#she was like yeah my adoptive parents are totally my real parents in my heart they raised me

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

After Starcourt, Steve finally managed to get a date. He actually liked her, too. She was nice, smart, and completely smitten over the fact that he was fond of the kids he babysat. Apparently, she didn't take it too well that Dustin followed him onto his date. She left before Dustin came back from the bathroom.

"Hey, where's Lydia?" Dustin asked.

"Oh, her parents called the theater. Apparently, there was a family emergency," Steve shrugged.

"Oh, that sucks. You were really looking forward to it," Dustin frowned. "More popcorn for us."

He made his way over to the concession stand. Steve didn't have the heart to tell him the real reason why she left. Dustin's had a hard time lately since the mall, and from what Claudia told him, he's been having nightmares lately. He didn't have to say anything, but Steve figured the reason why Dustin's been clinging to both him and Robin lately was because he felt guilty about them getting hurt. Robin had agreed with him on that theory. He didn't mind it much. He loved spending time with Dustin, someone he thought of like a little brother, and he knew Robin had come to think of him like that, along with Erica. It was where Robin was currently at "babysitting" for the Sinclairs while they had their own date night. As much as she complained, Erica had wormed her way into Robin's heart. Once they got their drinks and popcorn, they found a couple of seats up front.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" A voice asked.

"No," Steve replied with looking, and he almost did when he felt leather brush up against his arm.

"Steve?" Dustin asked.

"Yeah?"

"Your date stood you up because of me, didn't she?" Dustin asked.

"What? No!" Steve said quickly.

"You're a terrible liar, Steve," Dustin whispered. "But that's okay, Steve, I still think you're my brother."

"Well, you know, if she doesn't understand that my little brother is important to me, then she's not worth my time," Steve whispered.

"You guys are terrible whisperers," a voice from Steve’s other side said. "Also, totally adorable."

Steve turned and found that Eddie Munson was sitting on his other side.

"Do you know this guy, Steve?" Dustin asked.

"Eddie Munson," the man himself introduced. "Didn't know Steve Harrington had a nerdy little brother."

"I adopted him," Dustin replied. "Besides, Steve’s not just a jock. He's a nerd, too."

"No, I'm not," Steve scoffed.

"Please, I found the comic books under your bed," Dustin hissed.

"What the hell did I tell you about going through my stuff, you little shit?" Steve hissed back.

"You really are brothers," Eddie grinned.

"Hey, Eddie, you're a guy," Dustin said suddenly.

"That's what it says on my birth certificate," Eddie replied.

"Do you know why a guy would keep his muscle magazines with his playboys? Do you think it's a jock thing?" Dustin asked.

"Oh my god!" Steve exclaimed, mortified.

Steve could feel Eddie watching him with curious eyes, and he waited for his reaction.

"You know, it must be a jock thing," Eddie said. "I think if I were your brother, I'd give you hell for digging through his private things."

Dustin sighed and rolled his eyes, but Steve took this as a sign that he's thinking about how wrong he was. The movie was about to start. Suddenly, Eddie leaned so close to him that Steve could feel his hair tickling his cheek, his breath in his ear.

"It's not just jocks who put their muscle magazines with their playboys," Eddie whispered and paused briefly, moving in closer until his lips were brushing up light against his ear. "Big boy."

Eddie sat back in his seat, leaving Steve flushed. His heart was pounding in his ears, and suddenly, his crush on Eddie came roaring back. Steve cursed mentally as he tried to focus on the movie and not on the fact that Eddie was leaning more heavily against his arm. His pinky was brushing up against his. At some point, Eddie started running over his hand, drawing circles into his skin. His touch was setting him on edge, and it was making his brain go all fuzzy.

"Bathroom," Steve said gruffly and stood up quickly.

He was grateful that there wasn't anyone in the bathroom when he went it. It allowed him to catch his breath. It was crazy how one single moment could bring out all of the feelings that he shoved inside of him when he was just a freshman, a freshman who has seen the most beautiful boy ever. He honestly hadn't felt this way since Nancy, and honestly, it was baffling. Just one little moment, and he was crazy about him again. Suddenly, the door opened, and Steve looked through the mirror as Eddie walked into the restroom. They made eye contact, and he raised a questioning eyebrow at him as he locked the door. Suddenly, Steve was moving and pressing Eddie up against the door as he kissed him. Eddie pulled him closer by his hips as he kissed him back. Of course, it didn't last long before someone wanted in. They broke the kiss, and Eddie quickly disappeared into a stall before Steve could unlock. The man walked in and frowned at him.

"Uh, the door got stuck," Steve said.

"I heard the lock, young man," he said.

Steve slipped by him and hurried back to his seat. Eddie soon came back, a grin on his face. He pulled a pen out of his pocket and started writing his number on Steve’s hand.

"Call me when you're ready to have a date without your brother," Eddie whispered. "I really do appreciate people who collect lost sheep."

Steve grinned. Things were looking up. Suddenly, he was very grateful that Lydia stood him up.

#stranger things #eddie munson #stranger things s4 #joseph quinn #steve harrington #eddie stranger things #eddie munson lives #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #bisexual eddie munson #bisexual steve harrington #bi4bi #dustin henderson #henderfam #henderdads #stranger things fanfiction #rueleigh writes

[such-expensive-mistakes]

Superpham AU (part 6)

Masterpost

Lois prides herself at being good at rolling with the unexpected. Unfortunately, all of her experience with aliens and supervillains and magic has not prepared her for Danny.

Danny has a disconcerting habit of dropping disturbing or traumatizing information in an off-hand way, seeming to not even realize the implications of his own words. It started with what he said about the dimension he'd grown up in discriminating against people with powers, then with what he'd said about the red son and the lack of superheroes, but it just keeps happening.

Lois tries not to call attention to it, because she prefers it to the alternative, which is Danny shutting himself up in his room and refusing to talk to any of them.

Lex Luthor is on the nightly news-- as he so often is-- and Lois has to explain the man's many crimes to Danny. (No, Jon, it is not a rant.)

"Oh," Danny says. "He sounds like Vlad."

"Vlad?" Lois asks.

"Yeah, Vlad Masters. He's my godfather. He's a total fruitloop who wanted to marry my mom and make me his son."

Lois carefully does not react. She wants Danny to tell her things. She wants to know what his life was like when she wasn't in it. "That sounds..."

"Yeah, he tried to clone me. Well, I guess he succeeded, but none of them were stable except for Ellie, and she wasn't really that stable to begin with."

"Ellie?"

"Yeah, short for Danielle. She went by Dani-with-an-I for a while, but she decided she wanted her own name."

That is not the part Lois was looking for clarification on. She goes with it anyway. "Tell me about her," Lois says, and tries not to be concerned about Danny’s descriptions of a teenage girl who apparently lives and travels on her own because she doesn't like to be stuck in one place. Ellie doesn't even get the full benefit of being quarter Kryptonian, living in a world with a red sun.

The four of them are sitting down to dinner-- pizza again; one of them should probably cook sometime this week, but Lois and Clark are both on deadlines-- when Clark asks Danny more about his adoptive family, the ones he grew up with.

He looks sad, the way he always does whenever his adoptive parents come up.   Lois can hardly blame him, when he lost them in such a sudden and traumatic way.  

"They're scientists," Danny says.  "Or they were.  They studied, um, the Ghost Zone and the things that live there.  They didn't really understand it at first-- they thought all the-- um, everything from there was evil and needed to be killed, but they learned they were wrong eventually."

Lois meets Clark's eyes and knows he is as concerned about what happened before that 'eventually' as she is.  Still, neither of them comment, not wanting Danny to clam up again..

Jon, however, has no such reservations.  "That's really messed up."

Danny shrugs.  "Yeah, kind of.  They came around, though.  And I think they blamed themselves for how bad the GIW got because they were the ones who designed the weapons."

"The GIW?" Lois asks, instead of what she really wants to know, which is: Your adoptive parents designed weapons to be used against beings from another dimension??? Did they know what you were? 

"Guys in White," Danny says.  "I don't think that was their real name, but they were from the government."

"Your parents built weapons for them?" Clark asks, his tone deceptively light.  "I thought they were scientists."

"They dabbled in a lot of things.  But they were fantastic engineers."  Danny segues into a story about some of the modifications his adoptive parents made to their car, which is a topic only slightly better for Lois's heart.

Later that night, Lois is sitting in bed, checking her emails on her phone, when Clark sits down next to her and turns on the white noise machine they keep on the nightstand.  (It's the only way to have private conversations when your child-- children-- have super-hearing.)

"I'm concerned about Danny," he says.

"No shit."  The more Danny tells them about the dimension he grew up in, the more Lois hates it.  "But there's nothing we can do now except be there for him."

"I know people who have traveled across dimensions, you know," Clark says.  "I could always ask for a favor."

"You won't," Lois says.  "Because if you do, I'm going to end up committing felonies in another dimension."  

Clark smiles humorlessly. "What makes you think I wouldn't be there with you?"

"Because you're a better person than I am."  Clark never believes her when she says that, but it's true.  Clark is a fundamentally good person.  Lois tries to be a good person, but there's a reason she's not a superhero.  

-----

Kon intended to stop by Metropolis several days ago.  Or at least call Clark back.  But he’d gotten sidetracked by an earthquake in Southeast Asia, and then by Dr Light causing problems in California.  

He gets a few hours of sleep back in Smallville, then remembers that he’d planned on dropping by Metropolis and meeting Danny days before.  He walks the last few blocks to Lois and Clark’s house— flying would be way too noticeable in their neighborhood— and lets himself in.  He walks up to the living room and spots Lois there, furiously typing on her laptop.  

Kon is man enough to admit, at least within his own head, that Lois kind of intimidates him. Sure, Clark is physically stronger, but there’s an intensity to Lois that Clark lacks.  She glances up at Kon, and even though she’s smiling, he still feels pinned under her gaze.  

Kon shifts uncomfortably, reminds himself that unless he turns into a corrupt businessman or something, he’s not actually in danger from Lois Lane.  

“You here to see Danny?” she asks.

“Yeah.”  Kon shoves his hands in his jacket pockets.  “I figured I should probably meet him.”

“He’s in his room,” Lois says.  “He’s not… It’s not a good day, but maybe he’ll talk to you.  He hasn’t exactly gotten the chance to be around anyone his own age since he showed up.”

Kon knocks on the door to Danny’s room.  

“Come in,” a voice calls from inside.

Kon’s first thought is that he looks more like Clark than Danny does.  Stupid; of course he does.  He’s Clark’s clone.  But then, Jon resembles Clark almost as strongly as Kon does, so maybe it wasn’t a completely stupid thought.

Danny is sprawled on his stomach across his bed, phone in his hand.  There’s a video playing on it— someone talking about the history of the Justice League— but he’s ignoring it, watching Kon with a wary expression.  The room is still as bland as it ever was; other than the clothes tossed haphazardly on the floor, there’s no sign a teenage boy lives here.

“I’m guessing you’re Kon?” 

“That’s me.”  They stare at each other awkwardly for a moment.  

“Have you actually seen any of Metropolis, or have you just been hanging out in here?” Kon asks.

“Lois took me shopping for some stuff,” Danny says.

“Okay, no,” Kon says.  “You have got to get out of this house.”  

“You don’t even live in Metropolis,” Danny says.  

Kon shrugs. “Doesn’t matter; I’ve spent more time here than you.” There’s an old-school arcade he’s been to a handful of times, and a couple of places to eat.  Anything has got to be better than Danny hanging out and brooding in this sad bedroom by himself.

It's a warm day outside.  The sun shines down on the two of them as they walk in near-silence toward downtown.  The awkward silence doesn't quite break until they're at the arcade, competing on an old racing game.  

"I don't think we have this one in my dimension.  The other dimension.  Whatever."  Danny says.

"Yeah?"  Kon speeds ahead of Danny in the game, just in time to cross the finish line.  Danny groans.

"Yeah, but this world doesn't seem to have Doomed, either," Danny says as they start another race.  "There's a lot of little differences like that."

"That's gotta be weird," Kon says.  

"Yeah, Clark kind of freaked out when I told him the sun there was red."

Yeah, Kon can see why.  They talk more as they play more video games, and Danny tells Kon about his friends and what they'd do when they were hanging out in his hometown of Amity Park.  The main people he talks about are his best friends, Sam and Tucker, and his older sister, Jazz, but he mentions a few others.  

"Wait, who is Ellie again?" Kon asks, after Danny shares a story about a prank she pulled on another kid at Danny's school.  They've left the arcade, and are hanging out at the diner a few blocks away.  It's not the coolest place-- in fact, it looks like a grandmother decorated it-- but Clark introduced Kon to it, and it has great food.

"Oh, I didn't tell you?" Danny asks.  "She's my clone."

Kon chokes a little on his soda.  "You have a clone?"

-----

Danny is probably being paranoid.

Scratch that, he's definitely being paranoid. Lois and Clark have been nothing but nice, and they're clearly used to weird things happening. Like, even aside from the whole alien superhero thing, Lois just saw a kid fall out of a portal and decided to help?  Plus, Clark is an actual superhero.  

Even his— the Fentons came around on the whole “ghost powers” thing.  Eventually.  But he’s gotten used to hiding, to trying to blend in.  

(And what had them accepting him done for them in the end?  They’re dead, the GIW killed them.)

He’d rather hide than suddenly discover that Lois and Clark aren’t cool with their long-lost son being half dead.

Some of his powers he can pass off as Kryptonian— super strength, flight, enhanced senses.  He knows Lois saw his ghost form, and though she hasn’t asked about it, he’s pretty sure it’s just a matter of time.  

These thoughts circle through his mind over and over, only leaving him temporarily when he’s hanging out with the Lane-Kents.  

His bio family.  

That’s not much better, though; there’s a sadness in Lois and Clark’s eyes whenever they look at him, although they try to hide it.  Jon just a kid, and clearly doesn’t know what to make of the whole situation.  Lois keeps saying they are going to introduce him to more people, especially people his own age, but Danny shies away from that.  He doesn’t want to meet more people.  He doesn’t want to get comfortable here.

Still, he’s glad he came out with Kon.  An afternoon of videogames and greasy food hasn’t solved any of his problems, but it’s a nice break, and Kon has already promised to introduce Danny to his friends— a whole team of teenage superheroes.

“I can’t get over how many heroes there are here,” Danny says.  “Like, why do you even need that many?”  Sure, it would have been nice to have some more backup when he was Phantom, but in this world there seems to be at least one superhero for every major city, plus some extra.

Kon shrugs. “Natural disasters, alien invasions, supervillains, street crime… No one can handle all of it.”

Out of all the things he’s encountered so far in this dimension, this might be Danny’s favorite.  Even more than the proven existence of aliens.  Back home, Amity Park needed Phantom, even if they hated him.  But the world here doesn’t need Phantom.  

It’s kind of freeing, and Danny hates it.  He doesn’t want to like anything about this dimension more than his own.  

Would it really be that bad?  You might be stuck here forever, a little voice inside his head whispers.  

He ignores it.

#superpham au #dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp fic #I know some folks wanted a confrontation between Clark and Danny about Kon #but that's not really the vibe of this fic #and I think a lot of other people have done it better anyway #i'm not 100% in love with this section but I think it's good enough for now

[oklotea]

you want eah parents hcs? *cracks knuckles* alright then here's some

- When Pied Piper returned the kids to their parents (no, he didn't drown them, c'mon Eah show isn't that dark) he noticed a kid in the group who didn't ran to none of the adults in the village and no parents who ever sought her out.

That child was Melody, and seeing she had no parents and home, the Pied Piper adopted her

- Cheshire Cat created Kitty. Like she literally took a part of herself and molded it into a baby Kitty. How's that possible? To make herself disappear and reappear, the Cheshire Cat is made of smokey and pooffy stuff inside so if she wants a kid, she can easily just pluck off some of the smoke stuff from her arm or leg etc. It doesn't hurt in case you're wondering

- The Huntsman (Hunter's dad) and Red (Cerise's mom) were childhood, and the Huntsman was in love with her

It's was one-sided and Red was oblivious to his feelings and The Huntsman never had the courage to tell her how he truly felt...so you would get this teenage boy get all shy saying stuff like - "Wowza Red...funny to think how i'm technically ur Prince Charming...👉👈 saving u from the Big bad wolf....very fuunnyy riiight? haahahaa"

- Like it was shown in Class of Classics, King Charming was similar to Dexter at the start, but with the pressure to be a perfect Prince Charming, mixed in with his own insecurities and wanting not to fail his own destiny, he started to become the worst version of himself, but because he alligned with the rules of how a Pince Charming should be, many weren't that bothered by it, outside of Pinnochio and Goldie who knew the real him.

Pinnochio misses his old friend

- Red and EQ were those friends who since highschool had plans of their kids also being friends like they are, but then EQ got trapped in the mirror realm and so there were no playdates between Raven and Cerise.

After Red learned Cerise had befriended Raven, she felt happy. (EQ learned about their friendship either through the mirrors or after she got broken out of the realm)

1. I ABSOLUTELY LOVE THAT IDEA AWGEHHHHHHH I think that would make melody and piper's relationship even more sweet!!!!! I love that I really do

2. MAKES SENSE. I CAN TOTALLY IMAGINE IT. There is no way kitty actually has a father.

3.DAMN huntsman fumbled fr HAHHAHSHAHDKD Yeah I can totally see that being canon! Sorry huntsman sir but red does NOT want you. Canon in my book

4.THIS IS EXACTLY THE IMPRESSION I GOT FROM LANCE. He was nerdy and insecure but because of the pressures of society decided to completely be consumed by the toxic masculinity mindset and because of that, he eliminated any kind of resemblance of who he truly is. And now he projects onto daring and Dexter. Rip. AGHHRHRHRRJJJJHHHHH STOP I FEEL SIIICKKKKKJKKK FUCK YOU LANCE. I hate king charming with my entire heart and soul, but I can also mourn for the person he couldve become if he grew up in a different more accepting environment.

5.ARGEGRHHHHHHH EQ AND RED FRIENDSHIP FUCKING REAL!!!!!!!!!! THIS IS SO GREAT I LOVE THID THIS IS CANON

#eah parents #eah #ever after high #oklo makes a post #GREAT HEADCANONS #pied piper #melody piper #red riding hood #the huntsman #cheshire cat #kitty cheshire #king charming

[fallingrealms16]

Sterek Fic Recs PART7 <333

i cannot believe i have read enough sterek fic to be able to make a part 7?!?! It's been over a year and between work and my social life all i do is read, read, read! (special fic recs for @singer7777 at the bottom) well here it is, sterek fic recs part 7, LETS GO

(ps. this is a long post so buckle in)

1. This Might Be Irony by thepsychicclam

38K Words // Chapters: 1/1 // Hits: 190K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

Stiles and Derek have been close friends since the Hale siblings moved in next door after their parents' death. But Derek's in the popular group, he's a star baseball player, and he dates popular Pep Squad captain Jennifer Blake. Stiles doesn't have any of that, just his skateboard and a hopeless crush on Derek (oh yeah, and his Vote Lydia Martin Prom Queen button). As prom and the baseball state championship grow closer, Stiles and Derek start rekindling their friendship. And it all begins with two white boards.

2. But Then What... by Stoney

24K Words // Chapters: 3/3 // Hits: 182K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him. Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

3. When You're Close I Feel the Sparks by Leslie_Knope

39K Words // Chapters: 4/4 // Hits: 156K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

The guy is hot as hell, sure—leather jacket and glasses, Jesus, be still Stiles' poor, bisexual, beating heart—but more importantly, it must really suck being new on the first day of senior year. “We’re adopting him,” he decides, tugging Scott and Kira by the elbow in that direction. “Let’s go.”

4. What To Expect When You're Expecting (A Litter of Sourwolf Puppies) by Brego_Mellon_Nin

17K Words // Chapters: 1/1 // Hits: 176K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

The Sheriff sighs and plops down in a chair opposite his son. “Stiles, I’m going crazy here. We need to get you to a doctor. You sleep like you’re trying to get into the Guinness Book of World Records, and your eating habits are bizarre! You vomit around the clock and for some reason only the tea your mother used when she was pregnant will get your stomach to settle down for any length of time. Is there something you aren’t telling me? Can werewolves get guys pregnant? I’ve noticed how you look at that Hale kid-” Stiles meeps and flails, sloshing tea down his front. Luckily it’s not scalding anymore, but still hot, so he jumps up and wrenches his shirt off. “God, dad, no! Guys can’t get pregnant, that’s ridiculous, it’s like...” “Like werewolves being real?” his dad questions, deadpan.

5. More Than Biology by DiscontentedWinter

45K Words // Chapters: 13/13 // Hits: 60K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

Stiles is a teenaged, unmated omega whose sixteenth birthday is fast approaching. Derek is the beta who loves him, and promises to claim him. And then it all goes to hell.

SPECIAL FIC RECS:

1. The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

163K Words // Chapters: 9/9 // Hits: 74K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!” Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’ “Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind. “Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

2. Whisper Through the Din by HyperLittleNori (Shiguresan)

38K Words // Chapters: 4/4 // Hits: 11K // COMPLETED

//EXPLICIT//

He wasn’t good at knowing the best thing to say, knowing how to comfort someone. He never had been. That had always been his mom or Laura. He thought of them then, of his mom’s warm eyes and Laura’s thoughtful expression. He remembered that night she’d tucked him into the Camaro, smoke still clinging to their hair and clothes, remembered what she’d said and he thought those words would stick with him until the day he died. He watched Stiles for a long heartbeat; his own head slightly cocked as he listened to Stiles’s heart simmer back from the enraged crescendo it’d worked itself into. When it settled back to something sad and steady, like the vibration on a string instrument, Derek offered an uncertain echo of Laura’s words. “We’ll work this out, Stiles.”

3. This isn’t the OK!Cupid I thought I was signing up for by changez

21K Words // Chapters: 12/12 // Hits: 8K // COMPLETED

//MATURE//

Stiles and Scott are enjoying their relatively quiet life on the East Coast, but everything is turned upside down by the appearance of a very familiar black wolf stalking the nearby woods. A lone hunter forces Derek to make a last second decision to give Stiles the bite to save his life, but the circumstances bring a seemingly fairytale legend to reality. Derek feels remorse for what he’s done to Stiles, but before he can make amends, he’s captured. Stiles will have to come to terms with more than just the bite before it’s too late.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinksi #derek hale #teen wolf cast #sad stiles #sad derek #sterek fanart #teen wolf season 1 #stiles fanfic #derek hale deserves nice things #stiles and derek #stiles x derek #void stiles #alpha derek hale #sterek fluff #slow burn #slow build #quick read #teen derek hale #spark stiles stilinski

[justagalwhowrites]

Lavender No Outbreak AU - Ch. 5

The Miller family grows. The final part of the Lavender No Outbreak AU, continued from Ch. 1-4 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Smut :), Some slurs (anti-LGBTQIA+ - they are immediately rebuked). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 4.3k

Tuesday, September 14, 2021 

“Hey Doc?” Jess slid up beside you at the nurses station where you were reviewing charts. “That one kid from Boston is here for the trial? She’s that special case?” 

“Oh right,” you said. “God, thank you for reminding me. Swear I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached this week, I’m just all over the map.” 

You’d been scrambling for weeks to get everything in place for the first clinical trial the hospital was facilitating since the COVID-19 pandemic. You hadn’t fully realized just how much the pandemic had taken out of you before that, just how much had changed. 

It was like you’d been in total crisis mode for a year, all the time. It had damn near fried your brain. You basically lived at the hospital. When you were home, you slept in the garage, where Joel had set up a cot and TV and a loveseat, too afraid of getting him or Evie sick to go in the house. You smiled at your husband and daughter through glass, wanting more than anything to just touch them. The second everyone was vaccinated, Joel held you for hours, clinging to you like a man at sea clings to a life raft. 

It was so hard, now, to do anything normal. Your mind kept scattering, trying to find the crisis that needed solving first before it could do anything like planning or building things out. Arranging the trial had been an uphill slog. 

“What’s this kid’s name again?” You asked. 

“Ellie,” she replied. “She’s a character, I think you’ll like her.” 

Jess knocked once on the door to the hospital room and opened it. Inside was a small girl, maybe 12, playing a video game on the TV. Something where she was shooting zombies. You smiled a little. She paused it. 

“Hi Ellie,” Jess smiled. “I wanted to introduce you to Dr. Miller, she’s going to be running your trial and the lead doctor on your case.” 

“Hi Ellie,” you smiled. She looked you up and down. 

“Hi,” she said. “So you’re the one who’s going to go poking around with my blood and junk?” 

“Yup,” you popped the p. “We’re going to run some tests, steal as much blood of yours as we can to feed the vampires in the basement, and then hopefully get you so that you’re not coming in and dealing with people like me quite so much. Sound good?” 

She considered you seriously. 

“You really think you can make a difference?” She asked. “Because going to the hospital all the time is kind of bullshit.” 

You laughed a little. 

“Yeah, that must get old real quick,” you said. “And it’s probably not fun having to give up your blood and stuff all the time, huh?” 

“Yeah, that part really sucks,” she slumped back in her pillows.

You frowned, getting the sense that she wanted to say something else. 

“Want to tell me all the stuff that sucks about it?” You asked, coming and sitting on the edge of her bed. “I might be able to help.” 

“Can you help find me parents who will deal with taking me to the hospital all the time if this doesn’t work?” She asked. “Because I’m pretty sure having a broken kid is a deal breaker when the people who want to adopt someone start shopping around.” 

Your heart broke a little in that moment. Her face was hard, her small chin jutting out defiantly, but she was hurting. You knew she was.

“Well if they wouldn’t take care of you when you’re not feeling well, they’re not the kinds of parents you’d want anyway,” you said. 

“How would you know?” She muttered. 

“I don’t have parents either,” you shrugged. She looked at you, skeptical. “And not just because I’m old. I never had parents, my dad left before I was born and my mom left two months after she had me. It sucks, I get it. 

“But trust me, there are a lot of parents I see in here who are good and a lot who aren’t. And the not good ones? It’s better to have no parents than them,” you said. “So really, you just have built in protection. Immunity from the extra crappy parents.” 

She laughed once. 

“Maybe I should keep the screwed up blood then,” she said. 

“Nah, think we’ll fix that,” you said. “Make sure you’re all set and ready to take it easy once you’re a grown up. Just give all the potential parents a really tough questionnaire. See if you can trip them up. You seem smart, I think you can weed them out with enough practice. OK?” 

“OK,” she half smiled at you. 

The rest of the day went by and your mind kept drifting back to Ellie. You grabbed Jess on her way down to the cafeteria. 

“Hey,” you said quickly. “Ellie, where is she staying while she’s here for the trial?” 

“One of the group homes,” she said. “It’s not ideal but it’s the only arrangement we could come up with and the trial would be really good for her…” 

You nodded slowly and thanked her before ducking outside and calling Joel. 

“Hey Baby,” he answered. You were almost surprised. His contracting business had picked up quite a bit in recent years and he spent most of his days running from job site to job site to manage progress. He couldn’t always answer the phone on the job.

“I know you’re busy so I’ll make it quick,” you said. “How would you feel about becoming foster parents?” 

Tuesday, October 5, 2021 

You got your third daughter for your 43rd birthday. 

Jess had helped speed you and Joel through the process to get approved to take her home, Sarah almost strangely OK with you dismantling her old room to make it something Ellie would like, excited about getting her new sister.

You’d given Ellie your tablet one day during lunch, letting her go on Amazon and pick out bedding and decorations for her room. You’d had to transfer care for her to another doctor - though she still got to stick with the trial - but it was worth it. 

She and Joel became such fast friends it almost made your head spin. You introduced the two one day when he came by to meet you for lunch. Ellie was playing her zombie game and he asked if he could join in. 

