers who are over 50, and a not insignificant amount of them who are mothers who support their families. There are also those teens who just want extra cash, and they deserve good compensation for their hard work too, don’t get me wrong, but they are only a portion of who makes up the minimum wage workforce.

If you’re like “But that’s such a shitty system, you’re saying it’s pitting poor people against each other for basic human comforts!” yup. I 100% agree. I am a vocal proponent of raising the minimum wage for that reason. I also advocate for a Universal Basic Income, because I understand that when it comes to small mom & pop restaurants the owners aren’t always making a ton of money either and it seems like truly no one is winning in this system. It is set up to oppress and to demean and to grind us all down. There are lots of orgs in America that are fighting to improve the system, or to radically change the system. There are also restaurants that have tried to do things differently- there’s a wine bar in my city that says specifically on their menu that their wine is more expensive because they pay their workers a true livable wage so there is no tipping there. Instead as a customer I pay a higher upfront cost that covers the true expense of running the bar- including server wages. I love that, I wish more places would do things like that. In the meantime, when I’m choosing where to eat I factor in a tip of 20% when calculating my estimated bill, because paying for service is part of the cost.

Refusing to tip fully in america is not doing anything to change the system. It does not make restaurant owners rethink their pay structure, it does not put pressure on our government to fix minimum wage, it does not make a political statement. It just means your server is going home wondering if they can afford their own meal that night.

Thank you for asking for clarity, I hope this helps. Please feel free to ask more if you have any remaining confusion or are curious about other aspects of american culture. If I can answer and the questions are respectful, I am happy to reply!

#also fwiw #you know those big american chain restaurants people like to make fun of? #like olive garden or red lobster or applebees or whatever? #a lot of the appeal of those types of restaurants is they make a big production over you as a customer like you're at a high end restaurant #but the prices are much lower than an actual nice restaurant #so that is why so many americans view going to outback steakhouse as a big treat #it's not that we don't know what a good steakhouse is #it's that those places give you that service but your steak is $20.99 #and if you are like 'ha! my family wishes they could afford chilis" #no yeah those places are not cheap i feel you #but that's exactly the appeal of those big chains #a real nyc steakhouse starts at like $40 for steaks #and goes up from there #now look at outback's menu #now you get it? #so yeah if you're not a wealthy family and you have a celebration coming up you look for a restaurant in that vein

[remmushound]

Beyond the Bay Chapter 12 - Hidden City

Summary: The turtles go off in search of a new rift in the Hidden City

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

Leo hated every part of this. The sun was up, so they should be down, and out of sight. He had known his counterparts long enough to know how loose they often played with the rules his family followed so diligently, but to take to the streets under the danger of daylight for something that could easily wait for the blanket of night was absurd! In his two decades of life, Leo could count the amount of daylight explorations he had taken on two hands; the risk was hardly ever worth it. Despite the prickling insecurities inside him, Leo pushed himself onward to follow Raphael’s lead. This city was so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. So easy to get lost in. Leo found himself picking out familiar buildings to assure that this place was still New York, even in this toony world so colorful that he could almost believe a pallet of paint had been spilled over it. This was New York and New York would always be home, even if home was a whole dimension away.

Raphael’s guidance brought the group of anxious turtles to an alleyway. They dropped down from above; Leo felt a shutter go through his body, a cold chill seizing his senses and stealing away his breath as he passed through something that seemed almost… green. The sudden shock made him stutter, his balance unsteady enough to knock over a trash can upon landing. With a clutter and a clang the silver bin fell and rolled, several more loud crashes sounding off each time it hit something. The eyes of Donnie and Raph turned to the shock-stricken Leo, who could only stare with his wide, cerulean eyes. The people walking past in the streets to either side, just feet away from what they’d see as monsters, didn’t stopped. Leo let himself breathe and the three brothers, muscles still tensed and ready to hide at the slightest sign of trouble, moved back into a tight formation around their younger counterparts.

“What are we doing here?” Leo couldn’t contain it anymore and he had to ask. His voice was a low whisper. “We could be seen!”

“Relax.” Leonardo laughed, and his voice wasn’t at all soft. He was met with three sets of shhhhh from the Splintersons, but laughed each of them off, “This alleyway has a mystic shimmer. We can see them.” He cleared his throat, “BUT THEY CAN’T SEE OR HEAR US!”

True to his word, the people in the street kept on their way as if the turtles didn't even exist. So that was what Leo felt! What had made him stumble!  The cautious tension in Donnie was immediately replaced by heart-fluttering curiosity. He couldn’t resist a high-pitched whistle, striding away from the group before Leo could say a word to stop him; he went as close as he dared to the end of the alleyway, waving and laughing and calling out to the streets with, to his utter joy, no response.

“This is so cool this is so cool this is so cool!” Donnie’s voice got higher with each repeat, flapping his wrists, “W-what is it, some type of four-lensed blind spot? O-or something using metamaterials or—?”

“Noooo, it’s mystic.” Leonardo said, and with a snap of his fingers Michelangelo perked up. He removed a small item that had been hidden in the rainbow pouch around his neck, the artifact attached to him by a slim golden collar; it was almost like a keychain he hung around his neck. “And so is this.”

Leo eyed the little trinket curiously; in shape, it was similar to Donatello’s gift, except with greens and golds instead of orange and reds. He could have mistaken it for an oddly colored compass with kanji if he hadn’t seen that familiar, lop-sided M in the middle. The compass itself was pointing directly at the wall, glowing the most vibrant neon and pulsing slightly. Leo could feel the energy radiating.

With a hand as steady as a seasoned artist, Michelangelo traced the trinket across the wall using the M as a guiding map. Before the astonished eyes of the Splinterson brothers, the compass left what looked almost like a trail of paint in its wake, except it didn't drip, and when Michelangelo had completed his work it began to glow. It was green at first, then shifted into a soft baby blue, and then into white as the faux paint finally started to drip and melt into a doorway. Leo felt an immediate draw toward it, like the force that would try to lasso them into Leonardo’s rift except not as strong. Raph gave a simple hiss in response, pulling back and shaking his head while Donnie did the exact opposite, reaching for the rift as if it were the most precious treasure. 

“I thought only your Leo could make rifts…” Leo said.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Leonardo asked, dancing over to stand proud at Leo’s side, “Portals are the only way into the Hidden City!”

“Hidden City?” Raph breathed through his teeth, eyes still fixed on the rift.

“Yeah!” Raphael said unhelpfully, “You three should stay close to us; the mystic types can be pretty jarring for first timers.”

Raph started to say, “I think I can handle them” before he felt a gentle tug at his hand. Raph looked to see Michelangelo holding his hand, resting his full weight against Raphael’s arm without the older mutant so much as flinching. Michelangelo’s eyes were wide, the colors flowing in them like a warm sunset as he beamed up at his friend.

“Don’t be scared, Raphie! You can hold my hand if you want to!”

“Uh…” Looking down at this tiny, vibrant young shinobi that barely came up to his stomach in height, Raph couldn’t say anything except, “Y-yeah, sure. Thanks kid…”

Michelangelo have a happy giggle and wiggled his joy. He snatched Donnie with his other hand before the tallest box turtle could get very far.

“You can hold my hand too, Donna!”

“Donna?” Raph breathed through his nose, then laughed, “Hell yeah. Down with the patriarchy.”

Donnie, upon being grabbed by Michelangelo, had much the same reaction as Raph. He didn't know what to do, and then he fell to soft adoration as he realized he would do anything for this kid.

“Thanks Mike.”

“Can I hold your hand too?” Leo asked brightly

Michelangelo’s expression flattened. “Only got two hands, Leon.”

Donatello cleared his throat and stepped forward to motion the first group through the rift. “Please keep your hands and feet inside the mystic rift until the ride has ended, keep all personals close as we will not be liable for any limbs or items that may turn up missing. Keep your shells on, your heads low, and watch out for portal jackers as we take this small voyage to Run-Of-The-Mill pizza.”

With that, Michelangelo and the two other box turtles that had to crouch to be able to hold his hand went through the rift without fear. Leo, his mouth still hanging open, turned to look at Raphael, who could only shrug before going through the rift himself. 

“Lady’s first~” Leonardo gave what could have resembled a polite bow if not for the mocking tone, motioning Leo through first.

Leo sucked in a breath, shaking the nervous jitters like water off a duck's back before he stepped through. The pull was very much so like the rift he and his family had taken to wind up in this world to begin with, except less painful. When he opened his eyes again he was standing in… a restaurant?

The smell of cumin and Chili filled the air. The feeling of the polished floor under Leo’s feet was unlike anything he had ever felt before. Like ice, except not cold; soft, but hard at the same time if that was possible. His eyes adjusted to the darkness of the building and more details were quick to come to him; wooden booths with dark brown cushions and tables clean enough to shine under the candlelight that filled the restaurant; the candles, it seemed, were held up by nothing at all! They were shaped almost like they were living; Leo thought it nothing more than a cool design before he realized they actually were living! Living candles with curves and form almost like human women, their hair the flaming candle wicks and the bottom of their shafts flowing out like a ball gown! Closer still and Leo could even begin to make out tiny, detailed faces!

“You want your normal seats I presume?” 

Leo blinked and shook his head as the familiar voice brought him back down to earth. Though he hadn’t seen Hueso in just over two years, the skeleton man had hardly changed at all. The calaca’s white pupils danced across the group with a curious hum.

“And shall I double your usual then?” Hueso queried.

“Bone man!” Leonardo explained, scooping Hueso up in a hug before the older yokai could make his escape. “Good to see ya!”

“Wish I could say the same.” Hueso grumbled, then added bitterly, “Problem child…”

“And that’s why you love me!” Leonardo blew a kiss, “Now Hueso, you remember the other us’s, right?”

“Unfortunately, it’s a pleasure to remake your acquaintance.”

Hueso was met with three half-hearted mutters of greeting; none of the Splintersons were even looking at him! Why would they when there were so many different creatures to see? In most every booth and table and barstool were mutants out of a fantasy book; beings even Donnie couldn’t single out as anything familiar! Some of them had characteristics that could have been compared to more natural animals— tentacles and fangs and frills. Creatures as big as an elephant or small as a shrew, with varying table sizes to accommodate all in between.

“Hey, listen bone man.” Leonardo tried to whisk Hueso away for a private conversation, but Hueso ducked to avoid the fate. His eyes and Leonardo’s were locked until Leonardo backed down, “We need a favor.”

“Don’t you always?” Hueso asked, “Seems every time you come to pay a visit it is for your own gain.”

“What? Noooo! Me? Noo!” Leonardo scoffed, waving a dismissive hand and laughing before quickly giving up the ruse, “It’s important this time. We need to find a yokai who sells decent rifts at an affordable price, and we need it like yesterday if we want to get these boys home.”

Hueso hummed, bringing his fingers to his mouth as he considered. “Define affordable.”

“Somewhere in the price range of… eight hundred US dollars or nine thousand Japanese yen.” Donatello said.

Hueso hissed through his teeth. “You won’t get any that cheap. Cheapest I know of would be Monroe, but quality rifters at his place run upward to three million pesos.”

Donatello took out his phone and ran some quick calculations. “Okay guess we’re not eating this month.”

“Wish I could be of more help pepino.” Hueso said, turning to leave while he was still talking, “I’ll go get you directions to Monroe.”

~~~

“This looks like the place…” Donatello said, and he indicated a small sliver of alleyway squeezed between two tall buildings.

“Doesn’t look like much.” Raph huffed; Michelangelo still had a tight hold on his and Donnie’s hands for support.

“But it is discrete though.” Donnie pointed out; his mind was still wandering, trying its best to soak up the tangled stimuli from the buildings and the mutants that looked almost like something out of a cartoon! Like a child had drawn these characters and these structures and planted them together in a bright, yet disorienting, array of flashing colors. “I’d hate to be an epileptic in this place…”

“Are we… gonna be able to fit through there?” Leo asked, his question directed toward Leonardo.

Leonardo flashed Leo a warning glare before saying, “Raph, are you and the guys gonna be able to fit?”

Raphael gave a low whine. His beak crinkled in concentration as his first idea was to simply walk forward, which proved him too wide. Then he huffed and turned sideways, but was still too bulky. It seemed Raphael ran out of ideas, so Donatello cleared his throat.

“If I could direct everyone’s attention slightly upwaaaard~”

Following his motion, they found what could have resembled a bell hanging above the alleyway. It looked as if it were made of slime with little chunks of something floating inside. Raph cringed at the sight of it, but Raphael gave a far too curious ooo and reached to touch it. Leonardo quickly stepped between Raphael and the slime-bell.

“No no no no, no no. No.” Leonardo said, forcing Raphael back, “Bad Raph.”

“I wasn’t gonna eat it.” Raphael pouted.

Leonardo narrowed his eyes. Raphael stuck out his bottom lip and tapped his fingers. 

“Okay I was gonna eat it. You can ring it.”

“Eh… not sure if I want to…” Despite his words, Leonardo reached up and took the slimy rope of the bell, a texture not unlike a worm, and yanked on it. Instead of ringing, it gave off a sound like a foghorn blowing that made every turtle cover their ears, though Leonardo removed his hands from his head just as quickly when he realized it was still covered in slime. “Ew ew ew ew—“

There was a pop and they were swallowed by a slimy, green bubble. What followed was mixed reactions of terror and disgust as they moved into a tighter group, shell to shell with the bigger ones surrounding the smaller. The bubble lifted then off their feet and through the wall like they had no matter at all, carried past the narrow door and lowered to the ground on the other side before the slime bubble popped and left them confused and disgruntled.

“What is this place?” Donnie was the first to separate from the group to look around. The space around them was not unlike an auction house, filled with all sorts of items on display. They filled shelf after shelf after shelf, placed around with no true order. Looking up would reveal several more floors, all just as filled with artifacts and creatures for purchase, with a convenient opening through the middle of each floor.

“Looks like some sort of witchy auction place…” Raph commented. Not to be outdone by his younger brother, Raph separated and started to investigate the place for himself, “How does a grimy grifter get a place like this?”

“Wait a minute…” Leonardo frowned as he looked around, “Wait— I know this place.”

Raph picked up a gem-encrusted chalice, turning it around curiously. “Huh. Fancy.”

“Raph, don’t touch anything.” Leo groaned.

“What?” Raph scoffed, “Guess you don’t want me to do this either, huh?”

He began to juggle the chalice with surprising style.

“Raph, stop that!” Leo tried to intervene, but that only seemed to egg Raph on. He danced out of Leo’s reach, laughing as he pretended to drop the decor before catching it at the last second, “I’m serious!”

Raph only laughed. At least, he was laughing until he actually did drop it— right on the head of a small, purple yokai who had been observing the scene, as still as one of his statues. Raph swore, trying to recover the drop but it was too late. It sank into the yokai’s head as if he were made of pure gelatin, and they could still see the gold through the flesh and skin. The purple yokai blinked, and Raph screamed.

The purple yokai’s skin shifted into flowing rings of yellow and orange that forced the chalice up and out of his head, into his hand. He didn't look like much— something akin to a slug if anything— with a soft beak and a snaggle tooth like Raphael’s only smaller. He breathed onto the chalice and wiped it off with his sleeve before placing it back on the shelf.

“Please don’t touch.”

“YOU!” Leonardo pointed accusingly, “You’re that slug guy who sold me wallet-stealing hair! You’re Monroe?!”

“That’s a talking slug—” Raph withdrew back into the crowd of his brothers, eyes wide. 

Donnie gasped, pulling his goggles down over his eyes and advancing as quickly as Raph had retreated. The slug drew into himself, his entire body constricting like a squeezed stress ball. Leo visibly cringed, while Raphael and his brothers didn't seem all that bothered beyond a few yawns or comforting pats for Raph.

“This is incredible— there’s compounds in him that fail to be isolated or traced!” Donnie picked up one of the slugs arms to investigate every inch of him. “He doesn’t even seem to be carbon based at all; there’s elements I can’t even identify— what…?” Donnie pulled up his goggles as the astonishment gave way to a confused frown, “Is— is he a mutant?”

“No.” Donatello scoffed.

That was met with three very confused box turtles casting side glances. 

“Are… are any of them mutants?” Leo asked.

Leonardo laughed, “What? You though every yokai in the Hidden City was mutated by Draxum and his army of mutant mosquitoes? Ha! W-what dumb idiots would think that?” Leonardo was visibly sweating.

“Not these dumb idiots, that’s for sure.” Donatello tried to brush past, scratching his neck.

“W-wait, so none’a them guys we passed were mutants?” Raph asked, pointing back at the door.

“Well, some of them might have been, but the majority? No; they’re yokai and cryptids.”

“Yokai…” Donnie breathed, and that astonished look returned to his face as he continued to circle Monroe, “They exist in your world? Oh my kama this just keeps getting better—“

“Don.” Raph whistled as if Donnie was a dog, “Buy first, geek later.”

Monroe’s eyes lit up at that and he pulled himself away from Donnie to give a polite bow to the rest of the group. “If sales you wants, sales I’s gots! I gots artifacts from all around the world, from the tombs of Giza to the ancient Amazons. If you needs it, I gots it!”

“Great!” Raphael clapped. “Cause we need a high quality rifter.”

Monroe sank into himself. “Not that’s I don’t gots…”

A visible vein twitched in Leo. “What?”

“I solds out…” He frowned, tapping his nubby hands together.

“WHEN?”

“Like ten minutes ago, don’t yell at me.” The slug quivered, his eyes like saucers.

Leonardo sucked in a slow, deep breath, “Who bought them, Monroe?”

“Oh, an andoroido with a nice voice ands such manners. He’s having buying all my rifters. He’s very rich.”

“All of them?” Raphael whimpered, “Y-you don’t even got a… a small busted one in the back?”

Monroe shook his head. “Not one! He was be very insistent he gets alls of them. But I do has a very special hover pod with your name witten all over it if you—“

“Not interested.” Leonardo quickly dismissed, pulling on his face in his frustration, “Great. We— we’ll find somewhere else to look.”

“But I is to be assuring you that no other shop has rifters worth your while…” Monroe said.

“That's what every illegal rifter peddler would say!”

“Not this illegal rifter peddler, I swearing it to you!”

“And I swear I’ll bust your teeth in if you’re lying…” Leonardo seized Monroe by the collar and lifted him up.

“Leo.” Raphael was quick to correct. His eyes met Leonardo’s for just a moment. That was all it took for Leonardo to relent and release the Yokai. Raphael made a quick point to help Monroe fix his shirt. “Sorry ‘bout that. If you happen to find a rifter you missed, could you give us a call?”

Without having to be asked, Donatello had already written up his phone number and placed it in Monroe’s hand.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any more contacts, do you Don?”

Donatello took a long, slow breath. “I’ll see what I can find.”

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles

[stiltonbasket]

but ALSO okay so first of all thank you so much for the ficlets so far they are Adorable and i love them so much. second of all i am so glad you opened prompts again bcuz. i have. smth ive been wanting to read for a WHILE. so. prompt: junior generation post-canon, they all have super high standards for romantic partners cuz they spend time with Super Lovey Dovey WangXian. not like jiang cheng's List but smth a la Tenille Arts's Somebody Like That iykwim

i hope its not too late to insert a detail to my prompt!!! (i ran outta chara space in the og prompt message and then forgot ^^" ) but theres just one thing!! i really wanna see!!!! in the wangxian spoiling each other bit!!!!! (and the juniors being all That is Love Why Should We Settle For Less) -- i want lan zhan walkin around at one point with his hair in a braid and flowers braided in!!! and if asked he gets all soft and looks at it and is like "wei ying did it" ahhh i love the image <3

can anybody find me (somebody to love)

by stiltonbasket

“Wei-qianbei, we’re getting old enough to go courting now,” Jingyi says eagerly; but he’s a horrible liar who lies, because he and Sizhui are only nineteen, and Jin Ling doesn’t come of age until early winter. “What do you think we should put on our list of requirements?” 

(Or, the one where Jin Rulan visits the Cloud Recesses, contemplates his love life, and gets a new point of view on the Lan sect's taxation policy.)

Jin Ling is seventeen the year his dajiu marries Hanguang-jun, and finally gives Jin Ling the right to call Lan Sizhui his cousin. Sizhui’s always been his cousin, of course—they’ve been cousins since Jin Ling was born, even if neither of them knew it—but he couldn’t say so, because that would mean telling everyone that Sizhui was born a Wen. And telling everyone that Sizhui was a Wen would lead to terrible things, so Jin Ling keeps his mouth shut until after his dajiu’s wedding.

“You could just say that he was born to us during the Sunshot Campaign!” Wei Wuxian laughed, when he finally heard why Jin Ling wanted him to hurry up and take his three bows with Hanguang-jun. “Half the cultivation world already thinks he’s ours, anyway.”

But regardless of whether he could call Sizhui his biao-ge in public, Sizhui is first and foremost a very dear friend; and so are Lan Jingyi and A-Qing and Ouyang Zizhen, though Jin Ling’s best friend is probably Zizhen, just like Sizhui’s is Jingyi. He visits them in Gusu as often as he can, since all of them save Zizhen live there, and even Zizhen hangs around the Cloud Recesses more often than not. 

“Don’t you have a clan of your own?” Jin Ling frowns, when he visits his dajiu around midsummer to find the younger boy eating xiaolongbao in the jingshi’s new kitchen. “How come you’re still here, A-Zhen? The lectures ended weeks ago!”

“I’m almost sixteen,” Zizhen yawns, reaching for a shallow dish of black vinegar and soaking a salted mushroom in it. “Father says I’m old enough to go where I like, and Lan-xiansheng said I could keep studying with the Lan disciples as long as I stayed.”

“You’re just here for the food,” grumbles Jin Ling. His dajiu is a good cook when he doesn’t cover everything in chili peppers, and Jiujiu once told him in confidence that Wei-dajiu’s food was the closest Jin Ling would ever get to having his mother’s. But a steaming plate of xiaolongbao lands in front of Jin Ling before he can really start thinking about that, and then his baby cousin crawls into his lap and steals one of the soup dumplings.

“Ling-gege pays taxes,” three-year-old Lan Yu says serenely, poking a hole in the xiaolongbao and sucking out the broth. “Xiao-Yu can have one more?”

“Taxes?” Jin Ling stares at him. “What in the world does he mean?”

Wei Wuxian laughs and comes back over to give him another succulent soup dumpling to replace the one Xiao-Yu stole. “He’s pretending to be the sect leader,” he explains, ruffling Jin Ling’s hair on his way back to the stove. “And he found out about tax management this morning, since Lan Zhan and Xichen-ge are thinking about lifting the luxury tax on goods from some of the minor sects. But A-Yu thinks taxes are presents for the sect leader, so…”

“One more bao tax for xiao-Lan-zongzhu!” Xiao-Yu says imperiously, holding out his chubby hands. “Ling-gege give, please?”

“That is not polite, Xiao-Yu,” Hanguang-jun scolds, sweeping into the kitchen with A-Yuan and Jingyi behind him and A-Qing bringing up the rear. He lifts Xiao-Yu into his arms and sits him down on the bench next to Zizhen, and then he reaches up for a stack of patterned bowls and passes them around to the others. 

Jin Ling still hasn’t gotten used to eating at the Chief Cultivator’s table, even if Hanguang-jun is technically his uncle now. Sometimes Hanguang-jun even does the cooking, and feeds Wei-dajiu with his own chopsticks while everyone else watches, and then Jin Ling tries to choke himself to death on the bamboo shoots in his yan du xian before deciding that Lanling can’t afford to lose the first decent zongzhu it’s had since his great-grandfather’s time. 

“I wish I was married,” Ouyang Zizhen sighs dreamily, resting his cheek on his hand as Xiao-Yu tries to steal his dumplings next. On his other side, A-Qing’s cheeks flush crimson, and she stares resolutely down at her hands while Hanguang-jun offers her a plate of savory vegetables. “It looks so nice, Wei-qianbei.”

“It is nice,” Wei-dajiui winks—and oh, gross, because Hanguang-jun is blushing now, and staring at Wei Wuxian as if he’s the most amazing thing in the world. “Marrying Lan Zhan is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“Mm,” Hanguang-jun says quietly, putting a heaping spoonful of potato congee into his husband’s bowl. “Wei Ying is the best thing that happened to me, too.”

Ouyang Zizhen wails. 

“Wei-qianbei, we’re getting old enough to go courting now,” Jingyi says eagerly; but he’s a horrible liar who lies, because he and Sizhui are only nineteen, and Jin Ling doesn’t come of age until early winter. “What do you think we should put on our list of requirements?”

“What, you want an arranged marriage?” Wei-dajiu frowns. “ I never went through the process myself—” and Hanguang-jun reaches out and squeezes Wei-dajiu’s waist, as if even thinking about Wei-dajiu seeing a matchmaker was too much— “and I don’t really know anyone who did, since Yunmeng’s a lot freer about these things. Are you sure, Jingyi?”

“I’m not asking for a matchmaker,” Jingyi says, tossing his long ponytail over his shoulder. “I want to know what to look for if my love of a lifetime comes along. So what were you looking for?”

“Nothing when I was your age, A-Yi. I thought I would spend my whole life at Lotus Pier, and marry one of the shijies or shimeis who liked me. But then I met Lan Zhan, and…”

And then his ideal became Hanguang-jun, Jin Ling finishes, chewing on a mouthful of mustard greens. Everyone knows that, Jingyi!

Unfortunately, the conversation doesn’t end there. It goes on for the better part of an hour, and all through the course of coconut pudding Hanguang-jun made for dessert, and Jin Ling can’t even leave because that would be rude, and the food is too good to pass up even if Ouyang Zizhen wants to ask about kissing now.

“How old is old enough to have your first kiss?” he inquires, while Lan Sizhui giggles into his hands and elbows Zizhen to make him stop. “I’m sixteen, so is that too young?”

“I was thirty-eight when I first kissed Wei Ying,” Hanguang-jun says dryly. “I would advise patience, unless Ouyang-gongzi already has a beloved one in mind.”

Jin Ling wants to die. Why is his extended family like this?

“Pudding tax,” Xiao-Yu announces from his lap. “Ling-gege, can A-Yu have a bite?”

“I’m Sect Leader Jin, though. I don’t have to pay you taxes.”

Xiao-Yu gives him a serious little nod before turning to Sizhui. “Yuan-gege, pay pudding taxes.”

“You’ve had enough pudding,” Sizhui scolds; and indeed, the dishes are mostly empty now, except for the serving bowls in the middle of the table. “Come on, A-Yu. Let’s go visit the rabbits.”

They end up at the rabbit field about ten minutes later, after Jingyi and Sizhui help Hanguang-jun with the dishes. Jin Ling thinks it must make a very strange picture: after all, one doesn’t often see three Lan juniors, one Ouyang sect heir, one Jin sect leader, and one Lan baby lying in the grass with bunnies climbing over them. But the peace and quiet is beautifully welcome after the political unrest in Lanling and the dog food in Wei-dajiu’s tiny kitchen, so Jin Ling closes his eyes and settles down for a nap with a small white rabbit on his chest. 

“I think Shufu was right,” he hears A-Qing say. “There’s no point in having a list of requirements. Look at what happened to Jiang-zongzhu.”

“His first list was terrible, though,” Zizhen objects. “And he’s going to be married by next spring, so it worked for him in the end. After he fixed his requirements, I mean.”

“Gossipping is forbidden in the Cloud Recesses,” Sizhui says tranquilly. “And what Father meant was that having a list means you might miss your fated one when they come along, so it’s best to think about what you want, instead of what your beloved should be.”

“I’d like it if my wife liked to eat my cooking,” sighs Zizhen—he’s an excellent cook, too, and Jin Ling knows for a fact that A-Qing’s favorite food is the shrimp and water spinach Zizhen’s mother taught him to make. “Then I could cook, and she could wash our children’s hands and bring them to the kitchen when I was done, and we would all eat together.”

“I think I’d like a husband who knew how to do my hair,” A-Qing says, not even trying to be subtle. Jin Ling has seen the combs Zizhen keeps giving her, even if they’re far too young for a courtship, and Zizhen is always the first to offer assistance whenever A-Qing’s hair falls out of its bun. “Even a plain bun is too hard for me, since my hair’s so bushy.”

Zizhen nearly drops his rabbit. “Oh,” he whispers, blushing so hard that his neck turns red. “That’s good!”

Jin Ling wants to die. He can’t stand visiting Lotus Pier because his jiujiu is obviously courting, even if he won’t say he is, and now he’s going to have to watch A-Qing and Zizhen flirt until Zewu-jun and Ouyang-zongzhu give them permission to get married. 

“What about you, Jingyi?”

“Huh? Oh, I want to marry someone who won’t mind how loud I am,” Jingyi shrugs. “Or someone even louder than me, so we can make trouble together. A-Yuan?”

“I haven’t really thought about it, actually,” Sizhui sighs. “I’m Zewu-jun’s heir, so I have to get married, but I’m not sure if I want to.”

A moment of silence. 

“Then you won’t have to,” Jin Ling says. Everyone stares at him. “Zewu-jun didn’t get married, and Hanguang-jun wouldn’t have if Wei-dajiu didn’t come back to life. You can just choose an heir born to one of your cousins, since Jingyi was going to inherit the sect before Hanguang-jun adopted you.”

The others swoop in to assure Sizhui that no one’s going to make him get married, and Jin Ling folds his arms behind his head and wonders if his biao-ge could possibly be like Zewu-jun: a yi xin yi shen, whole in heart and body, who eschewed marriage in favor of cultivation. It would explain a lot, Jin Ling thinks, because even he knows what it feels like when someone makes his heart beat fast and his face turn pink, and Sizhui’s never felt that way. 

(Jin Ling tries not to think of Nie-zongzhu’s hot-tempered archivist, who knocked him into the dust with her saber the last time he visited Qinghe and then told him he had pretty eyes. Nie Shiyong is a few years older than him, and he usually ends up nursing several new bruises each time he meets her, but Jin Ling is man enough to admit to himself that he likes her. Maybe.)

“Xiao-Yu is sleepy,” little A-Yu says, interrupting his embarrassing train of thought before it can go any further. “Yuan-gege, I have a nap?”

“You can just sleep here,” Jingyi suggests. “The grass is soft enough, right? And you can use one of us for a pillow.”

“Jingyi,” Sizhui chides, and Jin Ling hears the long grass rustling as his cousin gets to his feet. “Come on, A-Yu. I’ll take you home to A-Niang.”

“No need,” someone else says; and that’s Hanguang-jun’s voice, coming up the hill from the direction of the jingshi. “I am here. A-Yu, come.”

Jin Ling scrambles up to greet his uncle by marriage (sect leader or not, jiujiu would kill him if he greeted the Chief Cultivator from the ground) and then he reels back and blinks in surprise, because Hanguang-jun’s hair is up in a loose braid instead of a half-topknot, and somebody seems to have decorated the braid with a row of half-bloomed lotus flowers. 

“Wei Ying did it,” Hanguang-jun says, with a small, soft smile that makes Sizhui and the others gasp. “He will do the same for your hair, too, if you ask.”

And then he lifts Xiao-Yu up into his arms and carries him away, leaving Jin Ling still frozen mid-bow with Jingyi and Zizhen gaping behind him.

“I think what Hanguang-jun meant is that the first requirement for marriage is love,” Lan Sizhui remarks, when Jin Ling finally snaps his mouth shut. “And that no matter what we want, or think we want, we shouldn’t settle for less.”

(Jin Ling is the first of his friends to marry, and he never forgets his biao-ge’s advice until the end of his days.)

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #jin ling #my fic

[babybatscreationsv2]

A King on a Leash ch8

Marvel | Starker

Tony Stark is a powerful man with a beautiful husband and a loyal crime family, but it looks like he didn’t keep his husband on a short enough leash. After turning Peter lose on a Cuban gang leader, Peter’s life is  in danger. The real trouble is that Tony now realizes that Peter is the  only thing in this world that he cares about and he never meant for that  to happen.

Sequel to A Doll on a String

Rating: Explicit

Full Fic

A Doll on a String

Warnings under the cut*

Warnings: torture, murder, mafia au, graphic description of a panic attack, orgasm denial, possessive behavior, jealousy

Fists, a knife, a flambe torch, and two hours later and Tony had everything he needed. He sent Natasha off to find Bucky. Together they would gather up their teams and corner this cousin of Suarez's. Ricardo, but everyone calls him 'Chili'. How intimidating. They dumped the body off a pier, then Tony noticed the time. Shit. He was going to be late to pick up Peter.

"Hap," he said through the phone. "You available to pick Peter up today?"

"Sorry, Boss, I'm across town. You can't make it?"

"Fuck. I'll have his guards drive him home."

"Sorry, Tony. Wish I could make it. Want me to call and make some threats before they pick him up?"

"No," he sighed. "I'm sure I can manage. Thanks anyway, Hap."

"No problem, Boss."

Tony ended the call and dialed Kevin, the head of Peter's guards when Happy wasn’t around. He would already be parked in front of the building to make sure it was safe.

"You're bringing Peter home, today. Make sure he comes straight home and don't you-"

"Boss?"

Tony clenched his jaw at being interrupted. Better be fucking important. "What is it?"

"You telling me this ain't your car the other Mr. Stark just got into?" the fear in his voice was icy.

His own heart was shot through with the same icy fear. "Tail them. Wherever they go. Call me when they stop."

He hung up and called Peter, hands clammy. Could Ricardo have gotten to him this fast? His man said he was in Jersey today, but he could have made the drive in the time it took to get it out of him. It could have been a distraction. Could have been a trap. Peter could be dead already.

"Tony?" Peter answered. Tony sighed, instantly soothed. He didn't sound scared or stressed or otherwise in trouble. He was okay.

"Baby where are you?"

"You didn't get my texts?"

Tony checked his phone. As he looked, four messages arrived in series. He sighed. Stupid warehouse reception. Sometimes it knocked out his signal.

"Sorry, baby. Tell me where you are."

"I'm just going to dinner with some friends. Sorry if I scared you."

Tony relaxed into his seat. He's okay. He's alive. His own heart still raced. "It's okay, sweetheart, I'm not mad."

"That's an awful lot of pet names for not being mad."

Tony took a deep breath. "Next time, make sure I got your message before you leave. Please?"

"Of course. I love you, Tony. Go enjoy an evening to yourself, okay? I'll be home late."

"Sure, angel. Have fun. Tell your friends I said 'hi'."

"Will do." Peter kissed him through the phone. "See you at home."

"Love you, Peter."

"Love you, Tony."

The call ended. Tony sighed and stared out the window. He didn't like the cold, anxious, feeling of being without Peter. 'Enjoy an evening to yourself', yeah right. He sat and fiddled with the ring on his finger. Then ice shot through his heart.

Friends?

Friends. Plural. Peter has two best friends: Gwen and MJ. They hate each other. Sure, he goes out with the girls he dances with every now and then, but he doesn't call them friends. He calls them 'the girls'. MJ has a girlfriend. He could be going out with them together, but MJ wouldn't have met him at the performance hall because she hates Gwen. Even if she had she couldn't afford a car that would be confused with one of Tony's. What friends?

His first instinct was to call him back and ask, but no. He didn't want Peter to think he was being overbearing. He deserves his own space. Fuck, it was killing him, though. Like a blessing from God, Kevin called.

"Boss?"

"Where is he, Kev?"

Poor Kevin sounded like he might throw up. "He's at that Italian place you guys like and he's with friends."

"Which friends?"

"Uh," he paused. "The blonde girl and a guy. I've never seen him before."

There was a guy that he danced with, but he and Peter never got along so they don't hang out. He would have remembered if Peter had made amends with him. "Describe him."

"Expensive looking suit, short brown hair, maybe an inch or two taller than Mr. Stark. Looked around the same age. Couldn't see much of his face from here, but he was clean-shaven."

Harry Osborn.

"Call in the second car. I want men inside. I'll call Leonardo and let him know you're with me."

"Yes, sir."

It hurt. It genuinely fucking hurt. And it was stupid. Why did he feel like Peter was cheating on him? Of course he would want to see an old friend. Harry had been gone for years, they would want to catch up. At least Gwen was with them. She was very straight laced, she wouldn't let Peter run off with him- What the fuck was he even thinking? Of course Peter wouldn't. He took a deep breath but it didn't stop the panic. He couldn't breathe. The car was suffocating him. He climbed out and nearly fell onto the sidewalk.

His driver got out and came around the side.

"You alright, Boss?"

"Fine-" he choked. "Just need a minute. Wait in the car."

He looked unsure, but he did what he was told.

Tony's mind spun with thoughts that didn't quite connect and weren't entirely coherent.

Should start going to his practices with him... Should tell him he's not allowed to dance anymore. What if he leaves? What if he doesn't come home? I should kill Harry Osborn. What if I caught them together? What if Peter wants him? What if he's better than me? What if he's better for Peter than me? I should go to the restaurant. I should call Peter. I should go home. Why can't I breathe?

Tony sat down on the curb and put his head between his knees. He didn't want to imagine what he looked like, a Mafia Boss, a capital 'B' Boss, sitting on the ground like a kid at a Macy's parade. Cue the fucking confetti and tootsie rolls.

His phone rang. It was Peter. He answered without thinking, then realized his throat was thick and he probably sounded like he was crying. Was he crying?

"What the fuck, Tony? I can't go to dinner without a babysitter?"

Tony gulped down air. The sound of his voice, even venomous and angry, helped to soothe him. "No, baby, you can't." His voice came out thick and gravelly and probably sounded more angry than upset.

"And why not?" He could just see him, hiding in the bathroom so no one would here them argue. A hand on his hip and the other clutched around his phone. Teeth clenched and hair disheveled where he ran a frustrated hand through it.

"Because you're mine," Tony said, a little smile on his lips.

He heard Peter sigh. "I know I'm in trouble and all, but can't your men wait outside?"

"You need all the protection you can get, angel. I won't let anything happen to you." Or anyone, he thought.

A pause, then another sigh. "Fine. You're right. Sorry, I overreacted."

"It's okay. I'm glad you called."

"Are you okay?"

Tony stood up and brushed himself off. He looked at the people passing him by as if they were the ones who were strange. "I will be when this is over."

There was a pause. "Should I cancel dinner?" He sounded so upset. Tony couldn't take something from him if it really meant that much. Though, he couldn't say that it didn't feel good to be reminded that he could. If he walked into that restaurant and dragged Peter out no one would stop him. Hell, Peter would blush and make excuses but he wouldn't argue. Not in public. Not when it could tarnish Tony's image.

"No, angel. Enjoy your dinner." And think of me, he thought. Remember the guards I sent to protect you. Remember that I'm always just a call away.

"You sure?"

"Of course. Be safe. Don't go anywhere alone." Just come home. Just ditch him and come home.

"I'll be careful. You be careful, too."

"I love you, Peter." More than anything. Anything at all.

"Love you, Tony." Why? What's worth loving when I'm weak like this?

On shaking legs, Tony got back in the car. Cold and pale, he cleared his throat. Then he barked at the driver to take him home.

Peter wasn’t late, but it felt like it. Especially since Tony had spent a good while on the bathroom floor throwing up into the toilet. He had showered and brushed his teeth and he prayed Peter didn't smell the vomit on him. He was relaxing by an artificial fire, forcing himself to read a book, when Peter came in. He was all smiles, walking on air. He floated across the room to give Tony a kiss.

"Whatcha reading?"

"Nothing." He let Peter take the book from his hands and set it aside. Then he sat straddling his lap. "There's my angel." He brushed Peter's hair from his forehead. He had to get himself under control. He'd been completely sick until Peter got home. He felt like he'd been holding his breath up until the moment Peter's weight settled in his lap. He closed his eyes and breathed him.