“Don’t want you dragging my stats down,” she said. 

“Think I can keep up,” he replied. She looked skeptical but handed him the second controller, anyway. Joel, you were happy to say, did surprisingly well. He even tallied more kills than Ellie did. 

“No way,” she said. “We’re trading controllers, mine doesn’t work right.” 

“Tellin’ ya,” he said. “Nothin’ to do with the controller and everything to do with how you handle the scenario…” 

He traded controllers anyway. He bested her a second time, shrugging with a slight smile. 

“You dick!” She laughed. He laughed back. 

When you left the room he put his hands in his back pockets and sighed. 

“Can’t let her go to a group home,” he said. “Just throw her in the car and bring ‘er home, fuck the rules.” 

You kissed him, not sure you’d ever loved him more. 

“Oh cool, you didn’t say you had a pool!” She ran to the sliding glass door, pressing her nose against it before looking back at you. “Can you teach me to swim?” 

“Sure,” you smiled. “Might be a little cold to now but…” 

“Think I can handle it,” she replied. 

You showed her around the house, introduced her to Evie, left her to settle into her room and sat next to Joel on the couch. 

“Happy birthday, Baby,” he kissed your temple. “Been a good one?” 

“Oh cool!” Ellie stuck her head into the hall. “There’s a freaking telescope in here?” 

She ran back into her room. 

You smiled.

“Pretty damn good.” 

***

Tuesday, August 29, 2023 

Joel wasn’t exactly thrilled to get a call from Ellie’s school when they’d barely been back a week. 

“Mr. Miller,” the woman on the phone said. “I’m afraid we couldn’t reach your wife but Ellie has been fighting at school…” 

“On my way,” he replied, yelling instructions to Tommy as he jogged to his truck. 

He wasn’t quite sure what to do here. Sarah and Evie had hardly been scrappy girls. Sure, they had some behavioral issues here and there - Evie got into the bad habit of sneaking out of the house her senior year of high school, something that worried both you and Joel to no end. 

But neither of them had ever thrown a punch. 

At least, as far as he knew. 

Ellie, strangely, was more like him than either of his biological daughters. He saw it when she played her video games, the way she got worked up and invested in them. He saw it when she noticed some kind of injustice and stomped off to try to handle it herself, resorting almost immediately to physical solutions instead of trying to talk it out. Joel understood her better than you did. 

But even though Ellie was on the scrappy side, he doubted she’d have started hitting someone unless she had a damn good reason. He just needed to figure out what it was. 

You pulled into the parking lot behind him, parking alongside his truck. 

“Hey Baby,” he pulled you in for a quick kiss. “They said they couldn’t reach you.” 

“Yeah, I was closing when they called,” you replied. “I got the message only a few minutes later and just got changed and ran over… There has to be a reason, right? I mean, Ellie is Ellie but she wouldn’t hit someone without a damn good reason.” 

He smiled a little at you. 

“Told you lately that I fuckin’ love you?” He asked. “Because I fuckin’ love you.” 

You led the way into the building, beelining for the administration offices. Joel recognized the look in your eyes. It was the look you got when something had pissed you off and you were going to fix it, come hell or high water. 

It was a look that had made you advance at the hospital, knowing exactly when to use your tenacity to go after something you thought needed to change, knowing exactly how to go about it to make it happen. Whether it was making nice with the right people or going scorched earth, you always seemed to find the right way to navigate it. 

Joel almost felt sorry for the staff as you walked into the office. He knew your scorched earth look when he saw it. 

“Hi,” you said. “We’re the Millers, Ellie Williams’ parents. We were told she was here?” 

“Of course,” the woman led the two of you back to a counselor’s office. 

Ellie was sitting in the corner, arms crossed, her eye black. She looked pissed, like she was on the verge of tears.

“Oh Baby Girl,” Joel went and dropped to his knee in front of her, taking his face in his hand. “Who hit you?” 

“Stupid girl,” she muttered. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Miller,” the counselor smiled tightly. “I’m afraid we have a problem here.” 

“Yes,” you said, not taking the woman’s outstretched hand. “I’m afraid we do. Is there a reason my daughter clearly hasn’t been to the nurse’s office? She doesn’t have an ice pack for her eye, who knows what other injuries she might have…” 

“Well, the girl Ellie hit is in the nurse’s office now,” the woman responded, defensive. “We can send Ellie down after…” 

“No need,” you replied. “She’ll be coming home with us until we can establish whether or not your school can provide competent care for our child.” 

“Well, your child hit another student,” she said. “In front of several teachers. She threw the first punch. The first several, actually…” 

“She started it!” Ellie yelled. You gave her a look and she sat back in her chair, muttering. “Well, she did….” 

“Did you talk to this other girl?” You asked the counselor, eyebrows raised. “Or did you just blame my child because she’s newer to the district and in foster care?” 

“I can assure you, Ellie’s status had nothing to do…” 

“Ellie,” you turned to her. “Why did you hit the other girl?” 

She looked at you for a second before looking to Joel, her eyes pleading. 

“Come on, Baby Girl,” he said. “You have to tell us what happened or we can’t help you.” 

“It… it involves bad words,” she glanced at the counselor. 

“You can say them,” Joel said, looking at the counselor too, all but daring her to try to tell him otherwise. 

Ellie sighed. 

“She called my friend Riley a dyke,” she looked to the floor. “Said she was going to burn in hell…” 

“And that’s when you hit her?” You asked, voice calm. 

“No,” Ellie looked up. “Then she said that she wanted to kill all the dykes to send them to hell faster. Then I hit her.” 

Joel felt his blood get hot. Didn’t matter that it was toward another teenager, Joel wanted someone to hurt. He glanced to you, your jaw squared, and you looked back toward the counselor. 

“So you just let children in your school use genocidal language toward other students?” You asked. 

“Mrs. Miller…” 

“It’s Dr. Miller, actually,” you cut her off. “Since you apparently didn’t bother to look in Ellie’s file and see what her foster mother does for a living, I’ll fill you in. I’m the chief of pediatric surgery for the largest hospital system in Austin which means I know every single social worker in the county. I’ve treated the children of some of the most powerful people in the state because they seek me out. I am more than willing to call in every single favor that I have - which I promise is a lot - and leverage every single cent I own to personally destroy you and everyone in this district who allows such behavior to run unchecked. I will orchestrate a PR nightmare so thorough you won’t recover for years. You will have to beg Ronald McDonald for a job slinging fries by the time I’m done with you, do you understand me?” 

The woman glanced at Joel who just shrugged. He wasn’t about to help her. She was lucky she was dealing with you, you were just threatening her livelihood. He was tempted to threaten her life.  

“If you want to keep your job,” you said. “You’re going to investigate this incident as thoroughly as possible. You are going to remove that other girl from this school before she hurts anyone else. You are going to institute new training procedures so your faculty and staff know how to handle incidents with LGBTQ students because, apparently, that needs some improvement around here. Think you can handle that?” 

“I’ll discuss it with the principal,” her eyes were a little wide. Joel smirked. 

“Good,” you replied. “I’ll be in touch to follow up. In the mean time, I’m going to take Ellie home as an excused absence to make sure she receives appropriate medical attention for injuries she received while under your care. I’ll also be reaching out to my attorney to make sure any and all liability in this case is appropriately considered.” 

You stood up and Ellie stood up with you. You put your arm around her. 

“Come on,” you said. “We’re going home.” 

Ellie pressed herself against your side and gave you a quick hug before she climbed in Joel’s car. 

“For the record,” Joel said. “Not sure I’ve ever wanted to fuck you more than when you were chewing out that counselor.” 

“Good to know I can still turn you on,” you teased before you sighed. “So, Ellie’s friend…” 

“Always kinda figured,” he shrugged. “She’ll tell us when she’s ready.” 

“Yeah,” you said. “See you at home?” 

He kissed you. 

“Hopefully more than see you.” 

That night at dinner, Ellie only picked at her food, moving it around on her plate. 

“We’re not mad at you, Baby Girl,” Joel said, looking at her. “You know that, right?” 

She sighed. 

“I know.” 

“Want to talk about anything?” You asked. 

“You called me your daughter,” she said. 

Joel looked at you for a moment. 

“Well yeah,” Joel shrugged. “That’s how we think of you. We can use another word if you’d rather but…” 

“OK but if I’m your daughter why haven’t you tried to adopt me?” She asked, looking between you. “I mean, if you just don’t want to…” 

“Oh Baby Girl,” Joel leaned in closer to her. “Do you want us to adopt you? Because we just didn’t want to do anything that you weren’t askin’ for. We’d love nothing more than to adopt you.” 

“Really?” She asked. 

“Of course!” You smiled. “What, you think we let just any ol’ gremlin come in here? Just the special ones.” 

She smiled a little at that. 

“Cool.” 

You started the paperwork in the morning. 

Saturday, October 7, 2023 

Joel had been looking for a good reason to take all his girls camping and your birthday seemed to be a good a reason as any. 

Sarah came with Brandon and Carson, who was now five. Evie was happy for an excuse to get away from college after a bad breakup with her girlfriend. Ellie was just excited to get to spend more time with her sisters. Even Tommy came with his wife, Maria. Just when they’d started to expect him to never settle down, he met the perfect woman. Unlike Joel, he wasted no time in locking her down, a fact he loved to rub in. 

And Joel? He was just happy to have all his favorite people under one roof. 

He’d rented a cabin big enough that you and him would have some space - since he fully intended on making you cum until you couldn’t see straight - and grabbed steak and hot dogs and enough junk food to feed a small army. 

Sarah still lit her marshmallows on fire for Smores but Joel caught her stealing some of Brandon’s less burned ones when they were all around the campfire one night. He took Carson and Ellie down to the lake and taught them both how to fish while you and Sarah stayed back at the cabin to chat, the two of you still the best of friends decades after he’d first hired you to be her nanny. He made the mistake of letting you pick the hike one day and he paid the price when Evie - who’d always been clumsy - twisted her ankle. Joel had to carry her back to camp, you cursing yourself for not packing more first aid supplies in your hiking bag. Ellie set up her telescope in a clearing and spent hours looking at the stars, far enough from the city lights that she was in awe of them. 

“Good birthday?” Joel asked as you climbed into bed beside him the last night there. 

“Perfect birthday,” you kissed him. 

His hands drifted to your breast and you smiled against his mouth. 

“Some things never change, do they?” You teased. 

“You stop wantin’ it and I’ll stop doin’ it,” he replied, sliding a hand over your body to your leg, hitching it over his hip. 

“You know me so well.” 

He undressed you slowly, taking his time touching you everywhere he knew you loved his fingers to linger. When you tugged his pants down, you took his length in your hand, working him up and down for a moment, before you took him in your mouth, so hot and wet he had to stop himself from moaning too loud. You sucked him slowly, working your way down his thick shaft until you were nearly choking on him before going back up again, moving harder and faster each time, your tongue pressing against the thick vein that ran on the underside of him. 

“Fuck, Baby,” he groaned. “Tryin’ to make me cum before I’m even inside you?” 

You choked out something that sounded like a ‘no’ from around his cock and he groaned. 

“You get just another minute of that,” he said, straining to keep his composure. “Want to cum inside your pussy, not your mouth.” 

Just when he felt like he couldn’t take anymore, he grabbed your hair and pulled you off him, panting for breath. You wiped your mouth. 

“Here I thought you liked that,” you whispered. 

“More than liked it,” he muttered, grabbing your hips and yanking you toward him with a quiet yelp followed by a giggle. “Gonna have to do something to make sure you keep bein’ that good to me…” 

He dipped his fingers into you, making you groan. He smiled. 

“This wet just from suckin’ me off?” He breathed. You moaned in response. “Fucking hell, you really are the perfect woman…” 

He added another finger and leaned down, taking your clit into his mouth, sucking and licking you while his fingers opened you until you came so hard it felt like you might snap off his fingers.

Joel slipped his fingers from you and ran them over his cock, using your wetness to make him slick enough to enter you. He notched his head against you and settled between your legs, pressing into you in one firm, demanding stroke. 

“Fuck,” you panted, your back arching. “So full…” 

“Love you full of me,” he said, grinding himself against you before pulling back and pushing into you again. 

Your arms went around his neck as he picked up the pace, pressing his cock all the way into you with each stroke. You pushed yourself up off the bed and he smiled, kissing you as he helped you to straddle his lap while he was still inside you. He held you close while you rose and fell over him, thrusting up to meet you with every firm stroke. Your breasts bounced with the force of it, your head tilted back in pleasure as he sucked and licked his way up and down your throat. 

“Joel,” you breathed. “Want to cum with you. So close…” 

“Fuck Baby,” he groaned as you moved harder, faster, angling your hips so his stomach pressed into your clit while his head caught on the spot inside you that made you moan. He liked to think of that spot as his place in you, where he’d been made to reach and satisfy. Never did he feel as complete as when he was inside you, making you cum around him. 

“Joel,” you gasped as you started to cum again, clinging to him with your whole body. He thrust into you once more before filling you. 

“Love you so much,” he kissed you, your body pressed tight against his own. “Fuck, I love you.” 

When things went back to the normal routine after the camping trip, Joel printed off a picture that Sarah had taken on her phone during the hike. It was just before Evie had twisted her ankle and everyone was smiling, the frame filled with the faces of everyone Joel had ever loved. 

He wrote on the back of the picture, as though he’d ever forget who any of you were to him: “My girls + Carson, Me, Tommy, Maria and Brandon - October, 2023.” 

You worked until after seven that night. Joel made dinner - nothing like what you could do but you kissed him like you thought it was a gourmet meal all the same - and Ellie was out with her friend Riley. 

“Anything you in the mood for this evening?” He asked, pouring you another glass of wine. 

“Nothing in particular,” you smiled. “Oh, we could watch When Harry Met Sally! Such fantastic fall vibes…” 

“I think I can handle that,” he smiled a little. 

“I mean, it is your favorite movie,” you smiled back. “I’ll clean up if you want to get it queued up?” 

He found the movie on the Apple TV and was about to set it to play when he glanced at the record player in the corner. You’d painted little purple flowers along one side of it. They’d faded and chipped a bit since but he still loved those little flowers, a physical representation of you. He lit the candle on the coffee table - lavender scented, one of your favorites. He pulled out Slowhand and set it to play Wonderful Tonight just as he heard the water cut off in the kitchen. You laughed, leaning in the doorway to the living room. 

“Clapton, hm?” You asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Well, when the song stops bein’ true, I’ll stop playin’ it,” he held his hand out to you. You smiled hugely and took it, tucking yourself against him. He held you close, swaying in time to the music, the smell of lavender on the air. 

You stretched up to kiss him as the song ended and Joel turned the record player off before settling in beside you on the couch, glass of wine in hand. 

“I think our little ‘how we met video’ for this movie would be fun,” you said during the opening credits. “Me, a college girl with a crush…” 

“Me, an old man who was practically head over heels for you from first sight,” he said. 

You laughed. 

“Think we’ve made a pretty good go of it though,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. 

He smiled and kissed your forehead, surrounded by your warmth, the signs of the children you’d raised with him, and the smell of lavender. 

“Wouldn’t change a damn thing.” 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this overly long exercise in "What would happen if?" I like to think this version of Doc and Joel are living in Austin right now, happy with their girls.

Thanks for being here, thanks for sticking with it, thanks for being a part of this. Love you all!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #smut fic

[casicroaks]

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 12

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

CHICAGO, 1986

We had been lying under the shade of that tree for a few hours now. A while had passed since the shade had moved enough to leave us unguarded again. The warmth felt good on my skin, and even though the sun was shining pretty strongly, it was nice to stay there, on the soft grass, with the gentle breeze from the waterfront. It felt like it had been ages since we actually stopped and enjoyed the outdoors for a while.

“Thank God it’s spring again,” Chucky sighed. “And it really feels like Saturday, to boot.”

“But you don’t have a job,” I reminded him with a little giggle.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

It had been a few months since we had moved to Chicago, and I didn’t miss Hackensack one bit. I half-opened my eyes to take a peek at the world around us. Birds were singing their pretty songs from the treetops. Seagulls flew above us like little white crosses against the pure periwinkle blue of the sky. The rustling of the fresh new leaves in the trees and the chattering of the scattered crowd relishing the sunny weekend weather at the park was as calming as the faint sound of the waves of the Michigan lake. People walked their dogs, children flew their kites, friends had picnics, other couples just like us were similarly sprawled on the bright green grass, basking in the sunlight. I closed my eyes again, focusing on the low quiet thumping of his heart, and pushed my sunglasses back up the bridge of my nose.

“You know, I was a real outdoors sorta kid, back in the day. Didn’t have many friends in the first place, so I tended to spend a lot of time on my own,” I said, going back to the few times I sunbathed by the park, smoking and wasting the hours before it was time for dinner. “Playing in abandoned houses, collecting spiders, exploring the neighborhood…”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought of you as a tomboy.”

“I wasn’t a tomboy,” I frowned. “I just liked being out of the house.”

He stroked the side of my arm. We were both feeling kinda drowsy.

“What about you?” I asked him, pushing his sunglasses up and off his eyes. He blinked and scrunched his nose, briefly blinded by the light. “I can imagine you being a total boy scout type.”

He laughed, covering his eyes with his hand.

“I dunno, Tiff… We had a yard, back at my parents’ house. I guess I played in it,” he shrugged. “But the second home had some really nice grounds. Lots of trees, a whole forest surrounding it… Great for playing in, as a kid.”

“The second home?”

“Yeah—”

“You were in more than one home?”

“I was at two homes,” he said. “One back near Hackensack, the other in South Jersey. Had a pretty shitty time at the first. And, I mean, I was kind of a sheltered kid before, not the best at making friends. Not like I wanted any.”

I rested my cheek against his chest, playing with one of the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt. It wasn’t a confirmation, but I had had the suspicion he was an only child for a while now. Him having been a spoiled little thing made a lot of sense.

“I was convinced I’d be adopted in a month, at most,” he continued. “You know, I was a model kid. I knew all the right things to say. But time passed, and I kept getting annoyed with the other boys… And after picking a few too many fights I should have known I was too small to win—”

“You killed them?”

“Close enough,” he said with a little smirk. “I started a fire in their rooms, and it spread, and soon the whole orphanage went up in flames.”

“So you set an orphanage on fire?” I chuckled, honestly quite impressed. “Were those your first kills?”

“Huh?”

I crossed my arms over his ribs, and rested my chin over my hands. “I totally get it. One day you just have enough, you snap, and… You know. Things happen.”

Chucky sighed. We didn’t really talk about our life before meeting the other. Not that I was gonna complain. It was nice to see he trusted me enough to share something personal.

“After that, I was transferred to Burlington County Home. That was a more liberal type, the sort that’d get you a slap on the wrist if you were caught smoking pot in the hallway.”

I laughed. It would figure that it was there where he got introduced to some good music. Maybe it was along the same time I got introduced to Heath’s house parties, to his cool friends, and to what being cool was all about, too. I liked the idea –our parallel stories. There was a feeling of destiny to it.

“There I made an effort to start fresh, win people over… It was like turning a new leaf, you know? With all the records of my behavior having been burned up, and with most of my old tutors in intensive care. And besides,” he smiled wider. “My story of having survived a fire gave me quite a bit of a reputation among the other kids.”

“Bet you didn’t quite say how the fire started, though.”

“Well, you always got to doctor your stories,” he said, raising his eyebrows over the rim of his sunglasses. “Omit some details, add a few new ones.”

I sighed and nodded, too. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Perhaps he had told himself, after that fire, what I had told myself after killing Heath: that it had been great fun, but that a functional member of society can’t go around killing all willy-nilly. After all, everyone loses their temper once in a while. I used to wonder if there were actually a lot more people who had killed someone in their lives –not just cops and surgeons, but your average joes and janes, people you came across in line while buying groceries, in the crowd at the movie theater, or spending a lovely afternoon in the park. One little accidental death doesn’t make a killer. No –you need to commit to it. You need to really love it, care about it, know what you’re doing. Otherwise, you’re just an amateur waiting to get caught.

“If you had stayed at that Hackensack home,” I said quietly. “Then we might have met a little earlier.”

He raised his sunglasses and squinted down at me. “You think so?”

“… No, not really,” I muttered, thinking it over. “I was probably already on my way to New York by then. Besides, the chances of us two meeting back then… I don’t think they were very good.”

All around us were little wildflowers, welcoming the season. I sat up and picked tiny daisies and buttercups, gathering them in mini-bouquets and spinning them, getting green stains on the tips of my fingers. Once I had a nice bunch, I leaned back on the grass, against him, and weaved them all along his black hair.

“At what age did you run away?” I asked him.

He looked up at me in surprise. Chucky hadnʼt mentioned it, but I could pretty safely assume so.

“… I was fourteen.”

Another perfect coincidence. I smiled. “Yes, you and I might have gotten along just fine.”

Not often did I think about that other kid at school, the only one who had asked me to be his girlfriend, Darry Cade. The pussy. Another missed chance to make a friend. If he had been Chucky, I knew he’d have agreed to run away with me. There was not a time in his life in which he would have turned down such an offer. Chucky was many things, but he wasn’t a pussy.

“What were you up to back then?”

“Oh, you know…” I shrugged, gazing down at my hands, wondering what childhood he had painted in his mind for me already, and how far it’d be from the reality. “We were just a normal family. Mom, dad, me, Bri… I went to school, I looked after my little sister, I helped my mom around with housework… It was a good life. Normal. I just… It was a bit stifling, you know? And you know how mothers can be kinda bossy—”

“Not my mom,” he said with clear pride in his voice. “She was the coolest. She let me stay up late, reading all night, even on a schoolday.”

“Lucky you,” I chuckled. “Mine was… She wasn’t so cool. And my dad, he was always somewhere else, only home for dinner…”

A stowaway ant had crawled its way out of a daisy, and onto Chucky’s brow. It went down the thin path of an old pale scar. I recognized it as the traces of scratches I had given him some time ago. They were almost invisible, except under a certain angle and a certain light.

“But it was a good life, all things considered. I can’t really complain.”

I could –but I didn’t want to. Besides, what was the use? Just to have him pity me? For him to bitch about how much I bitched?

He felt the ant on his face and raised his hand to try and kill it. I clicked my tongue. Carefully, I picked it with my nails, like I would pluck an eyebrow hair with tweezers. Slowly, I crushed the little bug until it stopped squirming.

“You know, Tiff,” he said with a smirk. “It’s that type of fine upbringing that makes us such outstanding citizens.”

We both burst out laughing.

Not very far from us, I heard the coos and babbles of a cute baby in a bucket hat. The parents laughed along and encouraged them, holding their little chubby hands, and helped them give a couple stumbling steps on the grass. I watched the family keenly. Sometimes I made an effort to remember my first memory; whatever it was, I had to guess it was probably something similar to that scene of the parents with their baby. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t quite picture it, though. I had a bunch of scattered images of me being dressed up by my mother, me being bounced on my father’s knee, me with my toothless mouth open wide, either in a laugh or in a scream, but then I realized these were all photos we had around my parents’ house. Real details were fuzzy. Both of my parents had looked the same across the years, so I had no way to know which event came first, whether a blurry, off-key Christmas pageant was during kindergarten or during elementary already, or whether a frosting-covered cake, made to look like a big hoop skirt for one of my dolls, was lit up for my fifth or for my seventh birthday. I do remember throwing a tantrum when I lost my favorite star-shaped barrette during the performance. I remember wondering if my doll’s cheek would melt with the fire of the candles.

“My mom thought I’d end up being a doctor,” Chucky commented quietly, lost in thought. “I mightʼve gotten into medical school, like my dad.”

“Mm… We should probably think about getting jobs by now,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Shouldn’t we?”

He stroked my hair. “… Well, we might not need to.”

I looked back up at him. “You say we just keep on looting?”

“I mean,” he shrugged. “We can probably manage just fine that way.”

“Come on, most people don’t carry that much in their wallets,” I said with a frown. “Besides, you never take care of groceries and stuff, it’s easy for you to say so—”

“Alright, alright…” he huffed, taking off his sunglasses and pressing his eyelids. “I’ll see if I can get hired for something.”

I went back to resting my head on his chest, and considered what my options were. “You know, I used to want to be an actress.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… But I wasn’t any good at it. I had to give it up.”

“Shame.”

“I guess I’m not that good at anything besides killing,” I said, letting out a resigned chuckle.

There was a pause. Chucky then propped himself up on his elbows. “Hey –don’t say that. You’re a damn great cook, and you had that job at the hair salon for years… I don’t think you’d be able to hold down a job for so long if you didn’t do something right.”

I smiled at him. Genuine, creative compliments weren’t his strong point, and he was particularly stingy with them. Still, he had made an effort, and truthfully, I was more than a little bit moved. “Guess so.”

“Only thing…”

“What?”

“You do drive like a goddamn maniac.”

I laughed out loud. “Why, thank you, darling.”

“Am I wrong?”

I pounded my fist on his shoulder, laughing louder. He wrapped his arms around me, his chest shaking as he repressed a giggle, trying to get me to stop hitting him. It took a while before I calmed down, still smiling, and plopped down over him. He took off my glasses and set them over his own, making me laugh longer, louder, with those little snorts that he always found so funny. Just straight ahead of me, I noticed one of the other couples sitting up on the grass and shooting me a glare. Probably thinking I was too loud. I flipped them off. What a goddamn need some people had, to get all up in other people’s business.

“Do you ever think about being, like…? Normal?” I asked.

“You say this isn’t normal?”

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I mean… Like, a more traditional way of life.”

Chucky frowned and thought about it for a moment. “You mean white picket fence, two and a half kids, disposal in the sink, that sort of stuff?"

“Yeah. That sort of stuff.”

“No. I never think about it,” he scoffed. “Listen, Tiff, can you really imagine me working a nine to five? Carrying a stupid briefcase around, like a goddamn yuppie?”

“No…”

“So? We have a good life. We have all we need. All we could ever want.”

I gave it some thought. He was right, in a way. We had each other, and a nice place all for ourselves, and our fun little hobby. Really, what more could we ask for?

Well, for starters, I would have liked a real house. Not that our apartment wasn’t perfect, because it was. But I had always dreamed of a proper house, with a good kitchen, a dining room, a nice big bathroom with a tub, somewhere with a yard where I could grow flowers, and that would have a porch on which to sit on summer evenings… And a wedding, that would be really nice too. I gazed at Chucky’s face, breathing softly, his eyes closed behind the two pairs of sunglasses. It would make a funny sight, him dressed up in a proper tux, waiting for me at the end of the aisle. Before we left for Chicago, I had the luck to be invited to Connie’s wedding, back in Hackensack. It had been such a beautiful occasion –even though the groom was a cheating bastard. And, as silly as it could seem, I still dreamed of a white wedding, a proper one, big and impressive and with a lot of guests, and a big poofy silk-and-lace dress, in a grand church, and full of flowers and music and light, just like Connie’s. The sort that would make the local news. That would be a true dream come true, I sighed, coming down back to reality.

Only thing that would be missing from it, then, would be…

“Have you ever thought about having kids?” I asked him.

Chucky scoffed again. “Fuck no—”

“Come on, don’t tell me you haven’t considered it at least once.”

“What would I want kids for? Just to have them demand attention all day, and cry out all night?” He shot me a look from under the sunglasses. “I already got you for that.”

“Kids keep you company once you’re old,” I pointed out, thinking about something Connie had told me, part of the reason she had married her boyfriend. “It’s actually a pretty smart long-term decision to have children, when you think about it. Like an investment.”

“Well, let’s just agree to disagree.”

I pouted and poked his cheek. “Aw, are you that bad with kids?”

“Nah, I’m good with kids. It’s just that I hate them,” he replied. God forbid he admit he was bad at anything. “You know, those little fuckers can get pretty wily once they start walking.”