"Did you miss me?" Peter cooed, angel sweet. He smelled like fresh Italian herbs and restaurant hand soap.

Tony shrugged. "Should I?"

Peter gave him a coy smile. "I know what missed me." He slipped down to the floor and pushed apart Tony's legs. His skinny fingers trailed over his crotch. A slave to his husband, the man that was supposed to be his plaything and not the other way around, Tony's cock started to thicken at the touch. He let his legs spread wider, let his head fall back as Peter's hot little mouth made a wet spot on the front of his pants. He could feel the heat, the tease of suction through too many layers. After suffering so many bad feelings throughout the day, the promise of pleasure made him hungry.

"Don't tease, sweetheart."

Peter looked up at him with a mischievous smile on his face. He continued to suck on the fabric, moaning like it was his cock, like he could taste it through the material. Tony stared, his expression dark. He reached slowly down to unbuckle his belt and pulled it off. Peter sat still and waited watching as he took out his cock.

Tony admired the way he licked his bottom lip as be eyed the belt in his hands before he eyed Tony's cock. He looked up, asking for permission.

"Get your mouth on it. No hands."

Without a question, Peter bent and took his cock into his mouth. Tony finally felt some of the days tension leave him. He let Peter get him hard and wet, then he used the belt to pulled Peter in, letting it curve against the back of his head, and pulled him down until his tongue reached his balls. He pulled down with the belt and thrust his hips forward, burying as deeply as he could in his throat. His head fell back against the chair. Peter wretched, body trembling between his legs. Tony let him up before he could puke up his dinner. He looked down at Peter to see his eyes glassy and his mouth open and dripping with spit.

"What a good little toy you are. Gonna be my fleshlight, baby?"

Peter moaned. "Yes, daddy." Fuck, that look on his face, cock stupid and perfect. Ready to do anything he asked.

"That's a good boy."

He got his mouth back on Tony's cock and Tony used the belt to guide him. He kept his mouth open wide and let Tony have what he wanted, appearing more fuck hole than man.

"You're daddy's perfect little slut aren't you?"

Peter gurgled on his cock, unable to answer.

"Should keep you tied to the bed. Use you whenever I want." Never let you leave. He liked the sound of that.

Peter was so good, so patient, and obedient. Tony's treatment of his throat was brutal, tortuous, yet he sat with his hands in lap. Tears ran down his cheeks and spit down his chin. Daddy's good obedient pet. Perfect and beautiful and all his. All his.

He let Peter go and sat stroking himself, watching him gasp. Once he recovered enough, he sat up, mouth open waiting for his cum. Tony painted him with it, coating his face in sticky white, hardly any ended up in his waiting mouth. And Peter sat, still and patient until Tony wiped the cum from his eyes. Then he blinked up at him, licking his lips.

"Can I cum, daddy?"

Tony thought a moment. "No," he decided. He could spend tomorrow hard and thinking about Tony and not thinking about Osborn and Tony would feel a little better about his dinner outing.

"Clean your face and strip for me."

"Yes, sir." Peter wiped cum from his cheeks and licked his fingers clean. Tony scooped some off his forehead when he missed it. Peter happily suckled his fingers, humming and closing his eyes. Like having any part of Tony inside him was bliss. Then he stood and stripped out of his clothes. Tony looked at his cock, fully hard and needy.

"Come sit with me, angel."

Peter sat down on his lap, happy when Tony gave him a deep kiss. Then slowly started to kiss down his neck. His fingers teased his bare thigh. He brushed them over his hard cock, adoring the way his cock jumped under his touch. "Tell me about your dinner. Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah," he began, notably breathless. "Harry was back in town so- so Gwen and I took him out." He stuttered as Tony sucked on his neck. He grinned against the fresh bruises he made.

"That sounds nice," he said.

He wrapped a hand around his cock and slowly stroked him. Peter licked his swollen lips.

"It was fun. I missed Harry. I missed you, too, of course. I'm not used to having dinner without you."

Tony sucked another mark into his skin, increasing the pressure until Peter whined and his hands touched his chest. Then he thought, just one more, and sucked another mark just above his Adam's apple.

"What's gotten into you?" Peter asked, breathless and clinging to his chest.

"Nothing." Tony threaded his fingers through his hair and kissed him again. He licked away the taste of cum from his mouth until he could taste Peter underneath. His Peter.

#marvel #starker #mafia au #torture #murder #panic attacks #possessive behavior #jealousy #a king on a leash

[alarawriting]

52 Project #27: The Pale Bro

Five friends drove up the mountain into the forest, where the vacation cabin waited for them. It was their senior year of college, so it wouldn’t be long before they’d be graduating and going their separate ways, and who knew when they’d all be able to hang out together again? So they’d decided that this year, instead of going on spring break someplace where there were a ton of other people, they’d spend break together in a cabin in the woods, because there was no possible way that that could go wrong.

They were just five totally ordinary college guys. Steve, a white dude with brown hair who loved video games and playing guitar; Trevor, a black dude with short hair who was on track to graduate magna cum laude and had already been accepted at a top medical school; Harrison, an outgoing, short, red-haired white dude who played soccer, but not, like, at career athlete level or anything; Evan, an Asian dude who kept his hair in a long ponytail, and whose family owned the cabin, who was planning on taking a year off after graduation to backpack around Asia and had sold it to his parents as an exploration of his heritage; and the Pale Bro, a twelve-foot tall dude with paper-white skin whose fingernails were like long razor blades and who was completely covered with eyes and mouths, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cut-off shorts that would have been nearly pants on any other guy, and a pair of Vans on his feet. Just five ordinary young fellows, like anyone you might know.

Steve was driving the minivan, kinda wishing it was his dad’s SUV because of the effort of getting a minivan up the slope, but his dad’s SUV was in a different state and besides, it wouldn’t have had room for the Pale Bro. The minivan was the kind where you could put down the back row of seats to expand the cargo capacity, and the Pale Bro had laid out a thick sleeping-bag style blanket on top of their suitcases and was laying on them now, curled sideways because there was no dimension where he could stretch out in the van. Must be rough for him, Steve imagined, always having to bend down or curl up to fit into buildings and vehicles with his bros. He never complained about it, though. He was a great friend.

“How much farther is this place?” Harrison asked. “I gotta piss like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’ve been unfortunately next to you at the urinals,” Trevor said. “I’d believe it.”

Steve checked the GPS. “Shit. The GPS has just decided to get the vapors because it’s up too high. It’s telling me I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. Like, look at this.” He showed the screen to Evan. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. It isn’t even drawing the road.”

“Don’t worry about it, I can guide you in from here,” Evan said. “Just stay on the road another 20 minutes or so.”

With a voice that rumbled like the sound of tectonic plates grinding together and the hiss of static from the birth of the universe behind it, the Pale Bro conveyed that there had better be some fucking food at the cabin, because he was starving.

“You and me both, buddy,” Trevor said.

“We all just got Burger King like, two hours ago,” Steve complained.

“Yeah, well, me and Pale are tall dudes. We need more food than you.” Trevor smirked.

“There should be food, I had a grocery delivery scheduled for earlier today and one of my parents’ employees was supposed to swing by the place, pick it up and put it in the fridge.”

“There’s a fridge at this cabin?” Harrison asked.

Evan looked at him. “Yeah, dumbass, you think I’d have suggested coming here if there was no fridge? There’s running water, too. It even gets hot if you run it long enough.”

“Well, excuse me for not being so rich I can afford to go to a cabin in the woods, ever, before now.”

“What else has it got?” Trevor asked.

“Well, there’s three bedrooms, one of which has a king-sized bed and the other two have bunk beds. I figure, Pale Bro gets the big bed and we break up into two’s and do the roommate thing. There’s a sofa bed too, in case someone really can’t stand having a roommate. We don’t have a washer or dryer, but if you only brought one pair of underpants and it’s getting really rank, we’ve got detergent and a clothesline so you can wash them in the sink. There’s a dishwasher.”

“I would have put in a washer and dryer before I put in a dishwasher, personally,” Steve said.

“Yeah, well, my mom had a different opinion. Anyway, it’s camping in the woods. It’s not supposed to be just like if we were at home.”

“I call top bunk!” Harrison said.

“There’s two top bunks. Both rooms have bunk beds.”

The Pale Bro expressed in a voice like a Gregorian chant of nightmares that he wanted to know if there was a bathroom in the master bedroom, because that shit would be sweet.

“Naah, man, sorry,” Evan said. “But there is one of those really deep claw-foot bathtubs that you like.”

Like the rumbling of an oncoming avalanche, the Pale Bro opined that that was excellent.

***

“I don’t believe this shit.”

They had just disembarked, the Pale Bro in the rear bringing his own suitcase and the beer cooler, which was the size of a mini-fridge, and everyone else dragging their suitcases in… except for Evan, who had gone directly to the kitchen without bringing in his own stuff yet. He came stomping out. “Joe never showed up, the bastard! I’m totally having my dad fire his ass.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“I mean that food order never showed up. So we have canned food, and boxed food, but we don’t have anything perishable. No bread, no lunchmeat, no eggs, no bacon, no orange juice, none of that shit.” He sighed. “I’m gonna have to drive down into town myself to get food, and we just got here.”

“Hey, man, I can still drive the car,” Steve said. “You just need to tell me where to go.”

“Steve, you’ve been driving for 6 hours, you’re probably wiped. I can drive,” Trevor said. “It’s the least I could do with Evan buying our food.”

“Yeah, but you bought the beer, man,” Evan said. “So maybe Harrison needs to drive.”

“Uh, hey, before anyone drives anywhere, maybe you should call and find out if your parents even know where that Joe guy who never showed up is, and if he’s all right?” Harrison called from outside.

“Why?”

“Just… everyone come take a look at this!”

Everyone went outside and congregated around Harrison’s find, which was a roughly humanoid, but clawed, tread that was at least three times the size of a normal footprint. Experimentally the Pale Bro put his own massive foot into the tread. Harrison whistled. The footprint was about 25% bigger than the Pale Bro’s.

“Dude. What is that? Is that a bear?” Harrison asked.

Trevor shook his head. “Those are sneaker treads, Har. Bears don’t wear sneakers.”

In a voice that was the perfect auditory personification of the Zalgo font, the Pale Bro suggested that it looked like one of his cousins was back on its bullshit again.

“Goddamn,” Evan said. “That’s a big fellow.”

“I think maybe if we go into town we should all go,” Steve said.

“We’ve just been driving all this time, though,” Evan said. “I wanted to relax, crack a cold one, put on some MP3s. We don’t get Internet worth shit out here but I’ve got a huge music library on the stereo’s hard drive.”

The Pale Bro opined that before anyone drove anywhere, maybe he had better find his cousin and make it clear that if his cousin touched any of his friends he would shove its head so far up its ass it would be blinking shit out of its 27 eyes for a month.

“That… sounds reasonable,” Trevor said. “Since we don’t know what happened to Joe. We can hunker down here and wait for you to get back.”

“I’m pretty sure I got instant just add water pancake mix,” Evan said. “And my mom stocked this place with crappy dehydrated chicken pieces like the kind doomsday preppers buy. I could make a shitty chicken soup, we’ve got bouillon and noodles. Oh, and there’s a few cans of chili. Canned stuff is shit but I could maybe perk it up with some spices, some extra beans… put some rice in the cooker, I bet my mom left rice here, she buys like 100 pound bags of rice.”

Like the sound of Jupiter hovering in orbit above, rotating ponderously, the Pale Bro agreed that some canned chili with extra spices sounded pretty good considering how fucking hungry he was, and as soon as he found his asshole cousin he’d be back to eat with the rest of his bros. He also reminded them to save him some beer.

“Dude!” Steve laughed. “We’ve got three keggers’ worth in that cooler! There will be plenty of beer for you.”

Evan called his parents as the Pale Bro left the house, and reported back, somewhat gray-faced. “They said Joe never called in to say he got to the house. He reported picking up the groceries, he was headed up here, and then nada.”

“Oh, well, then, you work on the chili,” Trevor said, “and me and the rest of the guys are gonna lock up all the windows and doors and put someone on watch for when the Pale Bro gets back. You don’t have any guns up here, by any chance, do you?”

“Nope, my parents aren’t really hunters,” Evan said.

“Well, I’ve seen your kitchen at home, I know what kind of equipment your mom likes to stock. We’ll have plenty of sharp knives, I’m betting.”

“Yeah.”

And so as Evan attempted to turn six cans of canned chili into something his bros would find edible, and the Pale Bro stalked through the forest on the mountaintop looking for his asshole cousin, the other three made sure everything was locked up, that the car keys were secure, and that there were wicked cooking knives within easy reach, but not line of sight from the outside, of every door. Just like ordinary bros do, every day.

***

The Pale Bro stalked through the woods. Now, you’d think that being twelve feet tall and having a foot easily the size of a car tire’s diameter would make it hard to walk through a thickly wooded forest with plenty of underbrush, but the Bro’s long, skinny arms and legs could easily step over bushes and shrubs, and could pivot in directions that didn’t seem to quite exist within three-dimensional space. So he had very little difficulty making his way through the dense forest.

In the beginning, he was tracking the large treads that may or may not have been left by his asshole cousin, but the trail disappeared as it crossed a small creek. In a tone that sounded like the anthropomorphic personification of the trumpets of Jericho, the Pale Bro groaned, recognizing that he’d lost the trail and would have to search for it.

And so he went up the creek, and down the creek, and out from the creek, and up the trees around the creek, looking for any sign of his cousin… until he heard, in the distance, human voices.

Human female voices.

He stumbled through the woods, suddenly much clumsier than he’d been, following the sound of girls, until he half-fell out of the treeline and ended up in a clearing around another cabin, like Evan’s but bigger. The sounds were coming from around the corner of the cabin. The Pale Bro slid forward, long long legs making long long strides through the yard around the cabin, until a hot tub with a wooden deck came into view. The hot tub was on, and populated by five smokin’ hot girls.

There was a fair-skinned blonde girl, in a skimpy blue bikini that showed off all her curves, whose wavy hair floated angel-like around her head, improbably given that she was in a hot tub. There was a short, delicate black girl with hair in very wet braids and a soft, beautiful face, wearing a candy pink bikini. There was an Indian girl with long hair and an athletic build, with a red bindi mark on her forehead and a pale turquoise one-piece bathing suit with a little skirt, sitting on the deck and kicking her feet slowly in the water. A red-haired white girl with tan Mediterranean skin, tight curls, and a bright white bikini that stood out against her tan, had turned away from the tub and was looking directly at the Pale Bro, a slight smile on her face. The fifth girl was green and scaly, with webbed hands and golden eyes with nictating membranes; she didn’t have hair, but she had betta-like, beautifully colored fins on her head that looked hair-like.

All of them were absolutely gorgeous.

The blonde girl shrieked and ducked into the tub; the black girl bounced and climbed out of the tub, a big grin on her face. “Hi there, stranger!” she yelled from the rail around the deck. “Why don’t you come over and have a beer with us?”

The Pale Bro admitted in a tone like the creaking of an ancient rusted machine at the base of an abandoned windmill that that sounded awesome.

The green girl rolled her eyes. The Indian girl gave the black girl a questioning look. “Are you sure, Kayla?”

“Come on, Nandi,” the red-haired girl said. “I think he’s cute.”

The blonde girl came back up. “Are you inviting him over?” she asked, sounding horrified. “What if he’s a psycho killer?”

“Oh, right,” the green girl said. “He’s pale and tall and has eyes all over his body so he must be a psycho killer. Racist much?”

“No! He’s just a strange dude, that’s all! You have to watch out for strange dudes!”

The Pale Bro explained in the voice of a broken subwoofer booming at outdoor concert sound levels underwater that he didn’t really want to scare any of the girls and he’d go if they didn’t want him here.

The green girl leaned her elbows on the edge of the hot tub. “Forget Ashlee, she’s just paranoid.”

“You didn’t want him coming over either, Y’lehna,” Nandi said quietly.

“I just knew that if Kayla invited him over, we’re gonna lose Rhiannon for the rest of the night,” Y’lehna muttered.

The red-haired girl, presumably Rhiannon, was smiling broadly at the Pale Bro now. “Hey there,” she said. “We’ve got hard cider and hard lemonade, Bud, Corona and a couple of local microbrews. What’s your pleasure?”

In a voice that was actually surprisingly normal-sounding for once, the Pale Bro said he’d have whatever Rhiannon was having, which turned out to be hard cider.

He clambered up onto the hot tub deck, pulled off his sneakers, and soaked his feet in the hot tub, which barely came up to his knees.

“So what are you doing around here? You don’t live near here, do you?” Kayla asked.

And so the Pale Bro explained that he and his bros had decided to spend their last spring break of college together, in a cabin in the woods, because once graduation came they might never see each other again, and certainly even if they made excuses to get together on occasion, they’d see each other a lot less.

“That’s so sweet!” Kayla said.

“We’re juniors,” Rhiannon said. “Except Ashlee, she’s a sophomore, and Y’lehna’s technically a senior but she’s planning on doing a fifth year. But we decided to hang out here because Ashlee’s parents just put in a hot tub.”

“Hot tub!” Kayla sang out, and slid back into the tub. She was maybe just a little bit drunk.

As it turned out, they all went to the same university, and Y’lehna and the Pale Bro chatted for a bit about sports. “I tried out for the swim team,” Y’lehna said, “but when they found out I had gills, they disqualified me because apparently part of the point of the sport is that you are only allowed to breathe gaseous oxygen?”

The Pale Bro commiserated, as he hadn’t even tried trying out for the basketball team like he had once dreamed of, realizing that they would never allow someone who was taller than the hoop to play.

***

“I don’t know, though,” Ashlee, who had warmed up to the Pale Bro once another hard lemonade was in her hand, said. She was lying in a deck chair rather than in the tub. “Normally I love this place, and the tub’s great, but something just feels really creepy today.”

“You’ve been on edge since we got here,” Nandi – whose full name turned out to be Nandini, but she insisted that the Pale Bro should use her nickname – agreed.

The Pale Bro was thus reminded that his bros were expecting him to track down what might be a killer who may or may not have murdered Joe, the guy who was supposed to bring in the groceries, and also that he was very hungry and the hard cider wasn’t doing him any favors on an empty stomach. He pulled his feet out of the tub and confessed, in a voice like the grinding of the gears of the machinery that runs the universe, that his bros had sent him out to find a monster – he didn’t mention that the monster was probably his cousin – who might have killed someone, and also that dinner was waiting for him back at the cabin.

“Oh, you should bring them over!” Kayla said cheerfully.

“Are they all like you?” Rhiannon asked in a tone that might be considered “sultry” by anyone not as oblivious as the Pale Bro.

The Pale Bro shook his head and admitted that his bros were all much shorter than he was.

Rhiannon put a hand on his arm. “Well, that’s too bad, but I guess one handsome, tall fellow in a group is all I can expect, right?”

The Pale Bro looked at Rhiannon’s hand like it was an inexplicable glob that might be ice cream and possibly should be washed off, but equally possibly should be licked up.

Y’lehna said, “Why don’t you bring them over? They might be cute.”

“Yeah,” Nandi said, “we can’t all fit in the hot tub at once, but didn’t you say you had four friends back at your cabin?”

“That makes five,” Ashlee said, “and there’s five of us!”

“Also,” Nandi said, “we’ve still got, like, five pizzas in the house.”

This made the decision for the Pale Bro. He took the girls up on their offer of a couple of slices of pizza – they were cold, but he didn’t mind – and then headed back to the cabin to let his bros know about the girls’ offer.

***

The Pale Bro knocked on the window of the cabin, which apparently gave everyone inside heart attacks, even though he’d just meant to warn them to open the door for him. “Jesus, Pale,” Evan complained. “There’s a door.”

Within a few minutes – and after dropping his hard cider bottle in the recycling bin, because Evan’s family were big on recycling and the Pale Bro wanted to be polite – he had explained the situation to his bros.

“Let me get this straight,” Evan said. “You didn’t find any sign of Joe, you didn’t find your cousin or any other kind of monster or killer, and you want us to leave and go hiking through the woods to go hang out at a cabin full of strangers?”

When Evan phrased it that way, the Pale Bro admitted that it didn’t sound like a great idea, but on the other hand, there were five incredibly hot girls, plus a hot tub, plus pizza.

“Now let’s talk about this,” Trevor said. “Has anyone considered that if there’s really a psycho killer or a monster loose in the woods, those five girls might be in a lot more danger than we are? Maybe we should go over there to help protect them.”

“Yeah! And we could bring some of our beers, and Evan’s chili and rice—” Harrison suggested.

“Fuck no, I’m not making anybody else have to eat this chili,” Evan said. “It’s shit. It’s just the best I could do with the supplies I’ve got.” He sighed. “Too bad I can’t bring my tunes.”

“We need to be careful about locking everything up,” Steve said. “We really don’t want to come home tomorrow morning and find the psycho killer waiting for us here.”

“Or a gaggle of rabid raccoons,” Evan said. “That’s a thing around here.”

“Did any of you guys bring condoms?” Harrison asked. “Because I didn’t think we’d be seeing any action this weekend, so I didn’t bring any…”

Trevor chuckled. “We haven’t even met these girls, Har. Aren’t you jumping the gun a little?”

“Hey, I like to be prepared.”

“I’ve got a handful in my wallet, but I don’t think I’ve got five of them,” Steve said.

The Pale Bro pointed out with laughter like the rolling of thunder in a distant cavern that probably none of Steve’s condoms would fit him anyhow, so it would be fine.

“You don’t have to eat that chili, man,” Evan said, observing that the Pale Bro had dumped half a rice cooker’s worth of rice onto a plate and then all the rest of the chili that the other bros hadn’t eaten on top of that, and was currently chowing down. “It’s shit. I admit it. And you said you had some pizza.”

The Pale Bro declared that he was too hungry to care what it tasted like, that two slices of pizza weren’t nearly enough, and besides, it tasted fine to him.

So the five bros armed themselves with the sharp knives from Evan’s mom’s kitchen just in case they ran into a psycho killer along the way, locked all the doors and windows to the cabin and the doors to the car, and the Pale Bro carried the beer cooler as he led the way back to the house with the five hot girls.

***

It wasn’t particularly easy for the Pale Bro to retrace his steps through the woods; it’d been just short of sunset when he’d found the girls, and now it was full dark. His myriad eyes could see well in the dark, of course, but his bros couldn’t, so he had to watch out for them, and they were also a lot less flexible, and tall, than he was. Also, he hadn’t been toting a beer cooler the last time he came through here.

It didn’t help that his bros were very jumpy, freaking every time a night bird called or a twig broke loudly. The Pale Bro got it, he did – there might be a psycho killer in the woods, or a monster, or his cousin who was also a monster, and they couldn’t see as well as he could, or defend themselves. But this was just ridiculous. In a voice that was an auditory personification of the concept of dread, he suggested that they stop being such big pussies and concentrate on not tripping before they accidentally stabbed each other trying to brandish knives at random bushes.

“Yo, man, we can’t all be twelve feet tall,” Harrison said, sounding pissed but also still really anxious.

In a voice that was best described by some kind of metaphor implying a deep and scary sound that hopefully hasn’t been used already in this story, the Pale Bro offered to give Harrison a piggyback ride.

Trevor said, “Not in the middle of trees, man, you’d brain him. Walk right into a tree branch and knock him off.”

“Yeah, I gotta turn that down,” Harrison said.

“You smell that?” Steve said. “Smells like someone’s firing up a grill somewhere. I can smell the charcoal.”

“Did the girls have a grill?” Trevor asked.

The Pale Bro admitted that to the best of his knowledge, they did not, but on the other hand they had Hawaiian pizza. This, of course, triggered the old argument, where Steve and Harrison insisted that pineapple did not belong on pizza, and Evan and the Pale Bro insisted that pineapple on pizza was quite valid. The argument continued, with Trevor’s exhortations to show some common sense and save the argument until they were not walking through a dark forest that might contain a psycho killer going unheeded, until Steve accidentally fell in the creek because he couldn’t see it, and in the process lost one of Evan’s mom’s good cooking knives.

However, the Pale Bro mused, this was a potentially good sign because he’d found the girls while walking alongside the creek. So the bros walked alongside the creek, Steve muttering that these girls had better be hot after all this, until they heard the sound of female human voices, exactly like the Pale Bro had had before.

They entered the clearing, observed the very large cabin, Evan making comments like “I bet it’s a bitch to keep clean, ten to one that thing’s not sanitary” because he was jealous that the cabin was bigger than his family’s, and then around the corner to observe the very hot girls, who were all still very hot even though some of them had pizza sauce smeared around their lips.

“Well, hell-o, ladies!” Harrison said, trying to be suave and cool, and failing miserably.

The Pale Bro wondered, in the voice like the echoes of a rockslide in a canyon, if there was any of the pineapple pizza left, because unfortunately he was still hungry. He gestured at his very large body somewhat self-deprecatingly.

“Hi, guys!” Kayla, who was obviously the group’s ambassador to guests, said, with possibly more bubbliness in her voice than was currently in the hot tub. “I’m Kayla, and this is Nandini, and over there in the blue bikini is Ashlee, whose cabin this is – I mean, really it’s her family’s cabin—”

“I get it,” Evan said. “My family’s got a cabin too, that’s where we’ve been hanging. We just got in today. My name’s Evan.”

“Cool!” Kayla said. “That’s Y’lehna in the lawn chair with the wine cooler, and Rhiannon went to the bathroom but I’m sure—”

“I’m back!” Rhiannon announced. Trevor’s eyes widened and then turned heart-shaped. Metaphorically.

“And I’m Trevor. Hello, ladies,” he said, sounding much cooler when he said it than Harrison had.

“I’m Harrison, and this is Steve, and he’s kinda shy!” Harrison punctuated this by shoving his kinda shy friend forward.

“Uh, hi,” Steve said. “I kind of fell in the creek on my way here?”

Kayla’s eyes went wide. “Oh, wow! Hey, Ashlee, do you mind if I bring him inside and show him the shower?”

“Long as he takes his shoes off,” Ashlee said, coming to the deck railing. Steve saw her angelic hair, beautiful skin, and ample charms shown off by the rather small bikini, and fell in love.

“Oh, definitely. I’ll definitely do that. I – yeah. Thanks a lot for letting me use the shower, I’m all covered in mud. Which you can see. Because you’re standing there, looking at me covered in mud.”

Kayla laughed. “Oh, yeah, let’s get you cleaned up!” She took Steve’s hand with surprising alacrity and lack of reluctance, given that he was covered in mud.

Evan said, “The guy who was supposed to bring over the groceries never showed, and I made some chili and rice out of canned stuff for my friends, but it was kinda shitty. Pale asked if there was any more of the pineapple pizza? I could definitely go for a slice if you’re offering.”

Ashlee lit up. “Oh! Sure! I can take you in to get some pizza!”

Rhiannon had by then walked over to the Pale Bro, and put her hand on his arm again. “You know, I could definitely go for some more pizza myself,” she purred.

Meanwhile, Harrison was trying to chat up Y’lehna, and also strip to his boxers so he could get in the hot tub, without looking like he was doing it in a creepy way. “So, where’re you from?”

“Massachusetts,” Y’lehna said, lying back in the lawn chair and wistfully gazing at Trevor, who had followed Rhiannon, the Pale Bro, and Ashlee in for pizza. “A little town called Innsmouth, on the coast. Little more than half an hour north of Boston.” Y’lehna had legs, but they were covered with scales and her feet were large and webbed.

“Cool. I’m from New Jersey, but, you know, like the south end. Not the part that’s all gritty like Newark and Jersey City.” Harrison slid into the hot tub. “Oh, man, this is nice. You wanna get back in?”

“After I finish my wine cooler, maybe. Ashlee doesn’t like it when we eat or drink in the tub.”

Evan was the first to come back from the pizza hunt, carrying a beer and two slices and had actually had swimming trunks at the cabin – they hadn’t planned on going swimming on this trip, but Evan kept some clothes here all the time, and he’d already changed into them and then put his clothes on over. He stripped to his bathing suit and then went and got into the hot tub near Nandini. “Hey.”

Nandini barely noticed; she was too busy looking at Harrison. Evan had to say it again to get her attention. She turned and looked at him. “Oh, you can’t eat those in the tub. Or drink the beer.”

“What if I sit back from the tub and just soak my feet, until I’m done with the food?”

Nandini shrugged. “I guess that’d be okay, but you’d have to ask Ashlee. Can I ask you something?”

Evan beamed. “Sure! Whatever you want!”

She nodded her head toward Harrison. “Does your friend have a girlfriend?”

Evan’s first reaction was dismay – Nandini seemed to not even notice him as a man, and was just making eyes at Harrison, who was obviously captivated by Y’lehna. Then he narrowed his eyes and decided to make problems on purpose. “Oh, sorry, Harrison is gay.” Actually, Steve was bi and the rest of them were straight – Evan thought, anyway, unsure about the Pale Bro and if he even had a sexuality, but he did seem to like to look at girls.

Nandini sighed. “Aren’t they always.”

Ashlee was the next to come back. She sat next to Evan. “You know, if you want to get into the hot tub and still eat your food, I normally have a rule about that but I could let it go this time. Just as long as you keep the actual food and drink out of the hot tub so it doesn’t make everything gross.” She smiled at Evan.

Evan smiled at her, because it was always good to smile at your host, and it was also always good to smile at a pretty girl, and Ashlee was both. “Thanks,” he said, not planning to take her up on it because what if he dropped the pizza?, and then turned back to Nandini. “What’re you majoring in?”

“Ugh, I hate having to explain it to people,” Nandini said. “It’s… complicated. It’s a discipline that’s part economic theory, part psychology, part sociology and part anthropology. Basically, I’m majoring in the question of why do people do dumb things when they’d be better off doing smart ones, and how that impacts our understanding of economics.”

“That sounds really interesting,” said Evan, who had quit his business major because he was bored out of his mind by economics. “I’m doing Asia studies. Yeah, it’s a cliché.” He’d gone into Asia studies after he quit his business major because it was the only thing he thought his parents would let him get by with if he refused to study business. Some kind of “Mom, Dad, I really want to get in touch with our heritage and understand the culture of my grandparents” bullshit. Also, statistically you were more likely to find a girl who considers Asian guys hot in Asia studies than any other major, he suspected.

“That’s pretty cool!” Ashlee said. “Which part of Asia is your family from? China, Korea…?”

“China, originally,” Evan, whose real name was Haoran, but who’d been going by Evan since second grade, said. His pizza finished, he slid down into the tub and turned back to Nandini.  “So, we came over here to warn you – and maybe help you fight if it comes to it – but we’re worried there might be a killer or something in the woods?”

“Omigod, really?” Ashlee asked, eyes wide with terror.

“Why do you think that?” Nandini asked, seeming completely calm.

“Well, my parents had an employee, Joe, buy food for my cabin. He was supposed to drop it off… but he never showed up, and he never called my parents, and he’s not answering his cell. Meanwhile, we saw this absolutely huge tread in the dirt, and the Pale Bro thinks it might be his cousin.”

“Yeah, he told us all that,” Nandini said. “Except for the part about it maybe being his cousin.”

“So, a monster?” Y’lehna asks. “Because there’s a difference between a psycho killer, who’s human, and a monster, who isn’t. You don’t know what the monster’s capable of, but when you see them, you know they’re a monster.”

“Yeah, but just because they look like a monster doesn’t mean anything about what they’re like!” Harrison said. “The Pale Bro looks like a monster, but he’s a really great guy!”

“I’m guessing his cousin sucks, though,” Y’lehna said.

“Well, we don’t know his cousin,” Harrison said, somewhat diplomatically.

“Do you really think there’s a killer?” Ashlee asked, getting into the hot tub right next to Evan – and inconveniently, between him and Nandini. “But you’ll protect us, right?”

“Uh, some of us can protect ourselves…” Nandini said.

Evan got back out of the tub so he could see Nandini more clearly without Ashlee in the way. “Absolutely. I’m not trying to say that we’re offering our protection because, you know, we’re guys and you’re girls and we think we’re tougher than you. That’s not it at all; I bet most of you could kick my ass.” He did not actually think this; Evan was in pretty good shape, since he was preparing to backpack all over Asia next year if he got the chance, and also, he bicycled a lot. It was pretty clear to him, though, that Nandini was invested in thinking of herself as someone who could protect herself, and who knew? Maybe she was a martial arts master or a crack shot. “But we figure, there’s safety in numbers. Plus, if it is the Pale Bro’s cousin, he can get it to back the hell off.”

“Good point,” Nandini said.

At this point there was a glass-shattering, horrible screech, and then something, some unknown creature moving so fast it was a blur, leapt out of the hot tub and charged directly at Evan, Nandini and Ashlee. All three of them screamed, as it slashed bright pain across Evan’s legs, right above his knees.

And then Ashlee started cracking up, as the horrible assailant stopped at the edge of the deck and began washing itself vigorously. “Phenyl, you dumbass. I know you like to sleep on the tub when we have it covered, but couldn’t you see we have it open and it’s full of water?”

Evan’s heart was still pounding, but now that he could see the creature that had slashed gashes into his thighs, he took deep breaths to calm himself down. “That’s your cat?”

“Yeah, her name is Phenylephrine and she’s a dumbass. She catches rats, though. One time she chased off a raccoon who’d gotten into the trash.” Ashlee attempted to pick her cat up, but the almost-entirely-black-except-for-white-bib cat jumped down off the deck, apparently not sufficiently recovered from her ordeal to tolerate interacting with humans. Evan decided not to ask why the cat was named after a decongestant.

“So what are you majoring in?” Harrison asked Y’lehna, trying to come across as casual. “I’m doing liberal arts, you know? Just a little of everything.”

“Shakespearean literature,” Y’lehna said.

“Oh, wow! You know about the theory that he didn’t write his own plays, right?”

Y’lehna rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. It’s bullshit.”

And as she explained all the reasons why she thought the theory was bullshit, Harrison listened to her raptly with imaginary hearts in his eyes.

***

Steve was deeply grateful to Kayla for taking him in to find Ashlee’s shower. The cabin had wooden floors, thankfully, so the gunk still dripping off his body could be easily cleaned. It made sense – it was a cabin in the woods, after all – but Steve had some vague idea of what rich people houses were like from visiting Evan, and carpet played a big role in his mental image of a rich person abode.

He was less impressed with the towel Kayla found him, after he came out of the shower. It was very… brief. Bigger than a hand towel, but not by much, it covered the territory it was required to cover and not very much else.

“I hate to ask, but does Ashlee have any brothers or other family members who might be around my size? This towel is kinda…”

Kayla laughed. “I think you look cute in it, but yeah, I can see why you’d want something bigger!” She stuck her head in the kitchen, where Ashlee was serving pizza to Evan, Rhiannon, Trevor, and the Pale Bro. “Hey, Ashlee! Does Hunter have any swimming trunks or t-shirts here?”

“You can check. He usually uses the middle bedroom.”

Steve called out, “I can have them cleaned and returned tomorrow, I just… my clothes are all muddy… I don’t want to impose, but this towel’s kind of tiny…”

“No problem, I don’t even care if you keep Hunter’s stuff. It would serve him right for being a douche,” Ashlee said.

Kayla checked, and came back with a NASCAR t-shirt and a pair of swimming trunks with grotesquely grinning emojis all over it. “Sorry, I hope it fits! It’s all he had!”

“No problem, NASCAR’s cool,” Steve said. The sum total of his knowledge about NASCAR was that it had something to do with cars, probably, and that guys who drank warm crappy beer and drove pickup trucks liked it, and that was all. But if Ashlee’s family was into it, maybe it was worth checking out.

He and Kayla walked into the kitchen, now that he was vaguely decent. “OMG I am so sorry,” Ashlee said. “That shirt is awful. Is that really the only one Hunter had?”

Steve shrugged, understanding more about Ashlee’s relationship to her brother’s interests. “It’s not like I’m into NASCAR or anything, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

The Pale Bro chose this moment to inform everyone in a voice that echoed like a portent of doom that there was no more beer in Ashlee’s fridge, and this was a problem, because he and his bros had brought beer for 5 people for three days, but now they had ten people, so what if they ran out?

Steve privately thought it was good that the Pale Bro wasn’t majoring in anything that needed math. Ten people would burn through the beer for five people at twice the rate, but twice the rate of three days would be a day and a half, more than enough time to go get more beer, unless the psycho killer or monster slashed their tires or something.

Kayla spoke up. “I’ve got more in the trunk of my car, but I parked kind of crappy.”

“Well, no matter how crappy the parking job was, more beer’s always a good thing,” Trevor said.

The Pale Bro expressed in a voice that was like the crackling of atoms fusing together in the unfathomable heat of the sun that he’d be happy to go get them out of Kayla’s car.

“Uh… no, I think Steve should do it,” Kayla said. “Because he’s shorter, and it’s a really crappy parking job. Trust me, you will bonk your head on trees about six times just trying to reach my car.”

“Did you park it in the woods?” Trevor asked.

“Um, sorta… I was kinda excited about getting here and waving to my friends and I accidentally hit the gas instead of the brake and I ended up in the woods… yeah.” She looked up at Steve forlornly. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Steve said, because it was always a good idea to tell a pretty girl who said she was an idiot that in fact she was not.

In a voice like the echoes of a NASCAR race going on over one’s head because one was in a sewer system under the track, the Pale Bro offered to help Kayla get her car out of the woods, if it was stuck there.

“That’s really sweet of you,” Rhiannon purred. “Probably better to do it in daylight, though. There’s a cliff drop near there, and you don’t want to accidentally slip over the edge.”

“Or worse, drop the car,” Steve said, and laughed. Kayla laughed with him.

The Pale Bro expressed to Kayla that if there was a cliff face near there, then he was very glad that she hadn’t accidentally driven off the edge, because that would have been bad.

“Yeah,” Kayla said, “but it all worked out so no harm done, right? Unless, like, I punctured the gas tank with a tree branch or something. That would definitely be bad.”

Steve, Trevor, Rhiannon and the Pale Bro all agreed that that would definitely be the case.

***

After Steve and Kayla had left to go to Kayla’s car to get more beer, Rhiannon asked the Pale Bro what his major was.

“I’m pre-med,” Trevor inserted, not actually having been asked.

“Mm, nice. I’m trying to become a physicist, myself. What about you?” She repeated the question in the Pale Bro’s direction.

In a voice that was muffled and full of pizza, the Pale Bro conveyed that he hadn’t heard the question, sorry.

“I just wanted to know what your major was,” she said.

The Pale Bro confessed that he was majoring in gender studies, having decided that hotel management was not really a good career path for him.

“Oh, really!” Rhiannon brightened. “You don’t see a lot of guys majoring in gender studies! You must be very secure in your masculinity.” She said this as someone who seemed very secure in the Pale Bro’s masculinity, herself, as she pressed against him.

The Pale Bro mumbled in a voice that really didn’t sound all that different from anyone else’s mumbling that he just didn’t like how society treated women, and added that his mother raised him to respect and look up to women. He confided that she had torn apart giant megafauna with her bare claws and fed them to her brood of spawn while insisting on table manners, and that he couldn’t imagine any job more difficult than being the primary caretaker of children. Children, he admitted, scared him.

“Oh, yes, the little rugrats can totally bring the chaos,” Rhiannon laughed.

The Pale Bro clarified that actually chaos was perfectly fine by him and the natural state of all things that the universe must someday return to; it was their high-pitched screechy voices that really bothered him.

“I never knew that,” Trevor said. “Weird, what you learn about people. Rhiannon,which kind of physics are you concentrating on? Like, space, or quantum, or what?”

“Haven’t really narrowed it down like that, it’s going to depend on what grad school accepts me and which programs I can get into,” Rhiannon said. To the Pale Bro she said, “Hey, do you want to go for a walk? It’s really nice out.”

“It is, but there might be some kind of killer or monster in the woods,” Trevor reminded her. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to go wandering off by yourself?”

She rolled her eyes and gestured at the Pale Bro. “I’m pretty sure that Pale here would be able to protect me if anything came up,” she said.

The Pale Bro confessed in a voice that echoed like the infrasound rumble of the collapse of a concrete building, but an embarrassed and regretful tone, that actually he wanted to wait right here, because he wanted more beer and also his feet hurt.

“Well, why don’t we go back to the hot tub and let you soak your feet for a bit?” Rhiannon asked.

“That sounds like a great idea,” Trevor said. “We’ve got our own beer cooler out there, remember? You brought it over.”

This was true, the Pale Bro admitted, but he couldn’t eat or drink in the hot tub, and he wanted another slice of Hawaiian pizza if there was any.

“Oh, but you’re a big fellow,” Rhiannon said. “You could totally sit back from the hot tub and dangle your feet in it while you’re eating, and you wouldn’t be close enough to the tub to bother Ashlee.”

In that case, the Pale Bro conveyed in a voice like the rumbling of a train full of dead bodies, he was all for the hot tub, because that shit sounded great.

***

The group joined back up around the hot tub, all except for Kayla and Steve, who were still in the woods, ostensibly getting beer out of Kayla’s car. Ashlee had brought out chips and pretzels, which, she said, were not to be eaten within five feet of the hot tub. This meant that the Pale Bro could soak his feet while he snacked, as promised, but no one else could actually eat near the tub.

“Come on, that’s not fair,” Y’lehna, who was considerably more drunk than she had been earlier in the evening and probably really needed to fill her stomach with chips and pretzels, complained. “I’ve been good all night but now I’m starving, and you know my skin needs to be moisturized.”

“I keep offering to let you try some of my Oil of Olay,” Ashlee mumbled.

“If I wanted to cover myself in something oily, I’d use fish oil, it’s traditional around my hometown,” Y’lehna said sharply. “I wanna be in water. Like, H20.” She looked up at Trevor, pleadingly. “Do you think I’m asking too much? I don’t think I’m asking too much.”

“I think you should definitely eat something,” Trevor said.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask,” offered Harrison eagerly.

“But I don’t want to get any food in the hot tub,” Ashlee whined. “It’d be gross, and we’d have to drain it and clean it…”

“Well, I want to be in the water and I want goddamn pretzels, is that too much? Is that really too much?” Y’lehna yelled, making Ashlee quail.

At that point they all heard the sound of clanging and shattering, and Kayla and Steve screaming like they were being murdered.

Ashlee shrieked in terrified response. The Pale Bro, Trevor and Nandini were all off the deck and running toward the sound in a second, followed by Rhiannon, Evan and Harrison. Y’lehna took the opportunity to grab an entire dish of pretzels, drop herself into the tub, and stand at the edge of the tub, facing the concrete around the tub and stuffing her face. “I can be responsible,” she muttered. “I can not get pretzels in the tub. I don’t have to eat underwater. I don’t even want to. Pretzels aren’t like fish. They get soggy.”

No one was there to hear her, though, because they had all gone into the woods.

The Pale Bro had only gotten in a few feet when Steve yelled, “Don’t come any closer, guys!”

“Are you being murdered?” Trevor asked, loudly.

“We will totally fuck them up if someone is trying to kill you!” Harrison said, clenching his fists.

“No, guys, it’s good… it’s all good.”

“It’s not good at all!” Kayla wailed. “I spent so much money on that beer!”

The Pale Bro heard the word ‘beer’ and conveyed that if something was going on with the beer he absolutely needed to know, right now.

“We dropped it!”

“We dropped it off a goddamn cliff,” Steve moaned. “Kayla had this whole big cooler—”

“It was so expensive! So much beer!”

“And we were carrying it together, and then I tripped on a tree root, and slipped, and Kayla tried to grab me… and we dropped the beer.”

“Off the cliff!” Kayla couldn’t have sounded more heartbroken if she were a young lady during the Vietnam War being told that her betrothed, who had been her childhood sweetheart since she was three years old, had had a completely sober four-way with two Vietnamese twins and their pet goat, and then had been killed by the Viet Cong while he was still cavorting with the goat.

In a voice that sounded like the auditory representation of hair raising combined with the scream of nails on a chalkboard, the Pale Bro expressed that he couldn’t believe this and Steve had been such a fuckup.

Steve, actually kind of intimidated, raised his hands. “I know, man, I’m sorry! We didn’t mean to!”

The Pale Bro then lectured the two of them about how if he’d been allowed to help in the first place, he wouldn’t have accidentally dropped the beer off the cliff and right now they would all be knocking back some sweet brews, but instead they insisted they could handle it and now all that beer had been tragically lost, cut down in the prime of its life, its yeasty lifeblood spilling out across the rocks and stones below where none could drink it except maybe some squirrels who would get themselves totally fucked up.

“Come on, man, it’s just beer,” Evan said. “We can get more.”

“Not if there’s a killer out there!” Kayla wailed. “We won’t be able to leave to go get beer until morning! What if the killer slashes our tires?”

The Pale Bro conveyed that if that happened, it was fucking on because no psycho killer, monster, or cousin was going to get between him and more beer.

Trevor, trying to be the voice of reason, said, “Folks, we’ve got a lot of beer in our cooler and we’ve barely touched it. There’s no use crying over spilled… beer.”

“Yes, there is! It’s very cryable!” Kayla declared, starting to cry.

“God, you’re drunk,” Nandini muttered. “Maybe you shouldn’t be hitting any more of the beer anyway.”

“Come on,” Steve said, putting his arm around Kayla. “It’s gonna be all right. Don’t cry. Trevor’s right, we’ve got a lot in our cooler.”

Kayla turned toward him and cried against his chest, as he hugged her with one arm and awkwardly patted her head with the other.

“Wow,” Nandini said. “You’re really into this guy, aren’t you?”

Steve turned red, which they could all see by now because they’d made their way out of the woods and back into the outside lights of the cabin. “Uh, I don’t think so, I’m just trying to comfort her…”

“You’re a white guy touching her hair and she’s putting up with it,” Nandini said. “Kayla’s been known to punch white people who touch her hair.”

“That was that bitch Madison and it was one time!” Kayla cried.

Steve removed his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just…”

“No! I like it when you touch my hair! I don’t like it when bitches like Madison touch my hair after they’ve just said some racist bullshit, but you’re being so sweet! You can officially touch my hair,” Kayla said, and then started sobbing again, hugging Steve tightly.

The Pale Bro audibly sighed, in a voice like a dude who’s just seen one of his best friends score a date with a chick he was really into and he can’t even be mad because it wasn’t like he got anywhere with her himself or even admitted to anyone how cute he thought she was.

***

The group returned to find that Harrison had wandered back to the hot tub as soon as it was clear that no one was being killed except maybe a large number of innocent bottles of beer, and was sitting outside the hot tub but right by Y’lehna, who was in the hot tub eating chips.

Nandini said, severely, “Y’lehna! Ashlee told you not to do that!”

“Ashlee can tell me herself,” Y’lehna said with chips in her mouth.

“I’ve been watching,” Harrison said brightly. “None of the crumbs have fallen in the water! It’s all good!”

Trevor snorted. “Well, of course you think so, Har,” he said. “You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

Nandini frowned, and then scowled, and glared at Evan. “Wait, you told me he was gay!”

“You said what?” Harrison was shocked.

Evan held up his hands. “Sorry, Har. But…” He looked over at Nandini. “I thought that if I told you that he only likes really unusual girls, you’d feel hurt because it would sound like I was telling you you were basic or something, and that’s totally wrong. You’re gorgeous and you could probably get any guy you wanted, except Harrison, because you don’t have scales or feathers or six eyes or something.”

“Well, you could have said that,” Nandini said.

Kayla said, “I get it. Rhiannon’s like that, too.”

“To be fair,” Harrison said, “I am bi.” This was information Evan had not known. “I just haven’t yet met any weird dudes who aren’t related to Pale here, and it’s just way too weird to date one of your bro’s actual brothers or something.”

“Does anyone know where Ashlee went?” Steve asked.

Everyone looked around. There was no Ashlee.

“Could she be in the bathroom, maybe?” Nandini asked.

“Don’t think so,” Y’lehna said. “She ran off while you guys were running to the woods. I wasn’t gonna get in the hot tub and eat pretzels if she was still here!”

“Uh, yeah,” Rhiannon said. “That’s a little long to be in the bathroom.”

The Pale Bro expressed in a voice that was exhaustedly done with this bullshit that he could look for her.

“Nah, man, I’ll do it,” Trevor said. “I know your feet are hurting, and I’m the next biggest guy after you.”

“I could go with you,” Steve said.

Trevor shook his head. “Steve… that is a cute girl who is very, very drunk,” he said, pointing at Kayla. “I don’t know her tolerance, but I’m pretty sure that if she isn’t at puke bucket level now, she will be soon. You need to stay with her and make sure she’s okay.”

“Yeah, good point,” Steve said.

Nandini turned back to Evan as Trevor walked away. “I can’t believe you lied to me, though. I mean, I know Rhiannon. I could have accepted ‘he’s only into weird-looking chicks’—”

“Thanks, Nandi, that’s sweet,” Y’lehna said.

“You know what I mean,” Nandini said, waving her hand dismissively.

“Look, I’m gonna come clean with you,” Evan said. “I really thought you were great. You’re hot, you’re smart – I’m not dumb, but when you talked about your major, I realized you could run rings around me – and you stay calm in a crisis, and I really respect that. But you asked me if Har had a girlfriend, and I just – I’m sorry. It was like you didn’t even notice I’m a dude, and that made me feel bad. So I did something shitty, and I gotta apologize to both you and Harrison.”

“I mean, no problem on my end,” Harrison said. “It’s all good, bro.”

“Damn,” Nandini said, running her hand through her hair. “I didn’t even think about what that sounded like when I asked you. I’m sorry, Evan, what I said to you was a shitty thing too. I mean, I still think what you did was worse because you were lying, but I understand why you did it.”

“Hey, I know you didn’t mean to hurt my feelings.”

“Evan’s right, though,” Harrison said. “I mean, not about me being gay, I like girls just fine, but…” He shrugged. “Girls that look like normal human beings, even beautiful human beings, it just doesn’t click. Y’lehna here’s really different-looking, and that is so hot.” He turned to Y’lehna. “You know you’re super-hot, right?”

“Yes,” Y’lehna said, “but boys like you don’t usually agree. So that’s nice.”

“I guess I can forgive you,” Nandi said to Evan. “But you’d better not lie to me again.”

“I am pretty sure you could kick my ass if I did, so I won’t. I like my ass un-kicked.”

“Your ass is okay,” Nandini said. “I’ve seen better asses, but yours is all right.”

Rhiannon had offered to give the Pale Bro a foot rub, since his feet hurt. A guy as big as he was suffered from foot pain frequently, so he’d agreed, while apologizing in a voice like a church organ in a cave for his toenails. Some might say his toenails were worth apologizing for, as they were about four inches long and razor sharp.

But Rhiannon disagreed. “Your toenails are great. Look how white they are! I never see guys without all kinds of grody fungus turning their toenails yellow. And I bet you’re amazing at climbing trees with them.”

The Pale Bro allowed that this was true, and that climbing in general was one of his talents.

Steve, meanwhile, wasn’t exactly sure what he ought to be doing with Kayla, who was now lying on her back, her head in his lap, rambling about stars and how far away they were. When she’d asked for another beer, he’d gotten her cold water instead and reminded her that water was important to avoid hangovers. She’d finished most of the water – the rest had spilled – and now she seemed to be close to falling asleep in his lap.

“You’re really into stars, huh?” he asked. “You an astronomy major?”

“Oh no!” Kayla laughed. “Math! I’d tell you all about it but I’m waaaaaay too drunk. I just reeeeally like stars!”

“That’s cool,” Steve said. “I’m a comp sci major myself.”

“Are you gonna build an AI that wants to take over the world and enslave humanity?” Kayla asked.

“Hey, I’d be happy if I could build an AI that can identify rocks as not sheep,” Steve laughed.

***

Trevor had very quickly guessed where Ashlee might be.

Ashlee was nervous and reacted badly to things that startled or scared her. Ashlee was also at her own house – well, cabin. So odds were, Ashlee had gone into the cabin to calm down.

The cabin wasn’t very big, and Ashlee wasn’t in any of the rooms in an obvious place. So Trevor started checking the not-obvious places, like a closet in a room that looked girly enough that it might be her room. He knocked on the door.

She shrieked, inside the closet, but he said, “Ashlee, calm down! It’s me, Trevor. Can I check on you to make sure you’re okay?”

“Uh… okay,” she said, and Trevor opened the door. Ashlee was sitting in a lighted closet, on the floor, completely covered to her shoulders with stuffed animals.

“Wow. Are you okay?” He squatted down. Being a big black man, Trevor had learned many strategies for making himself look less threatening. Not towering over somebody was one of them.

“Not… really?” Ashlee said.

“I know you were scared with all that noise. Hell, I was too. But it turned out to be nothing. Steve and Kayla accidentally dropped some beer over the cliff.”

“It’s not that,” she whispered. “It’s just… it’s too much. Too many people.”

“Yeah?” He sat on the floor crisscross applesauce, making himself even lower and more relaxed-looking. “You want us to go?”

“No! I mean, this was supposed to be a weekend with just my friends, and then you guys show up, but you’re nice guys! I like you guys! But it’s just so many people, I started to wig out.” She lifts an arm out of the sea of stuffed animals. “So I do this thing when there’s too many people and I start to freak… I find a tiny place and I fill it with soft things and I lay in them until my tachycardia goes away.”

“Tachycardia?”

“Oh, um, that means fast heart beat. Sorry. I just always call it that because it sounds scarier than fast heartbeat and it really is scarier so I want people to know it’s a problem.”

“I know what it means, I’m a pre-med. I just wondered—”

“Oh wow! I’m in pre-med, too!” Ashlee sat up , some of the stuffed animals falling off her. “I guess we’re not in any classes together because you’re a senior and I’m a sophomore, but did you have Lessing for Organic Chemistry?”

“You’re doing orgo in sophomore year?” Trevor whistled. “That’s fast.”

“Yeah, I, um, my high school had like this program where good students could do science classes at a nearby college, for college credit, in senior year, so I took chemistry then, and bio last year and also the math I needed, so I get to do orgo this year.”

“I hated orgo. It’s just memorize a bunch of prefixes and suffixes and string them together. Couldn’t we find a better way to describe methylethylpropylene than that?”

She laughed. “Is that even a real thing?”

“I don’t know, but it’s pretty ridiculous that I can put together a string of prefixes and make something that sounds like a chemical even if it doesn’t exist.” He shook his head sadly. “And yeah, I had Lessing. She’s tough. She giving your brain a real workout?”

“Yeah. It’s a challenge. Everyone always told me, ‘Ashlee, you can’t just coast along getting straight As without ever studying. Ashlee, when you go to college it’ll be a lot harder. Ashlee, you need to learn how to study or you’ll fail in college.’ Well… I haven’t failed yet, but… it might be close.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I must sound so stuck up with my humblebrag. ‘Oh, it’s so hard to be a gifted student who gets straight As!’ But it really is hard. Because if it was too easy for you in school you don’t learn how to handle it when it gets too hard, and I’m just, like, totally stressed.”