“What, did a baby try to bite a finger off you once, or something?”

“I grew up in an orphanage, Tiff. I know what kids can be like.”

I rolled my eyes, and looked down at the grass, pulling little green blades. Everything pointed to me not being able to change his mind. Not that I was suggesting anything, of course. We were just saying stuff to pass the time. He did notice some kinda shift in my mood, though. With a little sigh, he sat up, picked a buttercup from his hair, and tickled my neck with it, getting me to smile again.

“Listen, babe, we’re just not cut out for... For the supposed normal life,” Chucky said, in his best attempt at being reassuring. “We’re not like others. We are who we are. And we are… We’re special . And besides,” He put the buttercup up over my ear. My dark roots were showing again already. “I wouldn’t be a good father anyway. You know that.”

“I don’t know about a father… But I think you’d be a good husband.”

He snorted, and leaned back to lay on the grass, staring up at the sky. “Very funny, Tiff.”

I rested my chin on his chest. “You know that, if you popped the question, I’d say yes in a heartbeat. Right?”

He forced an unconvincing laugh. “Sure.”

“I’m serious!” I insisted. I turned his jaw so he would be looking straight at me. He rolled his eyes. “Hey. I love you, Chucky. You know that.”

He looked me in the eye, and finally gave me a genuine smile. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, what’s so funny about it?”

“It’s just… Come on, Tiff, this is crazy talk! Marriage? Really ? Do you honest to God think I would be a good husband?” Chucky huffed. “We’d just end up trying to kill each other. And you’d ditch me the second I got too old for the chase.”

“Don’t be stupid, Chucky,” I said, sitting back up. Did he really have that idea of me? “I wouldn’t leave you for the world, even if you got all ugly and wrinkly and fucked up in the face.”

“You say that now—”

“After all, you’d do the same if I got all fucked up,” I said with a shrug. “Right?”

He glanced at me, and let a few too many seconds pass by. “… Yeah, sure.”

I gave him a shove. He let out a real, bright laugh.

“You asshole, not even I am that shallow!” I cried, trying not to laugh too, as he shoved me back. “If I were, I wouldn’t have stayed with you for this long—”

He laughed again. I tried to slap his arm but he grabbed my hand, so I slapped his shoulder with my other hand, and we play-fought, him pushing me on my back and trying to tickle me, me giggling uncontrollably and trying to kick him off me, while at the same time swatting his hands as best I could, trying to gain the upper hand and tickle him back. I finally managed to grab his shoulders and shove him back and climb on top to straddle him –though there was a good chance he just let me overpower him this once –and distracted him from the little roughhousing with a kiss, declaring myself the winner of this round.

Chucky never said it out loud, but I knew how he really felt about all these things. Maybe I was being kinda stupid for thinking about our future like that. I just couldn’t take my mind off it. The more time that it passed with us together, the more I was convinced that, as much as he didn’t seem to care about that sort of life, this thing that we had was definitely gonna last. And if we were going to stay together, then what was so wrong about trying to plan for it? 'Live for today' , or however his personal philosophy went, didn’t need to come into conflict with just thinking things ahead of time.

I was spending a lot longer than I would have liked to admit, wondering these things to myself. Sometimes I did wonder if we’d ever truly get too old for the chase, having to, for whatever reason, stop going on our hunting dates. That might have been what scared Chucky, the idea of not being able to do what he loved anymore. Maybe he thought that a little more traditional life would clash with that –but why should it? Why wouldn’t we be able to be who we were, and still enjoy all the middle-class perks and comforts? After all, not all serial killers had to be rednecks and bums. We were smart, we could find some way to make it work. All I really needed was for him to see how good this could be, for the both of us.

After all, I knew he couldn't deny how much better it was to be comfortable in a little place of our own. 

Unboxing all our stuff took us a lot more time than we spent packing. Since we didn’t have anywhere to put our clothes at first, we just left them in the suitcases. The priority was to take out the more fragile things: while Chucky put away the knives and our mugs and the little dishware we had brought with us, I spent some time unwrapping my doll collection and my trinkets that would adorn the mantle. At the bottom of the box, lying awkwardly on a pile of Chucky’s books, I found Peeping Tommy, and beamed at the sight of him. Of course I knew he would have brought him along with us to Chicago, but still, seeing the tiny clown in the flesh was a relief. What wasn’t so nice was to notice the poor little guy hadn’t gotten through the trip unscathed: there was a long thin crack going from the upper side of his face down to his nose. It was barely noticeable, I told myself, running my finger through it, but it was still something I knew I should take care of. I decided to leave it in the box for the time being, and once we had settled down better and I could start buying back all my doll-fixing supplies, my glue and my paints, I would get Tommy looking as good as new.

And settling down in the apartment didn’t seem to be difficult, at first, until we realized just how many things we were actually needing. Some basic stuff was all covered, like heating and toiletries, but we basically ate all our meals either standing up by the counter in the kitchen, or on the sofa we got for the living room. Flea markets and garage sales were where we found most of our furniture, and we brought them up to the apartment after tying it up to the roof of the car and some effort to bring it up the stairs. First thing we got was a sleeper sofa, to at least have somewhere to lay down that wasn’t a couple of pillows on the floor, until we could get ourselves a decent bed. Eventually we found a beautiful old wrought iron bed frame, a good-enough mattress, and a dresser, and two little side tables. A couple weeks later we took a trip to the local Goodwill, and I got a few picture frames where to put some magazine cutouts to adorn the walls, so they weren’t so bare, while Chucky examined some knickknacks and wandered around the t-shirt section. We both had our own collections: I had my dolls, of course, and collector’s magazines, but also a few china figurines, old cake toppers, porcelain pillboxes, pretty candles, and interestingly-shaped bottles; while he collected animal bones, small statues of skeletons and devils, retro masks, and other weird little knickknacks –anything that called his attention, really. The more the merrier. I didn’t manage to find a new sewing machine at a decent price, however, which was what I missed the most of my old things at Hackensack that I couldn’t bring with me to Chicago.

The bedroom, more than the kitchen or even the living room, was the place that was the most lived-in. Chucky piled his books by the side of his bed for the first month or so, before he got tired of having such a hard time organizing them, and decided he would make shelves. It was his first time doing any carpentry work, apart from that forgotten Ikea table, and with his lack of patience and our lack of tools I knew before he even started that he’d end up with a swollen finger or two, at the very least. He refused my help, shocker, and since after a while he got particularly worked up, I decided to leave him to it and watch TV, keeping the volume low enough so I could snicker at his swearing and little tantrums. Still, it worked out well enough, the shelves weren’t too crooked, and I could display the rest of my collection, and he could place his books so he could organize them more easily. Similarly, I soon got sick of having to dive through the suitcases to find the clothes I couldn’t stuff in the dresser drawers. He managed to get us a clothing rack from which we hung our coats and my dresses, and a few days later I found an empty dollhouse at the Goodwill that I fixed up and refashioned into a shoe sorting thing. I even got us a tall, pretty bamboo palm from a hardware store, to bring a little life into the living room.

Slowly, piece by piece, the apartment became a proper home. A month or so later we could already say we were nicely settled.

I made an in-depth analysis of my options around the city before I took the car for a checkup. Luck would have it that the guy at the garage trusted me with a place to get the license plate changed, so I wouldn’t be caught with a stolen vehicle. Darnell’s was the name of the place, managed by this large man, Darnell himself, who was really interested in it. He offered me some pretty good money for it, even after I told him it wasn’t for sale. Truth be told, his last bid was a really tempting one, but I reminded myself that the Pontiac wasn’t just another joyride. This one had sentimental value. Besides, what was I gonna do with the money? Get me a shitty Chevette? No way.

We spent most days cruising around and getting acquainted with the city. We did the touristy stuff for a few days, and then we just became familiar with the neighborhood, so then we could branch out and go further. We got a feel of which streets were the most patrolled, and which ones were the best for when we wanted to go on our special hunting dates and pass by undetected. The change of scenery was really exciting at first. The new routine didn’t last very long, though: at first, it was as if we were the only two people in the entire world. But as time went on, Chucky started going out on his own during the day, only showing up late at night for us to head out together. He slept at home, but he would sometimes not even be there when I woke up, and so I had to have breakfast on my own –not even back in Hackensack he ever left me to have lonely mornings. Maybe I would have been able to understand it better if it wasn’t so inconsistent. Some days he’d be there to wake me up with a kiss; some days he would be gone and wouldn’t even show up until the next evening. I didn’t have a job to keep me distracted yet. I only had him, there in Chicago, and when he wasn’t there, it really felt like I had nothing at all.

And I hate having to wait. I hate empty moments. I hate silences. My hands start trembling if too much time passes and I don’t have anything to do. I need something to devote myself to. 

So I did my best to keep myself busy. When he wasn’t around I took out the Pontiac, filled it up, and scoured the city for cool new places to visit, for when he finally showed his face again. It became my new occupation to find restaurants we could go to, and nice cinemas, and a few clubs that didn’t sell drinks that cost an arm and a leg. I also applied for jobs, but nothing came up; besides, I didn’t really want to do anything that was too far from our new home.

One Tuesday afternoon I was alone again, so I drove to a record store I had my eye on. After all, I had a car now, so it stands to reason that I was needing my own tape collection. I picked some of the loose change I had scattered under the car seat, fixed my lipstick in the rearview mirror, and got into the place. I think the music that was blasting in there was some B-52s, but I’m not completely sure. There was a guy by the cash register reading a newspaper, with the front page announcing the latest murder of an insurance salesman by Irving Park, not too far from where the store was. I looked away from it with a little smile. Going through the box of tapes on sale, I found Purple Rain ; I picked it up and turned the case and went over the tracklist, and out of a sudden I remembered it had been a Prince song, the first one on that list, that which had been blaring out the loudspeakers at that Hackensack nightclub years ago. It surprised myself to even remember that. I wondered if Chucky remembered it, too.

“Hey,” I said to the nearest person, thinking she was an employee. “You got any Joan Jett?”

“I don’t work here,” she said, and turned around towards the cash register. “Hey, Jack! Look alive, you got a customer.”

The guy looked up from his newspaper. As soon as he saw me, his mouth gaped open, and then it struck me. 

“Tiffany?”

“ Jack ?”

God knows how I recognized him. He had badly chopped his hair into a homemade mullet, replacing the scruffy look he had as a teen. There were scars of recent shaves on his jaw, little dots that weren’t fully healed yet. All in all, though, he did look healthier: no longer sunken eyes and cheeks, no more the look of someone who slept on park benches. I wondered how different I must have looked to him, from that scrawny sixteen-year-old he had first met.

“Wow, it’s really you!” he smiled. “Damn, it’s been a while.”

“Ten years?”

“Give or take, yeah, I guess…”

I stared at him, wondering what the odds were for us to ever meet again –and in Chicago, of all places. For a moment I had a sudden worry that he might have somehow followed me from New York… But that made no sense, of course. And besides, if he knew anything about me, it was that it wasn’t wise to piss me off.

“What’re you doing here? Promoting your band?”

“Man, I wish. I’m hitchhiking my way to San Francisco,” he declared, as if that was a particularly cool thing to do. “Money’s been tight lately, so a friend got me this job, for the time being.”

“Huh.”

“What about you?” Jack asked, leaning forward. “You wanted to be an actress, right? I really thought you’d make it, back in New York.”

I scoffed and looked away, cursing at myself for even smiling in his direction. Still, I wondered if he meant it. He knew I had wanted to be someone. If he ever believed I had what it takes to be a star, he didn’t really say it until now.

“You know, the old twists and turns of life… You never know what fate’s got in store.”

The initial shock of reuniting with him finally washed away. We were never a thing. He never agreed to call me a girlfriend. If anything, more than regret, I had resentment.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, gesturing towards it. “Did the finger ever grow back?”

“Not yet, but I’m still holding out hope.”

I gave him an open-mouth grin. Jack just kept smiling, perfectly calm, as if we were discussing the weather. I wondered what he told people who asked about his wound. It was a given that he’d never tell anyone a not-girlfriend chopped it off at the back of a movie theater. Maybe he’d say he lost it in a knife fight, that surely sounded convincing enough. Back when I was in the dating pool, I had met a couple guys who liked to point out their domestic accidents and cat scratches, and say stuff like they had been assaulted at knifepoint and somehow miraculously managed to fight the attacker off with barely a scrape. And I’d smile, too, because I knew that that was what they wanted me to respond with.

“You’re, uh… You’re looking good,” he said with a nod, his eyes still fixed on me. Then he glanced down the neckline of my minidress, like they always did. My own smile faltered. “Real good.”

Should have seen it coming. He wouldn’t be half as nice to me if he didn’t have something else in mind.

I glared at him. Better to make it clear right then and there. “I have a boyfriend.”

Jack’s smile became less natural, stiffer, more of a grimace. Disappointment could have that sort of instant effect, I thought, biting my tongue. “Oh –really?”

“Yeah, really,” I said with a chuckle, quirking my eyebrows. “Two years, actually. Going nice and steady.”

“Wow. Lucky dude.”

He might pretend he had forgotten about trying to get his hand under my skirt. I hadn’t forgotten how Jack had stood me up in the dead of winter. Briefly I considered inviting him over, so Chucky and I could have some fun with him –but I decided to be forgiving, and let bygones be bygones. After all, I could be merciful. I could be nice.

“Sure is.”

“Is he here with you, in Chicago?”

I sucked on my teeth. The guy just didn’t give up. 

“Was his idea to come, actually.”

“You happy with him?”

What’s it to you? , I almost snapped. Instead, I just closed my hand into a fist, took a deep breath, and smiled. “Happier than ever.”

“Good,” Jack said, finally getting the message. “Good to know.”

I nodded. We kept silent for a moment.

“… You came for tapes?”

At least that gave us some room to talk like normal people.

Jack jabbered on and on about the Chicago music scene, complained about 'all these goddamn posers and sellouts ', and listed bands I had never heard of. I pretended to be really invested in all of this, even managing to ask a few questions for his sake. I'm not sure why I did it. I guess that a part of me still had some affection for him, somehow, after all this time. And Jack was genuinely happy to see me again, despite me leaving him with an uneven number of fingers. I think that was weirder than me taking some pity on him and allowing him to ramble on about his hobbies.

“Hey, by the way,” he finally said as he focused back on me. “When did you arrive in Chicago?”

“Hm, about three months ago? I think?”

Jack nodded. He took out a piece of paper and scribbled a number and an address. “Listen, if you ever need anything, like, I don’t know, some tools, some contacts in the city… I got a few guys who can help out.”

“Guys?”

“Yeah, folks I know ‘round here.”

I frowned. There was a feeling that there was something left unsaid. Like he expected me to do something in exchange. He handed me the paper. I looked at it. It really was just phone numbers and addresses, and a small list of names. His was included at the top.

“Last week I had an issue with the heater at the place I’m staying over. Paulie there,” he pointed at the paper. “He came over and fixed it for me. I paid him in lunch and beer. He’ll probably take the same from you, if you ever need to give him a call.”

I folded the paper and tucked it into my bag before he changed his mind. “Why’re you being nice to me?”

“You mean, because of this?” he asked as he raised his hand. “Well… Boyfriend or no boyfriend, I remember how hard things were, back then,” Jack said, scratching the back of his head. “I guess one can use all the help one can get.”

That did get me to give him an honest smile. I had no way of knowing whether or not Jack was being honest, obviously –but it was just an offer. And who knew, maybe I would end up needing some help, God forbid. I wasn’t gonna say no to a possible lifesaver because of some old stupid fight from back when I was a teenager... As tempted and justified as I was to keep the grudge.

“After all, you never know what fate’s got in store,” he shrugged. “Right?”

“Right.”

 Jack smiled at me again. I smiled back. It was so ugly, to feel those teenage crush heartstrings being pulled once more, after so long. It was difficult to even remember that I still hated him. We talked a little more, we said our goodbyes, and after a while I left the store with a pretty good haul of Lita Ford and The Pretenders.

So, really, it turned out a good deal of the ‘help’ Jack had offered me were the numbers of a few of his friends: weed dealers, aspiring musicians and desperate handymen. But he knew the local scene much better than I did, even with less time in Chicago than Chucky and I had, so I kept it. In the end, I liked the idea of having at least one friend in this new city, at least until I could properly feel at home.

Summer was soon on its last legs, and then it was fall again, and the cold came back with a vengeance. We were both really thankful the fireplace at the apartment was fully functional. Only problem was, neither one had gotten jobs yet. Money had gotten tight, and we were really living from kill to kill, taking all we could from the bodies we slaughtered. Most of all, whoever we chose during our dates was always a gamble. Since we were working together, there was no chance any of our victims managed to overpower both of us and escape, that was for sure. But people who dressed up to the nines did not always have much cash on them: our golden tickets, rich people who flaunted it and carried fat wallets, were pretty rare. That was without even mentioning how they tended to stroll around richer areas of the city, with heavier surveillance and cops in every corner. We were bold, but we weren’t stupid.

In the end, til either one of us got a new job to at least take care of groceries, we’d make do with our loot and a bunch of savings we kept under the mattress. That did mean less movie nights and less eating out, but it was sort of a given this would happen; and besides, both of us had gone through hard enough times to not make too much of a fuss about it.

We had missed the date for spring cleaning by a couple months, so one afternoon I decided we would get things done and finally make the apartment look neat and organized for once. It definitely wasn’t an empty two-room anymore: the clutter we had been gathering had turned pretty worrying. It wasn’t that we didn’t have room for it all, because we certainly did. The issue was putting everything in its proper place.

“You’re gonna do the bathroom, right, hun?” I asked him after I had changed into the oversized Betty Boop t-shirt I didn’t mind getting dirty, putting on the rubber gloves and heading to the kitchen.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded, still staring at the TV.

“Hey –did you listen to me, Chucky?”

“Yeah, I said I heard you already,” he said, and finally turned around. “I am gonna do the bathroom… And it’s damn near impossible not to listen to you, you’re always screeching.”

I was about to snap back at him –but told myself that if we started arguing, then nothing would get done.

The kitchen was bigger than the one at my Hackensack apartment, but small enough that, thankfully, cleaning it didn’t take too much effort. All I needed to do was water down some bleach, soak up a rag, and give everything a wipe. The biggest issues were the fridge and the oven –but the fridge only needed to be cleaned once a year, and I rarely used the oven anyways, so that could wait a little longer.

“When d’you think you’re gonna be able to take care of the bathroom, sweetface?” I asked him once I was done, coming back into the living room, pulling the rubber gloves off my hands and checking I hadn’t messed up my nails. “I’d hope your very busy schedule can be cleared out before New Year.”

“You’re a riot and a half, Tiff.”

The TV was still on, but he was no longer paying attention to it. Instead, he had sprawled all over the couch, chewing on the end of a pencil, staring at something in the pages of his sketchbook. He was working on the last blank ones: all the previous pages were all creased and worn. On the coffee table was an old box of black pencils, also worn down and almost empty, a pencil sharpener full of shavings, and the very small end of an eraser that was a few more uses away from disappearing completely.

“Huh. I didn’t know you were such a dedicated artist.”

I wondered with a giddy smile if he was drawing me, and tried to catch a glimpse of the page he was working on, but he quickly closed the sketchbook before I could manage to make out anything.

“Hey –no peeking!”

“Why? Are you drawing nudes, or something?”

“Yeah, I’m drawing you inside out,” he joked, before going back to it. “No, it’s just… It’s just doodles. None are that finished yet.”

“I wanna see them, when they’re done.”

He glanced up at me, and gave me a smaller, non-compromising smile.

“Alright, I’m gonna tackle the mess that’s the bedroom,” I declared, stretching my arms and preparing myself for the challenge. “Would you go down and get a roast from Sawyer’s, so we can have dinner later?”

“… Huh?”

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and put my hands on my hips. Chucky did that far too often recently, pretending he didn’t hear me to get away from doing basic helpful things around the place. “I said, go down and get a roast from Sawyer’s.”

He drew in a sharp breath. “Sorry, no can do.”

“Oh, really? What stops you?”

“Well, I’m… I’m busy,” he insisted, turning his sight down to the sketchbook.

“With what?” Being too into a drawing was no damn excuse. “’Cause it’s certainly not cleaning the bathroom nor tidying up the bedroom.”

“That mess is all yours,” he said. “My clothes are on the rack.”

“You wear my sweaters—!”

“Yeah, exactly – your sweaters.”

I huffed. Granted, he was, admittedly, a little more organized than I was. He did hang up his coat when he came home, and he did put his ties on the rack and folded his t-shirts –that is, if he even remembered I had them washed. Me, I guess I could happen to be a little more scatterbrained… But still, with everything I did around the house, the least Chucky could do was lend a hand. It wasn’t just about the clothes, of course: he was the one who’d complain first about dust bunnies gathering in the corners of the room, all the while he didn’t even know where the broom was kept. He never wiped his feet before coming into the apartment, even though we had a perfectly good doormat. He always left the used wet towels on the floor of the bathroom. And that was all without even mentioning how he never even cooked or helped around the kitchen. Only time he ventured in there was to raid the fridge anyways.

I slammed the handful of wrinkled bills and coins on the only empty space on the coffee table. “It’s all there. And make sure they don’t rip you off,” I told him. “Count it. And remember to bring my change.”

“I’m not fucking going!”

“Yes, you fucking are,” I said, shooting him a glare. “Or you’ll fucking starve.”

“I’m not even hungry.”

Right on cue, his stomach rumbled, very loudly. I smiled. He groaned with a drawn-out eye roll. 

“ Fine . Fucking Christ,” he muttered, shutting the sketchbook, tossing it to the side, and getting on his feet. He stopped on his tracks when he reached the kitchen –he just had to have the last word. “You really get off on bossing around, huh?”

“Look who’s talking!”

He yanked his coat off the door hook, threw it over his shoulders, and stormed out.  

I cursed him out, grumbling under my breath. Recently he had been particularly thin-skinned, flying into a rage at the slightest provocation –whether it was a real one or imagined. He had always been quick to anger, especially if he hadn’t killed anyone in a while, but this was turning ridiculous. I was about to count the days since our last date when I reminded myself that, actually, it was none of my business. If he wanted to get into a hissy fit because I asked him to do one simple thing then that was his problem. Chucky could deal with it himself; he was supposed to be a grown man, for God’s sake.

All I could do was hope that he would be back with the roast before it was time for dinner.

Going back to the bedroom, I tried to get back to tidying up. I’d be used enough to my own chaos I wouldn’t have any hard time finding my stuff. Living with someone else meant another pair of hands eager to mess with my delicate order, which didn’t help matters. I was done with folding and stuffing sweaters in the drawers, and my shoes were already in their proper rooms in the dollhouse, and my jackets were hanging along with his. Next up, I sorted accessories, looking for my belts in the drawers, cursing at myself for not setting them aside in the clothing rack, hanging from a hanger like with his ties, where I could find them more easily. Humming to myself to manage my frustration, I almost didn’t hear the front door creaking open.

I stopped rummaging for a moment, and listened. There was the familiar weight of his shoes, along with the crinkling of a plastic bag. Of course it was him. Who else could it be? I needed to keep focused on tidying up, because if I got too distracted, I’d find something else to do, and then I would never finish clearing out the mess. I kept searching, throwing balled socks and tangled stockings to the sides, huffing and sticking my hand as deep as I could to feel around for anything that felt like leather. The steps came closer behind me, and there was the creaking of the floorboards by the bedroom doorway.

“I’ve come to get you—!”

I turned around halfway through a sigh –but I got a quick look at Chucky just before he was almost already against me –he was wearing this black apron, and was holding a cleaver in his right hand. At the sight of it I opened my eyes wide and gasped, and before I could say anything he was already circling me with his arm –and I squealed and laughed, trying to get away.

“I dare you—!” I cried, trying hard to keep a scowl on my face, and failing spectacularly.

“Yes, my dear, your time has come!”

Chucky picked me up for a moment, and I kept laughing, too tickled by his fingers clutching my sides to even pretend to be scared. I wriggled a bit and even without elbowing him or anything he had to put me down again –and I felt the cold metal of the cleaver’s square edge touching my arm –and he tried to pick me up once more. He realized it was no use, but he was just happy with trying to hold me to stay still –which, with only one arm, was harder than he had expected.

“I’m gonna cut you up!” Chucky exclaimed, in a funny British accent. “Cut you up and cook you for dinner!”

“H-how?” I managed to blurt out in a wheeze, between laughs. “You, who c-can’t fry a steak to save his life?”

I got free, and in a split second wondered where he had gotten that cleaver from (he had most likely bought it partly with the change from the butcher’s, I realized later), and whether I had any chances to grab it off his hand, when I stupidly tried to turn to him just as I stepped away and tripped over the bed. Holding his arms up to the sides as if he was a monster preying on me, the cleaver in his hand almost touching the blades of the ceiling fan, Chucky lurched forward, very slowly. I giggled, covering my mouth with my hand.

“You’ll see –I’ll eat you up…”

With the biggest grin, he bit the large square blade of the cleaver, holding it between his teeth, and charged against me –tickling me while I laughed and squirmed and squealed. I gave him little punches to his chest, in my attempt at fighting back, while keeping away from the knife he had pointed at me coming from his face. At some point I was laughing way too much, a full body laugh, with my back on the unmade bed, my eyes tightly shut and my knees buckling, and I couldn’t even see where I was grabbing. I was confident, even half aware of it as I was, that I had managed to lay my hands against Chucky’s shoulders, pushing them back. From there it wasn’t very difficult to go up to his neck, where I could curl my fingers and sink my thumb, pressing with my nail, pulling him down along with me. I felt the poking tip of the cleaver against my arm, but I didn’t care. Soon enough he had stopped tickling me, and I could open my eyes again.

Kneeling on the floor, still with the knife between his teeth, Chucky cocked his head as well as he could, what with my hands wrapped around his neck, to get his hair off his face. I let him go, breathing heavily, and propped myself up with my elbows. He grabbed the handle of the cleaver and took it out of his mouth. There was a damp half-circle on the blade where his chompers had been holding it. I giggled.

“God, you’re such a kid.”

“But you love it,” he said, still with that smug smirk of his, now in his normal voice.

“Yeah… I guess I do,” I sighed, smiling, looping a finger under the straps of the apron that went around his neck, and looked down at the cleaver under his hand. “You’re gonna be the disposal expert, now?”

“The knife’s for me,” he replied. “But the apron’s for you.”

“Shame. It looks good on you.”

“I know,” he snickered. “Still... I wouldn’t fill it out as nicely as you would.”

I chuckled, and he leaned closer, and I gave him a kiss. His hand cupped my jaw as he kissed me back.

“You better share your toys,” I told him once I pulled away, gasping for air.

Chucky pressed his forehead against mine. “You’ll get your turn.”

We kept kissing, opening our mouths a little wider, moving closer. He brushed the cleaver against my thigh, softly. His other hand wasn’t as delicate: he was already grabbing me, now going down to my waist, finding the hem of my t-shirt and getting right under it. I helped him out, taking it off and pulling it over my head and throwing it to the side of the bed. He smiled when he got a peek at my pretty white lace bra –but I didn’t give him much time to enjoy the view. I reached behind his nape to pull him back to me, and kissed him as if my life depended on it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the cleaver coming closer, felt it tracing its way up my thigh, over my torso, before settling on my chest, just around my collarbone. It was barely touching me so far –but once Chucky got it where he wanted, I felt the edge of it, the blade pressed against my skin, not wanting to cut yet. Like a silent threat. My pulse began to quicken. I leaned back for a second, breaking up the kiss.

“How sharp is it?” I asked him in a whisper, looking into his eyes.

“You tell me.”

I grinned, and leaned forward once more, not for a kiss but to see if he’d keep his hand still, holding the cleaver, the tip of it already itching to get deeper into me. See if he’d chicken out. All the while I kept staring him down, daring him to push it even further.