“I feel you. My mom made me study, and I was like, ‘momma, I do not need to read the book and highlight all the important parts and then write them in an outline and then read over the outline! I got it the first time I read the book!’ And that was what she said. ‘You take shortcuts now because everything’s easy, you’ll be in a world of hurt when things get hard.’ And hell, I ended up in a world of hurt in orgo anyway.” They both laughed.

“Anyway, your friends are worried about you and I don’t want people to think we both got bumped off by a psycho killer, so I figure, there’s three options here. I leave and tell everyone you’re okay, and I leave you the hell alone; I leave and tell everyone you’re okay, and then I come back and we keep talking; or you and I both leave together and we both tell everyone you’re okay, and then we get to eat some chips, if Y’lehna and Harrison didn’t get them all already.”

“She’s in the hot tub eating chips, isn’t she.” It was not a question.

“Yeah, sad but true. At least she’s leaning over the side so the crumbs get on the concrete and they don’t fall in the tub.”

Ashlee sighed. “I guess I better get back out there. But I do still want to talk and stuff. And I wanna check up on Phenylephrine so maybe you can help me find her.”

“Phenylephrine?”

“My cat. The cat before her was Sudafed so when she died and I got a new kitten I named her Phenylephrine.”

“I get the joke there, but why was the first cat named Sudafed?”

“My mom was allergic to cats and she said if we get a cat we might as well name it Sudafed because she’d be taking so much of it, and then we did get a cat, so she did name her Sudafed.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten a cat if she was that allergic?”

“Oh, no, my mom loves cats. She just says wiseass things sometimes. Anyway, Phenyl lives here at the cabin and the cleaning service makes sure she gets fed. They call her the head of Mousekeeping Services.”

Trevor laughed.

***

Outside, it turned out there was no need to turn out a search party for Phenylephrine, as for some entirely inexplicable reason it turned out she liked chips, and also Harrison’s lap, where he was feeding her chips. She didn’t actually eat the chips, she just licked them.

The party was starting to flag just a bit; Evan suggested putting on some music, but the internet wasn’t good enough here for Ashlee’s Spotify playlist and she didn’t have MP3s on a hard drive like Evan did. Evan was regretting not putting a bunch of MP3s on a flash drive and bringing them with him. Nandini had a CD in her car – the girls had all come up here in their own cars, except for Y’lehna who couldn’t drive – but it was hit songs from Bollywood musicals and no one here knew any of them, and she was self-conscious about whether anyone would even like them.

And then, as they discussed what to do about tunes, a shadow fell across them, blocking the moon for a moment.

They all looked up, even the Pale Bro. A shambling monstrosity, 20 feet tall and brick red, with sprouting tentacles where its face should be and eyes on the tentacles, and Edward-Scissorhands-length blades for fingernails, loomed over them.

Several of the group screamed. The Pale Bro got to his feet.

“D̶̫̊̚Ũ̸̟̝͍̘̮͒Ḍ̸͋̽̀E̷̛̝̹̗͈̊͌̍,̷̨̖̲̺̤̝͂̈́̎͘ ̴̛̱͚͗Y̶̧͔͉̙͋͊̊͋͘Ô̸̢̥̙͙U̴͖͍̳̭͗̊̌͘͘͜R̷̫̜̘̀ ̶̼̘̠̾̐̈́̒̚Ṃ̴̡̡̦̮̖̿͗̊͋͝Ȯ̴͛ͅM̴̺̱͕̳̀ ̷̱͔̄̃̎́I̸̙͐̍͑͐S̶͉͉̲͋̊͒̽̄͜ ̵̤̙̬̫̒͋́͛P̷̧̧̧̰͔̦͠Î̴̢̜͒̅͘S̷̛̝̤͂́̍̐S̴̭͉͆̋̿É̴̢̺̲̫̝͋́̋̚̚D̴̥͈̠̋̅̅̀͝͝ ̴̡̡̖̬̓A̵͈͚̣͂̆̔̍̂̕T̷̡͙̠̙̫̎̈̄͝ͅ ̴͔͗̀̋͗̏Y̴̤͇̪͕͇͎͆̌̀̊̈́Ơ̸̡̢̙̭͇͕̒̐̕̕U̸̡̩̠̚.̸̣̖̼̫́͛̄,” the entity boomed.

In a sound like the rushing of lava through underground caverns just before a volcano was about to blow, the Pale Bro demanded to know if the entity had eaten any people lately.

“S̴̙̱͕̀H̴̭͐̈́͠I̷̘̟͉̝͊͐̄̋̀̑Ṱ̷̢̫̮͓̲̐̑͗̈́̀,̵͓̥͖͈̾́̏̇͘ ̵̣̳͍̿Ń̵̟̦̰͖̺͜O̸͉̓̈̊͛̔̕.̷̣̜̗̩̈́ ̸͖̋̓̀̀͝͝Í̶̘̗͓̱̗̬̀̈́'̴̗̯͈͈̥͎̎̇M̷̹̻͉̼͑̎̓̐̏̀ ̴͚̻͚̱̇̿͛̏͒͠O̴̩̪̣̯̤͙̐̐̚̚Ņ̶͇̘̤̗͗͗̑͛̏̇͜ ̸̡͎̔̽͛A̷̢̘̪͎̗͊͐̌͝͠ ̸̤̺͉̫̖̫̀̓̑̕̕D̴̡̜̤̻̉Ĩ̸̡̯͉͔́̓̂͘͝Ę̶̨̫͇̬̳̉̽͑̈̊͐T̸̥̝̹̑̾.̷̢̟̻̭̲̿ ̴̧̣͌̆̃̕ͅÏ̷̟̰̫̰̹̽̐̐F̶͖̂̉̌ ̵͔͚̊̐Y̸͔̆Ö̴̞̦͕̘̀̒̀͘Ṳ̶̪̝͙̎̿͘ ̵̥̀̏͗E̵̦̣̲͍͉̥̊V̶̑͒̏ͅȨ̷͚̪̲̎͜ͅR̵͎͖̀̓̈́͑͠ ̷̣̀̀̓͋C̸̲̗͎̞͔̭͌̈́̕͘Ã̶̝͉̮͉͉̓̄͒̈́͜͝M̵̙̮͎̹̌E̷̥̪̎̓͗́͝ ̷͎͓̙̺͔̗͂̑̕H̶̢̍͗́͋͊O̴̗̎̽̆M̴̮̭̮͐̑́̚Ë̶̩̦̹̞́͂̈́̆ ̴̩̻̈́͘Y̴̨͍̣̩͈̎̅͘͘O̵̠͉͒̐̈̕͝U̶̪̝̳̺͑͆̇'̸̖̋D̶̗̉̓̿͐̓ ̸͉̍̀͠K̷̥̞̼̍͛́̇͗͝N̵̡̹̠͚̥̰̋̈́̌̈́͘O̸̻̠͍̲͋̉Ẁ̸̞͎̺̀͆̌̀ ̴̛͔̙͗͗̉͠T̸̨̓̀̎H̶̡̱̘͈̹͐̔͗͂͘A̷̠̠͉͎̫̰̿̄T̴̡̰͍̦͕̉̌,” it said, rolling tentacles clockwise around its face in an approximation of an eye roll.

If that was the case, the Pale Bro shot back, explain why this entity’s footprint was found right outside his bro’s cabin, and a man was missing.

“Į̴̙͈̻̓͗͜ͅ ̷̙̑̔͛͝W̷̺̯̲͗͝Ã̸̹͕̊S̷̹̲͆̏ͅ ̵̝̈́̒͗̓̍L̸͖̺̊͛Ǫ̶̗̥̼͍̥̒̒̌̊O̸͙̊̎̋̏̕Ķ̴͚̫̤̈̔́̅͑͝Į̵͑̍Ṉ̸̨͌͂́Ǵ̵̭̥̹̮̞̏͂ͅ ̷͚͙̹̋F̸̧͕͉͓̊̾͊O̵̲̙͓͛̌̄̏̕̚R̴̬͚̠͉̬̘̽̀̌́͊ ̴͎̀̏̐͋Y̴͈̘̮͌͋̍̃̍̈́Ơ̷̞͉̝͙̻̒U̵̦̭͈̻̪̽͂͗̚,̴̳̐ ̸̢̠̙͕̰̐̅D̸̟̫̋͑̅̈́̄͜͝ͅŰ̵̡̜̤̺̿̍̃̈́M̵̼̜̳̊͊̋̈ͅB̷̧͖̲̮̤̜͋̐͑̔Ȁ̶̼̪̟̼̱̐̔̋̀͘S̷̨̳͂S̶̨̡͈̈́̐͂̿͜͠,” the entity said. “A̷͕̎͆Ṷ̴̢̣͙͐Ņ̷͓͔͕̙̟͛̿́̐͝T̶̠̹̜͇͐̾̊̂̚  ̸͔̐͋̓̓͐͝€̶͉̦̍̊̅₯̷̟̙̗̱̤̈́̋̌͂͌̚ῥ̷̠̩̇ῗ̶̦͎͚̃͊̾ᾗ̴̤̞̰͕͓̈́͜Ỷ̸͔̫͙̦͐ẞ̶̦͕̱́͂͑́͊̈́ ̵͉͍͉̼̐͑̈́͋͝S̷̢͇̽͗͛͊̏E̸͉̲̓̉̎̈N̸̤̾Ț̷̻̍́̍ ̴͓̱͉͍̝̄̐̀͜ M̷̹͖͝E̸̘̖͓̍͋͜ ̶̢̲̘͋ T̴̠̘̲̼̍̈́̄̏̃͝ͅǪ̷̨̡̤͕͎͠ ̴̬͑͊ T̵͚̫̆̏͘E̴͚̗̯̠̊͗͌̕̚ͅL̴̫̺̫̀̄̽̃̕L̶̡͚̫̬̈́͑̇ ̴̲͙̼̖̘̺̈͊̓̂͠ Y̸̰̳̰̑Ơ̵̢̼̯͕̌Ų̶̜̜͚͇̕ͅ ̶̟͎̫͌ Y̴͔̱̼̅̋̄̀͜O̴͕̰̰̎̄U̶͓̜̼̝͑̃͂͘͝ ̸̨͎̀͊Ṅ̵̢͙̙̹̀Ë̸̖E̵̢̪̪͛̒̈D̷͍͖̀̈̏͊͋̚ ̶̦̙̫̺͓̉͂͠T̸̙̮̬͚̚Ó̷̖̘̩̘̝̌̄ ̸͇͍͋͒̃̑Ṽ̸͉̞͔̘̱̃͑̌I̷͙͛͑͝S̸̢̗̬̞͂̽I̵̺̿̾͗̀̓̅T̷̢͈̺̹̀̇͊͐̊̍ͅ,̵̭̔ ̷̹̥̺̟̣͋̄͜Ş̵̺̱̃Ḩ̴̙͙̼͙͉̔̎̍̐́̃I̷͔͚͂̇̑͂͜T̷̲̱͔̬̓͠H̶̝̝͌̏͐Ę̴̨̰̙̤͖̎A̸͔͠ͅḐ̴̻͚͔̯̏́͐͘.̵͚͎̪͖̼̻̇̉.”

The Pale Bro replied, in a voice like the whining of an engine underneath the whapping sound of helicopter rotors, that he was on vacation with his bros and he was not here to visit his mom and she could just deal.

“A̶̱̘̬̪̝̓͌͊͐̚R̸͙͌̉̆̆̇̔ͅE̵̡̱̙̯̮̅͗ ̴͈͒̐Y̶̮̤̽̄O̴̢͓̙̝̮͉̾̆̈́̔̚͝Ų̸͚̗͓̞͎̀͝ ̶̡̬͚̄̆͌͋̉̆F̷̙͊͋U̷̿͊̊̽͌̚ͅC̴͙̦̼͕̈́̊̒K̴̬̘͆̀̑͒̐I̸̅́̈͒̅͠ͅŅ̴̪͍̭͂̈G̴̗̥͎͌̔̽̑̈́ ̸̻̰͆̈̕Ȟ̶̱̜̎̕Ī̴͎̝̖̼̤̱̏̐G̵͚͙̊͆̃̍̅ͅͅḦ̸̡̾̄̕?̵͉̫̠̉̈́̓ ̸̡͕̔͐Y̵̨͒͊̈̕O̴̮͓̼̽̓͝Ú̶̝̺͜ ̴̛̪̚ͅͅC̸̣̆͛̿̓̂Á̸͇͈̦͐͗̇͝N̸̞̭̲̻͖̦̽̈́̈'̶̪̪̐͐̈́T̸͔̘͌̄ ̴̨̪͙̫̩̐́S̶̩̋̃A̷̡̨͙͉͕͑́̔̓̌͜͠Y̸̯̝͕̋͗̄̾ ̵̲̜̥̥͆͊̾̑̊͜͝ͅT̴̟̭̼̲̐̄H̶͚̦̯̱̐̔͝Ą̴̥̤̅̃̄̂̾T̵̞̜̱̍̈́̔̕͜ͅ ̶̤͇͐Ṱ̷̃̾̚Ȏ̷͇͈͓̰͇͓ ̶͓̘̟̉̄̀͌̽ͅẎ̸̢̠̿Ỏ̸̧̢̹̹̀̓U̶̢̬͚̞̘͂́̃̆̽̔Ṛ̵̬̱̯̟̀͐̓̎̃͠ ̵̨̮̏̑̐̐M̷̽͜͝O̴̪̙͙͕̥̕͘M̵̨͉̫̭̩̔͑̈́̈̈͝!” the entity exclaimed.

“This is your cousin, bro?” Evan asked diplomatically.

In a voice like the moaning of the wind through a forest of dead things and disappointments, the Pale Bro admitted that this asshole was indeed his cousin, and was carrying a message from the Bro’s mom that he needed to come visit her, because somehow she’d found out that he was vacationing in the area.

“Well, why don’t you just tell him that you will go to visit your mom, in a few days, right before we head out? It is rude to be right near her house and not go visit her, but on the other hand you’re on vacation to spend time with us, so just do it at the end,” Evan suggested.

The Pale Bro expressed that if he absolutely had to visit his mom, that was probably the best way to handle it, and could his cousin kindly fuck off now.

“Ö̵̡̩͙̠̮͌̓̍K̶͈̬̳̰̺͂̋̂́̕Ạ̸̢̬̪̠̠̽͝Ÿ̴͓̰̰̻͔́̏͒̌͆,̶̮̉͒͒̿̏ ̵̦̺̠͓̩̲̍͆̉B̸͕̽͆Ư̵̟̔̈́̌̏͒Ţ̵̳̞̙̣̪̏̂ ̶͈̲̃͐̈́͋͛Y̴̝͍͌̈̍Ơ̶̙̝̱̘̈́̉́̊͒Ū̷͎̦ ̸͚̓B̷͕̥͊͗̿̒͝Ë̴͕͖̪͇̃́T̶͉̓̾̌̃̀͘T̵̨̟̠̩͚̜͂̎̚̕͝Ḙ̴͈̳̮͗̆͋̐́̈́R̶̡̛̪̮͖͓͙̍̈́͌́ ̸̧̘̻̞̣̈́͆͑̄͜N̷͎̦̬͊͌̆̌̕O̵̧̫̾́̾͜T̵͔̉́ ̸͔̒̀̐͆̌F̵̣͉̖̺̱̚ͅÒ̸̯̜̼̖̋̑͘͜R̶̲̦̱̭̱̙̆̈G̵͓̘̞͎̑̅E̴̲̓̿T̴̝̝̑͌̏̊̄̕ ̴̧̡̮̮͓͓̐͒T̸̡̛̖͈͒̕Ḥ̸̬̭͙̪̲̈́͌̈́̚͠͝Ì̸̡͎̝̎̈́̾͂̕S̷̠̻̣̈́̓͘̚ ̶̧̤̀̈́Ţ̴̧̛̫̫̑͗̓͌̉ͅÏ̵̧̘̰̆ͅM̶̮̤̎̉͜E̶̘̬̟͓̜͔̓̕̕̕,̶̗̈ ̶̖͇̞̀̾͑̓͜͠D̷̡̢̧̹̖͙͛̂̒̏̏I̵̛͍̘̜̲̥̓̏̅͐͂̋͝P̴̧̢̡̱͖̣͔̰̦̊̀Ṡ̸̳̺̓̓̕H̷̰̭̣͂͗Ị̶̢̧̜͇̅̎̓̈̉̂̃̐̕͜͜ͅT̶̰̰̋͐.̵͍̜̠̰͊͝ ̷̝͔̼̞͘ͅI̶̩͍̘͎̺̓'̷͕̟̗̣̳̻̀͂͠L̵̹̣̃͗̇͆L̴̢̛̩̤͖̬̆̚ ̸̲̬̲̈́͛͑̌B̴̘̹́́̈͝E̵͓͐̋͒͐̏̎ ̵͇̹̂͒Ẇ̵̨͎̣̝͔͘ͅA̷̻̗̫̍͑̈́̇̐T̸̥̱̘̲̳̋C̶̪̀H̵̢̏͜Ì̸̡̨͙̜̠̲͘N̸͖̹̦̿͊́͛̈́͝G̵̡̨̘̼̀̑̅̎.̷̍̑̆.” The giant creature lumbered off, back into the woods.

“Your family sounds like mine,” Evan said, commiserating.

“Mine, too,” Nandini said. “If I was within 50 miles of my mom while I was on vacation and I didn’t stop by to see her, I’d never hear the end of it.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met your mom,” Steve said.

The Pale Bro suggested that that was just as well.

***

Kayla was napping on Steve, whose legs were starting to go numb but he didn’t want to risk waking her up. Trevor and Ashlee were talking animatedly about terrible professors and classes that were absolute bullshit but required for the pre-med track. Nandini, having forgiven Evan for lying to her about Harrison, had agreed to go on a date or two with him once they all got back to school, and see where things went. Also, she’d helped him recover his mom’s good knives, which they’d all dropped in the dirt when they got here so the girls wouldn’t be scared of them. Rhiannon continued to hit on the Pale Bro, who either didn’t notice, or was so flustered by a girl paying attention to him that he pretended not to notice. Y’lehna, somewhat overheated by spending too long in the tub and not drinking enough water, had a headache, and Harrison was tending her by getting her glasses of water with ice from Ashlee’s freezer.

Everything was going pretty well, and a lot of fun, except for Steve and his numb legs, when a man wearing a ski mask and carrying a bloody knife came out of the woods.

Everyone except Trevor and the Pale Bro screamed. The Pale Bro growled, less like a dog and more like the sound of the devil’s car engine, down in Hell, when the devil is revving it because he’s just challenged the Archangel Michael to a race in a demonic replica of NASCAR. Trevor took note of where Evan and Nandini had put all of Evan’s mom’s kitchen knives, and yelled, “Can we help you?”, preparing to grab a knife from the pile and go knife-fight the dude, just in case the Pale Bro was too drunk to simply lift the fellow up and toss him off the cliff that had already claimed Kayla’s case of beer.

“I hope so!” the man yelled back. “I’m in the middle of cutting up steaks for the grill, and I realize, I don’t have any potatoes! I was gonna do the potatoes on low and slow so they’d be nice and soft inside, but turns out, all my potatoes rotted and I haven’t got any, and it’d take like forty-five minutes to drive into town. And now it’s too late for baked potatoes, but I haven’t got any kind of starch, so I was wondering if you guys have any French fries?”

Trevor blinked.

“Uh, why are you wearing a ski mask?” Nandini asked.

“Oh, this!” The man pulled off the mask. “Haha, almost forgot I had this on! I’m anemic, so my face gets cold. I wear ski masks around to keep warm, but I forgot how that would look to somebody else. Wow, that was dumb of me.”

The man was a good bit older than any of them, maybe late 20’s or early 30’s. He was a white dude with a tan complexion, like Rhiannon’s, but it was a little grayish and unhealthy looking in the bright lights around the hot tub, which could be due to the anemia. His black hair was wavy and longish, parted on the side and going down to his shoulders, framing his face, and he had a mustache and beard. “My name’s Jason,” he said. “My girlfriend and I just moved back in to the cabin – we live here in the spring and summer months because my girl can’t handle the summer sun, she needs some shade – and I brought the steaks with me to celebrate, but I thought I had potatoes. I forgot, potatoes don’t survive being stored for four months.”

“Whew.” Evan shook his head. “That’s nasty, man. I hope you were able to get the smell out of wherever you were storing them.”

“It might take a few more good scrubs,” Jason acknowledged, grinning. “Hey, do you guys mind if I put the ski mask back on? I know what it looks like, but my face is really cold.”

“Go ahead,” Trevor said.

“Yeah, we don’t mind,” Nandini said. “If you turn out to be a serial killer, it’s not like you’re not a serial killer when the mask is off.”

Jason laughed again. “Well, I can eat a whole box of cereal in one sitting, so I guess you could call me a cereal killer.” Many of the college students groaned at the pun.

“You and your girlfriend, do you have kids?” Harrison asked. “Because that was dad-joke worthy.”

“Haha! Nah, no kids yet, dunno if that’s in the cards ever to be frank. Angella’s not much of a kid person.” He pronounced the name On-zhellah rather than An-jellah, like it was French or something.

“I don’t think I have any fries,” Ashlee said. “Or anything, really. When I’m here at the cabin I mostly drive down into town and get takeout. I mean, I’ve got bacon and eggs and bread for toast, and I could make you a PB&J or a lunch meat sandwich, but no real food.”

“That’s better than what I’ve got,” Evan muttered, and then, more loudly, “You got any tomatoes or peppers? I could chop them up and fry you some Spanish rice; I’d just have to go back to my cabin to get rice and spices.”

“Hey, man, that’d be awesome,” Jason said. “Yeah, I’ve got tomatoes and peppers. We’ve got a lot of steak and I don’t think even Angella’s appetite for bloody meat will put a dent in it, so if you guys wanted to come over and get some steak…”

The Pale Bro said in a voice like the moon had crashed but was still orbiting, scraping itself along the Earth’s crust as it went, that steak sounded sweet and he wouldn’t mind having some steak.

“Bro, you are just, like, an eating machine,” Harrison said. “But yeah, wouldn’t mind a steak.”

“I prefer seafood,” Y’lehna said, “but I don’t dislike steak.”

“Guys, Kayla’s asleep and I can’t leave her alone here,” Steve pointed out.

“I’ll stay here with Kayla,” Ashlee suggested. “You can go get steak.”

“I don’t feel great leaving you guys by yourselves, though, you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

At this point, Kayla lifted her head and asked blearily, “What’s happening?”, which solved the issue of who would stay with her; when steak was explained to her she cheerfully agreed that steak would be nice, and everyone else agreed that Kayla had had enough to drink that, assuming she didn’t puke it up, putting more food in her stomach might be a good idea.

Trevor and a couple of knives went with Evan back to Evan’s cabin to get the rice; the Pale Bro went with the rest of them to Jason’s cabin, both to make sure nothing happened to any of his friends, and because steak sounded awesome. Since Evan’s family had been coming here for vacations since he was a kid, he knew the area well enough to know how to get to Jason’s house once Jason gave him the address.

***

Jason’s cabin was about the same size as Evan’s, and it did not have a hot tub, but it did have a barbeque grill. Not one of those tiny little portable things that run on charcoal, either. This was a large fancy propane-powered grill of the kind that could practically be used in an industrial kitchen.

“Honey! I brought guests! And they brought beer! And their friend is gonna make us some Spanish rice!” he called.

A woman came out of the cabin, looking so goth she might as well have invented it. She had incredibly pale white skin, without even the undertone of red most healthy human beings have; she wasn’t quite as pale as the Pale Bro, but it was close. Long black hair slunk down her back like she was cosplaying Morticia Adams. She was wearing hip-hugging black jeans and a long-sleeved black blouse, and a chain around her neck with an Egyptian ankh on it, and her lips were blood-red.

Then she opened her mouth, and it became immediately apparent that she had fangs.

“How do you do,” she said in a vaguely quasi-European accent. “I’m called Angella Darque, with a q. And you are?”

The college students introduced themselves, Nandini wearing a very skeptical pair of eyebrows the entire time. After introductions were done, she asked, “Is your last name really Darque?”

Angella looked taken aback. Jason said, “It’s really Duncan, actually, but she’s getting together the legal paperwork to get it changed because she hates her dad. Deadbeat, never paid child support, you know the type.”

“Oh, Jason, I had no idea today was ‘let’s tell total strangers all about my girlfriend’s private history’ day. Is that what we’re celebrating?”

“Sorry.”

“His lips are so loose,” she confessed to the students. “Sometimes I just want to… sew them shut.”

“Isn’t she hilarious?” Jason laughed. “We met at a support group for people with anemia, five years ago, and we’ve been together since.”

“Um,” Ashlee, obviously very nervous, said. “Uh, we brought some beer if you want. And also wine coolers. Would you like a wine cooler?”

“No, I never drink… wine,” Angella said. And then, “Do you have anything like a Jaeger?”

“Evan’s got vodka back at the cabin,” Steve volunteered.

“Does your cell phone work up here? Maybe you could call him,” Jason said. “Or I could, if he’s got a landline.”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to put anyone out,” Angella said. “I have 151 here, and that’s quite fine. Would any of you like some?”

“Yeah, slip it on me!” Kayla cheered, somewhat mangling her idiom.

Nandini and Y’lehna said at the same time, “No.” And then Y’lehna clarified. “I’m a little drunk, but she’s, like, totally plastered. We can’t even let her have a beer at this point. Soda’s cool, though.”

The Pale Bro conveyed in a voice like a million marbles suddenly gaining sentience and stampeding for a cliff to fling themselves over like lemmings, except that lemmings don’t really do that, that he would appreciate a rum and Coke.

Angella went back in the house to make the Pale Bro a rum and Coke with dangerously-high-proof rum. Harrison, Steve, and the girls looked at each other. Finally Rhiannon said, “I thought maybe I saw… your girlfriend has fangs? What’s up with that?”

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jason said cheerfully. “Now you guys need to let me know, should I use the rosemary garlic marinade, the pineapple ginger, or the Brazilian steakhouse?”

“Why not mix it up?” Harrison asked. “You got a lot of steak there, you could do ‘em all!”

“I don’t think pineapple ginger would go well with steak,” Ashlee said uncertainly. “Doesn’t that sound like more of a pork thing?”

“Or fish,” Y’lehna said. “Oh, but wait! Nandini, can you even eat pork?”

“I can eat anything,” Nandini said irritably, “but my family’s Hindi, not Muslim. I’m supposed to stay away from beef, not pork. But some traditions I don’t even believe in is not going to stop me from eating a nice steak.”

“I could add pork medallions, if you thought it was a good idea,” Jason said.

“Nah, man, you’ve got a lot of meat here,” Harrison said. “It looks great! Maybe if you had like a swordfish or tuna steak for Y’lehna, but if you don’t, no worries.”

“I got a salmon.”

“Pineapple ginger might go really well with salmon,” Y’lehna suggested.

Meanwhile Angella had brought the Pale Bro his rum and Coke, and they were currently discussing literary trends in fiction aimed at college-educated women.

***

Evan and Trevor returned with rice, spices, dried vegetables, and coincidentally, a can of pineapple chunks. Jason ended up preparing the salmon with the pineapple chunks after defrosting it in his microwave, and Evan made the Spanish rice he’d promised, and no one actually questioned why someone had started grilling steaks at midnight.

The salmon was done first, and Y’lehna and Nandini, who was feeling just a little bit guilty over her earlier decision to eat beef, got most of it. Angella got the first steak that came up, when it was barely warmed, still dripping blood. Then the rest of them, as the rest of the steaks were all done around the same time, along with the rice.

At some point, Evan suggested that everyone return to his cabin, because he had video games and music and nice speakers; Jason and Angella turned the offer down, Angella saying, “The night is young, and has yet to yield all its delights”, which was really corny and pretentious, but given the look she gave Jason when she said it, none of the guys questioned why he was staying at his own cabin tonight instead of going with them. Ashlee also insisted on staying at her own cabin; after a whole night of having ten people at her house, she was kind of burned out on people, and needed to get some sleep. And everyone agreed that Kayla should stay at Ashlee’s cabin; she was still cheerful and fun, but she was still pretty plastered. Because of the potential threat of a killer, Steve volunteered to stay with the girls; he knew Evan’s landline number, so he could call in reinforcements if necessary. Everyone else trooped back along the road, many carrying tinfoil-covered plates of steak and spicy rice, back to Evan’s cabin.

There was blood dripped onto the driveway.

The Pale Bro noticed it before anyone else, with his multiple sensitive eyes. His arm went out to block Evan from going any further, and in a voice like the rumble of an entire river’s worth of water pouring from a broken dam, he warned everyone of the blood and suggested he should go first.

Evan put up his hands. “No problem, man,” he said. “You take point.”

“I’m right behind you,” Trevor, holding one of the knives in front of him, said.

“Okay, I’ll bring up the rear,” Nandini said. “Harrison, Y’Lehna, Rhiannon, Evan, you go between us.”

Harrison looked at Nandini, who was taller than him, and then at the others. Evan was maybe the same height as Nandini, maybe very slightly taller… or very slightly shorter. It was too dark for Harrison to accurately judge.

He, too, put up his hands. “Works for me,” he said.

Evan looked back at Nandini. “I feel like I should be back with you,” he said. “If Pale’s got Trevor as backup…”

The Pale Bro pointed out, in a tone that conveyed deep irritation, that he didn’t need backup because if it was a human killer he’d make short work of them and if it was a monster, only he had a chance, and anyway it was probably not a monster because his cousin had claimed to be on a diet and the only reason they’d thought it was a monster in the first place was his cousin’s footprint. He then walked forward resolutely.

The door to the cabin was hanging open. The Pale Bro ducked his head way down, which he was pretty much used to doing any time he was going through a door, and pushed through, followed by Trevor. They’d left all the lights on, with the shutters closed, so that the light leaking around the edges of the shutters would make someone think they were home, and also because the lights were LED bulbs so seriously, that was probably like only thirty cents worth of electricity wasted. In that light, they saw blood all over the floor.

All of the group looked at each other uneasily. Ever since the Pale Bro had found the girls and the hot tub, no one had really been acting as if there genuinely was a potential killer out there; they’d given lip service to the idea, they’d certainly gotten scared enough every time something bizarre happened – and a lot of bizarre things had happened – but they hadn’t really treated it as a serious risk. Now it seemed possible that someone had been murdered in Evan’s cabin, or had been stabbed somewhere else and staggered into Evan’s cabin, despite the fact that all the locks had been locked.

The Pale Bro went forward into the kitchen, following the blood trail – and stopped in confusion. This caused everyone else to stop short, without being able to see into the kitchen because the Bro was blocking the doorway.

“Come on, bro, what’s going on?” Evan asked.

The Pale Bro slid sideways out of the way in a fashion that didn’t quite look like a real way anything could possibly move, and Evan pushed forward to be right behind Trevor, both of them crammed into the doorway.

A middle-aged white dude wearing a baseball cap advertising Evan’s parents’ company was at the sink, his front covered in blood. He had turned to face all of them, his hands clean but his sleeves completely saturated with something’s death juices.

“Joe?” Evan said disbelievingly.

“Evan!” Joe said. “I’m so sorry about the mess, man, and the hour, I know you’re pissed and I don’t blame you, I’d be pissed too, I know I’m really late—”

“Joe. Why are you covered in blood? What happened?”

“The meat defrosted,” Joe said. “I was driving around this mountain trying to find the cabin for so long, the meat defrosted, and when I pulled it out of my trunk, the bag caught on something and ripped and all the blood from the meat defrosting was all over me. I’m so sorry.”

“Why are you—” Evan glanced at a fancy cuckoo clock on the wall that actually ran on batteries, not solely on clockwork. “—getting in at two fucking am when you were supposed to be here before six?”

“I have been driving around this mountain since four in the afternoon,” Joe said. “My GPS stopped working halfway up the mountain, and I swear I tried to follow your mom’s directions, I swear, but I couldn’t find Long Leaf Lane no matter how hard I looked, and I went back down and asked at the gas station but none of them lived on the mountain, so I bought a paper map but it didn’t help at all because Long Leaf Lane wasn’t even on it—”

“It’s a private drive, I don’t even know if they put those on maps,” Evan said.

“Evan, if this is your guy with the food and he’s not dying of stab wounds, I’m going to use your bathroom,” Nandini said. “Where is it?”

“There’s two, one upstairs with a claw-foot tub and one down on this floor, go back out of the kitchen and it’s the door on the east side of the living room,” Evan said.

“Great, using the downstairs one,” Nandini said, and ducked back out of the doorway.

“Are you okay?” Rhiannon asked Joe.

“I’ve been driving for ten hours. Last six of which I couldn’t find my way back down the mountain either, and I didn’t have any food and the only water was the ice that used to be in my Sprite that melted—”

“Come on, man,” Evan said, sighing. “Yeah, the GPS situation really sucks around here. I wouldn’t wanna try to find Long Leaf Lane if I hadn’t been coming here every summer for, like, ten years. Let’s get you upstairs and get you cleaned up.” He looked over at Harrison and the Pale Bro. “Guys, you know more or less where the stuff in the kitchen goes, right? Can you put the food away?”

“The ice cream melted,” Joe moaned. “I’m so sorry…”

“No, come on. Let’s get you a shower and a change of clothes. I’ll borrow something of Steve’s while you’re in the shower, he’s about your size.”

“I think I know,” Harrison said. “We put the meat in the freezer?”

Rhiannon and Evan said, “No!” at the same time, and Rhiannon added, “You’ve got to put it in the fridge. You can’t freeze most things twice, they get freezer burned.”

“Huh,” Harrison said, looking over the sheer quantity of meat that Joe had been trying to carry in a paper shopping bag with handles. “I guess we’re gonna go back to Jason and Angella’s at least one night this week, ‘cause this is way more meat than we can eat before it goes bad.”

The Pale Bro, who had just picked up the bag of melted ice cream and slurped the whole thing down like it was a milkshake, said, in the voice of a creature whose mouth was entirely full of melted ice cream, something very much like “Watch me.”

“Lemme go throw this shit out,” Harrison said of the paper shopping bag, whose bottom had almost disintegrated from holding way too much au jus for even a strong, well-made paper shopping bag to handle, and which smelled like a murder had been done, or at least that someone had lost an arm and was bleeding out.

Evan took Joe upstairs to the bathroom to wash himself, broke into Steve’s suitcase and took a random t-shirt and pair of shorts, and advised him that he could stay overnight, sleep on the couch, and have some eggs and bacon in the morning, now that he had brought the eggs and bacon.

And then they all heard Harrison screaming.

Evan got down the stairs approximately as fast as Nandini came racing from the bathroom, but Rhiannon, Y’lehna and the Pale Bro were out the door faster, having been closer.

Harrison was on the ground. The trash can had been dumped over. It was mostly cleaning products used by the team that cleaned the cabin between uses, but there were some banana peels and candy wrappers – and now, a bloody shopping bag – in the pile of trash.

Standing over the pile of trash, looking kind of pissed, was a black bear.

In the voice of a guy who has finally, finally gotten the chance to use his strength and size to protect his friends after like what seemed like twenty-seven false scares tonight, the Pale Bro said something that could possibly be understood to be “Fucking finally,” and charged at the bear.

The bear had a lot of mass, even more than the Pale Bro, who was a very, very skinny dude, but the Pale Bro was around twice as tall as the bear, had much longer claws, and was doing something weird to the space around the bear, making lensing effects that distorted all the angles of the trees and branches behind the trash can. The bear flailed a bit, and then the Pale Bro lifted it and held it straight out from his body, where its much smaller paws couldn’t hope to reach. It snarled and kicked and scratched, but the Pale Bro relentlessly carried it into the woods, where they both disappeared.

“Well.” Evan said. “Who wants to help me clean up this trash?”

“’Want’ is a strong word,” Harrison said, but he helped, and Nandini and Rhiannon pitched in. Y’lehna would have helped, but she had to run back into the cabin to run cold water over her arms and legs.

The Pale Bro returned minutes later, without a scratch on him. “Where’d you put the bear, dude?” Harrison asked.

The Bro conveyed that he could possibly have gone out to the cliff that ran alongside the road – the same cliff that, in a different location, had claimed the life of an entire case of beer – and by the way, did any of them know that bears bounce? Because he hadn’t.

“Dude, you didn’t have to kill it,” Evan complained.

“Yes, he did! It was gonna kill me! I don’t want it coming back for revenge!” Harrison gabbled out.

The Pale Bro declared that he hadn’t killed it. Before anyone could feel either relief or fear over that, he added that his mom lived down that way someplace and she would probably kill it, because eldritch spawn eat a lot and he had a lot of brothers and sisters.

***

And so the first night of their vacation ended, with the Pale Bro staying up all night playing video games with Trevor, who’d returned to the cabin with Steve once they’d both been informed that there was no psycho killer and Joe was actually fine, he’d just gotten really lost. Evan, Harrison and Steve went to bed like normal people, or rather, like normal people who are young men in college, around four am, after walking Rhiannon, Nandini and Y’lehna back to their cabin like gentlemen, because psycho killer or no, the woods were dark and any number of things could happen. In other words, it was a perfectly normal night on vacation, just like any group of friends in college might have.

As for anything that might have happened the next day, or any of the other days of their vacation… that’s a story for another time.

#52 project #spooky 5 #comedy #horror #except not really

[nervydamned]