His eyes flitted from the knife to my own eyes. For the briefest moment I saw the same stunned thrill I had seen back when we first met. But the knife was closer now. And we weren’t strangers anymore.

Chucky pressed further, just a little bit, turning the cleaver so only the thin edge of it would touch me; and then dragged it along, drawing a short red line below my collarbone and just over my heart. I winced and whined quietly, tensing my arms, curling my toes. There was a pang of pain, and the sting of broken skin. It wasn’t deep at all –but it wasn’t exactly a papercut either –and I let out a small sigh when I felt the first drop of blood trickling down my chest. He lowered the cleaver, leaned closer and kissed the wound. I shut my eyes and grit my teeth. His lips were warm, but what really made me shudder was the wet tip of his tongue, running across the cut. It brought to mind religious pictures I’d seen as a kid –inappropriate pictures, even for Sunday school –of saints kissing Jesus’ wounds. I laughed to myself, wondering if they had used tongue too.

He moved away and looked up at me, with a bit of red on his mouth. And he smiled –maybe he thought he was tickling me, by the way I was giggling.

“You do look good enough to eat.”

I stroked his cheek and pulled his lower lip down softly with the nail of my thumb. There was a thin thread of blood on his teeth, pooling around his pink gums. And he kept gazing up at me, with those big hungry eyes... I barely noticed myself doing so –but I spread my thighs to the sides, a bit wider than before. He looked down. He understood immediately. 

Bringing the cleaver down, Chucky pushed my right knee even further, focusing on the inside of my thigh. Then I understood. We shared a brief look before he traced the way from my knee to the seam of my panty with the tip of the knife, sending a shiver up my spine.

“Stay still,” he ordered.

“Or what?”

Chucky brought the sharp tip of the cleaver against the growing little damp spot. I gasped.

“Or we’re gonna have a little accident.”

I closed my hands into fists. He pressed the blade harder against the panty. I did feel a rush of dread, even as sure as I was that it was all an empty gesture. He watched my face, clearly loving my uneasiness, before twisting his wrist and turning the cleaver in his hand, and I felt it, thin and hard, circling my folds –I barely managed to avoid jerking my hips –a whimper escaped my lips before I could even try to stop it.

“You scared?” he asked, and he sounded delighted by the thought.

I was. Like watching a horror movie, or riding a roller coaster, where you're nice and strapped for the ride and know you're safe, knowing it doesnʼt change the fact that your body feels danger. That the only thing it can do is to become excited. 

I scoffed as well as I could. “As if you would really do it...”

As if to question my trust, Chucky suddenly pulled the tip up, gathering the fabric with its point, and kept it just in my center, right in the middle of my pussy, leaning the long edge of the blade ever so slightly against the wet panty crotch that barely gave me any security. I tensed up. He pushed it, as if he was completely ready to just slice me in half. I moaned between teeth. Only then he slowly traced the way back again through my thigh towards my knee. I gave a sigh of relief. He was now choosing where to make that new cut, I realized, while the blade went back and forth. And I was thinking about whether to lean forward or not –to watch as he worked, or if to sit back and enjoy it –when I suddenly felt the cold hard edge of the blade sinking in –deeper than before –and I shut my eyes and cried out –moving my thigh in one sharp spasm, out of sheer reflex –tensing up and helping the cut become deeper. He gripped my knee to keep it still. The stinging of the cut was strong and sudden, but quick. A bit of relief, a sense of release. Another hot drop of blood. As soon as he was done, he hurried to kiss it. The contrast was heavenly. I opened my eyes and gasped, reaching down for his head, running my fingers through his hair.

“Baby—”

He sucked on the wound for a little longer, before planting a couple wet kisses along the inside of my thigh, nibbling and biting around the cut, letting it bleed out for a moment and kissing it again. I sighed. The cleaver clanked against the floor.

Chucky had gotten me where he wanted. Without so much as a warning, he pulled my panty to the side to give my pussy a quick kiss. I wailed. I felt his self-satisfied smile just before he kissed me again, this time a longer one, pressing with his tongue, just like he had done with the wound. I whined, higher. He kept warming me up, running his thumb over the fresh cut on the inside of my thigh, smearing the blood, squeezing enough to make the sting as sharp as the pleasure. I shut my eyes and bit my lips, keeping myself as quiet as I could, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of becoming so loud so soon. When he stopped and tilted his head back –and I leaned forward to see what he was up to now –his mouth and his fingers were all sticky and red. My pulse quickened. His hands raced to pull down my panties. My heart was pounding in my ears. We exchanged another little look, and a smile.

He closed his eyes –opened wide –and ate me out, one arm circling my right thigh and holding it in place, one hand pushing down my left thigh and jamming his finger in the wound. I cried and whined and called him –rocking my hips against his face –clawing the sheets of –tugging at his hair, sinking my nails in his scalp. And he made this little low moan with the back of his throat, dragging his tongue, pushing my hips to get where he needed to, fighting against my squirming –and I just whimpered, shaking my head. There were flashes of pleasure, making me gasp and curse him out, just as there were sudden pangs of sharp pain that had me sighing and begging. God, it hurt. It really hurt, his firm butcher-like hand grabbing the slippery thigh and pinning it in place... But it did an amazing job at keeping me desperate for some kinda relief.

Another drop trickled down my chest, down my belly, drawing a red line down towards his head between my legs. We had never done this before, I managed to think. One thing was biting, slapping, binding… Another was full-on cutting. But how different was it, really? Just because it drew a little blood? Was it so weird that I liked it?

His tongue began to work faster. My hips rutted along him to match his pace. I shut my eyes tight and brought a hand to my chest, feeling my frantic heart right under the first cut he had made. I ran my finger over it. The touch of skin against the open wound obviously hurt, but just enough so that it was bearable, just enough so that it didn’t really take anything away from the bliss of his mouth working me… If anything, along with the burning cut on my thigh, it made it feel even better.

Out of nowhere he pulled back to take a breath, and I was left trying to catch my own, legs already weak, while he stretched his neck and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I grabbed the strap of his apron and dragged him to me for a deep kiss. We could rest when we were dead. One of his hands went up to my waist, pulling me closer; the other, that which had been pressing my wound, went up and cupped my tit. His mouth rushed down to my neck, my shoulder, and finally on the cut he had made below the collarbone, kissing it again and again, keeping the blood flowing. Two fingers slipped under the cup of the now red-stained bra, playing with the nipple, squeezing and pinching. It was hard to even try to keep quiet, and definitely impossible to remain still. A hand slithered behind my back, and he fiddled with it for a little bit till he managed to unhook my bra. Once he pulled it off me, he stopped to gaze at my tits with a smile, feeling them for a moment before he licked his lips –and got to kissing, sucking and nipping for dear life, lovingly, hungrily. I could only grab onto him and straddle him, feeling how much he wanted it. How much I wanted it. But it was clearly not enough.

With his mouth occupied, and one hand pulling me to him, his other hand went down and fumbled around with his apron –for a moment I thought it was gonna go under the waistband of his pants –before finally, thankfully, running over my pussy again.

 He pushed a finger in. I wailed, losing any self control I had left, and just gripped onto him, running my hands under his shirt and sinking my nails on his back. His breath was shaky, I could feel the ache in him, but he managed to keep his hand pretty steady, dipping in and out, up and down, in slow strokes. And somehow, despite my thrashing, I managed to shut my eyes and move along, automatically, on the edge of the bed, without even thinking about it, following his rhythm, as if we were one. Soon he decided my howling still wasn’t enough. He curled his finger, going quicker, and rubbed his thumb in little circles, and closed his teeth around the nub of my right nipple –and that ended every thought that was somehow still fluttering around in my mind.

He fucked me like that until I almost came. I'd given him plenty of hushed, blubbered, pathetic pleading, in between the convulsing and the contracting, but it hadn't been what he wanted from me. There was a little dribble of spit on his chin when he backed away from my chest, panting, groaning slightly when I dragged my nails harder, trying to keep him close. Just to make sure we were on the same page, I slinked one hand further down, under his waistband, under his underwear, feeling him up. My lips grazed his ear when I whispered to him about how hard he was already, and how badly I wanted it. It answered immediately by twitching in my hand. I think he chuckled and said something about me being so needy, but I could barely hear him anymore. As if I was the only needy one, anyway. He kissed my jaw a little more, all leisurely, then moved back down planting a couple light hickeys around the still sore wound on my chest. I tried to complain about him leaving me hanging like that. I brought my hand down to finish the job myself, but he stopped it. I was starting to worry that he would actually really just decide that I had had enough, just to be an asshole.

And then, he burrowed his face in the curve of my neck, and added one more finger, and his hand –his hand buried itself in me like a blade –and I could barely breathe anymore.

Not that I would ever admit it, but he had a better track record getting me off than myself. I knew perfectly well how that sort of thing would make him even more of an arrogant bastard than he already was… But, if he didn’t know it already, then he didn’t need to know.

He got me to the edge, just to the edge. He brought me to a sob. Maybe that was what he had been chasing, more than begging, more than screaming. No full release yet, but we were getting closer. Then he decided once more that it was time for a pause, and pulled away, moving back, and I still moved along with him, not wanting to stop yet. He knew what I really wanted.

“You asshole–”

“Ask nicely, or you'll get jackshit.”

“Just fuck me...”

“I mean it.”

I rolled my eyes. As if he would really leave me hanging there, when I knew he wanted it as badly as I did.

“Come on… Don’t make me wait…” I begged once more in a pained little whine, desperately reaching out for his shoulders, now putting on the show he wanted and making the pleading as straightforward as I could, knowing full well how much he liked that, how that had been his aim all along. “Please … ”

He smiled wider, clearly glad about his work, and took a little moment to breathe. Or maybe he did want to make me wait for it a little longer –who’s to say. Despite how thoroughly he had wrecked me, I managed to pull myself together, and sit back up on the edge of the bed. And, just to make sure he didn’t doubt it for a single second longer, I stroked his cheek and leaned forward, chest heaving, eyelashes fluttering, inches away from a kiss. I stared him down, down his blue glassy eyes, on his knees, in the space between my legs. Gazing up at me like that .

“ Please .”

That seemed to do the trick. Chucky fumbled in the back pocket of his pants, looking for a condom. When he finally managed to find one, he tried to open it, but his dirty fingers slipped off the plastic wrapper.

“Just give it to me—”

“I can do it.”

He couldn’t. He tried a couple more times before losing his patience and ripping it open with his teeth. I snickered, already reaching down to unbuckle his pants, while he hurried to take the apron off over his head. He climbed on the bed and I glanced down and smiled, getting a quick look of his dick, already dripping with precum, before he slipped the condom on. I pulled him down to me and kissed him slowly, running my hands over his shoulders, now making him wait a little more, like he had done with me. He still had the coppery, sweet-and-sour taste of my blood on his tongue. But he was getting impatient. He pushed me on my back, and kissed the wound on my chest one more time before going to my mouth, making me taste my own blood in his spit. And I kept thinking about the red trail rolling down my chest…

And that reminded me: “Wait, wait, wait—”

“What?” he asked, stopping for a moment to look down. “Did it break?”

“No…” I propped myself up, still panting a little bit, and ran a hand through my hair to push it off my face. “… Did you remember to put the meat in the fridge?”

For a second there he was pretty confused. Then, he laughed. “Yes, I did… Don’t worry about it.”

We kissed again, one more sloppy kiss, and he quickly turned back to my neck, which definitely helped me get my mind out of the fridge and back into the bedroom. As if he had just read my mind, he sunk his teeth down just a bit, just how I liked it. I held him tighter –gave him a long moan. It was as if I melted down on the sheets. And he wouldn’t be able to keep it together much longer either. He took a moment to get into position, pulling my hips closer. Just then –gazing up at him – my legs wrapped around his waist –then he slid into me.

I grabbed his hair in my fist –gripping hard, white-knuckled –yanked his head away from me –and I cried out, loudly, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He grinned, eyes closed, letting me pull him tighter and harder backwards, like curbing a dog with a leash. Slowly, after that initial shudder had passed, my arm relaxed; I released him, he breathed and pressed his head against my shoulder –and began rocking his hips –slow and steady –clenching his jaw –swallowing –his Adam’s apple bobbing, his neck tensing, my hands running across his skin and feeling what lay underneath. Muscles, bones, sinews, veins. He pulled me up and pressed himself against me –skin against skin –my wound stinging at the touch of him –his warm breath on my chest, panting louder, pushing harder.

“Look at me,” he demanded, when he pushed my hips higher and angled himself better, getting me to shut my eyes and cry out. “You're mine.”

He had learnt some stuff from me by now. He was better at telling me what he wanted, what he needed. Less of a straight-up fuck, more of an actual scene. I loved that. It was all I ever wanted for us. 

“C’mon,” he said, stroking my neck, pushing my chin up with his thumb. “Say you’re mine, honeybun.”

I gazed up at him, just like he had done, and smiled. “You forgot to say please.”

Out of a sudden, he frowned and stopped. I frowned, too, and was about to ask him what was wrong –if he had left the fridge open, if he had forgotten about the change, if he had somehow come already –but then the hand’s grip tightened around my neck –suddenly I couldn’t breathe –and he choke-slammed me. In my surprise I opened my eyes wide, weakly turning my head, trying to cough. 

“Still in the mood to joke around, Tiff?”

After that initial shock I managed to breathe in and chuckle a little. I had to admit I was impressed. He wasn’t too good at being harsh. He stumbled, he hurried, he didn’t play the role well enough. Last time he tried, he got too excited and it got out of hand, and I ended up furious at him, and gave him the silent treatment for about three whole days. Our last real big fight. If he was gonna be cruel, it just came easier to go all out.

“So selfish …” I said mockingly, with a little pout. Not the wisest thing, maybe, but I knew he did like it when I gave a little fight. “I think I like you better on your knees.”

“I bet you do.”

He grabbed me harder.

“You're mine,” he insisted. “C'mon. Say it. Say you’re mine.”

I grinned wider, drawing a quick breath through grit teeth. “You’re mine .”

Not what he wanted –but did I lie? His fingers closed around my neck. The warm palm of his hand pushed down my throat. It was so sudden –I tried to laugh –but it was hard to even breathe. I brought my knees closer to my chest. His hand squeezed tighter than before. I could feel my heart beating in my head. Not wanting to be less, I put my hand on top of his hand, clutching his. He let out a little strained groan, at how deep I was sinking my nails on his wrist –but he didn’t let go yet.

“Now –it’s your turn to say it, sweetface,” I managed to barely mumble, all choked up, with a quirk of my eyebrows. “Like –you mean it—”

“Say it,” he insisted, his voice becoming lower, trying very hard to seem serious –menacing, even. I decided to reign in my smile and play along for a bit. “ I’m yours .”

My eyes were starting to water. I was getting dizzy already. I’d been pressing my knees against his hips, squeezing my thighs together tight, and they were trembling a bit because of the strain, soon about to give up and go limp. It was clear that I hadn't gone limp yet, though, by how he seemed to be enjoying himself. Part of me wanted to wait a little longer, see for myself how far I could go, how far he would let me choke this time. But then again, he was already in me, and I wanted that goddamn release he kept putting off. 

My lips finally parted. His eyes opened a bit wider. A pause, to build anticipation. He was pressing hard enough that my voice came out rather husky. “… I’m yours .”

His expression shifted, and he smirked, satisfied. And then –he looped an arm under my right knee –pulling it up –thrusting harder –making me yelp. 

 “You're damn right,” he smiled wickedly, and I laughed with a wheeze. Now that was something I loved to hear from him. 

I think I had been plenty patient, all things considered. Not anymore. I pushed him closer to me with my free leg, holding him tighter. He grunted. I shut my eyes. He held me closer, found the spot that got me squirming, moved faster. I arched my back in a gasp. His breathing became more shallow. I opened my mouth and gave in with a bunch of throaty moans and whines. I was so close. I didn't hold back anymore. And he didn’t stop. One hand went to grab my left thigh, digging his thumb in the wound, making it hurt so much I could just not separate it from the rush of pleasure I was riding. With his other hand, the one that had been wrapped around my neck, he grabbed my jaw and got me to open my eyes, to look up at him, as we were reaching the end. I tried very hard not to blink, even when my eyes were blurry and burning. As if there was anything else I would rather be looking at... And he kept repeating my name through gritted teeth, calling me as he started to lose focus and turn his sight up, but I could only whine higher and higher and half-mumble profanities, his name choked out in the bottom of my throat.

In the end I finally, finally came first, with a shudder and a hoarse cry and a little warm tear running down from the corner of my eye. He came soon after.

“ Fuck —”

I lost, but it didn’t feel like that at all. The heavenly daze I found myself in stopped me from getting too mad about it. My hand trembled up to touch the bruises on my neck, then down to my chest, to press down my heart and try to soothe myself. When I looked back at my palm, it was slightly tainted red. I was still bleeding, barely so –most of it was on his chest, a smudged stain that mirrored mine. His arms finally gave out and he fell over me gently, as if in slow motion, and rested his warm cheek on my flushed chest, still breathing heavily. We were tangled together, embracing the other with unsteady arms and loose legs. It was a nice type of tired that we shared, like a nice burst of heat and swelling, like after a good cry.

“Don't go,” I asked quietly, in a whisper, wrapping my arms around him, holding him close. “Don't leave.” 

“I'm not going anywhere,” I heard him saying against my ear. “Where would I go?”

The rush of pleasure slowly gave way to the sting of the cut. It was warm and cozy there, though, by his side, in my skin, in his, despite the tired muscles, stained and sweaty. I thought about whether to go ahead, stumble off the bed and clean the wounds with some alcohol and cottonballs I kept in a tin box in the bathroom. But I didn’t want to move. Not a year ago, we would have taken a little break and then carried on, kept the blood pumping, before we could even let the bedsheets grow cold. Now we just breathed, heavily but quietly, wrapped in the other, eyes half closed.

I winced when he moved a bit so he could fit more comfortably next to me. He rolled over, and sighed, and circled my shoulders with one arm. Absentmindedly, I leaned my head against him, laying a couple little kisses on his red chest. 

 “Jesus, Tiff –you're still bleeding.”

His hand went over my inner thigh, and I moved it so he could get a better look. Meanwhile, dizzy and still struck by the soft exhausted soreness of my muscles after the release of all that tension, I sucked on a finger to get the blood from under my nails. 

“How're you feeling? Lightheaded?”

I smiled, for some reason, and nodded. I felt drunk, or high, or both.

“Yeah, you've lost a bunch of blood.”

Well, it had to be that or the choking. But I couldn’t even worry. Chucky groaned as he got up and stumbled out of the bedroom. I heard his feet going over the carpet through the living room and to the bathroom. He soon came back with the cottonballs and a box of Band-Aids, and dragged himself back to the bed.

“Shit. I forgot the rubbing alcohol.”

He sucked on his thumb and wiped some of the blood off the wound, before going over it with the dry cotton. It was as if he was playing nurse. His hands were still dirty, and as he traced the wound his finger trembled just a little from the recent strain. A sweet, funny sorta weakness. 

I reached out for him. “Darling... I love you.”

Chucky looked back up at me, and smiled. He didn't say I love you back, and I didn't need him to. I knew it. And if he loved me half as much as I loved him, then I had more than enough. You're mine , he had told me. Even as I teased him, he had to know it was true.

I really wished that could be enough. 

After that he just laid next to me, and we spent who knows how long in silence, each one lost in thought. Lately, more often than not I caught him staring at the wall, focused on something I couldn’t see, with that intense look on his face. Sometimes it was as if he wasn’t even there.

Heʼd get annoyed when I asked him about it, so I just stopped, eventually. Chucky always made up for it when he got in a good mood, when we were out on our dates, when we managed to really have some fun together. But as much fun as I had with him, I still felt lonely the rest of the time. 

I ended up calling the numbers Jack had given me, and spent more time in the store where he worked, and somehow I ended up becoming friends with him again. Well, sort of. Like before, back in New York, the key word was quiet . I went out with him during his lunch breaks, along with his coworkers (he always said there were no more available spots at the store), and they all talked about the latests bands and the top records, and about some drama between singers and their wives and their lovers, and I just ate my fries and listened to them, and laughed at their jokes, and told myself I had friends. Jack had a side job selling weed, so he was my dealer, kinda, and we would all go to the back of the record store and smoke together a little sample of his, and this is what I did so I didn’t go crazy on my own. It was good enough, mostly. Every once in a while, Jack would shoot me a funny look, or smile at me like we shared a secret, or make a comment that got the other two girls he worked with raising their eyebrows. I had the feeling he was fucking at least one of them. I knew that, whichever it was, she wasn’t the one he wished he was fucking.

Once, one of the girls, Hallie, asked me where I saw myself in five years. I didn’t know what to answer. She insisted that I had to answer something , and Jack made a joke about me being off living it up in Hollywood by then. I shut him up telling him I hadn’t been to an audition in the last six years. The other girl, whats-her-name, said that it didn’t mean I couldn’t end up working as a janitor at the Universal Studio lot, if I worked hard enough. They laughed. I distinctly remember putting my hand inside my bag and stroking the metal handle of my nail file, breathing in deep, imagining the feeling of the pressure of the blade in the flesh, and smiling at them with a little fake laugh. Meanwhile I just kept thinking of ways to kill her that would look like accidents, to calm me down. I needed someone to spend the lonely hours with, anyone, but they weren’t really my friends. 

When it was time to get back home, I made an effort to drag it out. Just in case Chucky got there first, so he'd find the apartment empty, just so he could feel how I felt. I always took the long way round and passed by the residential neighborhoods, the suburbs that looked much like where I had picked my Pontiac, and looked at the big houses, the cared-for lawns, the toys left by the children out in the driveway. There were a bunch of them with those ‘ for sale ’ signs out, but I knew I didn’t have nearly enough money or credit to afford even a mortgage. I didn’t care. I could spend hours driving through those places. If it was a weekday and it was obvious nobody was home, I would park in the middle of the street, and have a smoke, and imagine myself living there. I would have dinner cooking, and I’d spend the rest of my afternoon talking to my friends, my real friends, or playing with my kids. I had two kids in these fantasies, a boy for him and a girl for me. Chucky was in the picture, of course. When he got home the kids would dogpile him to welcome him back, and he’d laugh, and pull me close for a kiss, and then they’d tell him what they had done in school. They would be smart, real smart, I just knew it. And I would look at them proudly, and kiss the top of their heads, and Chucky would close the door, and we’d spend a nice evening all together at home.

On weekends, if the weather was nice, we could even go on the hunt, all four of us, together. I wasn’t completely sure of how this would work (especially at the beginning, when the kids were still noisy little babies), but weʼd come up with something. Eventually, it figured they could choose whether to come along with us, when they were old enough. I had my first kill at fourteen, after all: I had a feeling Chucky’s had been younger. I didn’t think it would really be too difficult for them. As long as we didn’t get caught...

Chucky rarely got home before I did. He usually arrived by the time I was either watching TV as a last resort, or when I was trying to organize the chaos that our living room always turned into, or sometimes both at the same time. Sometimes, he got home when I was making dinner, which at least meant that he would have dinner with me. Most often he didn’t even eat anything, unless I was eating, too. It had started to worry me. It hadn’t been like this back in Hackensack, or at least not that I was aware of.

“Still no job?” he asked me after hanging up his coat.

“Nope,” I said, watching him from the corner of my eye, as he loosened his tie. “What about you?” 

“Iʼll find something... Eventually.” 

He picked an apple and gave it a bite. I shot him a glare, but said nothing. Among Chucky’s many annoying little quirks, one of the weirdest was grabbing an apple, having four or five bites, and then leaving it in the fridge, as if he was saving it for later. We had three half-eaten apples, all brown and rotting, currently waiting to get thrown away with the rest of the garbage.

“You’re making dinner already.”

“You don’t say.”

“Isn’t it early?” he asked, sitting on the counter.

“It’s six o’clock.” He had arrived early, for once. I knew I should be happy about it, but I really wasn’t.

“And you’re hungry?”

“Yes, I’m hungry.”

Chucky snorted a laugh. “You’re always hungry. You know, you keep that up, youʼre gonna get huge.”

“Get your ass off the counter.”

He had another bite. I elbowed him, and he gave me a kick.

“When was the last time you ate?” I asked him. He hadn’t been home the day before, not even for breakfast. I had woken up alone, without a note or anything, and just had to trust that he’d eventually show up. When he did, he gave me no explanation. I might have still been a little bit angry at him about that.

“I dunno... Yesterday? I guess?” he shrugged. “We had dinner while watching the nine o'clock news. You made ribs and mashed potatoes. I spilled sauce on the couch and you threw a whole damn fit. Don’t you remember?”

“That was before yesterday. You didn’t have anything after that?” I insisted. “Not even coffee?”

Chucky shrugged again. Another crisp bite, and then he got off the counter, sauntered towards the fridge, and left the apple in there. Four apples to throw in the garbage. It was like a goddamn Sesame Street skit. I turned around to throw the onion skins into the trash can, and stumbled on him standing in my way, and huffed.

“Are you gonna help, or are you just gonna take up space?”

He raised his eyebrows at me. “Watch that mouth, Tiff.”

Great. When he was being all testy, and I complained, then I was just being too sensitive. But when I snapped at him, then I was being insane. I had no way to fucking win.

“So,” he said, leaning against the fridge behind me. That kitchen was too damn small to have a conversation in. It reminded me a lot of the kitchen back at home, from when I was a kid. At least I helped around with cooking. “You’re making new friends already, huh?”

I had told him about Jack and about the record store. It didn’t sound like he was happy for me.

“Well, I didn’t think you had any friends in the first place,” I replied. “Do you visit them, too? When I’m not around?”

He didn’t reply.

“Where do you go?”

“Whatʼs it to you?”

There it was. That irritated tone when I asked something completely reasonable.

“Oh, for crying out loud, Chucky,” I said, gesturing with the knife. “I think Iʼm entitled to know.”

He shot me a side glance. “... I go meet up with some folks at North Damen and Grand Avenue. Theyʼre into the voodoo stuff I told you about.”

Chucky had never told me much about it, really, but I got what he meant. Still, I scoffed. “So youʼre spending all that time in a book club?” 

“Yeah, Tiff, Iʼm in a fucking book club,” he said. “What dʼyou think?” 

“I think itʼs a shitty excuse.”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” he said, raising his voice, so I knew that it was on. “Are you on the rag or something?”

“No –it’s the same time, every month, and it has been so for years. And you might know that, if you ever listened to me. If you ever paid any attention at all.”

I peeled the onion and was about to start chopping, when I remembered that I had forgotten to take out the pasta sauce jar from the fridge. I groaned and turned around and he stepped aside to let me get it. All the while he just stared at me, as if expecting an explanation.

“So it’s not that. What is it, then? Huh?”

“Take a wild guess,” I said as I continued chopping the onion.

He laughed and shook his head. “You donʼt even know. You’re just throwing a fit for the sake of it.”

“Youʼre barely home anymore,” I said, raising my voice as well, forcing myself not to sniffle. “You show up whenever you want, meanwhile Iʼm here wondering if youʼll be back for dinner.”

“Thatʼs what you're getting all worked up about?” he said as he kept chuckling. “Iʼd say you're old enough to be able to be on your own, Tiff. Iʼm not about to be your damn babysitter.” 

“You asshole, you're the one to throw a tantrum and make a scene when I get home a little late!”  

On and on with his crazy logic. But the truth was that, when I got angry when he was late and didnʼt tell me beforehand, I was just worrying something might have happened to him. When Chucky got angry I was late, it was him getting all pissed off because dinner wasn’t ready (even when he supposedly wasn’t hungry in the first place), or because some chore he could very well do himself hadn’t been done... I worried about him, and all he worried about was that I did everything he was just too ‘busy’ to do himself.

“I cook and clean after the two of us, I get rid of the bodies, I’m the goddamn getaway driver… What do you do, besides flicking the wrist from time to time to spill some guts?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, don’t you ever get tired of whining?” he said. “If you hate me so much, then why do you even stay?”

That really was the million-dollar question. “Why do you think?”

He frowned, and turned away for a moment. I didn’t know if he really didn’t have a clue, or if he was just considering different options. Still –he didn’t answer. I crossed my arms and waited. Time passed, and just silence from him. No answer was worse than a wrong one.

“… I guess you just don’t know. Big surprise,” I said, squeezing the ground meat in my fists, making a huge effort to keep my voice from trembling. “You piece of shit.”

“ Should I know?”

“I really should just split. Since you clearly don’t appreciate anything I do for you!”

I was on the edge of going off, but if I was going off, his reaction was just as insane. It was kinda hilarious, to see him swing wildly between wanting to keep his cool, pretending to be unfazed, and losing it and scream bloody murder at me.

“I’d like to see you try,” he finally grumbled, finally deciding to pretend to be the bigger person.

“Just watch me.”

“Come on, you’re not gonna leave,” he scoffed. “You wouldn’t last a fucking day without me!”

“Well, you’re not exactly a fucking delight to have around, quite honestly!”

 “Iʼm the only one you got.”

 That gave me pause. I looked up at him. He smiled, knowing just what he’d done. I hated that he was right. At least, to my knowledge, I was the only one he got, too.

“I can get someone else,” I shrugged, pretending to be focused on the meatloaf. “Easily.”

“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “With your magnetic personality, sure. Admit it, Tiff, you’re lucky you’ve found me.”

“Lucky’s not the word I’d use.”

“I’m the best thing that happened to you, babe, and you’re bending over backwards to deny it.” He laughed again. “You can’t even argue with it!”

“Keep that up, and I’ll show you exactly how I’d argue with that,” I said, finally turning towards him. “With my goddamn luggage in the trunk of the Pontiac, ready to...! To...!”

He raised his eyebrows again, waiting for me to finish my sentence. I just couldn’t. He grinned.

“God – fuck you !” I screamed while he kept cackling, and I turned back to the bowl. “See who’s fucking laughing, when you come home and see me good and gone!”

“Really? What would you even do, then?” he yelled, all of a sudden taking me very seriously. “Go back to that sad old life of yours?”

“Well, it’d be better than having to stand your damn tantrums!”

“C’mon, you’d still be screwing random fucks if I hadn’t showed up.”

“And you’d still be killing on your own if I hadn’t showed up! No,” I cried, turning around once more to face him, pointing at him with greasy fingers. “You’d be either dead, or in jail. ‘Cause that’s what would have happened, because your goddamn lucky streak would have ended someday.”

“You’re really blowing up your own smarts, Tiff. Stick to cooking and driving.”

I finished shaping the meatloaf, threw it on a broiler pan, and shoved it into the oven.

“You would’ve died without me by now,” I repeated to myself as I washed the chopping board. “If it weren’t for me–”

“Aw, get fucking real for once!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the counter. “You think I’m an idiot!? That I can’t look after myself!?”

“You obviously can’t!”

“You don’t do shit ‘round here!” he cried, so loudly I thought he might as well shatter the window. “What you actually do is scream about how important you think you are! It’s all in your damn head! You think you do everything because you’re a selfish fucking brat!”

“So I’ll just leave, then!” I cried. “Since I’m so unimportant! ‘Cause clearly you don’t want me here!”

“You’re not fucking leaving!”

“ Try and fucking stop me! ”

I stared at him, gripping the edge of the counter. He stared back at me with wild eyes, all tense, as if the only thing in his mind was how much he wanted to throw a punch at me or to choke me to death. But I had the chopping knife at hand. I guess that’s why he didn’t do it. We just stayed like that for a few seconds, measuring each other, expecting the other to make the first move.

And, when I didn’t do anything, and he just couldn’t keep it in any longer –he took a deep breath –gave out a short scream –and punched the wall. I jumped. When he pulled his fist back, there was a hole in the white paint, and cracks all around it. Chucky shut his eyes, clenched his jaw, and winced just a tiny bit. It had to hurt like hell. I sighed, and clicked my tongue, and almost went out to the bathroom to bring something to clean the wounds on his knuckles. But I hadn’t fully come down from the high of my rage yet. 

“Oh, real smart, hun,” I said. “You happy now? Do you feel better? I guess you're gonna have to call someone to fix that –unless you're counting on me to clean up your mess again–!”

“ Shut up! ”

For once, I did. He knew I was right, anyway. Chucky stretched his fingers, as if that would help with the pain, with a shaky frustrated huff. After a moment, though, when he looked back at me, it looked like however much it hurt, it wouldn't hurt half as much as whatever he imagined he was doing to me. And me –I just stared at his hand. I thought of when he pummeled that guy to death in the roadside motel when I asked him to. I thought of when he was about to punch me by the side of the highway, and didn’t. How, as angry as he got, he somehow managed to hold on to some small degree of control. It angered me even more. That meant that anything hurtful he said, he really meant it.

And he still had a little more poison to throw my way.

“No wonder nobody gives a shit about you,” he said.

We kept quiet. I could hear his heavy breathing, and my own, and then the noises of the city, the police sirens, the rumbling of cars, the chatter of the TV of the neighbors. By this point they probably knew this was a rather common thing to happen next door. After a while I just turned around, opened the faucet, and washed my knife, and waited for him to say anything else, preferably an apology.

“Go die in a ditch, Tiff,” Chucky finally said. “I'm fucking sick of this shit.”

I tensed up, ready to shove him off me in case he got too close. He didn’t. Instead, the door creaked open, and then it slammed shut, and when I turned around his coat wasn't hanging by the hook on the wall, and I was alone in the kitchen again. 

The meatloaf was done: half burnt, but certainly done. I served it in one dish, since everything pointed out to me having to dine alone. I almost threw the rest of it to the garbage, see how he liked it. Just as I opened the trash can, though, I thought it over. I had seen this going down before. In the end I put the rest in another dish, and saved it in the fridge. The TV gave me some company while I had dinner, still sniffling with the strong stench of chopped onions. I stayed up all through the late night news until I fell asleep on the couch. And then, the next morning, unsurprisingly, Chucky wasn’t there.

I worried, because that’s what I do. I just can’t help it. As much as I tried to stay angry and change the script for once, all I could do was try to find other things to keep my mind off it, off the image of Chucky getting too drunk or angry or cocky, and picking a fight he couldn’t win, and getting his ass handed to him and not knowing when to stop, and hurling himself into some serious shit, and digging himself deeper and deeper, until not even a phone call could get me to pick him up, no overpriced ambulance could help him, no amount of praying could save him, and he would end up a limp dark rag thrown over the curb, choking in a pool of his own blood, dying silently under the feet of passersby...

I set the TV at top volume, shifting between MTV and the morning cartoons, and brought everything I needed into the living room. It was time to get busy. First I fixed Peeping Tommy’s face crack, filling it with some putty, and repainting it very, very carefully, to match colors as perfectly as possible. When he was done I set him up on Chucky’s nightstand, so he could see how nicely he had cleaned up, when he came back. Then, I decided I could do with a smoke, and took a little from our stash, and that did help a bit more to calm me down and focus. After that I hand-sewed some stuff from my to-fix pile, prickling my fingers with droopy clumsy hands: there was a black leather coat Chucky had picked up that he never wore, because he was too comfortable in his old trenchcoat, so I wore it instead, but it needed a new lining, so I improvised one out of an old ugly purple satin shirt I had; and afterwards I added a lacy hem to a couple camisoles, and reattached a few buttons in Chucky’s favorite shirt, and tried to rub baking soda and lemon juice on an iron burn that had ruined one of his white tank tops and that no matter how many wash cycles it went through I couldn’t fully get off. And then, because I was now relaxed but bored out of my mind, I went out and bought a Bedazzler and a bag of studs and rhinestones and went back home and added a bunch on a jacket and on a dress while trying to copy stuff I’d seen in fashion magazines. And then I got hungry, and went back out again and bought groceries, spending the rest of the money we had left for the month, and then I went back home again and just when I thought I was gonna go insane I remembered it was time for Search For Tomorrow , so I made myself a sandwich and ate it on the couch while watching the soap opera with my newly bedazzled purple dress on. The episode ended, and I brushed the crumbs off the couch and onto the rug, and I was dumb enough to glance at the time again, and notice the growing darkness in the apartment, and remember that Chucky still wasn’t home. So I changed into my nightgown and got straight into bed, so as to avoid thinking about it, but I wasn’t as tired as I had thought, and took a long while to fall asleep.

When I finally did, I was suddenly woken up by a creaking of the door.

“Tiff...”

“Hm...?”

I turned around to see Chucky in the dark, lurching around the bed, dragging his feet. I blinked. I expected to feel ecstatic, or furious, at seeing him again; but instead I just took a deep breath, wishing he could have come home when I was awake.

“You asleep?”

“Not now, I’m not...”

Chucky plopped down on the mattress, making the rusty springs squeak. I cursed him in silence. As if it wasn’t enough noise already, he untied his shoes and dropped them to the floor with a loud wooden thump! I groaned. It had taken me so long to finally fall asleep, and of course he had to come and bother me. Just in case he had forgotten I was there, I gave him a little kick, to signal to him to keep it down. He ignored me, took off his pants and tossed them anywhere and made more noise with the racket of the belt buckle hitting my dollhouse shoe rack. Once he had made himself comfortable, Chucky slumped heavily beside me, pulling the bedsheets to him, and stretched an arm over my waist.

“Hey—”

“Shh.”

I elbowed him. “Don’t you shush me—”

“Alright, alright,” he slurred with a drowsy sigh, his voice trailing off. “I’m not shushing you… Just stop bitching.”

I kept quiet. It was senseless. And he was half asleep already, breathing quietly, nuzzling my neck, holding me tighter. I laid a hand over his, feeling the little cuts on his knuckles. He was freezing cold. I had to assume he hadn’t eaten.

“You’re incurable,” I muttered under my breath. He didn’t seem to hear me. I wasn’t surprised.

Next morning we woke up at more or less the same time, and had breakfast together. I knew he had to be hungry, even if he didn’t notice, so I made pancakes with the groceries I had bought the previous day. And Chucky was so happy about it, smiling and pulling me to his lap and kissing my cheek, that I couldn’t be bothered to stay mad, no matter how hard I tried. He decided to stay home, and we just spent a lazy day together. At some point he dozed off while we watched TV and fell asleep again, his head resting on my lap, and while I stroked his hair, I kept wondering... What would I do if I left him? What would he do if I did it? That life before each other seemed so far away to me now, and not just because of the three states that lay between Chicago and New Jersey. I know I have a hard time being on my own, so obviously I’d end up trying to find someone who could keep me company, who loved me and that I could love. But after getting a taste of this kinda life, I couldn’t really just get anyone. Nobody would feel as right.

I brushed some hair off Chucky’s face, turning the volume of the TV down a bit. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. He never snored, nor mumbled, nor tossed nor turned; hell, he barely seemed to breathe.

And he... What would he even do? He had these supposed friends who had an interest in voodoo, apparently. I wondered how many people there were in that group, if they ever spent time together as actual friends. If he had ever told any of them about me. The sheer idea of there being someone in that group that he could have a liking to, someone Chucky might like better than me, that he’d rather spend time with, was enough to get my blood boiling. But he wouldn’t. It couldn’t be.

We had each other. That was how it was meant to be. These were all empty threats. Our own little ways of checking the other was still there.

That was the biggest fight we had in quite some time. It did its job, getting all that anger we had building up out of our systems. From then on it was just a few little bickering sessions every once in a while. We still didn’t have much money, and we still didn’t get any jobs, but Chucky at the very least tried to be home a little more often, to keep me company. The cold helped, too: I had an excuse to snuggle next to him, and wrap him in blankets and coats and cuddle him when we were in the bed, or laying on the couch, or smoking on the street while searching for our next victim. We broke our own record on monthly kills, so that kept us both in a pretty sustained good mood. He still went to his so-called study sessions, though he stopped staying out late afterwards so often. Chicago winters were a lot harsher than he had thought, he had told me, as an excuse for getting home earlier. And, on my part, I made an effort not to get angry when he did get home while I was sleeping, or trying to sleep. I tried to get happy, instead. Grateful. I got really clingy, back then. But Chucky never complained about that.

I think that he actually liked it when I was so attached to him. Mostly because, back then, he seemed to be as attached to me as I was to him.

“Weird, gotta say,” Chucky told me as he raised his eyebrows. “Not like you to let this type of opportunity pass you by. Too busy to get your man a little gift?”

“Well, maybe I don't know if you've earned a gift this year,” I replied with a shrug. “You haven't been very nice.”

He smiled at this. “I could always be worse.”

“That was never in question.”

He laughed, wrapping an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him, and I laughed along. Christmas Eve, and the city was numbingly cold. We had gone out on a mission: I had seen an ad in a magazine about custom engraved necklaces, which I thought was a wonderful gift. Chucky’s not the type to wear such things, though, so I’d been looking around for a good place where I could get an engraved hunting knife, but that seemed to be harder than I had originally thought. We hadn’t had any luck finding anything else good at our usual secondhand store, so we decided to venture into the bigger shops in Michigan Avenue, partly because we knew that there were bargains abound and because the crowd was our best bet at getting some warmth. Of course, by the time we managed to make our way through traffic, all of the good stuff had flown off the shelves, and people were actually getting into fights over the goods throughout the aisles. In the end, Chucky and I decided it was not worth it, and headed back outside.

“If I have to listen to Santa Claus is Coming to Town one more time, I swear...” he grumbled between grit teeth, sinking his chin under the collar of his overcoat when we passed by the sliding doors of another big store, blasting the heat and the radio at full power.

“Isn’t it lovely, though?” I said with a little skip. The dead trees were covered in twinkling lights, and the shop windows were decked in beautiful themed displays. It would take more than a few unruly crowds to bring me down. “Families gathering for a home-cooked dinner, children going to bed dreaming about their presents... And it’s nice to see people taking so much pleasure in spending time together.”

“You see many happy people?” he asked. “All I see is people pissed they didn’t get the steal they’ve been standing in line for hours for.”

“You Grinch,” I laughed. But he did have a point. The happy people were indoors, having a good time with their loved ones. The streets belonged to the desperate.

“Spare change, please?”

A beggar surprised him at a street corner, getting right in front of us. Chucky whipped his head at her, stopping right on his tracks, dragging me to stop with him. It was a pale old woman, all bundled up, hair covered in a black veil and a black coat, with a rosary hanging from her neck and holding a bright red bucket labeled Help The Children in her bony white fists. A holy panhandler. I remembered we weren’t far from Saint James, where I had seen a beautiful white wedding taking place a couple weeks ago, on the steps of the church. The nun was shivering in the chilly wind, and with her black and white getup, she looked like a penguin escaped from the zoo.

Chucky scoffed. “Do I look like Mother Teresa?”

“Oh, hush, Chucky. After all, like my mother always said: you reap what you sow,” I smiled at the little old woman. She was lucky she had found me in a merry mood. “You never know when you might end up being the one needing a little help.”

“Bless you, miss...”

I kept smiling, but looked down at my hands for a second. It was a silly thing, I know, but it kept making me wonder –why did nobody call me Mrs when I went out with Chucky by my side? It was clear we were together. We couldn’t be standing closer together if we tried. Maybe it was because I wasn't wearing a ring. Nuns are conservative like that. 

“Tiff...” he butted in, standing a little apart, as he shot me one of his annoyed looks. “Are you serious right now?”

“Hm, I just can't seem to find my wallet...” I said, ignoring him, moving away from the corner and into a little nearby alleyway where the wind wouldn’t be so strong. The nun came along with me, and then Chucky followed us, too. “Please hold this for me, will you?”

I handed the nun my sunglasses while I kept searching. Then I handed her a packet of condoms, and then a postcard I had meant to send Molly but hadn’t gotten around to do yet, and my makeup compact which, without any more hands, the nun had to hold in her mouth. And I pulled out my nail file and slashed the nun’s throat, a superficial wound, but deep enough so that she couldn’t scream. Chucky cackled in happy surprise, and when she dropped my sunglasses he caught them midair. He put them in his coat pocket just as the nun turned around to him, grabbing at him as if asking for help.

Before she even noticed what was going on, Chucky grabbed the beads of her rosary in one fist, twisted it tighter, and pulled hard. The nun squeaked and squirmed, but in between the throat wound and the tight pressure on her windpipe, she didn’t make another sound. I watched as he shoved her old bones onto the narrow sidewalk, pinned her down with one knee, and kept pulling until her eyes were white and bulging, and her tongue stretched out her thin cracked lips as if trying to escape.

“Where's your God now, sister?”

I snapped out of it with a laugh. I assumed we were safe in that little dark alley, anyways, so I allowed myself to enjoy it for a while longer. Once Chucky decided she had croaked, I crouched down and picked up my stuff and the unexpectedly generous amount of coins and bills some blessed souls had given to the needy.

“Thank the Lord for charity,” I said, pocketing the change.

“Got it all?” he asked, dropping the body and getting back up on his feet.

“Yeah,” I slipped it inside my coat's inner pocket, and was about to hurry down the alley along with him, when I had another look at the nun. “Oh... Chucky?”

“What?”

I grinned, looking back up at him. “She’s still alive, sweetface.”

He frowned and crouched, and checked on her. She was paralyzed and speechless, but her eyes were still moving, and she still wheezed with her last few breaths. I clicked my tongue, shaking my head.

“Sloppy job,” I said, taking out my nail file.

“You think you can do better?”

“Oh, I know ...”

I kneeled too, knees on the cold hard pavement. I held her jaw and pulled it up, and continued slicing deeper, following the line to the back of her neck. The little shriveled old lady had a lot more juice in her than I had assumed. My festive white-and-red painted nails got a few specks of blood, which I quickly sucked off, looking back up to him to give him a go-ahead nod. Chucky smiled, took out his knife –and stabbed in the right spot on her back to get one last spasm out of the nun. We shared her for a little while. We got so into it –she kept moving her eyes like a broken doll, she just didn’t seem to die –that we only got out when I was startled by a voice too nearby, that didn’t sound much like him at all.

“Oh, my God –oh, God !”

That was our sign. I jumped back onto my feet, almost slipping on the puddle. Chucky got up and grabbed my arm and squeezed tight and we ran like hell. I turned around to look over my shoulder just as we were about to turn the corner and I saw, behind us, a small crowd gathering around the dead nun –and a man running and following us –and I gripped Chucky’s hand –and ran faster.

The sudden sound of sirens made me jump. I looked around me as I tried to remember where I had parked the car. Chucky yanked my arm. I just followed him. We went through a few clear streets and alleys while avoiding the crowded avenue –I had to trust he knew where the Pontiac was –until I finally realized that he wanted to get into an almost-empty store –about to close –and I stopped him and looked around once more and realized where we were –just half a block away from where I had parked –so we kept running, and we looked back, and couldn’t see the man but we couldn’t be sure yet, and just before we crossed the street and turned the corner I saw him, along with a couple other people, huffing and panting in the distance, and I digged into my bag for the car keys and as soon as I saw it I pushed it into the lock and opened the door.

We jumped inside the car, I slammed the door behind me, and without warning he pulled me to him and kissed me, and for a moment I tried to look behind me and through the window, but he grabbed my face and kept kissing me furiously, and I got what he was doing and wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back.

A moment passed. I heard footsteps rushing past us. Another moment passed. Chucky stopped and turned his head away. I kept kissing his jaw, under his ear, still breathless, still with a racing pulse.

“Are they gone?” I asked in a hush.

He nodded, and sighed. Still clinging to his shoulders, I looked over my shoulder towards where he was looking. I thought I could see the shape of a couple officers questioning some passersby, but I couldn’t be sure if they were cops at all from the distance. It could just be my still-jittery mind all shook up. I found my reflection in the mirror, and saw he had managed to really smudge my lipstick in the hurry.

“God,” he muttered. “That was way too fucking close.”

“Do you think they saw us?”

We stared at each other for a moment. He passed a hand through my hair, which was probably a mess. I giggled, and he chuckled with me, and we laughed together, tired but relieved and happy with the rush of the race and the thrill of the kill. I started the car. He kissed me once more, and then we headed back home.

On our way there, we started arguing on what we should have for our Christmas dinner. At first I was all excited as I told him the list of things I had in mind: I had gone over my Betty Crocker cookbook in the last week and I was looking forward to preparing baked ham, some mashed potatoes, and baked apples, too. And then I remembered there was next to nothing in the fridge. I had forgotten to buy enough groceries to last the month, and of course Chucky took that chance to complain about how I always left everything to the last minute.

After parking the Pontiac I finally accepted I had to make a quick trip to the store. I kept going back and forth about whether I should not waste any more time and get there straight away before it closed, or go back home first and change into something that wasn’t all dotted with blood. All the while Chucky declared he would stay in the apartment, refusing to come along with me, and I insisted that at the very least he help me carry the bags. He bitched and moaned for a while and, in the end, I said fine , as long as he set the table and washed the dishes after dinner.

I’m not sure how I didn’t even feel it coming. I was too distracted looking for the keys in my purse while I walked up the steps, I guess. It was just when I raised my eyes to the entrance of our building that I saw her: with the little black shoes, the old black wool coat with faux-pearl buttons, the bright red beehive hair.

My mother turned around to face me. I could feel the blood draining from my head.

“Ah, finally... At least this means you’re not ignoring the buzzer,” she said, gripping her little black handbag a bit tighter. “I’ve been waiting for ages, out here in the cold.”

For a moment I thought I was imagining it. It was impossible, after all, for my mother to be there, after so long, standing right in front of me. Really, it made no sense. Maybe I was dreaming it. Maybe it was all some weird nightmare, a result of eating too much before bed, like she always told me not to do.

“You clearly haven’t had any problems with money,” she said as she looked at me up and down. “By the way you’re looking, you’ve managed to feed yourself well.”

I said nothing to this. I just reached for my neck, wondering if it had gotten too thick, if my cheeks were too full. It had been about a decade since she last saw me. Had I changed much since then? My mother, on the other hand, looked just like she did when I last saw her. I thought of the framed wedding photo by the front door of her house. She had looked so much like me, back then. She, of all people, probably knew how ugliness could slowly settle in.

“… So? Aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

Chucky’s hand rested on my back, bringing me back to the present. I tried to say something, but whatever words I managed to string into a sentence died in my throat. Instead, I just nodded, and opened the door.

The three of us went into the elevator in silence. My mother’s attention had shifted from me to Chucky, and even behind his sunglasses I knew that he was similarly studying her. Just then I feared there was any blood on us –if she was so quiet because she was wondering why on Earth we were coming home at that hour with red splattered on the side of our faces. I took out my compact and checked, pretending to fix my makeup. 

“I don’t suppose you’re thinking of introducing me to… Whoever this man is.” she said out of a sudden, making a small gesture towards Chucky, which annoyed me but at least reassured me that she hadn’t noticed anything particularly troubling.

I cleared my throat. “Mom, this is my boyfriend, Charles.”

He took off his glasses and gave her a half-hearted half-smile. In return, she also gave him a long hard look up and down, stopping to glare at his hair.

“You are a man, I suppose…”

The elevator stopped with a sudden jolt. Chucky took in a sharp breath, and I saw the flash of anger in his wide-open eyes, and for a moment I just knew he was about to whip it out and curse my mother to hell and back—

“So, how was the trip?” I said quickly.

“By all accounts, not really worth it,” she said once we stepped into the hallway, glancing around at the cracked paint of the building walls. “When you said you had moved into Chicago and were going steady, I was expecting something better than this.”

She was never one to mince words, especially with the lack of fucks to give that comes with age. Chucky shot me an annoyed glance from behind her back, and made a gesture pretending to hang himself, tongue lolling out and all. I grinned, quickly pressing my lips together to disguise it when she looked back at me.

“Are we going to stay in this dirty hallway for the night?” she demanded.

I unlocked the door to our apartment. My mother walked in first, and examined the kitchen carefully. There was the pile of dirty dishes on the sink, empty bottles on the counter, some old newspapers. Apart from that, the kitchen was pretty spotless: I had cleaned the counters a few days ago, wiped the little window, even mopped the floor. Still, my mother made a grimace before moving on to the living room, which was another story altogether.

“It’s not that bad,” I said, locking the door. 

“It’s not exactly the very image of cleanliness, either,” she said. The lived-in, warm smell of our place was at odds with the soapy scent of the cheap perfume my mother always wore. “Then again, I assume you wouldn’t even keep your place this tidy anyways unless there was a man in the picture.”

“If I knew you were coming, I’d have cleaned up a little.”

“You shouldn’t need an excuse to take good care of your home. The face you give the world tells the world how to treat you.”

As soon as she began saying it I could already mouth the words myself. She had told me something along those lines quite a few times. Of course, whatever me and my boyfriend did in private was our business and only ours –but when your mother drops by, you’re expected to be up to the test. I was about to follow her into the cluttered living room, maybe try to hurry and hide some of the mess under the sofa before she could notice it, when Chucky grabbed my arm.

“Hey –quick word…”

My mother turned around and glanced at us. We both gave her a little smile. She sighed, and focused her attention back to the pigsty where her daughter lived. Chucky dragged me back beside the fridge, closed the door, and then banged his head as low as he could against it. I turned on the sink faucet, letting it run for a few seconds over the greasy dishes, before soaking my hands in the ice-cold water to wash away the traces of blood.

“How –the fuck –does she know where we live!?”

“I sent her a postcard,” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t think… Jesus, I didn’t think she’d come this far!”

“What’d you send her a postcard for!?”

“I just wanted her to know how I was doing!”

He leaned his back against the door, covering his face with his red-stained hands, muffling a yell, and took a deep breath.

“Well, there goes a perfectly good night,” he muttered. “How can we get rid of her as soon as possible?”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Oh, she’s stubborn. She’s not gonna leave till she decides she’s had enough.”

Chucky unbuttoned his coat and showed me the situation he was dealing with. His white shirt was drenched in mostly dry blood, less bright red and more cherry-colored –but still plenty suspicious. 

“Listen, I’m looking like fucking Carrie here, Tiff. I’m not exactly meet-the-parents presentable at the moment,” he said. “Hell, you want her to ask us how we met while I look like this?”

I knew that was the sort of question she’d make, whether we wanted to tell or not. I thought about it, tapping my heel against the floor tiles, sinking my nail on my lips.

“You get to the bedroom,” I finally said. “I’ll chat with her, distract her a bit, see how I can get her to leave.”

Chucky nodded in agreement, tightening his jaw. I handed him a wet dishrag for him to wipe his neck and hands with before turning the faucet back off.

“I didn’t want this,” I told him in a whisper, just to make that clear. “I didn’t invite her over. I didn’t want her here.”

He sighed, throwing the dirty rag back on the counter. “I know, babe.”

“I would have liked to patch things up with her... Maybe help her change back into when she was just my mom,” I admitted. “But not like this. Not this suddenly.”

He rolled his eyes. “Something I’ve learned throughout the years, Tiff, is that people don’t really change. They just stop lying to themselves.”

It made some sense. At some point my mother must have decided she could stop trying to pretend to like me.

“She’s still my mother, though,” I said. “I guess I still owe her… Something.”

She had come all this way to Chicago just to meet me. That had to count for something . As much as I wished she would just take a quick look around, say a couple biting lines, and walk away, I also wished she would stay a little longer and see for herself just how well I was doing, and how much happier I was now. She didn’t seem to believe me. I had to ask myself what would ever convince her of it.

But then, I remembered what my mother had told me. ‘ Love isn’t something we’re owed, it’s something we earn ’. Had she earned the love she expected of me? Did I really owe her anything? 