i don’t usually cry anymore. the medication and the crushing numbness that comes with 31 years of hard living and dead ends has created in me a cold grey stone, typically invulnerable to all but tragic movies and commercials that were obviously designed with surgical precision to ensure that at least a small portion of viewers will immediately log onto the website and purchase, like, boat insurance while crying so hard they can’t do the capcha on the first try. i used to be a dramatic cryer, responding to almost any intense emotion with deep and gusty sobs. then 2016 happened. i lost my father. my spiral into alcoholism intensified my incredible appetite for self destruction. the shame that ensued formed that grey stone like a grit of sand forms in an oyster-- slowly, slowly-- until the day i told my sister that i wasn’t sure i would ever laugh again.

so i sought treatment. fresh from admitting to my husband that i had 1) secretly relapsed and 2) repeatedly been unfaithful with some of the worst people, i put my phone number into a “need rehab?” webform. i received a call about three minutes later. scared out of my mind, i would have agreed to do basically anything to clear the dark menacing cloud of divorce. they said they had a pool! i wanted to go swimming! i wanted to be instantly forgiven for my transgressions, and rehab seemed the best way to me to demonstrate that by god, i was SERIOUS about this recovery thing! he said the only rehab i qualified for was in south bend, indiana. they would buy the ticket. could i leave tomorrow? i guess i could.

i showed up to a building that looked like a 90s middle school with a smoking porch. terrified out of my mind and drunk on the four pints of heineken i’d slammed at chili’s with a sympathetic bartender at 7am across from my boarding gate, and disoriented from the klonopin that i took almost subconsciously at any sign of emotional turmoil, i was a rag doll with button eyes. i entered, stripped, spread, and coughed. i vomited in the toilet while a girl with perfect cat-eye liner did her best to discreetly look away. i was there-- it was happening-- but WHAT was happening? all i knew was that rehab was like a shiny gold star on my behavior chart. if i did it, nobody could say i hadn’t. 

rehab is the best place in the world for a vulnerable drunk. i mean it! you’ve never had more shoulders to cry on. i remember hysterically sobbing until my heaving shoulders locked up and the only sound i could make was tiny clicks from my frozen throat. i’ve never had my shoulders patted so authentically. it never occurred to me at the time that this display of raw, scream-it-to-the-heavens emotion was such a part of their daily lives as intake detox counselors that they probably could have done it in their sleep. but somehow they remained authentic.

the funniest part about the rehab was that it turned out to be run and staffed by die-hard scientologists! i guess we can get into that later. 

rehab also brought out my “daddy please be proud of me” personality in full force. i joined the “peer counsel” which was essentially just in charge of taking nightly attendance and clapping for sobriety milestones. i befriended everybody, impressing them with my uniquely pretentious affectation of sarcastic intellectualism that only fools people less smart than i am. i was the queen of rehab! life was good! everyone there had forgiven me. the next step was me forgiving myself. the final step was my husband forgiving me. at the time, i still thought that was a completely realistic goal. all i can say to that, ineloquently enough, is: HAHAHAHAHAHA.

my husband came to visit me, once, on the sunday after easter. having practiced healthy communication and effective use of boundaries six hours a day for the last three weeks, i promised him that we could talk about anything he wanted in the two hours he spent with me on the grounds. he got there and shrugged his shoulders over and over again. determined to make his long drive worth the time, i enthusiastically dragged him around to meet all of my rehab friends, proudly introducing him as my husband to anyone who would listen. that day, i believed we had a chance. that night, i found out he spent half the drive home texting my phone, which was locked in a drawer in the rehab office, accusing me of ignoring him in favor of my friends and strongly implying that i was sleeping with at least one of them. this delusion continued for months after and may still fester in his brain. i just wanted him to meet the people who were helping shape my recovery. he could never see the point of that. he didn’t understand that to me, connection is such a fundamental part of who i am that i HAD to make friends there. all he saw was the potential for pain.

i nakedly vied for the approval of everyone around me to the point that my rehab friends petitioned for me to win “patient of the week” at my graduation. when i realized what they had done i was simultaneously flattered to my core and mortified. how obvious it must have been that i set this artificial award ceremony in motion?

my husband was late. he missed the whole thing. in the car ride home, i chain smoked cigarettes and listened to his music. i talked about finding my rehab friend jacob on facebook so that we could attend meetings together since he was the only one who lived close by, and he accused me of having an extramarital relationship with him. his evidence was that “i brought him up all the time!” jacob came out as gay six months after we graduated from the program. we never got a chance to be friends.

my whole family was waiting at my sister’s house to welcome me home; they were babysitting my son while my husband drove to pick me up. they were so proud! again, i felt raw and abashed. just more confirmation that everyone knew--everyone knew--everyone knew everything. my husband had made my infidelity no secret with his family, and of course i had told my mother and my sister. 

being the family fuckup is like being naked under a microscope. like living your life in the invasive, creepy bodyscanner at the airport. well-wishes come with a tinge of pity; there is a frantic and all-too-apparent urge to avoid any conversation that might bring up my past transgressions. i’m used to it because i’ve been a drug addict since 2008. but coming back from rehab was the worst. there’s nothing like seeing what the future could be like-- bright, beautiful, beatific. the feeling of stepping out of a confessional booth and feeling the light on your face, reflected through the stained-glass window of the Virgin Mary and her son. but the comedown happens when you realize that the forgiveness you’ve given yourself stops with you. the crushing realization that your husband is either incapable of or unwilling to extend you the trust and forgiveness and freedom from shame that you’ve finally decided to give yourself makes you question everything. 

i just don’t understand why he can’t admit that he doesn’t love me anymore. i’m glad i went to rehab. but now i know it wasn’t for him. i could give him anything in the world and i’d still be the adultress, the sly sociopath, the woman that enjoys torturing him with emotion and conflict. our relationship can’t ever work again and he won’t admit it because he’s scared to be alone. honestly, i’m starting to feel sorry for him. i know i could find some normie guy, one with an unkempt beard who makes that face-- you know that face! the nintendo switch face!-- in his twitter avi. he can quote every line from the office and he loves bar trivia, but makes sure to go to the bar and grab me a sparkling water before the beers arrive. he’s a bit boring, maybe not as smart as i am (or pretend to be), but he’s authentic, and he laughs at my jokes, and he always wants to know how my day went. he makes sure to find something thoughtful for christmas, and he sometimes goes out and gets my car detailed on the weekend because he knows how messy i am and how frantic it makes me when i have to face those messes. he has a group of friends who all like the same things he does and they hang out after work most tuesdays, but not when we have something to do at home.

but i know who i am and i know i am not fundamentally healed and i know i’d get bored and break his heart. and my husband would still be alone.

who even knows anymore? the status quo definitely has something going for it. i don’t have to apply for WIC or share a one bedroom apartment with my son or drive for Grubhub on the weekend to make sure i can afford peanut butter because that shit is expensive. we can sit, and sit, and then drift off to sleep and wake up in the same place that we were the day before. maybe i’m adapting to my husband’s sense that it’s better to just endure and stay quiet. i know that pattern because it’s how my family handled every bit of turmoil since i was a child. it’s never worked, but i guess it might someday!

this is my first blog post in 15 years. hopefully it won’t be my last.

[curlyshyy]

New Apartment and the same anxious energy with a while lotta guilt and regret :) (A short story by me)

I love that when I’m too lazy and sad to pull out a journal I can come on here cuz no one looks at this shit. Why do I event still have a tumblr?

The last two nights have been rough for me, as I think new happy events trigger my brain into being sad and hating myself? Of course it’s nights where I’ve had to open the bar at 9 AM the next morning. I suppose that’s the first reason I hadn’t been able to sleep. I hate my job low-key. I once loved Alamo Drafthouse. Adored it even. Then moved to this shit hole in Norrh Richland Hills which is the furthest from the Alamo way, and I’m not valued. I feel like a fuck up everyday. In a lot of ways I am. I’m functioning with severe anxiety and most people don’t know or understand. I do stupid things when I’m having a panic attack, and these managers judge me hard. But here’s the thing I know in my heart, even when I hate myself, I’m a good worker, I’m kind, and will do anything for my coworkers and will eventually get really good at this job.im dedicated to say the least. I think that’s what matters most but for now they just see me as a fuck up, slow learner. I work my ass off though and they don’t see it. If I could work every second of everyday. Ifthis shit hole wasn’t trying to cut everyone’s hours cuz they’re not making any money, i’d work myself into physical exhaustion, like I’m so good at doing. Thats the only thing I can feel. It’s my only escape and I hate being there. This is a little dramatic. My life has been improving, and yes I know I need therapy. We been knew. My ass was anxious at 5 years old. Anxiety is truly hell, I wish I’d just force myself to hurry up and get help, and I wish I wasn’t poor. I wish my mom had saw how fucked I was and made me get help as a kid, but she did the best she could. Could blame the bitch but like, she has a hard enough time accepting and coping with her own mental illness. She hardly acknowledges it. That must be hard to lie to yourself everyday, and say that you just have to choose happiness.

The reason the last two nights have been shit is cuz I stayed up dreading going to work and being there all day and I hate the fuck out of mornings and waking up before noon. Which is why I like closing and usually have night shifts. Since the fucks cut my hours I gotta take what I can get though. I need a constant distraction at night cuz my brain is literally scary as fuck. I can’t even tell anyone about 95% of it. It’s so terrifying. So I usually distract myself with my phone. But I was like “hey, brain I know we’re anxious af and sad, but can we go to sleep?” To which my brain replied : “Remember this event from two years ago? Haha you’re a terrible person.” Then my body physically stiffend, I felt physically ill and my head ached and all I could do was think about past mistakes and everything that makes me a failure and bad person. Typical manageable anxiety for me at this fucking point, I’m just not gonna be able to sleep and I know it. Then I remember an old friend, I used to work with at Chili���s. Javi. Literally one of the very slim parts of the things that I don’t block out and cringe hard about when it comes to chili’s, are our times together. I block that shit hard. I mean just thinking about me in this time frame is enough to make me believe I’m terrible. I wasn’t right. I regret literally everything about chili’s. That place is a nightmare and probably what hell is going to look like when I arrive. anyways god damn. Javi is this sweet kind angel. We were all struggling at this mother fucking chili’s let me tell you. My dumb ass had just come back from vid con (2017) How did I afford that? I spent my rent money. Also I couldn’t afford to eat for like a week. But YouTube was and still is the only thing in this world that makes my brain feel calm. It’s a safe place for me. And I was dumb as shit. Anyway my dumb ass was already starving before Vidcon and could barely afford rent. :) cuz chili’s doesn’t pay well. So I was real fucked when rent came up and literally considered myself lucky when I found a packet of cheezits lying around, cuz that was a good meal to me at the time. I guess I’m telling my coworkers this and busting my ass all night bussing peoples tables and helping out as a hostess which of course paid jack shit. And I know I’m about to go home fucked another night, and Javi, pulls out the $165 dollars he made that night, and hands it to me. The boy had bills, and worked all night too. Who would ever be so kind-hearted to do such a thing. I of course refused, cuz what the fuck. He insisted. I said I was going to cry and he said “aw don’t cry Sheyenne, or I’ll cry too.” And hugged me. I was also super numb and depressed and wanted to be with Hannah so much, and honestly I don’t feel like I was my best self. I look at that person and I don’t feel like it was me. But I used it to pay rent. Still wasn’t eating and he even bought me food one day. Literal angel. I don’t know or remember if I expressed enough gratefulness. I don’t know if I was capable of expressing it. A couple months later he’s about to move to Idaho, and we have a goodbye dinner, and I figure this is a good time to repay him. I give him $100 which is all I could really do at the time, and try to tell him I think he’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. He leaves, and I think we only ever talked one time after that, and I offered to buy him pizZa but never did for some reason? We never really talked again. I alwyas momentarily remember him, but I really have chili’s and the person I was in 2017 so far blocked that I really can’t remember that shit. It’s so hazy. There isn’t a full day I can remember. Just tiny bits and pieces. For some reason two nights ago I remembered him vividly. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I felt panic and guilty as fuck. Paralyizying guilt. I felt like I should never deserve to enjoy anything ever again in my entire life. I felt terrible. I felt like if he ever struggled to make it or eat, then I should’ve been there for him. I stalked his fb, cuz I needed to know he was okay.

He doesn’t use social media too much. His mom however posts about him a lot. Which confused me because I know they have a strained relationship, and he could have a lot of help from his mom, but I think he resented the help, because they didn’t always get along? I don’t know how fucked she was to him though. What fb told me was she paid for him to come every few months. He has a new girlfriend that he seems very happy with, he seems happy in general. He’s smiling in pics. But that’s social media. At best pictures his moms posting. I felt like I needed to know or I was going to have a breakdown. I don’t have his phone number for some reason, so I snapped him a long message. Usually I’d feel crazy to reach out especially when we Weren’t that close but I just needed to. I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t sleep. Then opened at work. The shake machine of course was fucked and I had to put it back together correctly only after shake mix poured everywhere. That’s just my life. Me doing something out of panic, and then having to redo it after looking like a dumb bitch. I truly learn from fucking up. I’m wired so fucking wrong. He finally responds once I’m off work. I read it. It’s not what I need to hear but it’s decent, and proves he doesn’t hate me. He tells me he’s good, but working at Taco Bell, and I know he’s still struggling which makes me sad, but I guess I’ve been struggling to, so I shouldn’t hold myself accountable for not reaching out. I’ve been so poor, and me and Hannah are just now catching up, and taking a breather after 2 years of struggling. I let my mind rest though because he’s alive and he’s eating and has a girlfriend and family who are looking out for him. Until the next night when I should be exhausted from no sleep. The guilt starts eating away at me again. I feel like I shoukdve sent him more money,but after a while I stopped thinking about it because of all that I was going through and that made me feel selfish. I felt that I owed him for my entire life. Maybe I blocked out how much he and his kinda gesture meant to me because anything regarding chili’s, is so far removed, and maybe that super vivid memory, is what I needed to remind me. I’ve also been struggling heavily with my mental health and off and on numb most of the time, so it is possible that I wasn’t as grateful as I could’ve been or at least didn’t properly show gratefulness. So I once again reached out and also sent $20. I really went for it this time. I said I literally need to know you’re okay and happy, and for you to know how special you are and sorry if this sounds crazy dog. Like I must’ve seemed fucking insane but I needed him to know. I don’t know why it was physically paining me so much. Maybe because of all the roommates and so called friends who disappeared without paying rent and left me fucked with no second thought of how I’d eat tomorrow. I just couldn’t bare to think that, He was out there roughing it, maybe Skiping a meal, (like Hannah and I’ve had to so so many times thanks to people who literally could give a fuck less.) After he was there when I needed help. He ended up telling me he didn’t need money, and that he did what he did because he was my fiend, and he even apologized that I didn’t have any friends at the time that would’ve helped me the way he did. He apologized. He told me that I deserved it. That really calmed me. I guess I forgot the good that I did because I just remember the bad. I guess I didn’t think about the positive effects I had on him. That I must’ve done something right for someone to care so deeply that they just handed me that kind of money, after a long shift. He saw that, and maybe he felt he owed me in a weird way. I still feel like I owe him. I wish I’d talked to him sooner. Genuinely good people are hard to find. Who tf would do what he did? Seriously. I am so glad I reached out though.

It worries me though. How small past events can trigger me so hard. It’s a snowball effect. Anxious about work, life, who I am, past mistakes, and it’s paralyzing and hurts my entire body and keeps me from sleep and makes me feel undeserving of a good life or any enjoyment. I really need to get help because it’s getting to an unmanageable point, like it was after I graduated 3 years ago. It scares me that so many past memories are blocked expect for bad ones and bits and pieces. It scares me that, there has never been a completely care free 100% happy period of my life, that lasted longer than a couple days, and now as an adult it’s an even shorter amount of time. Genuine happiness is rare and make men feel pointless. I’m empty most of the time and want things and have the capacity to work hard and achieve them but also feel that I don’t deserve them. I am capable of happiness and some days, I do feel genuinely happy even if it doesn’t last the whole day. My family and Hannah still have a lasting impact on me and even when I’m an unfeeling zombie, I still know love, and numbness makes it hard to feel but somehow not entirely impossible. Little bits of light get through the cracks, and in some ways I’ve gotten better at managing my brain, and I truly don’t want to die or think I deserve to like I once did. The guilt attacks and fears of being bad, and some how accidentally hurting someone emotionally or physically, still fuck my head up because I could never hurt anyone intentionally and feel guilt for any small pains caused alwyas. I wish I could take back many wrong words and hurtful actions done and said to loved ones, but I can’t but it’s okay because they forgive me, so I can forgive myself too. I have to let go of the past.

This really creeped in again because I started to feel excited about a fresh start and our apartment. My brain tries to tell me I don’t deserve it. I deserve to decorate with Hannah, and to allow myself happiness so that I can be happy and enjoy life and be a better girlfriend. I also need to get a new job that doesn’t make me feel like the scum of the earth.

A part from that all I’m feeling a lot better. I’m off tomorrow. I watched Phil’s new video and it made me feel hopeful, proud and nostalgic. YouTube and the youtubers that have been the stand ins for the lack of friends, have comforted me, inspired me, and put my brain to rest, and assured me I’m not as weird and alone as I think I am. That’s why I want to do YouTube. It’s a tough though. Editing takes a lot of time and I want to make things I’m proud of. I want to make music even though I’m bit a musician, I want to keep writing and actually read again like free 12 year old me did. I read and wrote so much then. I want to be that me again. I want to reach other people and help them feel less alone, I want to make a difference and I want to not feel like a failure. I just need to get past all of this guilt and I really think this is the start of that, and my journey to creating.

[fortheloveofholland]

inspired by the wonderful @flwrpotts. i love your some things posts and i hope i do you justice with this one. 

sweet pea. high school. some things.

freshman year.  cries in the school bathroom on the first day. wipes his tears and tells no one. wears his fathers dog tags. wishes he never walked out on them. knows every word to every red hot chili peppers song. discovers he’s really good at math. tallest kid in the freshmen class. meets fangs fogarty for the first time. hits him with a dodge ball. mom finds out she has lung cancer. pretends he doesn’t care but inside he’s screaming for help. gets black out drunk for the first time. fronts like he’s a womanizer, but in reality he’s never kissed a girl in his life. at least until toni rolls her eyes and plants one on him. holds his moms hand when they find out they can’t afford surgery or chemo. kicks a trash can over and cries on the side of the road. thinks the entire worlds out to get him. needs some sort of escape. pledges the serpents. likes the confidence the leather jacket gives him. feels like he’s on top of the world for a second or two. gets the serpent tattoo on his neck because he knows it’ll draw attention. tells his mom he loves her every chance he gets. drinks vanilla milkshakes at pops with her every tuesday. hates the north side with everything he’s got in him. walks to school everyday. talks back to teachers. watches his mom take her final breath and never forgets that moment. doesn’t sleep at all the few days after. gets put into the system. says fuck the system and starts to make his own way in the world. thinks emotions make you weak. becomes best friends with fogarty and topaz. looks at fp jones as some sort of father figure. won’t admit to his anger issues. hates his life. 

sophomore year.  finally buys his own harley. becomes a whole new kind of cocky. likes the fact that girls stop and stare. needs reading glasses but refuses to get them. swollen lips from all the girls he’s kissed. every one of them leaving him feeling some sort of empty. starts running errands for the serpents. sets the high score on mortal kombat. watches fp jones go to jail and the world around him fall to shit. made out with the principals daughter in spite of him. only responds in insults and sarcastic comments. highest grade in his algebra class. meets jughead jones for the first time. tells him he’s a pussy. steals from the grocery store sometimes. eats dinner with the fogarty family every sunday. thinks the red circle is the stupidest thing he’s ever seen. challenges archie andrews to a fight. leaves with a black eye and a smirk. just wants the world to be on his side for once. has a picture of him and his mom on his nightstand. spends 8 hours in jail. rarely smiles and when he does, it’s not genuine. feels some sort of satisfaction when he punches the shit out of jughead during the gauntlet. will back the serpents like no other. thrilled to get a decent education when he’s forced to transfer to riverdale high. doesn’t mind the uniforms. makes co-captain of the basketball team, despite reggie mantles protest. helps stand up for the south side at the hands of the lodge family. has a group chat with toni and fangs called “america’s favorite assholes.” secretly ships toni with the witch of a redhead. spends a lot of time in the very back booth at pops. read to kill a mockingbird and loved it. sneaks into concerts. skips school and sits by his moms grave on her one year. blames himself a lot more then he should.

junior year. finds an unlikely friend in veronica lodge. sings his favorite songs at full volume every chance he gets. thinks of himself as a modern danny zuko. has a screaming match with fangs little sister. she won. gets another tattoo. it’s his moms birthday in roman numerals. thinks maybe if he tried hard enough he could get into college. ditches the idea soon after. steals a stop sign for the hell of it. hangs it right above his bed. gets invited to church by the girl who sits next to him in us history. rolls his eyes but goes anyway. makes a jacking off hand motion anytime principal weatherbee walks by. doesn’t understand relationships and wonders why the fuck church girl has a pretty smile and why he wants to spend all his time with her. flips off archie andrews every chance he gets. prefers whiskey over anything. still runs serpent errands. made out with a river vixen, wished it was church girl. owns too many flannels to count. scares the shit out of freshmen with fangs because they think it’s hilarious. wears his serpent jacket with pride. bursts into a fit of rage and sadness when he see’s his dad in walmart in greendale. makes a vow to be a better man than his old man ever was. thinks he’s not good enough for church girl. she insists he is as she traces patterns into his naked back. works part time at a motorcycle shop. smiles for the first time in a while and means it. always keeps a watchful eye over toni even though he knows she’s perfectly capable of handling her own. still can’t shake the feeling that the worlds against him. 

senior year. throws his dads dog tags into sweet water river. finally feels at peace with it. has the most kick ass work ethic anyone has ever seen. still hold the highest mortal kombat score. teaches church girl how to play pool. smirks when jughead refers to him as a wildcard. finally sees the chili peppers live. is his best friends biggest fan. fights hard, loves harder. still wears all black. runs into the wyrm as fast as he could when he finds out he got accepted into college. thanks cheryl for making his best friend happy. comes up with the senior prank. smells like cigarettes and mint. slow dances in church girls living room to put your head on my shoulder by paul anka. finally seeks help for his anger issues. makes time for the original three. has this warm kind of feeling inside of him. like the weight he’s been carrying on his shoulders is slowly but surely being lifted off of him. smacks the shit out of nick st. clair when he shows up at a town event. gets glasses. tells church girl he loves her. wholeheartedly thinks he could make something of himself. still carries a switch blade with him everywhere he goes. walks into pops with a newfound and completely genuine confidence. starts to live up to his nickname. leans against the pool table at the wyrm and nods his head along to the familiar rock songs. sits and talks to his moms grave at least once a month. wants to join the military. looks at church girl and sees his future. thanks the serpents for everything. carves his initials into the wall of the wyrm. looks in the mirror and sees someone he’s proud of. tells life to bring it on. 

#riverdale #riverdale headcanons #sweet pea #sweet pea imagines #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea headcanon #sweet pea fanfic #riverdale imagines #riverdale fanfiction #sweetsgotbored headcanon #encore: sweet pea

[eldritchsurveys]

o67.

Have you ever talked to someone online, but when you saw each other in person, it was just super awkward? Have you ever made a really good friend online? >> Nah to the first question. But yes, at this point all my friends are people I’ve met online.

Do you enter sweepstakes or scratch lottery tickets or anything like that? What’s the best thing you’ve ever won? >> I’ve done scratch tickets, but usually because someone bought them for a group or something (like Hallie’s mom buying them for all of us way back when, or Sparrow’s mom doing the same thing at holiday dinners).

Right now, would you be upset if you got pregnant, or would you not mind? Have you ever had a pregnancy scare? >> I would definitely be upset if I was pregnant, because first of all, how did I even get that way... and second of all, I have zero desire to ever carry a child and I also have zero desire to have multiple abortions done, so... yeah. I have had a pregnancy scare, and it was founded, so.

Have you ever let someone be your everything? >> I don’t know, really. I don’t think I’ve ever thought of anyone by that exact terminology. It’s just not my attachment style, but it doesn’t mean I don’t still love people in my own way.

Do you have any weird inside jokes? >> All my best weird inside jokes are with Hallie, lmao. We’re just good at it. ;p

Could you go the rest of your life without a cigarette? >> Yeah.

Is there anybody you’re really disappointed in right now? >> Nope.

Do you have alcohol in your house? >> Yeah, there’s a wine in the fridge and I have a Backwoods Bastard and some Malört on my desk and we still have about half a bottle of Svedka mango-pineapple vodka left. Oh, and I still have a screwdriver in the fridge because I made it and then didn’t actually want it, lmao, so I just shoved it in there.

Have you ever wanted something you couldn’t have? >> Sure, a lot of things (mostly because I couldn’t afford them).

Are you a morning or night person? >> I don’t think my personhood is adequately described like that.

What is your favorite color? >> Gold.

It’s 4 in the morning, your phone rings, who is it? >> A wrong number, I’d presume.

Have you ever had a really big fight with a best friend? >> ---