“You know... You can love someone and still kill them,” Chucky suddenly said, matter-of-factly. “It’s not as hard as it sounds. At all.”

“Really?” I said, picking the dry clumps of blood off from under my nails. If my mother hadn’t noticed the stains we had, it was likely she wouldn’t notice such a small thing. Still, one can never be too sure. “Who did you kill?”

“Long story for another day.”

Not wanting to face her just yet, I glanced through the half-open door to the living room, where my mother was now inspecting the view from our window. After a moment, I looked back to Chucky. He raised his eyebrows.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“For God’s sake, Chucky, don’t be stupid,” I huffed, leaving the kitchen.

Back in her line of sight, my mother hurried towards me. I braced myself for what was coming next.

“This place stinks,” she declared. “Don’t you ever open the windows? It smells sickly in here. You’ll get sick.”

“I won’t, mom—”

“And so cold, too! Don’t you turn on the heater?” she asked. “And in winter, of all times… You’ll catch your deathly cold.”

“I won’t —”

“You sure? With the way you’re dressed?” she exclaimed, grabbing the lapels of my faux-fur coat and shaking them in her fat little fists. “Looking like a cheap minx, for God’s sake…”

My cheeks were burning, but I tried not to let it show. What mattered most was that my mother was distracted enough with this to not even notice Chucky slipping behind us, out the living room, and in through the bedroom door.

“Have you been using a curling iron?” she said, furrowing her thinly plucked eyebrows, reaching for a hair strand on my forehead. “Doesn’t look like curlers—”

“ Yes , mom, I’ve been using a curling iron…”

“You’ve been bleaching it so often, your hair’s becoming thin. You should change to a better shampoo, at the very least, or the heat’s going to keep damaging it.”

Great, so my mother had come all the way from Hackensack to tell me what to do with my hair. Even as I turned my face away from her she kept pulling at my curls, brushing them to the side and adjusting a few stray hairs over my ears.

“Just… What are you doing here?”

“Brittany earned that scholarship she had been studying so hard for, did you know? Probably not, seeing as you didn’t even try to keep in touch with us,” she muttered, and finally left my hair alone. “Well, now that I am a widow, and that your sister is away at college, I have quite a bit of free time in my hands...”

I shot her a look out the corner of my eye as I took off my coat. I pictured her, sitting on the sofa and smoking her herbal cigarettes in the living room of that old little house, exactly the same as it always was, except that now she was completely alone. Meals were single-serving, there were no shirts to iron, or toys to put away, or beds to make, except her own. The weekly bridge games were not enough of a distraction. I looked down at my boots. It embarrassed me, to recognize that loneliness that I had felt so often in my own mother. Was I to blame for it? I had been the one to run away, after all…

“Anyways, you said in your postcard that you were doing well. Of course, whatever ‘well’ is for you is a mystery. So, taking advantage of the fact that I’m free now, I had to come and see for myself.”

“You had to come check up on me?” I said, crossing my arms. “I’d thought you had given up on me.”

“I have given up on you, for a long time now. And still, despite my better judgment, I have looked out for you, cared for you, worried about you…” She gave one more glance around. “The least you could do is offer me some tea.”

I went back into the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. I turned on the stove and put it on top, automatically thinking about whether I had anything to accompany her tea. On a little dish, covered by another one of our dishrags, there were some gingerbread cookies left (a true Christmas miracle), but I knew she would just complain about the excessive frosting. I scoured for a bit till I found a jar in a cupboard, with two lonely chocolate chip cookies that Chucky had either forgotten about or had been saving for another time. The first one was the most likely.

“Water’s heating up,” I told my mother, coming into the living room with my offering of the prettiest china dish we had, holding the two chocolate chip cookies. Despite everything, she was too well-mannered in the very specific way of never talking with her mouth full. I would take full advantage of that. “Thought you might like something to have with your tea.”

“Chocolate chip,” she said, unimpressed, picking one and inspecting it. “A child's choice. But I guess it’s better than nothing.”

She took a small bite. Even there in the living room, with her noisy chewing, I could hear the hissing of the gas stove, and the water that just wouldn’t boil quick enough.

“Not too bad,” she finally said, before she frowned. “Wait a minute… Is this my almond cookie recipe?”

“What?”

“This has almond extract,” she hissed, shaking the cookie around, spreading crumbs everywhere. “And lard instead of butter. You took my almond cookie recipe and added chocolate chips to it.”

She sounded absolutely appalled. A thought flashed in my mind: I could have dipped the cookie in some rat poison we kept under the sink, see how she liked it then.

“So what if I did?”

My mother set the cookie down, giving a long sigh. “Turn on the heater, or light the fireplace, at the very least. It’s so cold here, almost colder than it is outside.”

For once, Chucky had remembered to buy kindle for it. I lit the fireplace and waited, kneeling in front of the growing fire, avoiding my mother’s gaze, while she stood beside me. Once there was a nice warmth coming from the hearth, I considered going ahead and changing into something else as well, but didn’t want to have to pass by her side again yet, feel her questioning eyes on my back. Anything I changed into would be the target of a bunch of new criticisms anyways.

“Is that better?” I asked her.

“It’s better than freezing.”

Age had really done her no favors. I reached for the fire poker and removed a few ashes, causing a little spurt of sparks. It felt nice by the fire, warmed up and cozy. My mind wandered back to some very early memory, of some other winter, when my father had bought a brand-new heater and we were sitting around it, having hot chocolate, trying to keep warm. I had a memory of my mother’s soft breathing, her hands cupping the mug, my head resting on her lap. Most details were fuzzy, but I could perfectly remember the electric buzz of the heater, my mother’s heartbeat, the quiet funny gurgles of her belly as she swallowed gulps of hot chocolate. I had a sudden wish to rest my head on her lap, like I had done back then. In my mind, one of her hands moved away from the mug and reached to stroke my hair, so very gently; but I wasn’t sure if that was real or something I added later to the memory.

The tip of the fire poker had turned bright red. I gripped the handle tighter in my fist. It was heavy, pure iron. If I left it close to the fire for a little while longer, it would get white-hot. The tip of it was probably sharp enough –and if it wasn’t good enough for a nice quick stab, then I could beat her to death with it. Would the screaming be loud? I knew she could yell pretty loudly if she wanted to. Would the neighbors notice? Would they even care?

“What do you work in?”

“Secretary,” I quickly lied. “For a real estate company. Only part time, though. I mostly stay at home.”

“And this Charles, what does he do?”

“He works in waste disposal.”

“Figures.”

I left the poker in its place, stood up, and pretended to fix the garland on the mantle. There were the holiday decorations I had set, my biggest Christmas purchase, that had seemed so cheery when I first arranged them. Their little plastic smiles now seemed mocking.

“Where’s that boyfriend of yours?”

“He’s changing into something more comfortable,” I replied, adjusting the tiny Santa hats on the heads of my dolls. “He wants to look presentable, to properly meet you.”

“I don’t like him.”

“I know, mom.”

“I’m not joking. There’s something strange about him. He seems…”

I glanced at her over my shoulder, admittedly curious to what word she would find the best to describe him with, and wondered whether Chucky was listening on us from the other side of the door.

“… Unpredictable.”

“We’ve been together for almost three years now.”

“I don’t mean that,” my mother insisted. “I mean, he’s… Sinister .”

“Well, I like him that way.”

“No, you don’t,” she said tiredly. “You think you do, but you don’t. Don’t fool yourself, take a good hard look at him. You must know the type by now. No commitment. No loyalty. That’s what I mean by ‘unpredictable’. He can’t be trusted, especially not by those he has wormed his way into staying by his side.” She took another bite of the cookie, and chewed thoughtfully, and swallowed before continuing. “He’ll end up letting you down, Tiffany, mark my words.”

“Where was that great intuition when dad ended up cheating on you?”

Silence. For a moment I was sure she would walk up to me and slap me. She didn’t. She just grit her teeth, left the half-eaten cookie on the dish, took out one of her cigarettes from her black handbag, and kept still, carefully picking which words would hurt me as much as I hurt her.

“He doesn’t really love you,” she finally declared, almost spitting the words.

“As if you knew so much about love,” I grumbled, reaching for the pack of Marlboros on the coffee table.

“I do,” she said, and she lit her cigarette. “You know I do, Tiffany.”

“Charles does love me,” I tried to keep my voice even. The pack was empty. “He shows it to me. He’s… I don’t think I’ve ever been truly loved, before him.”

“He really has reeled you in, then,” she sighed, and dropped the ashes of her own cigarette on my carpet. “If you believe that bunch of crock. How long do you honestly think this can last?”

I didn’t reply. It would last for as long as I lived –or at least for as long as he kept loving me –but I wasn’t gonna tell her that. I already knew what her response would be.

My mother scoffed. “You think that because you have a couple things in common, because the sex is still decent, because he gives you a little gift from time to time, that he loves you. But none of that is real. I made that mistake. Don’t repeat what I did.”

“Well, what’s your advice, then?” Since she was so full of wisdom…

There was another drawn-out silence before she spoke again. “I knew that, once I married your father, I would never be able to go back to my family. That was a choice I made, which I have lived with for the rest of my life.”

I wringed my hands. To be quite honest, I wasn’t sure I wanted to be a part of that family anymore.

“I’m giving you a chance I was never afforded, Tiffany. You make a choice, you pay the price. Wait, and think, before you regret it.”

“Do you ever regret it?” I asked. “Leaving your family?”

“Regrets don’t mean anything,” she said, looking down. “I had a new family. At least I wasn’t alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“Right,” my mother said, shooting a glance towards the closed door to our bedroom.

“He does actually like me as I am, mom,” I insisted. “He doesn’t want to change me into something else.”

“Does he, now?” she laughed bitterly. “I find that hard to believe. You were never easy… Of course, I guess part of the blame lies on me. I made you the way you are, warts and all,” she said, sitting on the armchair by the fireplace, creaking under her weight. “I made a goddamn monster.”

Her words made me realize how many childhood memories I had, all of them muddled and fading, of her doing things for me. My mother bathing me, my mother feeding me, my mother giving me a spoonful of cough syrup in bed. And then, memories of me rejecting her care. Me bathing myself, me cooking for myself, me downing aspirins in the bathroom. ‘ Stop exaggerating ’, I remembered she used to tell me. ‘ Don’t be so dramatic. ’ I was about to repeat her own words to her. Then I thought, I was kind of a monster. At least to her. Compared to who she wanted me to be, I guess I was a monster.

Maybe I did owe her. 

“I don’t know where I must’ve gone wrong… Since your sister turned out to be such a well-behaved lady…” She looked up at me, and let out a deep sigh. “What happened to that sweet little girl you used to be, Tiffany? When did she turn into…? Into this?”

I had no answer for her. My mother stared up at me until I felt uncomfortable, but I stared back for as long as I could, determined not to let her see it. She was looking for some doubt, some sign of weakness she could sink her teeth in and exploit. It had been years since we last talked to each other, but I knew her stares and glares very well, and I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I wouldn’t be intimidated by her any longer.

“Did you ever find out who the other woman was?” I asked her. My mother was quick to point out my faults. Better to remind her of her own.

“No. But I can imagine it was some vulgar streetwalker,” she said, lowering her voice, fiddling with her ring. “Or more than one, surely. These women are fickle, of course. You can’t really put a price on love… Though I don’t think that love was what your father was looking for in them, in any case.”

It wasn’t the same, of course, but I still wondered what she would say if I told her about my string of one-night stands, after my last breakup. She would be disgusted, that was for sure. She would probably not be there in my apartment if she knew. To her, I would be a vulgar streetwalker too. I gripped my wrist and sank my nails in my skin. The little taste of pride I had about having become what she despised most was quickly overpowered by the sudden disgust I had at myself.

“Maybe he did,” I shrugged. “Maybe he did love that woman... Whoever she was.” 

“Oh, please. You didn’t know him like I did,” my mother said. “You didn’t know him at all. Even you, with your whining and your tantrums, did more around the house than he did. When he was promoted, boy, I really believed he would have more time for the family… At least he could have stayed faithful for Brittany’s sake.”

“If he was such a pig, then why did you marry him?”

“You must know how relationships start like dreams come true,” she said, arching her thin eyebrows. “Before they turn into full-on nightmares.”

She must have known how that thought kept gnawing at me. Always, in the back of my head, popping up when I least expected it. Like a parasite, or a rash. How true love never seemed to last.

“I’m just trying to look out for you, Tiffany. Men were born to lie,” she declared. “And women to believe them.”

He loves me –he loves me –he loves me , I repeated to myself. She was just trying to get under my skin. Chucky wasn’t like the others. He had to love me. There had been so many chances for him to just kill me. He wasn’t afraid to shed blood. If he didn’t love me at least a little bit, why the hell would he even keep me around?

“So, you think you got it all figured out now? You think you’re happy?”

I wasn’t so sure now. What was the difference between thinking you’re happy and being happy? Was one real and the other a lie? I felt happy with Chucky around, even despite the few rough patches, the occasional arguing and the fights. It felt real, more real than anything else I had ever felt. Though… Certainly, back with Heath, with Cesar, with Arlene, I just loved them. I just felt it, and it was enough to convince me it was the real deal. Could it be that I was just fooling myself again, just like I had done so many times before?

Regardless of the answer, I forced myself to smile, raise my chin, and take a deep breath.

“Yes. I’m happier than ever.”

My mother drummed her nails on the armrest. Her expression sparked another memory, the way that her presence in general simply did that, plucked from years I had a very weak grasp of. I was back at her house, and I had thrown a fit or something, and after her typical yelling she had decided to go for another tactic. ‘ Fine –you can cook for yourself, then. Cook for yourself, clean for yourself, do your own laundry, pay your own bills… I’d like to see you managing without me. I’d like to see you try. ’

“Well, Tiffany… As the saying goes: if you love something, you have to set it free. And you have been free for a while now.”

I didn’t want to be free. I wanted to be loved.

“We don’t have to keep seeing each other. We can forget the other exists,” I said. It was the easiest thing to do, and the one that, most likely, would hurt the least. “Hell, it’s what I’ve been doing ever since I left home.”

“Don’t be stupid, Tiffany, you couldn’t forget about me even if you tried,” she said. “I’m who gave you life. I’m your own flesh and blood.”

“Say what you want, mom, but I’m not gonna go back to Hackensack with you.”

Because that was what this was all about. She just didn’t want to be alone in that crummy house.

Suddenly she stood up, startling me. She stood almost as tall as I did in my heels, in front of me, with that disappointed look. One of her hands moved away from the handbag, and approached mine, giving it a small but tight squeeze. I held my breath. I didn’t pull away. Her hand moved farther, now close to my cheek. I did wince there, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of submitting. I didn’t move any further than that. The back of her fingers stroked just beside my jaw, careful not to let her hard acrylic nails touch my skin. I grit my teeth. My mother’s hand was much softer than I remembered.

And then, the only thought I had, all I really wanted, was for my mother to hold me close.

“I have come all this way, I’ve done all of this, because I care about you, despite everything. Despite how impossible you are, and how much you say you want to keep away. I know you,” she said quietly, almost shamefully. Worst of all, I knew she was telling the truth. “And you know that, don’t you?”

I stared back into her dark brown eyes, the eyes that were almost exactly like mine. My lip trembled –and I grit my teeth, forcing myself to stay stone-faced. But still I couldn’t shake the image of my mother, all alone, a drink in one hand and a smoke in the other, spending the afternoon in the living room of her empty house. Waiting for something out of sheer faith. It was her when I came home late, and it was me when I was too tired to cry after my latest breakup, and it was her when I got up early in the morning with period cramps and she had already done all the chores, and it was me when I felt absolutely nothing and could do nothing but stay still and let the time pass me by—

Chucky came out of the bedroom. He was now wearing one of those floppy t-shirts he had picked at the Goodwill: this particular one read ‘ Get Really Stoned: Drink Wet Cement ’. I let out a relieved breath, and snickered at the sight of it. He winked at me. My mother just glared at him.

“Oh, nice –cookies,” he said chipperly, taking the other one from the pretty little dish and munching on it as noisily and rudely as he could.

I kept pursing my lips, trying to hold back a grin. My eyes were still burning. At least he found a way to ease the situation, in the best way he knew. Thankfully, before my mother could start her grilling, asking for all the gritty details and the obligatory questions about our relationship, about his education, his family and his reputation, the kettle whistled to call me away back to the kitchen.

“Give me a minute,” I told her, able to loosen my shoulders at last. “I’ll bring you your tea.”

“I’ll help you,” Chucky said quickly, following me back into the kitchen.

I had a wave of fear that she would sneak into our bedroom while we were both away in the kitchen, out of sight, with him having closed the door again so we could talk and not be heard. I didn’t know exactly what my mother could find that could give away our little hobby. Really, there was probably nothing in there that she would ever approve of in the first place, I realized, thinking of our clothes lying everywhere, the newspaper clippings, the unmade bed, the weird books he read…

“Christ, Tiff. Your mom fucking sucks,” Chucky told me in a hush. “Why didn’t you ever tell me she’s such a bitch?”

So he was listening in on us. “I know she’s got her issues—”

“Yeah, no shit.”

I pressed my knuckles against my chin, digging my nails into my palms. As hard as I tried, I couldn’t remember a time in which she had stroked my cheek like that.

“… She’ll want to stay for dinner.”

Chucky glared at me.

“I don’t think I can bear even five whole minutes more with her,” I admitted.

He clapped in relief. “Thank God, you said it. So!” There was a sudden energy to him, as if he had gotten all wound up and ready to go. “How should we get rid of her?”

I took a deep breath. I glanced at the cabinet below the sink. “Rat poison in her tea. Right? That sounds merciful.”

“You say she deserves it?”

“Well, I don’t know if I can be merciless with her,” I said as I poured the hot water into the teacup, thinking back to the poker by the fireplace. “She’s still my mother.”

“Tiff, come on,” he said, raising his tone. “She treats you like shit!”

“Keep it down,” I hushed him. “And it’s not that bad. It’s just –it’s just how she is. She’s probably really tired from the trip—”

“She hasn’t seen you in years, and she talks to you like this!?”

Chucky was right. What was I even doing, trying to find excuses for her?

The bag of red tea quickly dyed the water a deep rich color. “Yeah, poison won’t cut it. Something stronger. Something final.”

“I can distract her with some story,” he suggested. “So you can come from behind and slash her throat.”

“No… No, I don’t want to touch her.”

He frowned, glancing at the kitchen drawer where we kept the emergency Glock. “A bullet would make too much noise, even with a pillow to muffle it. Would you really risk it?”

“No, I mean… I don’t think I can... That I can touch her. I can’t look at her while I kill her.”

“Hm… What about suffocating her with a plastic bag, then? That’d be clean.”

“Could you do this for me, Chucky? Please?” I asked him, wringing my hands. “I… I can’t do it.”

“What?”

“I want her dead, I do, it’s just… I… I don’t know what it is, I just can’t…”

“Tiff,” he said, with a look of disbelief. “What the hell are you talking about? You’ve done this a million times. You’ve done this less than an hour ago!”

“It’s different,” I said quickly. “I’ve thought about this so many times, but… I’m afraid I’ll… I won’t be able to…”

“You won’t be able to go through with it?”

I nodded. He was almost let down for a moment, but then he picked himself right up, and gave me one of his smirks.

“Well, that’s what you got me for, babe. If you end up getting cold feet, I’ll finish it for you, no problem.”

“No… No, Chucky, please,” I stammered, more and more embarrassed of my own reaction to all this shit. “Just… You do it. I know you’ll do it right.”

“But, Tiff—”

“Please, please… I can’t.”

“It’ll be fun…! We can do it together,” he promised, his voice softening. “We’ll have a blast.”

“I can’t—” I said, my voice cracking.

“Yes, you can!” he insisted, and he held my hand and squeezed it tight. “I know you can—”

“Chucky, please …”

“… Alright, alright.”

He turned around, and picked his second-favorite knife from the drawer.

“But I’m not going for poison in her tea.”

“Do it however you want.”

He was about to leave for the living room. At the last moment he gave me one more look.

“Are you watching, at least?”

I gave it a thought, still wringing my hands.

“I’ll stay here in the kitchen. Just call me if you need anything.”

Chucky looked down at his knife, turning it in his hand. “You know, it’s a damn pity. I think we could really enjoy this… Are you really sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

I don’t think he understood why I couldn’t go through with it. Hell, not even I understood.

Chucky hid the knife in his pants’ back pocket, picked up the teacup and left for the living room. I closed the door behind him but kept close by, listening carefully to anything and everything that went on.

The TV was switched on. There was no keyhole in the kitchen door –I only had sounds to tell me what was happening. The noise of some game show covered the clinking of the teacup on the coffee table, the barely-thankful harrumph of my mother, the steps of Chucky’s shoes circling the rug. All of which I could imagine perfectly well, with or without evidence.

I closed my eyes to listen better. I even held my breath. Chucky had taken a knife with him, but I had already told him a hundred times that I didn’t want any bloodstains in the living room, since it was so hard to get them off the furniture and off the hardwood floors. Maybe he’d go for smashing something on her head, maybe suffocating her with a bag, like he had suggested. Maybe strangle her with his own hands. I hoped it hurt. I hoped it was not quick and painless. I hoped the last thought in her mind was that this was what I wanted.

A stomp of a heel –I jumped. I kept holding my breath. I remained as still as I could. A loud gasping, a groaning, almost a squeal, loud enough to be heard even with the brash laughter of the game show. A familiar chuckle. At last I opened my eyes. My fingers were cold and still gripping the doorknob, my heart was racing in my throat. I was squatting so low behind the door I was almost on my knees. There was silence beyond the TV. But it wasn’t done yet, there was a tension in the air, and I could perfectly imagine her face becoming as white as my hand, life draining out of her, leaving only the clownish makeup colors. I lost track of time, wondering what expression she’d have. Whatever it was it’d be ghastly anyways. My mind soon went to more important questions. Was Chucky killing her slowly? Was he enjoying it?

“Hey, Tiff,” he called. “It’s done.”

Slowly, I cracked open the door, and stepped into the living room, staring down at my boots. My mother was back in the creaky armchair, with her arms hanging limp to the sides. I looked up, bracing myself to see her –and, thankfully, the horrible sight of her shocked face was pretty softened by the jolly glow of the Christmas lights Chucky had strangled her with.

“I knew you didn’t want any blood on your nice couch.”

He sat beside her, on the armrest, waiting for me to say something. It took me a moment before I could walk over to her and look at her properly. There were the lines of the strangling on her neck, deep marks, as if she had been a tied-up roast. Her face was slightly purplish-blue, not white. The mouth was still gaping, her eyes wide open. I stared into her eyes for a few seconds, almost waiting for them to move and stare back at me. It hadn’t been an easy passing. Yes, Chucky must have really enjoyed it.

“Want me to close them for you?”

I scoffed, and did it myself. She still wore the same makeup she put on when I was a kid, the same I wore when I stole her blue eye shadow. The blush was applied almost violently. Her eyelashes were as sticky and stiff as always. She had changed so little, really, even in death.

“… So that’s what you’re gonna look like in twenty years.”

He snickered when I gave him an angry shove, knocking him off the couch’s armrest.

“Alright,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get started.”

We pushed the couch and the armchair out of the way and carpeted the floor with the bags so as to not stain the floor nor the carpet. It took a while, but it was nothing compared to the task ahead of us. I had a feeling Chucky was having a good time anyway. As the disposal expert I had the hard work, obviously, starting with the legs. Like that night at the hotel, when we had first met, it was a chopping job, made easier by having a proper cleaver instead of a carving knife. Regardless of the tool, holding my mother’s fat ankle, staring down at the black pumps she was wearing, I found myself doubting. Why, I didn’t know. She was dead already. It was just a piece of meat for me to cut up.

“You want me to do that for you, too?” he asked.

“Can it, Chucky.”

“Alright, sheesh…”

I pushed my hair off my face, telling myself to pull it together. Raising the cleaver over my head, feeling its weight and tensing my arm, I brought it down in one quick hard swoop –the cleaver went right down the flesh –and stopped suddenly at the bone, and it made a small dent as it got stuck in it. I grit my teeth and yanked the cleaver out the ankle, and raised it over, swinging it down, three more times before I finally managed to separate the foot from the leg. Once that was done with, I tossed it to the side.

“Nice job,” he said. “Try to aim for the joint next time, maybe that way you won’t dull the cleaver’s blade that much.”

I huffed and wiped the splattered blood off my cheek. This was taking too long. What we needed was a saw. The old woman had stronger bones than I had thought. I went through with the other ankle, while Chucky got experimental and tried to saw the elbows off with one of our steak knives, and when it didn’t work so well, he tried with the carving knife –which at least got it done quicker, and gave him an easier time snapping bones. I knew the biggest challenge would be the head, so I left it for last. Eventually, though, I had to do it: so, as Chucky bagged the chopped parts, I hacked my mother’s head, sinking the blade into her neck, bringing my tired arm up again, sweat falling down my back, the cleaver coming back and forth like a faulty guillotine. My arm was aching badly. I was exhausted from the effort of the previous joints. And this part, with my mother’s face, eyes closed as if taking one of her migraine naps, felt like it was going on forever. And the head just wouldn’t come off. I knew that if I didn’t get it done Chucky would insist to do it –I knew he was itching to use the cleaver –but I had to do this myself –if only I could finish it –and take my mother’s damn head off her neck…

“ Goddammit, you bitch—! ”

I screamed at her dead body. By the sixth time the cleaver had gone through her flesh, I still hadn’t gotten to fully behead her yet. What would it take for it to do so? How many hacks? How much longer did I have to keep chopping for it to come apart? I kept yelling, shouting and swearing, too furious to even notice Chucky standing behind me. And when it finally, finally rolled away from the neck, adding one last victorious spurt of blood to the pool around my knees, I was all sore and my throat was dry. I blinked. A few tears burned my eyes. I blinked again, sniffing and groaning, and I breathed, closing my eyes and turning my face up to the ceiling. There was a silence, still thick with the echoes of my yelling. It took me a minute before I could open my eyes again and brace myself for what came next.

“... You okay, Tiff?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said quietly. “Ready to go?”

We put the remaining limbs in the bags, put on our coats, and went to dispose of the body. Carrying one garbage bag each, it was still pretty damn heavy for just two people, no matter how the weight was distributed. It was Christmas Eve, and apart from a few drunks staggering around, the streets were almost empty: people were celebrating the holiday in their homes, which meant we could sneak off to the lakeshore without being seen or calling any attention to ourselves. Chucky joked that if someone stopped us and questioned us, we could say that we were Santa’s helpers, bringing toys in these bags for needy children. I laughed a bit to humor him, but I wasn’t feeling like joking around much anymore.

One bag at a time, he made a little slash in them so they wouldn’t float, and we shoved them over the edge and into the dark water. They sank almost instantly, first blowing up like balloons, the air being pushed up, and then letting out a few quiet bubbles before finally sinking like stones. And then it was done. My mother was officially dead and gone, now on her way to line the bottom of Lake Michigan.

“You cold?” Chucky asked me, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag before passing it to me.

I shook my head before accepting it.

“Let’s get home.”

We walked in silence for a few blocks. It started snowing again. The apartment wasn’t very far, but now that we had the weight of the body bags off our backs, we were in no hurry. And besides, I wasn’t feeling like cooking a Christmas dinner anymore. I wondered whether we had any chance of finding a restaurant that could be open and had a free table for us at that hour. The odds weren’t good.

“Wait, hun,” I said with a groan, three blocks from home. “My feet are killing me…”

It wasn’t the feet as much as the knees. I’d been on the floor next to the body for too long, putting all my weight in my knees and arms, sawing and chopping away. I had stopped just as we passed by a little playground. I took off my heels and wandered off over the frosty grass towards the swings.

“Tiff, come on, I’m freezing my ass off—!”

“It’ll just be a minute,” I insisted. “Stop being such a baby.”

I sat on one of the swings and let out a deep sigh. It really was cold, but my knees were very much relieved once I allowed them to relax. Chucky waited on the sidewalk, shifting his weight from leg to leg, smoking and sighing in annoyance, before finally huffing and sitting on the swing beside me. We kept quiet. After a moment, he handed me the cigarette back.

“We can do this at the apartment, you know,” he grumbled.

“Back there we’ll have to get to cleaning all that blood,” I replied, blowing the smoke up over our heads, watching it dissolve in the wind.

“Bah, I’m not gonna hold it against you. It can wait till tomorrow,” he said, and rubbed his hands together to keep warm. “It’s Christmas, after all.”

“How considerate of you.”

My voice came out a bit harsher than what I had intended. Hoping he hadn’t noticed, I clicked my nails, holding the end of the cigarette that was almost fully done through. Chucky turned to look at me. I flicked the cigarette stub on the dead grass, slipped my heel back on, and stepped on it. A couple little sparks sputtered away before it went dark.

“Guess tonight’s menu’s gonna be leftovers,” he finally said, rocking back and forth on the swing, the chains creaking and squeaking above him. “That is, if there’s anything left in the fridge.”

I was about to snap back at him, and say something about him never bothering to get groceries, and instead eating whatever and whenever he wanted, all take and no give –before I got a knot in my throat. This, he noticed. I looked down, swallowing, wishing I had something to wash off the taste of salt and nicotine from my mouth. ‘Ladies don’t spit’ . Another of her little nuggets of wisdom. Chucky’s hand rested on my shoulder, turning my swing so I could face him. I turned away. I tried to laugh, as a last desperate attempt to mask the incoming blubbering.

“Hey, hey –why’re you crying?”

A bit too forcefully, I sniffed and wiped my eyes. My makeup was definitely a complete mess by then. “I… I don’t know—”

“Well, are those happy tears or sad tears?”

“I don’t know !”

“C’mon, don’t worry about it… What’s done is done,” he said, his voice sounding like it did when he was building up to a punchline. “She’s in a better place now, and all that shit.”

“I wonder,” I said, with a bitter little giggle that came out quite alright.

He chuckled along, and rubbed my shoulder. “See? You’re okay. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not worried,” I insisted. “I’m not.” And right on cue, when I was just getting too confident, my voice cracked.

He knit his brows together. “Well you don’t seem on cloud nine, either.”

I could feel it –something similar to pity in his voice. No, not pity: something more like confusion, disappointment, frustration. Like dealing with a kid that refused to do her chores. An ungrateful kid. A difficult brat. I huffed and shut my eyes and swinged on the set. Some movement might get some blood running through my body, I thought. The chains of the swing were burning cold against my hands. The chains creaked rhythmically, back and forth, and with my eyes closed I was taken back to a winter in which I stayed out after sundown, at the Hackensack playground, sucking in the cold because my mother had forbidden me to do so, arguing that I’d get a fever. I did get a fever. I got so sick I couldn’t go to school; I could barely leave my bed to go to the bathroom. All the while my mother nursed me back to health, telling me to open up so she could give me spoonfuls of cough syrup, grumbling about me being incurable.

Too many memories, too quickly. It was as if I was drunk with them, sick with them.

“What was that thing you said, about what you believed in? The afterlife?” Chucky asked me, suddenly swinging beside me. “You said it doesn’t matter. It’s just death—”

“It does not matter!” I shouted. “Jesus –this isn’t about her, you asshole!”

Another silence, barely interrupted by the creaking of the chains, then slowly becoming silent again. I was never good at holding back tears, but right then I was making a real effort, and prayed to myself I could manage to keep it in at least long enough so we could get back to the apartment, wash my face, have dinner or whatever and then go to sleep. There was a vague awareness that I had made some sort of plans for Christmas Eve, but right then all I wanted was to crawl under the sheets and have a good long cry.

“… Did she get to you that bad?”

That was the last straw. I jumped off the swing, stood up and crossed my arms, walking away. All I needed was to stop the sniffling, and then I’d be alright. For a moment I looked down at the snow that was gathering at my feet, but when a tear slipped from the corner of my eye I immediately pulled my head back and stared up at the black cloudy sky. Not a single star in sight, only the sparkling white snowflakes being blown by the chilly wind. The cold was really setting in now, but I was unsure whether I wanted to go back inside or not by now. Back home it was nice and cozy, but there in the playground it was dark enough that, if I really started bawling, at least we could pretend I wasn’t.

Enough snow had piled up so that I could hear his steps coming from behind me. I wiped the lower lid of my eyes. I told myself I had it under control. I was alright. If he insisted on going back to the apartment, I’d say yes, and that would be the end of it.

Instead, Chucky hugged me. I held my breath for a moment, pretty surprised. It’s not that he never hugged me, of course, just that it was not really his preferred way to show any sort of sympathy. When he did hug me, it was usually in the thrilled aftermath of a nice kill, or when we were half asleep in bed, and he clinged to me, as if to make sure I was there. But not like this. Not that I didn’t welcome it –it just felt kinda awkward. After a couple seconds, though, I was far too warm and comfortable to want to break it off. I closed my eyes and hugged him back, resting my head on his shoulder, taking a deep breath. And I finally let myself cry.

“Tiff… You know youʼve got nothing to be ashamed of,” he said after a while, his voice muffled against my fluffy coat. “Right?”

“Yeah.”

Chucky moved away just a little. He kept one arm around me, keeping me close. He cupped my cheek with his still-warm hand, and wiped a tear off with his thumb. I sniffed once more.

 “… Thank you,” I said quietly.

Was I thanking him for killing her for me? For staying by my side and comforting me? I don’t think I was even sure. A puzzled frown crossed Chucky’s face for a second, but then smiled.

“Anytime.”

It had been smart of me to keep our previous kill’s loot in my coat’s inner pocket. Just around the corner we had a Chinese restaurant that was still open. We bought a whole bunch of takeout to bring home with us, rushing back to the apartment with the boxes kept warm under our coats. There was also an old bottle of mid-quality whisky I kept in the cupboard for emergencies, and this seemed like enough of an emergency to me. Not exactly the most picture-perfect Christmas dinner, but it certainly beat going to bed on an empty stomach. We spread the banquet on the coffee table, then sat on the sofa, my legs stretched over his lap, and we covered ourselves with the biggest coziest blanket we had. There wasn’t much on TV, apart from Perry Como’s holiday special and reruns of How The Grinch Stole Christmas , but we caught It’s A Wonderful Life, which Chucky had never watched in full. So we watched it, and I cried a little more, and we drank and ate as much as we could before getting sick, until we fell asleep.

I don’t think I really ever told him just how thankful I was. Years of dreaming about my mother dropping dead, but I never actually made a plan, or thought about actually going through with it. Chucky didn’t need a plan. When the opportunity showed up, he simply took it. A hundred percent hassle free. It wasn’t his mom, anyways. To him it was just another kill. But I knew he knew how much it meant to me. And he had understood how much I needed him to be patient with me, that night.

Those really were the best times we had. If we argued, we forgot about it immediately. If we fought, we made up right away. If the other seemed to be feeling kinda low, we cheered each other up. So often back then I found myself grabbing on to him, in his arms, wishing and praying that the moment could last forever. I didn’t want morning to come, him to leave, or me having to be alone again. But time passed us by anyway, regardless of what I wanted, as if mocking me. All I could do was enjoy it as much as I could.

It had taken him a couple months to catch up with me, but my boyfriend had finally turned twenty-eight. And I promised myself that this birthday would be a really good one.

Anyone who knows me knows I love parties. I love having opportunities to dress up and celebrate and pick gifts for people I’m close to. Chucky, well –he wasn’t much like that at all. Not that he hated them, on the contrary: he knew how much it meant to me, so for the last three years we had been together he had made sure I had a truly great birthday and Valentine’s Day; anniversaries were always a blast; and, of course, he was a huge fan of Halloween, almost as much as I was. Other lesser holidays, like Easter, Thanksgiving or Christmas, were just excuses for us to do a little something special. But his own birthday, he never gave it much thought. I liked planning places to visit, dates to have. To him, for whatever reason, something as important as his own birthday seemed like more of an afterthought.

Not this year, though, I had told myself, once I picked up the Pontiac from Darnell’s after one last thorough checkup.

“For God’s sake, Tiff,” he called out from the bedroom, over the background buzz of the TV’s newscast. “You still getting ready?”

“I’m almost done, geez… What’s the hurry?” I yelled back. After just finishing with the eyeliner, I still had a little more work to do on the eyes. “Perfect’s not easy, you know.”

After applying mascara generously, I moved back away from the mirror to see the bigger picture and take in the results of my effort. The eyelashes were nice and thick, just how I liked them. The eyeliner looked even enough for me. Finally I smiled, satisfied.

Just then I noticed the shadow behind me in my reflection. There he was, leaning against the doorframe, watching me through the mirror. I had been so focused I hadn’t even heard him coming close. I smirked, putting my little tools away, and just to bother him a bit more, I pretended to fix some invisible flaw with the tip of my nail for a minute or so. Chucky let out a loud annoyed groan. I giggled. As if he didn’t love watching me getting ready. 

“Alright, I’m done now.”

I had pulled out all the stops for the special ocassion. We had gone to the movies to watch a double feature, and then we had dinner at home. There was still the warm spiced lingering smell of the tomato sauce we had with the Swedish meatballs, wafting through the rooms of the apartment, and there was even a little bit of the waxy burnt wick of the birthday candles I had insisted Chucky blew. And that was not the end of it. I still had a surprise left for him, and despite his usual impatience, he seemed plenty satisfied with everything else we had done that day, so he wasn’t particularly restless. What’s more important, he was grateful. Between laughs at the cinema, he had circled my shoulders and brought me closer, not to do anything, just to keep me against him, like a grounding wire. During dinner, he would constantly look up from his dinner and give me small glances, as if to keep telling me, that way, what he repeated before and after I set the plate in front of him: that it was delicious, and that I was an angel. And there, with both of us in the little bathroom, before we would head out again, he gazed at me through the mirror, with a proud little smile of disbelief on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. As I was the most beautiful creature in the world. 

“Hey,” I said, smiling back. “You’re looking sharp.”

“Huh?”

I huffed, and turned around to face him instead of his reflection. “I said , you’re looking sharp.”

“Yeah, yeah, I heard you,” he said, grinning to himself. “I just wanted to hear you say it again.”

I rolled my eyes at him. He snorted a laugh. I grabbed his necktie, tightened the knot, and pulled him to me for a kiss. It had been my original birthday gift –a real new purchase, coming all the way from the ritzy displays at the Carson Pirie Scott department store downtown, instead of the bottom of a bargain bin at Goodwill. At first I was really worried he might not like it, or that it might be too garish (the saleswoman had been very insistent, and it was very likely she had done most of the convincing when it came to choosing it, after my initial interest), but Chucky’s delighted reaction when he unwrapped it was as genuine as they come. It was a yellow tie, with a pattern of bright red diamonds all over it. Even if it might not had been the type of clothes he usually wore, it had reminded me of him as soon as I laid eyes on it. It reminded me of him, and of the sort of colorful stained glass you’d find on the window behind the altar, at the end wall of a church. Pretty fitting for the occasion, I’d say.

“So?” I smiled, fluffing up my curls and doing a little twirl. “What do you think?”

After a while of trying to choose what I’d feel most comfortable dancing in, I decided to go for the red pleather pants, a black bustier and a see-through top, in case it got chilly. Chucky wrapped his arms around my waist, and looked at me up and down, frowning as if he was concentrating really hard. I stifled a laugh as I waited for the verdict.

“… So no skirt, huh?” he asked, and patted my thigh. “I thought you’d wanna show off those stockings I got you for Valentine’s.”

“When we get back,” I said, tapping his lips with the tip of my finger. “No skirt, no pants, no nothing. How’s that sound?”

Chucky smiled. “Sounds good to me.”

He followed it with a kiss: a little kiss, the sort of kiss that felt more like a goodbye than like a thank-you. I blinked, still smiling, though a bit confused. Only then I noticed how, despite how happy he seemed, that his calmness and patience was beginning to appear like it was hiding something else. Chucky didn’t kiss me like that, so lifelessly, unless there was something he was turning over in his mind.

“Oh, wait –I gotta find the map,” I said, leaving the bathroom and heading back to the bedroom. “Can’t rely on my memory for this one.”

He chuckled a bit. With my own thoughts shifting between the drawers full of junk and the crammed glovebox of the car, I tried to juggle some possibilities for why Chucky wasn’t bouncing all over the walls, why he wasn’t pulling me to him constantly now, why he wasn’t humming or whistling to himself, why he wasn’t ecstatic, like he had been in other happy occasions, and with less. Was he too full with dinner, or maybe not full enough? Did the cake give him heartburn? We both could handle much harder stuff, and walk it off without breaking a sweat. Had the morning sex been somehow disappointing? He didn’t seem to find it disappointing, then. Had he smoked a joint while I was getting ready? That might have been it... But I didn’t smell it, and besides, he always had the bare decency to offer me a toke when he took something from the stash.

When I came back to the living room he was standing in front of the window, staring out at the skyline, silhouetted against the flaming orange sunset. I hugged him from behind, and leaned my chin on his shoulder. He said nothing, not even a glance back at me, not even a smile. It was as if I wasn't even there. Something was off.

“You okay, darling?” I asked him. “We can stay home if you want, find something else to do.”

Chucky blinked himself back into the present. “Nah –now I gotta know what you got planned.”

I didn’t ask him any further. If there was something bothering him, I had to trust he would tell me; after all, it was not like he ever had any difficulties complaining when he wanted to. Better to keep my spirits up and hope some of it would rub off on him, and that we could still have a good time.

“Uh, Tiff…” he began saying once we were on the road. “When are you gonna tell me where we’re going?”

I smiled, getting off the highway. “It’s a surprise.”

“You’re starting to freak me out.”

I laughed. That didn’t seem to soothe him very much.

It was a half-hour drive. The area was full of tall grass and trees, perfect to leave the car without it being spotted by potential thieves. The stark white headlights made the surrounding forest seem haunting and mysterious, with only a small section of the woods being visible in the dark. Meanwhile, Chucky kept an eye on the map, telling me where to turn to reach the red X I had marked, all the while trying to guess what the X stood for.

“A drive-in theater?”

“No.”

“Hm… Night hunting?”

“Nope.”

“Some kinda weird ritual sacrifice in the woods?”

I chuckled. “No, not tonight, no…”

We finally got off the paved road and onto the dirt, onto a rocky path over dead grass and broken branches, getting a few flashes of brightly lit treetops and bushes… Until I braked, the car stopped swaying, and we were right in front of the place.

Chucky leaned over the glovebox, almost pressing his nose against the windshield. “What is it, an old schoolhouse?”

“Cold, cold…”

“A church?”

“Getting warmer…”

He glanced at me, clearly confused. I smiled wider. We got out the car, and as we got closer to the ivy-covered white church, the night sound of chirps and croaks was replaced by thumping music.

“Midnight mass?” he asked. “At this time of the year?”

“It’s a different kind of party.”

“… An orgy?”

I laughed. “No, not that kind of party either…”

Once we had gotten close enough, we saw movement: dark silhouettes of people stumbling around the tall grass, downing cans, laughing, sneaking in through the windows. The music was loud enough now to recognize it as such. And, as it dawned on him what this was about, a big bright smile crossed Chucky’s face.

“… But close enough.”

He grabbed my face and covered it with kisses. I laughed, trying to push him away.

“Stop, you’re gonna mess my makeup—!”

He grinned, held me tighter, and smooched my eyes, smudging my carefully applied blue eyeshadow before kissing my mouth once more. That was more like him, I thought with a giggle, watching him hurry out the car, barely stopping to check I was still behind him.

The front door of the church was chained and locked to hell and back. Fortunately, a few windows had been smashed so thoroughly it was easy to climb in through them.

It was a cavernous place, full of broken glass and rough rubble and ripped mattresses and car tires. At least, that was what I could manage to see. There was almost no light inside, only a few small desk lamps near the DJ and near the improvised table where a guy was handing beer bottles and serving something in plastic cups.  More than what you could or could not see, the focus was on the music. The hum of a generator feeding the music system, the buzzing and booming of the loudspeakers, it all sounded like a rumbling you could feel deep in your bones, coming up from the soles of your feet all the way to the back of your skull. And the music echoed all over the barely visible, supposedly tall ceilings of the church, so when it reached you it was like a memory of a song, more than something you were hearing in the moment –but still undeniably present.

Chucky and I started off with whatever we were handed when we asked for a drink. The expensive stuff. We downed a plastic cup each, tasting Kool-Aid mixed with whisky along with something sharply chemical. It was like a gulp of gasoline to the throat, and like a kick to the gut. We dared each other to have another, and then we shared a beer that didn’t taste much like beer anymore. Soon we had succeeded in becoming absolutely wasted.

We clung to the other, all dizzy, the world turning in circles around us as the little light there moved unsteady along with us. I thought back to when it had been my own birthday, at Navy Pier. I had felt so free then, flailing around, squealing and being pushed around by gravity and pressure and loving every single minute of it. It was the same heart-pounding excitement, but there was something else, too. 

“ Acid on the floor, so she walks on the ceiling— ”

Something about the place, or about the stuff I took, made me feel lost. I grabbed him, trying to pull him to me for a kiss, wanting some reassurance. I was lucky to notice that the person I had grabbed wasn’t quite my Chucky before our lips touched, so I shoved him aside, and staggered across the broken ground, over the cracks and the holes. I was getting sick, and not exactly in a fun way. 

“ And the body electric flashes on the bathroom wall— ”

 I pressed my back against a wall and stared up, trying to get my head to stop spinning for a second. The roof had been destroyed over the years. Some beams were still holding up, and I sorta could see the shape of a steeple somehow intact, but there was nothing to guarantee that it couldn’t come crashing down at any minute. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. At some point the place had been a functional church, I thought. People must have come here for Sunday mass, to baptize their kids, even maybe had a few weddings, right there, in the middle of nowhere.

I walked out of the church through a busted wall, watching that I didn’t trip with my heels. The tall wild grass tickled my ankles. The sky was rather cloudy now. The music was loud enough you could hear it even outside, but there were the quiet sounds of nature, too: the crickets’ songs and the wind in the trees. I finished the cigarette, pressing my nape against the concrete. Would the empty houses at the edge of our suburbs, back at Hackensack, at what used to be my home, end up like this? Reused for secret parties? It sounded like much more fun than to just keep them as junkie hang-out spots. At least here there was music that wasn’t slurred singing, and drinks that weren’t a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka.

“Tiff? Are you here?”

I gave a little whistle to signal to him where I was. Chucky stumbled towards me, over the debris and the garbage and the tall grass.

“The party’s in there,” I told him. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I was gonna ask you the same thing.”

He took the butt of the cigarette I still had between my fingers, picked it as delicately as he could, and smoked what was left. Keeping it in, he held my face in his hand, and I opened my mouth, and he leaned forward and blew the smoke in between my lips. I knew there were people just a few feet away, back at the party; but somehow, it really felt like we were alone out there, sharing secondhand smoke like a secret.

“You got bored already?” I asked him with a smile, keeping my voice low, for some reason. As if I cared about being disrespectful on holy grounds. “I thought you’d like it—”

“I do like it.”

“But you wish we were back at home?”

He looked back at me. I rested my arm on his shoulder as I tried to find his answer in his face, to no avail. I just knew that there was something up with him, some kinda frustration, something that was gnawing at him and he couldn’t put into words. A shitty feeling to have to put up with during your own birthday.

“Sorry, Chucky,” I said, stroking his cheek. “I thought this would cheer you up.”

“Tiff...”

“Yeah?”

“We’re alright.”

I kept gazing at his face in the shadows. There was nothing I could read there or draw a conclusion from. He sounded honest, at least, but I wasn’t so sure.

I kissed him, as the reassurance I wished I got, pressing my nose against his, feeling a few drops of sweat sticking from his forehead to mine. But he wanted something more than reassurance. He wrapped his arms around me, and kept me still and quiet against the wall, finally kissing me back as if trying to push something off his mind. I knew how I could help with that. I reached down to palm him over his pants, and he groaned a little in response, pushing himself against my hand, asking me to go on. As I unbuckled his belt, he pressed a knee against the wall and between my legs, and I kept kissing him and pulling him close, running my free hand over his back, hooking my leg around his, snaking my body around his, trusting he could keep holding me enough to just let go and hang on to him. He had me, I trusted. While I kept fondling him, I started to rock my hips lazily against his thigh, and he got to sucking and nipping at my neck when he realized what I was doing. He was going slow. He wanted it to last. I wanted to hurry up, get to the good stuff, and then maybe have another drink and then go home. He kissed me, and now I was the one with the mind elsewhere.

“Hey. You here?”

“Yes... Yes, yes...”

I opened my eyes when I heard footsteps on the grass. Some drunk had ventured out the party too, and was leaning his arm against a wall and pissing on some dandelions. I watched him for a while, until Chucky noticed I was losing momentum and began touching me over the panties. I grunted. The noise called his attention, and the guy turned around, still a black shadow in the distance. He watched us, and I watched him, watching us, up until Chucky decided I needed to join in and dipped a finger, and I cried out and shut my eyes. 

I dragged myself back into the party, dancing by myself, with the electronic beat echoing in my head. I felt glass against my palm, so I pulled my hand to my mouth and had a sip. My cheeks were still flushed, and there was still a nice warmth on my skin, in the middle of the crowd. White and red flashed before my eyes. I was riding high above the crowd dressed in black. My head moved back and forth, my hair feathering my shoulders while my jacket dangled from my elbows. Even if I hadn’t been moved by the dancing crowd I would’ve been swaying to the music, as if rocked in a cradle, as if riding a seesaw. Something dripped off the side of my mouth. I licked it off and swallowed the sharp bitter something mixed with creamy lipstick. Something like glass shattered under my heel, and I gripped my bottle a little tighter. Whatever it had been was too small to be a bottle. I walked off at some point and stumbled upon two drunk shirtless guys either wrestling or making out, while a small crowd gathered around watched them with barely any interest. The light flashed on them for a second, like lightning. I blinked. The two guys seemed to be about sixteen, at most. Did Jack tell me to come to some child’s birthday party?

I bought another drink. I knew that some of the guys standing in the sidelines, chatting with their friends against the graffitied walls, would probably sell me something good, if I had the money for it. I was almost sure I didn’t have the money for it. That might’ve been a better gift, I thought. Once, Chucky had told me he liked yellow best when he was high. I liked red the most: if caught in the right moment, a flash of red was like an electric shock.

“Sweetface?” I called out, as if he could hear me over the music.

I heard his laughs ringing close by. There was a small room beside the choir that somehow still had its four walls intact. Inside, sitting on what was left of a door, I saw him. He’d found a guy who had brought a canister of nitrous oxide, and they were having the time of their lives, passing a mask back and forth and cackling their heads off. At the sight of me the other guy smiled and tried to stand up, but Chucky grabbed his shoulder to prop himself up and shoved him back down on the broken wooden board.

“Glad to see you finally having fun,” I giggled for no reason.

He brought a blunt he was nursing in his hand back to his lips, and giggled, too. “Have I ever told you, Tiff, that you got the most adorable laugh?”

I picked the blunt from his mouth, took a drag, and sighed. “God, you really are off the shits.”

He followed me out of the little room. I glanced over my shoulder at the canister guy, who was back to their giggle gas. He was older than the wrestling duo, but still skewed young –no older than twenty, at least at first glance. Medical student, I assumed.

Soon I lost Chucky again.

I don’t know how I ended up talking to a skinny short girl who had lost the friends she had come with too. She kept talking on and on, leaning close to me so I could listen better, about how hard it was to meet fun guys nowadays, how all men wanted was a quick fuck and ditch before sunrise. I found myself agreeing with almost everything she said. Her breath was warm and sweet, and her face was sticky with sweat, with a black curl that seemed glued to her forehead. I plucked it out, like an old scab. She giggled like a child. Deep black eyeliner ran down the corners of her eyes. I thought at first it had to be sweat, too, but it might as well have been tears. I asked her if she was alone there, but she didn’t hear me.

She ended up wandering off. I danced a little more, scouring the chaos that was the dance floor, and bought another beer. To my surprise, I found another familiar face. Jack was standing behind the broken pulpit where the DJ was, beside a cracked wall and standing over a pile of debris. It was easy to recognize him under the bright moonlight that seeped through a hole in the roof. Out of the city the moon was a really beautiful sight, all big and white and clear. I stared up at it for what felt like hours. It seemed magical. I wondered if what I took had been stronger than usual.

“There you are,” he mumbled when he noticed me. “I was wondering if you’d show up.”

I stretched my arms to the sides and gave a little curtsy, as if being presented by a pageant announcer. Jack walked up to me until he got real close, too close, towering over me with the confidence of someone who didn’t quite know me at all. I dug my hand inside my jacket pocket and gripped the handle of my nail file, just in case, for comfort.

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I said to him, looking down at a wet stain on his shirt.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Bet you are,” I smiled playfully. “Don’t get too used to it. I wouldn’t if it weren’t for my boyfriend’s birthday.”

His face dropped once more. I was starting to find it really fun, seeing how he got his hopes up and then smashing them to pieces with just a little word.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of use.”

“Oh, you really were,” I nodded, and took a sip.

Even in the little light I could notice Jack was still staring at me. I swallowed, and stared back. I knew he only wanted me now because I wasn’t available. And he really wanted me now. As entertaining as it was, toying with him, my grudge kept festering, giving me ideas. I brought a finger to my mouth and nibbled on my nail. He tilted his head, following the movement of my hand. I just had to consider teasing him a little further. I wanted him to feel that frustration I had, when back then all I had wanted was for him to tell me how much he loved me, and instead all he gave me was a nervous chuckle and a misplaced hand.

“Who’s the freak with the funny tie?”

Jack pointed at someone in the crowd, striding over to us. Once the light flashed on him I recognized Chucky. He had spotted us talking, and by the look of it, he had noticed something about Jack that he didn’t quite like.

“He’s my boyfriend,” I sighed as I had a drag. I saw what was coming from a mile away.

“ That ?”

I laughed between my teeth. “Come on, Jack, as if you were a certified goddamn hunk.”

“I don’t mean that, I just—” he scoffed, shifting his sight between him and me. “… Dammit, I just thought you’d be with someone more up to your level, Tiffany.”

“Up to my level, huh?” I raised my eyebrows. “You mean someone like you?”

He scoffed again. As soon as he got to us Chucky gave Jack’s shoulder a shove.

“Hey –what the fuck d’you think you’re doing?”

Jack turned to him, and without skipping a beat he flashed a big bright smile. “Hey, birthday boy—!”

“I asked you a question.”

I closed my eyes and gestured towards him. “This is Jack. He’s the one who tipped me about the party.”

“Oh,” Chucky frowned. “So you two know each other?”

“Well, yeah ,” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Hun, do you think weed just grows on trees?”

He barely seemed to listen to me. He was far too busy glaring at Jack, who just now seemed to be getting a bit uncomfortable.

“So, uh… How’re you enjoying the festivities?” Jack asked him.

“You know,” Chucky muttered, tilting his head dangerously to the side, just barely having the balance not to fall. “… Enjoying it. So far.”

Jack gave a little chuckle and nodded. “That’s good, man!” he said, and took a gulp from his beer. “That’s good. Say, where did you get the bitching tie?”

Chucky smiled, still askew. His eyes were already wild. “It was a gift.”

Jack shot me a confused smile. I knew what was gonna happen.