Has someone ever called you at midnight on your birthday? >> I don’t think so, but I’ve probably gotten midnight texts.

Are any of your friends virgins? >> Not that I’m aware of.

Do you prefer relationships or friends with benefits? >> I mean, either is fine in general, but what I have right now are relationships and I’m happy enough with those.

Has anyone got on your nerves today? >> Nope. Just that one neighbour who keeps playing their music with the bass cranked up to 11 so that I can feel it vibrating through the building and my SKULL. It’s so distracting and overwhelming.

Has anyone told you they would never leave, and left? >> Probably, but I don’t hold that against anyone.

Do you have a member of the opposite sex you can tell everything to? >> I don’t think I could possibly tell anyone everything, like, I know I take this question too literally but I can’t really imagine how else I’m supposed to take it.

Did you kiss or hug anyone in the last 48 hours? >> Can Calah, and Hallie through text.

Are you usually early or late? >> I mean, to what...?

What’s annoying you? >> Nothing.

How is your boyfriend/girlfriend doing and where are they now? >> Hallie is hopefully doing okay, he’s offline right now I think, doing some self-care I hope. <3 Sparrow is all right and she’s in bed. Can Calah is as he always is, being my copilot.

Do you have anything to pay off? >> No.

What are you wearing right now? >> Green and white harem pants and a grey Rush shirt.

Do you know anyone that wants you dead? >> I don’t think so.

Do you believe that regrets are lessons learned? >> I personally prefer to take that philosophy in general, but I understand it doesn’t necessarily apply to everyone. I also don’t usually regret things -- I can’t even think of anything I really regret right now -- so it’s probably easier in my case.

Last person you talked to, and through what you talked to them? >> Sparrow, in person, before she went to bed.

First color name you can think of that isn’t in the rainbow. >> Grey.

What timekeeping devices are in the room you are currently in? >> Normandy, my laptop; Senketsu, my phone; and a PSP Vita.

What gaming consoles do you or your family own? >> We have an Xbox 360, a PS4, a PS2, and the aforementioned PSP Vita.

What’s the best job you’ve ever had? >> Selling merch for local bands.

What’s the worst job you’ve ever had? >> Working in a family restaurant as a teenager.

What email service do you use? >> Gmail.

Is there anything hanging on the walls of the room you are currently in? >> Yeah, an Odin print and a poster from the Rebirth Brass Band show I went to last month.

Earliest moment in your life you can remember? >> Sitting on the kitchen floor at a dog breeder’s house.

What did you have for dinner yesterday? >> Was last night when we had the Burger King...? I think so. Time is fake, leave me alone.

How often do you brush your teeth? >> Once a day.

What’s your favorite candy/chocolate? >> Dark chocolate with sea salt and chili peppers (pop rocks optional).

Have you had other blogs on Tumblr? Do you have any other blogs currently? >> Yeah, my main blog is foundcarcosa and I have a few other sideblogs, and my RP blogs that I keep neglecting.

If you were suddenly really hungry, what would you choose to eat? >> Right now? Whatever I could grab, I guess...

What fandoms would you consider yourself a part of? >> Oh man.... so many, tbh.

What kind of position are you in at the moment? >> A seated one.

Do you wear much jewelry? >> Not much, because I can’t afford the kind I’d like to wear (I like costume jewellery but it’s fragile and makes my skin wig out sometimes, so I prefer not to wear it no matter how cool it looks).

Furthest away from home you have ever been? >> The farthest distance I’ve travelled in general is probably to/from NYC/Colorado.

How many times have you moved houses? >> Enough times that counting is just not something I feel like doing right now.

Who was the last person you had a conversation with on the phone? >> Some woman from a place around here. I was really hoping there wouldn’t have to be a phone call, I just wanted one little piece of information, but urgh.

Have you ever had a best friend who was of the opposite sex? >> ---

Has anyone said they love you in the last week? >> Yes, all my SOs. ~

Who was the last person to comfort you as you cried? >> Can Calah.

Do your computer speakers work? >> Yeah.

Which friend are you most similar to? >> ---

Your ex calls wanting to hang out. What do you say? >> What ex? The only ex I’m even still friends with is Anubis, and I think he has my number but I don’t see why he’d be calling me -- like, we don’t even live in the same state anymore.

Would you get back with your last ex if they asked you? >> That’s... Phoenix, I guess? And no, forget it. He had his chances.

Have you kissed anyone whose name starts with a M? >> I seem to remember a Matthew. Long, long time ago.

Would you kiss the last person who texted you, on the lips? >> The last person that texted me was Sparrow, so sure.

Camping with a ton of friends or hotel with a few friends? >> Either is fine.

Have you ever kissed anyone who’s name starts with P, J, R, M, C, or D? >> Yes to all.

Is there someone you wouldn’t mind kissing right now? >> Sure.

Do you think your ex will ever want to be with you again? >> There was only one ex who even still mattered enough for this question, and he’s not an ex anymore now, so!!!

Where would you rather live: England or Australia? >> England, I guess.

What’s your relationship with the last person you texted? >> Sparrow is my fiancée.

When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? >> I don’t remember, probably something hygiene-related.

Do you fall for people easily? >> I don’t think so, no.

Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to? >> I mean, I guess in a passing sense, maybe sometimes? Like if they come up in a survey or something I’m obviously going to think about them in passing.

Have you ever kissed someone who was drunk? >> Sure.

The nearest window to you now - what color curtains are on them? >> No curtains, just some busted-up blinds. :|

The shade of the color of your eyes can be described as: >> Dark brown.

When was the last time you drank alcohol? >> Earlier today, I had a beer at the Wayland house.

At what age did you stop believing in Santa? >> I never did.

Do you own a wok? >> No.

Is there a particular type of music you really don’t like? >> I’m not crazy about bluegrass, but I keep an open mind.

Do you like going to weddings? >> I don’t know, I’ve never been to an actual one.

What do you have on your toast? >> I haven’t had toast in ages, but I usually put ghee and cinnamon on it. Sometimes jelly, too.

Who was the last person you know who became pregnant? >> *shrug*

Beach, city, or mountains? >> Yes.

Do you have a stapler at your house? >> No.

Would you rather read a book or listen to an audiobook? >> Read, I can’t focus on audiobooks at all.

Which is larger - your book or dvd collection? >> I don’t have a DVD collection, I literally own ONE DVD, so books win by default.

What is the last spontaneous thing you did? >> I don’t remember.

You get a call at 2:00 a.m. - your first thought is: >> My first thought is supreme annoyance.

What is your middle name? >> Frey.

What are you passionate about? >> Storytelling, my special interests, music.

Do you have any fears? >> Yeah, I developed a kind of delusion-based thanatophobia that I guess I deserve considering all the tripping I’ve done, but I really wish I didn’t have it. I was so much better off without it.

Where are you from? >> I don’t know, space?

What’s your sign? >> Gemini Sun.

Future names of your children: >> ---

What are you listening to right now? >> Nothing.

Do you believe in fate/destiny? >> I suppose I do, but I also try not to put all my eggs in that basket because adhering too strongly to one belief regarding existential matters tends to tip me into delusion more than anything else.

What are your career goals? >> ---

Something you are working on right now: >> Being a ‘good’ (helpful, kind) SO, managing the anxiety from the thanatophobia stuff, watching all my shows on Netflix lol.

Have you ever had a near-death experience? >> Yeah.

Are you a procrastinator or do you get things done early? >> I tend to procrastinate, but sometimes my executive function pulls through.

TV shows and anime you watch regularly. >> Grey’s Anatomy, Preacher, Vikings, some other stuff more intermittently.

Halloween costume idea for this year? >> ---

Your best friend’s name? >> ---

Do you prefer liquid, mousse, or powder foundation? Why? >> I don’t wear it.

How much does your mother know about your sex life (or lack thereof)? >> Nothing. She doesn’t know me, period.

Do you enjoy watching cooking shows? >> Sure.

Do you worry about gaining weight? >> No.

Have you ever used fake tan? >> No.

Do you ever look at someone cute, and automatically make a move? >> No.

How many times have you been to Walmart in the past week? >> None.

Do you live in a house, apartment, or another type of arrangement? >> Apartment.

Are you kind of a loner? Do you like being alone? >> I don’t think I’m a loner, per se. I like being around people and I like to socialise. I just have low social energy in comparison to other people, so I need more recharges.

Are any of your siblings married? What are their spouses’ names? >> I don’t know.

Does your father have any creepy or scary friends you don’t like? >> No.

What color are the walls in the room you’re in right now? >> Off-white.

Do you watch any shows that you know your parents wouldn’t approve of? >> I mean, I’m 31 years old, I probably do a lot of things my parent disapproves of by now.

Do you have any siblings who still believe in Santa, and are over age ten? >> No.

What color were the last pair of headphones/earphones you bought? >> Navy blue.

Are you attracted to the last person that you fell in love with? >> Yes.

Something you really want right now? >> This survey to be over, ngl, I want to go do something else now lol.

If you could seek revenge on someone, would you? >> No.

How long have you liked the person you like? >> I don’t feel like doing time-math right now, forgive me. It’s late and I drank my sleepytime tea already, lol.

Does any part of your body hurt right now? >> No.

Can you recall the last time you liked someone? >> Yes? Now?

Are you happy with the way things are going? >> More or less.

Would you ever get a tattoo? >> Sure.

Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 months from now? >> Relationships, yes.

Who was the last person you talked to in person? >> Sparrow.

What plans do you have for tomorrow? >> Nothing unusual, just... same stuff I do every day, I imagine.

Has a friendship ended recently that you wish had not? >> No.

What happened at 9:00 a.m. today? >> I think I was still in bed.

Where are your biological parents? >> My father’s in Elizabeth, New Jersey, and who the fuck knows where my mother is.

Do you have any summer plans yet? >> It is summer. No special summer-related plans.

Do you tend to waste a lot of money? >> I don’t think so, but maybe someone else would think so.

What did you last drink? >> Sleepytime tea.

Do you have trust issues? >> I don’t think so.

Do you think this year will be better than the last? >> It’s been good so far.

What are you doing? >> This.

Are you a jealous person? >> No.

Do you think age matters in relationships? >> Sure, in some cases.

Who is the last person you rode in a car with? >> Sparrow.

Did you sing at all today? >> Nope.

Where will you be 2 hours from now? >> In bed, hopefully asleep.

Are your lips chapped at the moment? >> A little dry, is all.

#surveys #survey #random survey

[java-induced-daymares]

I feel like you get a different perspective when you were the 'mistake'. The 'oh my God she's only fifteen', baby. My mom was the preacher's daughter, and very eighties. I'm the preacher's granddaughter, and extremely nineties. My mom is more like my sister-friend, while my five year junior sister tells everyone I practically raised her. I just feel responsible for everyone. For everything. I was the tester baby. The starter grandchild. Everything I did wrong, it was the worst, most unexpected thing. I paved the way for all the shrugs and acceptance every sibling and other grandkid had doled out practically for free. And got slammed with all the guilt and the shunning.

To be fair I was quite rebellious. I smoked, drank, experimented with drugs. Skipped class, and barely passed high school despite aceing every test and final they threw at me. Scored a solid 29 on the ACT, didn't even study. In fact, I left half the math portion blank. I hate math. I frustrated my parents to wits end. I had all the potential, none of the ambition. I wanted to smoke pot, write whatever popped in my head and just make enough money to get by. So in idealistic youth I flipped the bird to college tuition debt in favor of entering the work force.

Somehow along the line I ended up thirty years old as a entry level temp at a factory. The disappointing burnout my parents painted me to be. My mom once threatened to paint that word on my bedroom wall, to call me out so to speak. She wasn't impressed when I encouraged her to. Between mom and me, it's all emotions. I know her as well as best friends do. Like...all of it. Sex life. Financial strife. The works. It's sort of like you don't realize your mom discussing your dad's porn addiction with you when your thirteen is out of line until you grow up. And meet her meth head boyfriend at age twenty four.

He threatens to rape and kill you both but good old mom won't kick him out because she loves him. Not when he starts stealing everything in sight to sell for drugs. Not when he kidnaps her for a few days over Thanksgiving and meths out in a paranoid freakout keeping her in the hotel and not letting her leave. Or when he choked her until she was unconscious. Or raped her so loud you could hear her scream but she denied it and her screams are so frequent that you're learning to tune them out and that disturbs you on every level. Not even when he hits you, right in front of her, the first time and she yells at you for fighting back. Or when she chases your little sister into another state to live with a internet boyfriend who no one but she has met because Ducky fears living in that house more than living with strangers.

My sister was only nineteen. The week before she left my mom called her a selfish bitch for not supporting her relationship. I stood between them, outraged, explaining to my mother that she shouldn't call her child a bitch for being scared. When the meth head finally leaves, having drained a cool 20k from my mom's retirement fund in meth and tools and a Harley ect... my mom claims all these memories are a blur. In her world she is the ultimate victim, and she even blames me for standing by and letting it all happen. My brother, who showed up two months before I finally convinced my mother to get the eviction notice she needed to get the meth head out, gets all the credit for his absence.

He showed up, did meth and herione with the boyfriend and ignored my mom. She still ran to my room, daily, begging and pleading for me and my fiances protection. Some days we would wake up to her huddled by our bed, crying silently, because my fiance was the only thing this asshole feared. Because Heinzy certainly didn't stand by when she or I was threatened or hit. But he wasn't always there. And his probation kept him from throwing a first punch.

Still, my brother, who dodged all the previous months of abuse by disowning her for cheating on her husband with this guy. My brother was living in South Dakota, and calling her a bitch and a whore until he needed a bail out and suddenly he's Mama's little boy again. He gets the title of hero. Savior. Showing up last second and fucking everything up, and being loved for it. That's my brothers modis operandi. And he can't even spell those words.

People flinch when I call my mom a crazy bitch. Glad for them, in their Hallmark homes. Judging me. I still love the woman to death. Would kill for her. Suffered untold horrors just to keep her safe. Yet I can't help but feel this loyalty is a bit one sided. All things considered. And besides. Bitches be crazy.

My dad is her polar opposite. I get my cynical, mean sense of humor from him. I call him a passive aggressive teddy bear. And I feel two sides of my dad. First there's the guy that worked twenty two hours a day to support his family. No, that's not a exaggeration. And shit jobs too. Barely making it, piss on you, fast food, menial shit. It's hard not to respect that. Plus he's never touched or condoned so much as a cigarette or more than two beers that I've ever seen. Getting the shit beat out of you by a druggie alcoholic does that to you. Once, Grandpa "Buddy" even used a horse whip to beat him. Him and grandma talked about the two years they did speed at a Chili's dinner.

But they're rich as hell. Or they were. So it didn't matter. Still doesn't, as far as their putrid minds are concerned. Buy I'm off topic. His evil as fuck adoptive parents aside... My dad's not too bad. He taught me to write DOS code when I was six. How to write a household budget in Microsoft Excel when I was twelve. How to set up a wireless network for a entire office when I was sixteen. Basically he prepared me for the real world. And all it's shitty points. And probably saved me some pain for the effort.

For example, dad tip 101: Don't lend out money and expect or need it back. Only lend what you can afford and be surprised if it's ever repaid. Good tip. Seriously. When I flunked classes and needed summer school, he made me get a job and pay it back. I hated him for it. But after I worked off over a grand in summer school debt at a Chinese hole in the wall restaurant with no working AC, I understood what a dollar was worth. Hence no slavery bond. I mean, as you call them, student loans. Been there. Done that.

But then there's the other side of him. The side that never really wanted kids. The side that accused me of knowing my mom cheated when I actually didn't. My next door neighbor, a herione addict who tagged along on my mom's Easter visit to my brother did. He was there as she stopped, both on the way to and the way from, to fuck the meth head. He didn't tell me. I woke up to my sister alone in the living room crying. Because she had never seen my dad cry before. Neither have I. The only time in known history and I missed it. Poor Ducky, she saw it all.

Sometimes I wish I could erase it all. The Divorce. It happened when I was twenty four, and I thought my parents had fallen into the age old 'i hate you but I'll be with you forever trap'. The fact that they both remarried a year after divorce proves I was either naively hopeful or utterly delusional. Considering the fact that I knew they made each other utterly miserable I have to side with the latter. I just wanted to believe they loved each other in secret. Hell, thanks to my mom I knew they fucked three times a week. I thought that meant something.

Maybe that's why I think sex is pretty meaningless and too important all at once. First off. I won't fuck anyone unless I really want to. Second off. I've only fucked one guy. It wasn't intentional, the one guy thing, it's just the first guy who earned my trust was the first guy I let have me and I fell in love and ten years later he's still never betrayed me. Ever. And he makes me feel like a kid. And we fight. And I hate him sometimes but we never go to bed angry. And I have no kids. I won't be my mother. I don't want her mistakes. I'm creating my own whole new ones. It's both my privledge and my goal to defy everyone's expectations of me, even to my own detriment.

Everyone thinks I aimed low. He even says stupid stuff like how he thinks I'll leave him for someone else. Sometimes. And maybe my mom helped that paranoia along. You see, pre meth head boyfriend divorce, I was pretty found of telling people my mom and I were best friends and so alike. Post fallout, those words came back to haunt me in a big way. I supported her when EVERYONE turned away. Her father. My siblings. They all said she deserved the meth head. They didn't get it. If I left her alone he was going to kill her. Literally. And they turned on me for 'supporting her behavior'.

Go fuck yourselves. I couldn't speak to you all in the moment, and afterward everyone wanted to brush this shit under the rug. But damn it. It fucking scared me. Excuse the fuck out of me for panicking. I was twenty four, sure, a adult by all measures and standards. People don't pity adults. My dad taught me that. Figure shit out and handle it. So I did. And I took zero credit. Letting my mom crown my brother king of all the land, her savior. So in the end I was nothing.

And I didn't say shit. Let my extended family think what they liked. Not in that exact intention. In my head I was like, this.famiky situation is so fucked and so nasty I couldn't bear to tell them. And that left me awkwardly over formal in responses. I should have guessed no one else in my family was that shy. They told all...of their bullshit. And I know that sounds so one sided.

If I were you, I wouldn't trust my perspective on the matter either. After all, perception is defined by experience, and my experience is sure to lead me to be self serving and exploitative. I don't pretend otherwise. This is simply how it felt to me. As I received notices from my pastor grandfather telling me I was living in sin because I hadn't married or gone to church regularly. First off. YOUR only daughter had three kids out of wedlock by three different men. Totally beating the odds here. Thanks. Secondly, and yes I said this, bet your ass I did, I have only had sex with one guy and I promised God he was the one. Law is not religion. All a wedding is, technically, is a profession of exclusivity with your partner before God. I did that. Proved it for ten years. Living in sin? How so? By what biblical standard? Handfasting was a accepted marriage ceremony, Heinzy and I have declared devotion before each other and all else hands held before. It counts. So what is I don't have the legal document? Judge not least ye be judged and all that.

As for church. Ah the constructrial artifice of faith devoid of all passion. Going to church with my grandparents is different. There's something about my grandpa being a pastor, people instantly recognize it and respond to it. I have never, not once, stood in church with my grandpa and not had ten people know someone he knew from congregation or teaching job (he was a private school teacher and even principal too). He doesn't get what it's like, poor as fuck, to show up for service and be mocked by so called Christians. How I disdain their fake pandering. I love God. His houses are often beautiful, the scent of fresh wood and the art of stained glass. But the people inside are ugly and don't reflect Him at all. They just want to puff up their own self worth and indulgence and I hate them for it. But maybe that's just Illinois Lutherans for you.

They ruined church for me. Haven't been since I was in my twenties and I turned thirty two whole weeks ago.

[asiawrites]

The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind: I Only Like You For the Nostalgia... Probably

        Last week I got a chance to see U2 for the third time. I know they get a lot of flack and I get a lot also for still being a fan. I don’t know why, outside of fans, they are so hated, but I have a few ideas and a lot of them hit me in the days before the show.

        There is no denying (at least there shouldn’t be) that Bono, Larry, The Edge, and Adam are excellent showmen. And you have to admit they are talented. Say what you want about Bono, but to blow off the skill of The Edge’s guitar playing, Adam’s rhythm with a bass, and Larry’s preciseness with the drums is a little crazy to me. I know for people who aren’t fans, it’s hard to see past Bono’s need to do the absolute most, but trust me these dude’s are talented.

       It’s weird that, even though, I said this was my third time seeing them, this was the first time I felt like I belonged in the crowd. The sad part of that was the excitement for the show had started to die weeks before the trip to Chicago, and had almost completely died hours before the show (I’ll get to that totally embarrassing and probably bratty reason later). The first time I saw them was a little rushed. I’m the type of girl who likes to get to concerts super early, with hopes of meeting the band. Lame, but whatever. This time I had fractured my foot a few weeks before so I was in the dreaded boot. Long story short, a doctor’s appointment, traffic, a few errands, and more traffic later I was later than I hoped to be. The part that bummed me out is that, other than the couple that sat next to me, everyone was kind of asshole-ish. I know the band has a reputation for being sort of pompous, but I thought “Even the fans too?!?” Just the rudest group of people ever. The second time was more of the same. It was the Joshua Tree tour of 2017. I was able to get to Soldier Field early enough for their first show (I had tickets for the show the next day) to get a great video of Bono greeting fans, still no autograph, because in a world of tall people us short folks don’t stand a chance. At the show I had tickets for GA. I’d gotten close enough to the extended part of the stage out in the crowd, with the exception of the 6ft plus women (IN HEELS!) who decided to stand in the way and causally nudge me out of the way any chance they could. To make that even worse is that once the show got started Larry’s drum set was positioned to face the other side of the crowd, and for some reason the rest of the band decided to play that direction as well instead of working the whole crowd. So whether the gargantuan women were in my way or not all I got to see was U2 ass for two hours. Immediately after the show was over staff were complete dicks telling people to get out and even resorted to pushing people, which was unnecessary. Third times a charm I guess. My boyfriend was with me and we were around a group of people who came to enjoy the show, talked and laughed with us and it was great.

        My boyfriend and I had a discussion while waiting for the show to start and it was about something that disturbed me about my favorite band. On their unique stage there were images that popped up saying things like “Equal Rights”, “HERstory”, etc. All things that have to do with equality, ending hate, caring for one another, you know? All the shit we’ve become accustomed to when you think of them and the charities they support. And I looked at my boyfriend and said “Yet our sweatshirts are $75 and buttons that literally say nothing about the band are $15.” Now mind you, I don’t know where the funds from their merch go to. Most of it could very well go to the ONE campaign. All I know is that I’ve gone to many concerts and at none of them have shirts being sold for more than $25-$30, nor are the knick knack accessories over $10. Almost all merch has something dealing with the band on it, whether it be just the name, their image, a lyric, etc. They are also the only band I know of that has a fan club fee. Someone like me can’t afford to give $50+ bucks just so I’m notified early when tickets go on sale and therefore give you MORE money. I wish they were a little more like what they stand for. Realize that not all of your fans are loaded, but also want to be included because they love you.

        My bratty reason for my excitement dying is that they kinda crushed me beforehand. When they’re in Chicago they stay at the same hotel and roughly leave for a show around the same time. That first day Bono stopped, shook a few hands from the car window, and focused his attention on the little girl that he’d let up on stage at a show in the past. That girl wasn’t born to know about the greatness that was Joshua Tree, but I digress. The next day I showed up and was relieved there wasn’t as many people there as the day before. Surely they’d stop and I’d FINALLY get my autograph on this book that I’d been carrying around for years whenever they were near. Nope. They didn’t even stop, roll down the window, wave, honk the horn. Nothing. I was heartbroken. Yeah, I cried. Whatever. My boyfriend hugged when I told him not to cause it would get worse. Cause you know if someone hugs you when you’re already sad it’s guaranteed to make you cry like a baby. That was me. I hate that it effected me so much because at the end of the day they’re just people. It’s a catch 22 because they are just people and don’t owe us anything, but at the same time without fans to buy albums, tickets, etc, then where would they be? People judge me for being a fangirl, but for some celebrities it’s because they mean a lot to me for very specific reasons and U2 fits in that category for me. They are the band that made me comfortable with myself. For me being a young black girl who liked rock music, it was tough. I was bullied, told I was trying to be white, called weird, and just overall made to feel like I was trying to be something I wasn’t and that I didn’t belong anywhere. Hell, oftentimes my own family made me feel that way. It was hard going out in the world and dealing with that type of ridicule and then have to come home to it. I didn’t have a break. My break was Mtv and the radio. The moment I saw the video for “Mysterious Ways”, I was hooked. I started not to care what people thought. I loved U2 and I didn’t care who knew. What made that acceptance much easier was from the video I thought Bono was Latino, so I felt that a nice rebuttal if people teased me for liking “white music” I could say that “Well the lead singer for U2 is Latino! So there!” I later found out I was wrong, but I didn’t care. I was a U2 lover. In some ways I was still ashamed of the music I liked so the only ones I didn’t care about people knowing I liked were U2, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Aerosmith, (with black people Aerosmith got a pass because of Run DMC). It wasn’t until I was 13 and discovered The Beatles that I threw all fucks to the wind and started being the nerdy rock and roll black girl that I was destined to be. So did I feel hurt when I didn’t meet my idols? You damn right I did.

       Before that concert I had an inner talk with myself, and that talk was along the lines of “Do I still love U2 or do I love the acceptance they made me feel for myself when I was a child? Am I just caught up in the nostalgia?” I honestly don’t have an answer to that. Do I love their music still? Yes. Does it touch me the same way Achtung Baby did? Not really. There will always be a place in my heart for them, but do I really want to keep spending my hard earned dollars to see them? Maybe. Maybe not. Their music will always be a part of the soundtrack to my life. Their music will stick with me.

-Asia Aneka Anderson, 2018(c)

#By: Asia Aneka Anderson #Inside My Creative Mind #The Ramblings Inside My Creative Mind #personal #U2 #amwriting #writing

[alarawriting]

Inktober #20: Tread

Two people have done fan art for this character; I will reblog them after posting this, with a tag to make them findable, since Tumblr hides posts with links from search.

Five friends drove up the mountain into the forest, where the vacation cabin waited for them. It was their senior year of college, so it wouldn’t be long before they’d be graduating and going their separate ways, and who knew when they’d all be able to hang out together again? So they’d decided that this year, instead of going on spring break someplace where there were a ton of other people, they’d spend break together in a cabin in the woods, because there was no possible way that that could go wrong.

They were just five totally ordinary college guys. Steve, a white dude with brown hair who loved video games and playing guitar; Trevor, a black dude with short hair who was on track to graduate magna cum laude and had already been accepted at a top medical school; Harrison, an outgoing, short, red-haired white dude who played soccer, but not, like, at career athlete level or anything; Evan, an Asian dude who kept his hair in a long ponytail, and whose family owned the cabin, who was planning on taking a year off after graduation to backpack around Asia and had sold it to his parents as an exploration of his heritage; and the Pale Bro, a twelve-foot tall dude with paper-white skin whose fingernails were like long razor blades and who was completely covered with eyes and mouths, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, cut-off shorts that would have been nearly pants on any other guy, and a pair of Vans on his feet. Just five ordinary young fellows, like anyone you might know.

Steve was driving the minivan, kinda wishing it was his dad’s SUV because of the effort of getting a minivan up the slope, but his dad’s SUV was in a different state and besides, it wouldn’t have had room for the Pale Bro. The minivan was the kind where you could put down the back row of seats to expand the cargo capacity, and the Pale Bro had laid out a thick sleeping-bag style blanket on top of their suitcases and was laying on them now, curled sideways because there was no dimension where he could stretch out in the van. Must be rough for him, Steve imagined, always having to bend down or curl up to fit into buildings and vehicles with his bros. He never complained about it, though. He was a great friend.

“How much farther is this place?” Harrison asked. “I gotta piss like you wouldn’t believe.”

“I���ve been unfortunately next to you at the urinals,” Trevor said. “I’d believe it.”

Steve checked the GPS. “Shit. The GPS has just decided to get the vapors because it’s up too high. It’s telling me I’m literally in the middle of nowhere. Like, look at this.” He showed the screen to Evan. “We’re in the middle of nowhere. It isn’t even drawing the road.”

“Don’t worry about it, I can guide you in from here,” Evan said. “Just stay on the road another 20 minutes or so.”

With a voice that rumbled like the sound of tectonic plates grinding together and the hiss of static from the birth of the universe behind it, the Pale Bro conveyed that there had better be some fucking food at the cabin, because he was starving.

“You and me both, buddy,” Trevor said.

“We all just got Burger King like, two hours ago,” Steve complained.

“Yeah, well, me and Pale are tall dudes. We need more food than you.” The smirk on Trevor’s face indicated that he didn’t really believe that.

“There should be food, I had a grocery delivery scheduled for yesterday and one of my parents’ employees was supposed to swing by the place, pick it up and put it in the fridge.”

“There’s a fridge at this cabin?” Harrison asked.

Evan looked at him. “Yeah, dumbass, you think I’d have suggested coming here if there was no fridge? There’s running water, too. It even gets hot if you run it long enough.”

“Well, excuse me for not being so rich I can afford to go to a cabin in the woods, ever, before now.”

“What else has it got?” Trevor asked.

“Well, there’s three bedrooms, one of which has a king-sized bed and the other two have bunk beds. I figure, Pale Bro gets the big bed and we break up into two’s and do the roommate thing. We don’t have a washer or dryer, but if you only brought one pair of underpants and it’s getting really rank, we’ve got detergent and a clothesline so you can wash them in the sink. There’s a dishwasher.”

“I would have put in a washer and dryer before I put in a dishwasher, personally,” Steve said.

“Yeah, well, my mom had a different opinion. Anyway, it’s camping in the woods. It’s not supposed to be just like if we were at home.”

“I call top bunk!” Harrison said.

“There’s two top bunks. Both rooms have bunk beds.”

The Pale Bro expressed in a voice like a Gregorian chant of nightmares that he wanted to know if there was a bathroom in the master bedroom, because that shit would be sweet.

“Naah, man, sorry,” Evan said. “But there is one of those really deep claw-foot bathtubs that you like.”

Like the rumbling of an oncoming avalanche, the Pale Bro opined that that was excellent.

***

“I don’t believe this shit.”

They had just disembarked, the Pale Bro in the rear bringing his own suitcase and the beer cooler, which was the size of a mini-fridge, and everyone else dragging their suitcases in… except for Evan, who had gone directly to the kitchen without bringing in his own stuff yet. He came stomping out. “Joe never showed up, the bastard! I’m totally having my dad fire his ass.”

“What do you mean?” Steve asked.

“I mean that food order never showed up. So we have canned food, and boxed food, but we don’t have anything perishable. No bread, no lunchmeat, no eggs, no bacon, no orange juice, none of that shit.” He sighed. “I’m gonna have to drive down into town myself to get food, and we just got here.”

“Hey, man, I can still drive the car,” Steve said. “You just need to tell me where to go.”

“Steve, you’ve been driving for 6 hours, you’re probably wiped. I can drive,” Trevor said. “It’s the least I could do with Evan buying our food.”

“Yeah, but you bought the beer, man,” Evan said. “So maybe Harrison needs to drive.”

“Uh, hey, before anyone drives anywhere, maybe you should call and find out if your parents even know where that Joe guy who never showed up is, and if he’s all right?” Harrison called from outside.

“Why?”

“Just… everyone come take a look at this!”

Everyone went outside and congregated around Harrison’s find, which was a roughly humanoid, but clawed, tread that was at least three times the size of a normal footprint. Experimentally the Pale Bro put his own massive foot into the tread. Harrison whistled. The footprint was about 25% bigger than the Pale Bro’s.

“Dude. What is that? Is that a bear?” Harrison asked.

Trevor shook his head. “Those are sneaker treads, Har. Bears don’t wear sneakers.”

In a voice that was the perfect auditory personification of the Zalgo font, the Pale Bro suggested that it looked like one of his cousins was back on its bullshit again.

“Goddamn,” Evan said. “That’s a big fellow.”

“I think maybe if we go into town we should all go,” Steve said.

“We’ve just been driving all this time, though,” Evan said. “I wanted to relax, crack a cold one, put on some MP3s. We don’t get Internet worth shit out here but I’ve got a huge music library on the stereo’s hard drive.”

The Pale Bro opined that before anyone drove anywhere, maybe he had better find his cousin and make it clear that if his cousin touched any of his friends he would shove its head so far up its ass it would be blinking shit out of its 27 eyes for a month.

“That… sounds reasonable,” Trevor said. “Since we don’t know what happened to Joe. We can hunker down here and wait for you to get back.”

“I’m pretty sure I got instant just add water pancake mix,” Evan said. “And my mom stocked this place with crappy dehydrated chicken pieces like the kind doomsday preppers buy. I could make a shitty chicken soup, we’ve got bouillon and noodles. Oh, and there’s a few cans of chili. Canned stuff is shit but I could maybe perk it up with some spices, some extra beans… put some rice in the cooker, I bet my mom left rice here, she buys like 100 pound bags of rice.”

Like the sound of Jupiter hovering in orbit above, rotating ponderously, the Pale Bro agreed that some canned chili with extra spices sounded pretty good considering how fucking hungry he was, and as soon as he found his asshole cousin he’d be back to eat with the rest of his bros. He also reminded them to save him some beer.

“Dude!” Steve laughed. “We’ve got three keggers’ worth in that cooler! There will be plenty of beer for you.”

Evan called his parents as the Pale Bro left the house, and reported back, somewhat gray-faced. “They said Joe never called in to say he got to the house. He reported picking up the groceries, he was headed up here, and then nada.”

“Oh, well, then, you work on the chili,” Trevor said, “and me and the rest of the guys are gonna lock up all the windows and doors and put someone on watch for when the Pale Bro gets back. You don’t have any guns up here, by any chance, do you?”

“Nope, my parents aren’t really hunters,” Evan said.

“Well, I’ve seen your kitchen at home, I know what kind of equipment your mom likes to stock. We’ll have plenty of sharp knives, I’m betting.”

“Yeah.”

And so as Evan attempted to turn six cans of canned chili into something his bros would find edible, and the Pale Bro stalked through the forest on the mountaintop looking for his asshole cousin, the other three made sure everything was locked up, that the car keys were secure, and that there were wicked cooking knives within easy reach, but not line of sight from the outside, of every door. Just like ordinary bros do, every day.

#inktober 2019 #pale bro

[level3bird]

seven on sunday - 112

The Month of Sundays edition - 

1.  Long time coming - I haven’t written a SoS since February. That’s the longest stretch without writing since I began the much-ado-about-nothing enterprise. I already know this is going to be a long one, but, you know, that’s how it is. Read it or not. I’m cool with it. 

2.  Exit Houston - My plane took off from IAH at 10.15pm on Friday, the 25th of August. The rain of Harvey had just begun. I was in my own weird little space of wanting to get the hell out of Houston and back home to my husband and, simultaneously, feeling all the guilt of escaping last minute only to leave my daughters and grandchildren behind to face whatever Harvey was going to bring. Man, I had no idea. Fortunately, so very fortunately, my girls remained safe and largely dry, save Jordan’s bedroom ceiling sagging under the weight of the rain and rivulets of water cascading down her bedroom walls. (Hopefully they’ll get her back in her bedroom in the next couple of weeks. Until then her living room will serve as two rooms in one.) Both of my daughters and their partners and children were stuck in their homes due to all the water around them, but they emerged the lucky ones. They still have homes and belongings and their lives. Their partners still have jobs. Their children have not been traumatised. At the end of the day, I feel incredibly grateful and incredibly sad and every other emotion still. 

3.  The week before the rain - So, I’d gone to Houston in the first place to meet my new grandson Logan and to kiss Harper’s face off and to see my daughters and meet their partners. It was an ambitious undertaking spending only a week in the Bayou City, splitting my days between Baytown and League City, with the obligatory hour trip each way at least once a day, often twice. I was trying to be fair to both of the girls, spending time with new baby, spending time with the Goldfish, having time with Jordan and Whitster. I ran myself into the ground a bit and just as the jet lag was passing, it was time to get back here. I wouldn’t trade it though. Seeing them even for a week was worth the exhaustion. Hanging out with Harper and going with her to her first day of kindergarten, going with Whitney to her high risk OB and seeing my to be born grandson on high-def ultrasound, holding little Logan and singing all the songs to him that I sang to his mother. Priceless. 

4.  Emotional whiplash - Nevertheless, visits back to Texas are like navigating a minefield. There are too many memories and so much baggage on a personal level and then there is the guilt of being away from family and the weighty realisations that my grandchildren are going to grow up without me around. It is such a mix of giddy excitement in seeing them, a heart so full of love and a sadness that has no bottom. It is emotional whiplash and I’m not very good with it. That paradox of holding two opposing emotions at the same time. It wears me the fuck out.

One moment I am sat holding my precious new grandson and imagining such a wonderful life for him, the next I’m driving down the road where Quinn lived, the place where he visited unspeakable horrible things on me, then I’m passing by the apartment where Colin and I lived, the places where I bought my drugs of choice, then I’m passing my home group of CA and I’m having all the old craving feels at the same time. Before being able to get my head around them, I’m pulling into my eldest daughter’s driveway and am being greeted by the most beautiful granddaughter with the sweetest soul. Didn’t know whether I was coming or going. It is no wonder I tried to spend my way out of it or tried to eat enough tortilla chips and salsa, corn dogs, Blizzards, margaritas, fried shrimp and whatever else I could get my hands on to make it all go numb. 

5. Dead but not dead, maybe  - During the week, I also was able to spend about an hour and a half sat across a table in the food court of a near abandoned mall chatting with my youngest brother who hasn’t spoken to me in a decade. Talk about surreal. After a falling out where I didn’t even really know what I’d done wrong, he’d considered me basically dead to him.  And he’d been committed to it as anyone could be to anything. Regardless, every time I’ve been back since 2010, I’ve reached out to him. I love him and I miss him. I wish I could make things right. This is the first time he’s agreed to see me face to face. He’s still not interested in what he calls a ‘brother and sister friendship’, but he did take the time to tell me what his thinking was. I believe he’s still caught up in seeing me as I was ten years ago and that plugs him into how he was ten years ago as well. I think he still sees the worst of himself in me. Both of us addicts, both of us the product of a most fucked family. Before we parted ways though, he hugged me and gave me a kiss on my cheek and told me he loved me. He said he still doesn’t like me, but that he sees I am not the same person that I was in 2007. I’m still in the “don’t call me, I’ll call you” camp, but I think maybe there was a modicum of progress. I’ll take it. 

6. Stay here until I feel whole - Maybe it was the jet lag, maybe it was the leaving my kids again, maybe it was the exhaustion of going back to work the day after I got back, I don’t know what happened, but I’ve fallen in a bigly way. In that proverbial down on my knees kind of way. I’m at a loss to understand it myself. There have been tears, a flatlined emptiness, a sudden onset depression that has laid me low. I mean, I know it is bad when I’m attending AA meetings and listening to Ryan Adams’ Stop. My beloved husband, of course, has been my lifesaver. He’s still my lighthouse and my refuge and he still has the patience of a saint to tolerate me. He loves me in such a pure honest way that sometimes I can’t even deal with it. I know I don’t deserve it. As for my response to this bottomless funk, I’m going to rely on Saint Darnielle and “stay here until I feel whole again. I don’t know when.” I’m going to listen to The Mountain Goats and Ryan Adams and to Sarah McLaughlin singing The Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi, Robbie Williams’ She’s the One (for super special reasons) and maybe even Hillsong’s Broken Vessels. I’m going to keep hitting meetings and keep seeking equilibrium. I’m going to wait until I feel whole again. 

7. The things she carried - I took little to Houston, I came back with three checked bags filled chockers, Here is what I brought back from the US: Hostess Sno Balls (the blue ones), a box of Hostess Ding Dongs, six boxes of Lipton’s Extra Noodle Chicken Noodle Soup mix, Cheez-its, graham crackers, PayDay candy bars, two boxes of Tapioca, my favourite deodorant, a new purse, Excedrin, Melatonin, Ibuprofen, shampoo and conditioner, multiple cans of Static Guard, Rotel tomatoes and green chilis, vigil candles (Our Lady of Guadalupe x2, St Michael, and a Sacred Heart of Jesus. I’m neither Catholic or Christian, but they make me feel better.) I brought back a witch candle that smells of smoke and amber, a shit ton of chapstick in flavours not found in nature. I brought back several books, a few notebooks, a list of things I want to pick up next time. 

I brought back some guilt and some hope, a lot of love and memories and some regret and a heavy heart full of sadness and longing. I brought back an eagerness to be home with my husband, a wanting to be home where I belong. I carried home a much lighter bank account and a heavier debt load, but I was able to leave behind a little girl with a closet full of new school clothes and a daughter with things for her new baby that she’d never be able to afford herself. I left behind cash enough to see them through the storm that we didn’t realise would be as bad as it was. I left bits of myself, I brought bits home. 

I carried home the weight of the world and a collection of all my attendant shortcomings. 

Needless to say, my baggage was heavy. Is heavy. 

LQoT 

#sos

[themoneybuff-blog]

Food waste and food consumption in the United States

I've been thinking a lot lately about how much food I consume (and waste). I'm not happy with how I shop and eat, and it's not just because I'm fat right now. I don't like what I'm eating and I don't like how much food I'm throwing out. Food waste is a huge problem in the United States. Most studies find that Americans waste about one-third of all food that enters the supply chain. This is insane. And when you consider that food spending is the third-largest component of the average American budget, this is a great place for most folks to boost their budget. According to the 2017 Consumer Expenditure Report, the average household spends $7,729 per year ($644.08 per month) on food. If, as the USDA reports, 31% of the average family's food goes to waste, that's the equivalent of burning $2395.99 per year ($199.67 per month). For most families, $200 per month is a big deal. That can be the difference between deficit spending and earning a profit. That $200 per month could be enough to purchase a new car or to afford better health insurance. Today, I want to think out loud about food consumption and food waste in my own life.

This article is unusual in that I'm not going to try to offer any solutions. Instead, I'm simply going to share some observations, and I'm going to divide these observations into bite-sized chunks. If you have solutions to food waste, however, I'd love to hear them. Fun with Friends Kim and I spent this past weekend in central Oregon with some of my best friends from high school. Every year, this group of twelve rents a big house for three or four nights so that we can sit around, reminisce, and enjoy a few days without kids. As is typical with gatherings like this, each couple is in charge of one meal. For instance, Kim and I were responsible for Saturday morning's breakfast. As is also typical for gatherings like this, there's always a ton of food left over. It's tough to estimate how much a group is going to eat. So, even though we did our best to not have leftovers, there were plenty of eggs and ham and biscuits remaining after Kim and I cooked our meal. Every other couple struggled with the same thing. We always do. Yesterday as we were packing to come home, our group marveled at how much food was still in the fridge. Honestly, we could have hosted another long weekend for twelve without having to buy groceries. (Okay, we needed more coffee. We ran out of coffee yesterday morning. Mennonites drink a lot of coffee.) I was pleased to see that our group made a deliberate effort to not waste any of our leftovers. Kristin sent Kim home with the leftover rhubarb sauce. (Kim loves rhubarb!) We sent Kristin home with the leftover ham and the hambone. Kara grabbed the unopened beer. And so on. I've spent time with some groups that would have simply thrown this food out. We didn't do that. Food Storage in the Motorhome During our fifteen months exploring the U.S. by RV, Kim and I had limited space for food storage. We had one (very) small refrigerator and one (very) small set of cabinets for dry goods. We learned quickly that we had to be intentional about the food we bought to keep on hand. The fridge always contained milk and beer, plus whatever meat and salad fixings we needed for the next few days. The cupboard contained rice, pasta, and a few pre-packaged meals. We learned to keep a mental (and written) inventory of what stock items were depleted. If I ate a can of bean with bacon soup, I knew I had to replace it. When we got down to two days worth of rice, we made a point to buy more. At first, this limited storage space was frustrating. It didn't take long, however, to learn that rather than being a problem, this limited storage was freeing. We had less food to worry about. We had fewer choices to make. We always knew what food we had on hand and when we intended to use it. When we returned home to Portland, the fridge in the condo seemed ginormous. Who needed that much cold storage? Not us! For a few weeks, we did a terrific job of maintaining the habits we'd learned on the road. Each afternoon, I'd walk to the store to buy whatever we needed for that evening's meal. We didn't stock up on staples. We simply bought what we needed for the immediate future. Slowly, though, we reverted to our old habits. The fridge became filled with meat and greens and leftovers. After our first trip to Costco no need to ever go to Costco when you're on the road in an RV our cupboards were stocked with beans and rice and cereal and coffee and pre-packaged meals. Two years ago, we moved from that condo (a place with ample storage space) to this much-smaller country cottage. Here, our kitchen storage is limited. In fact, it's so limited that we couldn't store all of the food we had at the condo. We had to give some away and put the rest in the trash. Now, we walk a fine line. We try not to have a lot of staples on hand, but at the same time we like to save money by buying our favorite items in bulk. Most days, I eat a can of Nalley's chili for lunch, for instance. At Safeway, this typically goes for $2.39 per can. If I buy a case of twelve at Costco, I can get it for less than $1.00 per can. (Don't quote me on that price. My memory may be off. It's low, though.)

All the same, we waste too much food. Every week, we find something that's gone bad. Maybe it's a package of salami that got buried under something else. Maybe it's some vegetables that never got used for their intended recipe. Maybe it's a jar of salsa that's managed to mold. Kim and I hate wasting food. Yet we do it. And it's largely because we have too much on hand at any given time. We forget what we have. Or we have so much that we can't possibly eat it all. It's a problem. But I know it's not a problem that's unique to us. A Tiny Fridge Twenty years ago, I knew a young couple that lived in an apartment with a small dorm-sized refrigerator. I thought it was funny at the time. You don't have space to store anything! I said when I first saw it. We like it, the told me. It forces us to make decisions about what we're going to buy. We can't just stock up on everything. We have to be deliberate. I didn't get it. Similarly, my friend Sparky never kept much food on hand. I thought it was weird. When I'd visit him, his fridge would contain maybe a carton of eggs, a head of lettuce, and a carton of milk. His cupboards would be bare except for a loaf of bread and a box of cereal. Where's your food? I asked him once. Sparky shrugged. I only buy what I need, he said. I hate that I have to buy a dozen eggs. I'd rather buy only two. I wish I could buy just two slices of bread at a time. I don't want a fully-stocked pantry. For one, it feels oppressive. It's too much Stuff. Plus, I think it leads to food waste. A Colossal Waste Eight years ago, my mother's mental health problems reached a crisis point. She was in a state of constant disorientation and confusion. (Actually, she's still in this state.) After she drove her car through the back of her garage, my brothers and I moved her into an assisted-living facility. As we cleaned her house during the next few weeks, we were shocked by how much food she had. This single 63-year-old woman had enough on hand to feed a family of five for weeks. Or months. But the sad part was that so much of the food was expired or spoiled. The biggest surprise was a collection of spices from the 1970s. She had eight-year-old mayonnaise in the fridge. She had multiple opened jars of salsa. The pantry which my grandfather had built to store my grandmother's copious canning was stocked with cans and cans of Costco tuna fish. We salvaged as much of the food as we could, taking it home for ourselves. Most of it had to be thrown out. Eating Like Europeans This Saturday, I'm flying to Europe to travel again with my cousin Duane. Thankfully, he's still with us and he's feeling healthy enough to explore France for a couple of weeks. Duane and I both love how Europeans buy food. (Or, how we believe they buy food. Our perception may not match reality, and we know that.) There are supermarkets in Europe, but they're not the megastores we see here in the U.S. And when people shop, they don't buy for weeks at a time. They buy for days at a time. Or one day. They buy what they need for the immediate future. Here in the U.S., we tend to have personal larders designed to satisfy any possible want at any possible moment. Plus, Europe has many more small, single-purpose shops. Duane and I had a ton of fun in December talking with this gal in Strasbourg who ran a cheese shop. She loved cheese, and she loved sharing it with us:

Want some meat? Stop by the butcher to pick some up. Want a few tomatoes? Stop by the produce stand. Need bread? Head across the street to the bakery. And so on. Stores like this do exist in many parts of the U.S., but they're almost always gourmet specialty shops targeting a high-end clientele. Plus, they're few and far between. You have to drive from the butcher to the bakery to the produce stand. From what I've seen of Europe, you can find these shops almost anywhere big cities and small. And they're meant for everyone, not just the wealthy. Again, my perception might be tainted. I might be viewing things through rose-tinted tourist glasses. But I'm willing to wager that European food waste is much less than that of the United States. Too Much Dessert Crap, Kim said as she rushed out the door this morning. It's her first day back to work after five weeks off for knee surgery. We still have those beignets. They're going to go to waste. Last Saturday night, our group of friends went out to eat at a fancy restaurant. Kim and I ordered beignets for dessert. We thought that for $8, we'd get a modest-sized portion that she and I could split. Instead, we got five large pastries. We couldn't finish them. We took them back to the rental house with the intention of eating them later. But we haven't eaten them. And now, as Kim said, they're probably going to end up in the trash. Looking Forward What does all of this mean for me? If I think I buy and waste too much food, how can I change? Is there a way I can change my food consumption to improve both my waistline and my wallet? Relating these anecdotes has helped me to understand that yes, I can (and should) change how I'm buying and storing food. Doing so would help me eat better. Plus, it'd help us feel less cramped in our kitchen. Last autumn, I wrote about re-writing my financial blueprint so that I'm buying things based on actual needs rather than potential wants. At the time, I was thinking about books and garden tools. But the same principle applies to food. The fundamental problem in our lives is that we buy food based on potential wants. not immediate needs. We might want to have pasta next week, so we buy noodles and tomato sauce and meat. We might want to have a big salad this weekend, so we stock up on vegetables and greens. We often prep a charcuterie board for dinner we did so last night! so we try to keep a variety of cheese and salami on hand. But what happens when we go weeks without doing this? Well, the meat and cheese goes to waste. Lack of waste was one of the huge advantages to my recent HelloFresh experiment. When you open a recipe bag, you know you're going to get only what you need to make this meal and no more. You won't end up with a bag of carrots that turns rubbery because they got buried in the produce crisper. They give you the one carrot you need to make your salad.

I'm not ready to go back to HelloFresh, but I think there are other changes I can make to improve my consumption and waste habits. I'd be well-served by returning to how I was prepping meals after we returned from our RV trip. Instead of keeping a ton of stuff on hand, I ought to be making daily decisions about what to eat. Except for my canned chili which I probably eat three to five times per week I shouldn't be stocking up on anything at Costco. This change won't be as easy here in the Stafford hills as it would be in urban Portland. At the condo, I could walk to buy groceries. It was quick. It was simple. Here, the nearest stores is more than a mile away. And we live in a very hilly area. It takes 20+ miles to walk there. Still, even this is an opportunity. I'm fat right now. If I were to walk to Safeway at three every afternoon, I could be home by four with whatever groceries I needed for dinner. I'd burn about 250 calories in the process and I'd get time to decompress. Now that the sunny weather is here (and will remain until October), I don't really have any excuse. Maybe I can't live in my idealized European fashion, but I could certainly try to integrate some aspects of that lifestyle into my own. All it'd take is a little bit of willpower.

Author: J.D. Roth In 2006, J.D. founded Get Rich Slowly to document his quest to get out of debt. Over time, he learned how to save and how to invest. Today, he's managed to reach early retirement! He wants to help you master your money and your life. No scams. No gimmicks. Just smart money advice to help you reach your goals. https://www.getrichslowly.org/food-waste/