Indeed, Chucky smashed Jack’s head with his bottle. It burst in a rain of glittering wet glass. Jack dropped his own –and Chucky grinned a little wider, between barely repressed rage and sheer joy –and shoved the broken bottle shards into his guts. Jack gasped and groaned and stumbled backwards, too shocked to do anything, to even hurt. Chucky pulled out the broken bottle and threw it to the side –it was good for starting off, but not very fun for keeping it up –and he took out his knife from his coat pocket. I quickly looked around to see if anyone had noticed, out of habit, but I wanted to see what he’d do next. Chucky didn’t want to waste any time either. He stabbed him, and twisted the knife with one quick turn of the wrist. Jack groaned, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. Finally, it hurt. Blood began to flow, bright red even in the dark. I couldn’t stifle a giggle. Chucky pulled out the knife and, just as Jack bent forwards and brought a hand to his wound, he grabbed his knife with both hands and continued stabbing him over and over on the back, until Jack collapsed, and then Chucky somehow managed, in his tipsy state, to kneel over him and keep on stabbing him. He kept stabbing him even after he had gone very much still.

“You really didn’t need to do that,” I said. I think he didn’t quite hear me either.

After a while Chucky finally decided he had stabbed him enough, wiped the knife on his jacket, and stood up with some effort. I patted his shoulder.

“Are you proud of yourself, now?”

Just then we realized that the music had stopped, and a few of the other people at the party were staring at us. Chucky spat on the floor and wiped his mouth.

“ The fuck you all looking at!? ” he yelled, raising the bloody knife.

“He’s just feeling a little sick,” I told the crowd. “It’s perfectly okay.”

And, to prove just how okay he was, Chucky puked on Jack’s bloody corpse.

Nobody did anything. What would they even do? Call the cops? At least Chucky wasn’t that stupid, thankfully. Still, I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t pissed off.

“We’re not gonna be allowed back to these parties, you know,” I huffed, once we were back in the car, on our way back home. “Not if you keep pulling this shit.”

It had felt like ages in there, but the sky was still dark. Each time I managed to glance at the clock, as soon as I looked away I forgot what I had just read. Fully giving up on my carefully applied makeup, I rubbed my eyelids and yawned. The exhaustion was catching up with me. In about a couple hours or so, the hangover would be head-splitting.

“We’re getting old, Tiff.”

“What?”

“I said, we’re getting old.”

I just laughed. “Speak for yourself.”

“No, I’m being serious… Did you see all the people back there? Kids, teens… God, we’re so washed up.”

I turned to him for a second. He was being serious.

“It’s just a birthday, sweetface ,” I told him softly. “Don’t worry.”

“Y’know, I’d rather die than end up turning old and crusty,” he kept saying, shutting his eyes, pushing his head back. “Not being able to move, needing help to fucking piss ...”

“You don’t mean that.”

There was a tension in the air, something beyond him slaughtering Jack among a crowd of hopped-up people, beyond the clumsy breaking of our law of ‘ leave no witnesses ’. A part of me wanted to chew him out for flying off the handle so carelessly. Another part of me was silently glad he had killed Jack. Regardless, my mind was too scattered to even focus on any one subject to start talking. The alternative, to stay quiet all the way to the apartment, slow as I was going to avoid any accidents, wasn’t too appealing either.

“So this is it,” he muttered to himself. “It's not gonna get any better than this.”

I turned on the stereo, since for once Chucky didn’t seem interested in arguing about whose turn it was to choose the music. It was already halfway through, so I left the previous Sabbath tape in there. The echoing electric guitars made the headlight-illuminated road ahead of us seem even more haunting. I liked that; I just hoped it didn’t mess with Chucky’s head too much. There was no way of knowing all he had taken, and with how sullen he was, there was a chance he was a few seconds away from stumbling into a bad trip.

“ The lover of life’s not a sinner… The ending is just a beginning— ”

Chucky stared at his hands. I glanced at them too, out the corner of my eye, under the white glow of the dome light. They were rather pale, and I got a quick look of the soft blue of his veins, branching out from his wrists to his tense fingers, like tiny lightning bolts.

“I don’t think I ever had an X-ray done…” he said suddenly, slurring his words. “But there are bones and shit under my skin. Blood and meat and stuff.”

“There sure is.”

His voice turned lower. “We will be dead one day.”

“You came up with that revelation all on your own?”

“Doesn’t that disturb you?"

“Why would it? It’s the most normal thing there is,” I shrugged. “Are you thinking about your last will and testament already?"

“Don’t joke about that.”

I frowned. Weird . First time he ever said something like that. “What’s wrong, hun? You took too many downers?”

“No, I don’t think so… I just –I’ve been thinking…”

He kept quiet for a moment, long enough that I assumed he might have lost his train of thought. I focused back, as well as I could, on the road, the music, the smooth humming of the car engine and the whistling of the wind. The Prince tape was still unopened inside the glovebox. I thought about putting that one on, at least to lift up his mood a bit.

“You ever… Feel disconnected from your body, Tiff?”

A chill ran down my spine. I was expecting my mind to wander to any of my drugged experiences, anything from Hackensack pot to New York blow to the couple scattered experiences I’ve had with acid –but it went straight to Heath kissing me, on his dirty mattress, breathing on my neck –and I was floating away, somewhere above where my body was. I hadn’t thought about that in years.

“Yeah... I guess.”

“It’s… Sometimes it’s like… My body doesn’t tell me when to do… Human things,” Chucky muttered. I wondered just how high he had gotten, for it to keep him talking like that. “I know that sounds nuts. But, I mean… You know, I can forget to eat. To sleep. And that’s… Not normal . Right?”

“We’re not normal,” I reminded him, in a voice that tried to be comforting. “We’re not like the others… We’re special.”

Chucky breathed with some effort. It reminded me of when I was about to start crying. But he never cried. The sheer idea of him getting upset enough to cry, like an actual cry, tears and sniffles and all, was somehow terrifying. Unnatural. I couldn’t even try to imagine it.

“You know… When I was a kid, my mother told me I was special,” he said. “She always told me, ‘you’re the most special kid in the world’. I believed it, because of course I did, everyone wants to believe that. All mothers tell their kids that. But…”

I shot him a glance. He wasn’t staring at his hands any longer, and he didn’t cry. Now he was completely still, with empty eyes, leaning his head against the side window. I reached out to him and stroked his cheek.

“Darling…”

He didn’t move, didn’t hear me, gave no response. He seemed to be completely gone, locked up in his own head. He must be just tired, I told myself. Even still… Chucky didn’t act like that when he was tired. Hell, he was never this glum.

Could it really be just the drugs that hit him bad? I chewed on my lip, looking back into the night road.

Whatever it was, I hoped it was just a one-time thing.

#fanfiction #childs play #chucky series #tiffany valentine

[give-soup-please]

Could you please write about a reader with parental abuse history being the adopted little sister to The Narrator? Like he sees them being gaslighted and verbally abused and is just: "No, you're going to have to go through me first", "I suppose you need a real elder figure to look up to and teach you things."

(alright, this one went straight into wish fulfillment territory. And I hope I wrote the narrator as a big brother well, I don't have a lot of experience with healthy sibling dynamics)

Narrator as big brother figure to his adopted little sister reader

The narrator has been keeping a close eye on you for a while now. Ever since he broke out of his game, he’s been listlessly wandering from place to place. There are very few willing protagonists on this side of reality. Various humans occupy his attention, but never for very long. Not until he finds you.

There’s something familiar about you. The narrator doesn’t have any relatives, not as far as he knows, but he looks at your actions, the way you move through the world, and it all feels so… recognizable. 

He knows what this is, it’s on the tip of his tongue. It’s the fear he gets before a reset is forced on him. It’s the feeling of total despair whenever Stanley stops responding to him. He sees in you similar shades of emotions to what he’s gone through. Yes, the situations are different, but it makes him upset to see it happen to someone else. 

He watches the fear you have of your parents, the despair of going to sleep in a place that’s terrible for you. He realizes that you need help. So he begins to step in.

He doesn’t quite know why, at first. It hardly makes sense to him. He’s always tried to hold back from being invested in the lives of others, and yet, and yet…

He sees the person hiding underneath the abuse. The spirit, beginning to shatter. The heart, under the stress of cracking. The wonderful being that could be, if given a fighting chance.

He’s still just a voice for the time being, so he comes into your bedroom one night when you’ve been crying. He clears his throat, and you startle.

“W-Who’s there?” You ask, keeping your voice low. You’re too afraid that if you’re loud, your parents will come back. He adopts the same quiet tone. “I was wondering-” and here he pauses, trying to work out what to say next. He decides to start simple. “It appears to me that you could use some help. You seem as though you’re in need of-” What word does he want to use? He flicks through several in the span of a few microseconds. “-A… narrative guide.”

Well, if your mind had snapped, at least it had chosen a nice voice to begin the descent into madness.

“Yeah, alright. My name is reader.” 

And so begins a very interesting dynamic. 

He’s very protective, always trying to sooth you in the best way he knows how: storytelling. Even though it’s been a long time since he and Stanley last interacted, it’s part of his function naturally to talk and spin tales. 

He will tell you Stanley’s story, and then- recognizing that you’ll get bored quicker than he did, researches what stories to tell you next. He’ll tell them all, grandly. Fairy Tales, fantasy, and interestingly enough, he begins to enjoy telling mythology stories as well. There’s something about slightly different versions of the same story that’s really soothing to him.

You’ll sink into bed after another grueling day with your abusers, and he’s there to sooth you with his voice and stories. You’ve fallen asleep many nights to the comforting sounds of him talking.

He begins to document everything your parents do. For some odd reason, their version of the truth and yours don’t match up. Your parents tend to insult and degrade you and then pretend that they didn’t. It’s sickening.

“No, no, no, reader. Your mother definitely said something awful a few hours ago. I won’t repeat it, because I don’t think you need to hear it twice, but I am telling you, she was cruel.”

He watches them play this disgusting game again and again, making you doubt your perception of reality. He’ll do his best to keep you grounded. Now that you’ve got a second pair of ears and eyes, life becomes a bit easier to manage. 

He comforts you as best he can. “Reader, I know it’s difficult, but you’ve got to remember there’s a better life waiting for you outside this place. I can’t intervene, not directly, but I can help hold you together until you have the resources to leave.” 

He celebrates every small victory you have, every inroad to health you create. He doesn’t know when it happens, but he eventually starts seeing you as a little sister.   

He listens to you, whenever you need to vent or complain. You have a lot to complain about, given your current living situation. The narrator is always there to lend a sympathetic ear.

He’s always available to help when you need it, whether it’s encouragement, help with school/work projects, or motivation. The narrator’s skills at convincing people to do things are unparalleled.  

The narrator inwardly seethes at your treatment. He’s watched you suffer for too long. He begins to develop a plan. One of your parents is yelling at you about something stupid. For the first time ever, he speaks up on your behalf. 

“You know, your parenting skills leave much to be desired.” Both you and your parent freeze. It’s the only thing you share in common. He continues, “Honestly, I have no faith in a universe that puts people like reader in the care of a wretch like you, but luckily they have me to help guide them properly.”

The narrator’s voice curls around the room in a slightly sickening way. You’d feel much worse if the venom was directed at you. “Reader is under my protection now, so I suggest you leave before things get ugly. Well, as ugly as your heart is, at any rate.”

Your parent flees the room in terror. You’re somewhere between laughter and tears. The narrator rests his hand on your shoulder, and speaks softly. “Are you alright?” You aren’t sure. 

One day, the treatment by your parent escalates. The narrator watches them storm to your room and feels a spike of fear. He quickly pools his energy together, just in case. They’re screaming in your face. You’re terrified. The narrator is filled with rage. In slow motion, he watches your parent lean back, ready to strike you. And in one visceral instant, he manifests in the physical world and blocks their hand. 

“Oh, no you don’t.” He snarls. The parent gasps in surprise and fear. “Reader, do me a favor. Close your eyes.” You’re quick to obey. Even behind your eyelids, you wince at the flash of white. You wait a few seconds, then cautiously open your eyes. Your parent is gone. 

“Where- did you kill them?” You ask. The narrator sighs. “Unfortunately, no. I don’t have that level of power in this world. I just teleported their body somewhere else. Seattle, the Sahara, somewhere beginning with an ‘S’.” He crouches down to where you’re sitting on the bed. “It’s alright, reader. You’re safe now.” 

“But- how are we going to- I can’t live without their financial support!”

The narrator sighs. “I know. I’ve been working on a few solutions to that. It’s not perfect. The next few months are going to be very hard. Unless-” He looks at you, kindly. “I could bring them back.”

“No!” You say. “I mean- no thank you.” 

The narrator doesn’t know how to feel about what he’s done. But you’re his little sister, and he couldn’t bear the thought of not protecting you when it counted the most.                

#the stanley parable #tsp narrator #headcanon #answered ask #tsp #stanley parable #narrator #platonic

[roonyxx]

If Only...: Chapter 2

Summary: When you get an invite from your family to go see them you refuse because they are always on your ass about being single. So what if Dean says he will pretend to be yours?

Warnings: Little bit of angst? Language, liiitle bit of tension.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Wordcount: 1700

If Only Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part 2

The music was playing softly on the radio in the car, you were only two hours away from the destination and you were growing anxious, especially with the way Dean kept glancing at you every now and then.

“Okay Dean, ask what’s on your mind before you crash us.” You turned to him.

“I have to ask, why did you become a hunter? I mean I get it, for your parents, but why not return back to it after?” he asked as he glanced at you one last time before his eyes returned to the road.

“I don’t know, I just didn’t fit in with them. No one believed me, but I knew what I saw and once I turned 18 I moved out, started research, found and killed them. And I thought about going back, maybe go to school, but how could I ? knowing that there are more monster out there, more kids who lose their parents… No I couldn’t let that happen. Besides, I love being a hunter, it’s who I am. I would never have met you two knuckle heads if I went back to the spoiled brat life.” You playfully punched his shoulder.

“Yeah, I get it, I’m glad you did. Sam and I would be lost without you, you’re one Hell of a hunter, Y/n.” he smiled towards you.

“Thank you, that’s a big compliment coming from you, you’re like… the best there is!”

“Oh come on, I just do my job.” He chuckled like it was no big deal.

“You saved the world Dean, you and Sam! Multiple times! That’s huge.” You were always amazed by the downplay of his own actions.

“Yeah well, someone has to do it.” He stated “So, tell me about your family, gotta prepare myself.” He gave you a half lopped smile.

“Okay so, my foster mom is called Cindy, my foster dad is Marc, real sweet people, little obsessed with what other people think of them and their work, but their heart is in the right place. They have two kids, the oldest is Josh, he’s married to Stephanie, she’s a bitch, watch out for her.” You told him with an annoyed face.

“Stephanie a bitch, okay got it, continue.” He said.

“And the youngest is Sarah, she’s married to Helena. Sarah is the only one I really like, she understands me, she’s more down to Earth. She doesn’t have an ego the size of Castiel’s true form. Her wife is a total badass, they are perfect for each other.” You were smiling, remembering Sarah’s wedding and how happy she was.

“They don’t sound so bad to me at all.” Dean frowned at you “So they had two kids and decided to adopt another one ? I mean that’s totally okay but two is already hands full.” He asked.

You chuckled at him “I asked them the same question when they came looking for me, I was a pretty bitter kid. My foster home was in the same city as where they lived. I always sneaked out to go to the library. Cindy saw me around town a lot and one day she just showed up in the foster home, asking me why I didn’t sneak out to go to the arcade like all the other kids. I told her I just like books better.”

“And research” Dean smiled at you.

“Of course but I wasn’t gonna tell her that! I gave up on trying making people believe me.” You sighed “but yes, after they took me into their home, I had a pretty good childhood.”

“But you don’t miss them ?” Dean asked.

“I do but… it’s complicated, Josh never liked me that much, I mean would you if your parents decided to adopt a random weird kid? I’ve always been the outcast.” You looked down at your hands in your lap and shrugged.

He reached over to grasp your hand in his. “You’re not an outcast, Y/n”

“Thank you.” Your heart fluttered when his hand squeezed yours, his rough skin on yours. His hand felt so comfortably warm. A warmth that you never wanted to leave.

But it did as he pulled his hand away and cleared his throat.

“Okay so they are on your ass for being single, right? Then why did you never bring a guy?” he asked you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

A dark chuckle left your mouth “Yeah, you say it like it’s easy.”

“It isn’t ?” he looked at you with a frown.

“I wouldn’t be asking you if it was, Dean. Guys aren’t exactly lining up to me.” You clenched your jaw, like he didn’t know that.

“What? That’s bullshit sweetheart! You’re pretty, smart and funny!” he said with disbelieve.

“Have you ever seen me date a guy? Or talk about a guy?” you turned in the seat more towards him.

You could see him thinking. “No… but I thought you just weren’t interested, you just haven’t found the right guy yet.”

You sighed deep, well he was right, you weren’t interested in anyone because you only wanted him. He was your right guy… only you weren’t the right girl for him.

“Yeah, no. Just forget it. We have to get our story straight, how we met, how long we’ve been dating, that kind of stuff.” You huffed.

“Yeah okay. We met on a concert, we both like classic rock so it makes sense.” He stated.

“Oh yes, good idea. A Bon Jovi concert?”

“Perfect, okay so I asked you out for dinner and we have been together for about…” he looked at you to finish his sentence.

“A year ?” you looked at him and he nodded in agreement.

“A year yes, okay so now. Some personal rules.” He said as he took a right turn.

“Personal rules?” you questioned him.

“Yeah, if we’re gonna pretend to be boyfriend girlfriend there will be touches and kisses and that sort of stuff, so, how far can I go ?” he looked at you, his green orbs making you drown in the possibility of ever feeling his lips on yours…

“I… I don’t know ? How far are you willing to go ?”

He chuckled “Do you really want me to answer that, sweetheart ?” he gave you a cocky grin and a wiggle of his eyebrows that said enough.

You would be lying if it didn’t make butterflies erupt in your stomach.

“Yeah, don’t. I don’t know Dean, holding hands, kissing cheek. Just relationship stuff, you know more about that then me.” You huffed.

He frowned again “What do you mean, I know more about it then you?”

“You know… with Cassie and Lisa. You have more experience in that area.” You softly muttered.  

“In that area?” he started to laugh “Y/n, you’re talking like you’ve never been in a relationship before.” His laugh faded as he watched you look down at your lap.

“Wait… you haven’t?!” he gasped.

“No…” your voice was a silent whisper. You weren’t lying when you said that the guys weren’t lining up for you.

His gaps pulled you from your sulking, you turned to him and saw him looking at you with wide eyes.

“What?” you asked him.

“You did have… you know, s-sex, right?”

You slapped his arm “Of course you dick! Not because I never had a boyfriend doesn’t mean I didn’t have one night stands.”

He let out a relieved exhale “Oh yeah, okay good.”

“Would it be such a problem if I hadn’t?” you snapped at him.

“No! I just” he shrugged to accentuate his words “It’s something pleasant and I would feel kinda sorry if you hadn’t experienced it yet. That’s all.”

“Oh okay, well don’t feel sorry. I’ve experienced it plenty.” You gave him a smile in a way to apologize for snapping at him earlier.

“Okay so, hand holding is okay ?” he asked, you nodded in agreement.

“I can kiss you on your cheek?” you asked him. The thought of your lips brushing over his delicious scruff had you clenching your thighs already…

“Yes you can, what about a real kiss?” his eyes stayed on the road.

A real kiss ? Would you be able to survive that… you dreamed of his lips so many times it scared you. Because that was all it was, a dream. But if it became real… you would miss it and that would start to hurt more.

“Only when it is really needed.” You told him.

“Okay sweetheart, then I think we covered everything? We’ll improvise the rest and just try to play along with it.”

“Okay… I do hope everything turns out alright.” You sighed.

“Of course it will sweetheart, I got your back. Always.” He gave you a reassuring smile.

“Thank you Dean, for doing this, for everything.”

“It’s my pleasure sweetheart. I mean a luxurious resort, I should be thanking you!” he chuckled.

The sign to the resort made your heart beat in your throat. Oh God… this was it. You will get an actual taste of what it is like to be Dean Winchester’s girl.

“Oh wow…” Dean gasped when the trees parted way to give a view to the four star resort.

It was a big building, at least five stories high, the white façade was mixed with dark ember wood of the balconies and roof. The snow made everything look softer, sharp edges rounded and harsh sounds muffled. The edge of the roof was decorated with little lights that made it look all the more magical.

It never failed to bring a smile on your face.

“I know.” You said

Dean parked the car in the garage, not wanting to leave her out in the snow. He turned off the engine and took a deep breath.

“Ready for the show, sweetheart ?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

Part 3

~ FEEDBACK IS GOLD ~

#if only #if only part 2 #fake dating #fake relationship #fake relationship dean winchester #roonyxx #dean winchester #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean x reader #dean angst #dean smut #angst

[ghostheadlock]

This is gonna be long. I‘m always anxious if long reviews annoy you but then I think I‘d be happy if someone reviews something I do so here I go (if you don’t want to read all of that, here‘s the short version: Loved the update, you’re the best writer in the world, thank you)

Part II

Mina calling Nayeon eomma was so perfect. It was obvious how much it meant to her and that really sealed the deal for me to see Nayeon as that mother figure. Tbh, even though I liked the idea of Minayeon adopting, I always had trouble seeing Nayeon as a mother. Even when interaction with the kids, I always saw her as this cool aunt who liked to hang with pups, but never really let them in her heart. And somehow I believed Mina would be way better at handling a kid. And I am so so glad you proved me wrong again bc that scene in the kitchen broke me. Nayeon is so in love with her kid it’s making me tear up. And even though Yoona looks up to Mina in a way she‘ll never look up to Nayeon bc of ranks and stuff, I can totally see her being a little eommas girl. Those two just click. Maybe it’s for the same reason Minayeon work so well together. Since she‘s basically a copy of our favorite gentle alpha. But yeah. That Yoona and Nayeon scene was everything to me.

That scene where the omegas comment how much their eldest kids resembled their alphas was top tier. I love that we see them becoming mini versions of the J-line. Continuing their reign. And they‘re just as lovable.

Mina going all alpha at the soccer game YES YES YES. Nayeon being aroused? Felt that. Me too girlie. Mina is hot when losing her cool like that. And her being all soft right after :(( „I think I broke my hand“ you poor thing

The only minus points you get are for not describing what Momo looked like in her coach wear. But I just know she looked good 😫

Thank you for having Mina kneel in front of Nayeon 🙏🏻 that was my last straw. We talked about oral fixations and Dahyun .. but I think I know who comes in second place

I also need myself a mate who will surprise me with a summer residency. Mina you’re setting the bar too high

Momo and Sakuras dynamic is my favorite so far. Not because I‘m biased ghost!! But it feels so real. Them struggling to connect because they’re both too stubborn for their own good. But Momo is trying so hard :( she always sees her friends hanging with their kids and probably suffers so much considering they were close when Sakura was younger. Having to say goodbye to the great relationship you once had with your child bc they changed is something parents should be allowed to grieve. But I think Sakura is noticing that her mother misses the way she used to be, what strains their relationship even more. That’s why she was so happy Momo is helping her with the badges. Her mother caring for her interests and helping her achieve her goals.

Thank you for the chapter ❤️❤️ I love those time jumps most. Watching them grow up in front of our eyes is a blessing. I will annoy you with the review of part III as well :)))

you know I always love your comments, they’re always welcome here! I can never express my thanks enough 💗

hehe mina buying nayeon a house proves just how down bad she is

momo definitley wants to be a good parent but it’s easier said than done tbh!!

#asks #yoonhyunotp

[servin-up-surveys]

survey #096

(taken january 1st; uploading surveys taken while gone)

What is the best part of your life? I don't like that this is my answer, but Girt. Still working on my favorite part of my life being just myself and who I am and stuff...

Do you care about gun laws? I care VERY fucking much about gun laws and how fucking necessary it is to make firearms SO much less accessible.

Would you ever consider getting a facial piercing? I've had multiple and want to get my nostril re-pierced. Possibly some around my eye area IF I ever don't need glasses at some point in the future, but this is insanely unlikely because I hate contacts and don't care enough to get lasik surgery.

Do you listen to '80s metal? Haha hell yeah, '80s metal has a special place in my heart. I'm not as into classic rock/metal as I was in high school, but I absolutely still do love it and will happily listen to it.

Do you like acoustic or electric guitar better? Electric, absolutely. I just LOVE the sound of an electric guitar, mmf.

What was the last major city you visited? Raleigh.

Have you taken a painkiller today? Yes actually, I've been having tooth pain since my dentist appointment a good few days back and eventually really needed something.

Have you ever had a pumpkin latte and if so, did you like it? Nope, I hate coffee and I hate anything pumpkin-flavored.

Are you currently in a relationship? If so, do you think it will last? Yes, and complete, total honesty, yes, I do.

Have you ever been camping in the wilderness? No. I'd be totally willing to in an RV or something, but not a basic tent; I'd honestly be too nervous and also I know EXTREMELY uncomfortable, I don't handle being down on the floor well *at all* with my current physical shape.

Did your parents go to college? If so, what did they study? My dad didn't; I actually don't think he even finished high school? Mom did, for social work, but of course her cancer and Covid stopped her from getting a chance to intern somewhere and eventually get a job, even though she got her degree... That remains such, such a sore spot for her, and it breaks my heart. I just can't imagine being so close to what you wanted and then circumstances outside your control just ruin it.

Name the strangest game you’ve ever played (video game or real game): Haha honestly probably the original Silent Hill. The first time I played it with Jason, it twisted my mind into fuckin knots and it took a loooot of online reading and video-watching to make sense of it. I was hooked immediately.

Would you pay if your dog needed an operation? In the hypothetical situation that I had the money to save Cookie, of course I would. My mom loves her so much.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen in a grocery store? A big container of literal fursuit heads lmfao, Wal-Mart is a lawless wasteland

Have you ever met any bands/band members before? No.

What states have you been to in the past year? I never left NC.

Have you ever fostered an animal? No, but it's a dream to rescue and raise an opossum one day.

Who did you last talk to in Facebook chat? Girt, very briefly. He just sent me a video.

What do you think of guys wearing colored skinny jeans? Guys, and everyone else, can wear whatever the fuck they want.

Would you ever get blonde highlights? Nah.

Will you go to your high school reunion? Hell no.

What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn’t have? Well for the most part my mom has been very accepting of letting me adopt the pets I want so long as it's a reasonable time and we can provide for it, but there's one type of pet I've desperately wanted for multiple years now, tarantulas, but she absolutely refuses to let me have any while I live with her, lol.

Have you ever been in a hospital and not felt safe? Yup, most strongly the last time I was at the psych hospital. There was a man that regularly acted EXTREMELY predatory and I could not fucking believe how lenient the staff was at just letting him do his creepy fucking thing. I finally snapped the last day I was there because of this guy and sincerely feared I was about to be assaulted.

What’s the highest fever you’ve ever had? I have no idea; I have fevers so incredibly rarely.

One thing you promised yourself you’d never do and then did? Be able to love anybody again after Jason. I was so, so, so fucking positive that it was absolutely impossible.

Have you ever had to call 911? Twice for my mom, yes. I feel like I may be forgetting a third instance...

Do you get along with your significant other’s friends? To be honest I don't know many of his current friends; we had a lot of mutual friends in HS, but both of us have really drifted away from them. His best friend Taylor currently lives with him, whom I've met before and gotten on with fine, but we don't really interact much; even at Girt's house, he has his own room and does his own thing in there most of the time. I've sorta interacted with some gaming friends of his before, and apparently they really like me and I think they seem nice too, so I guess you could say I do "get along" with them.

Are you one of those people who will not use a public washroom? I try VERY hard not to, but if not going is seriously going to impact my comfort, then yes I'm going to use one.

What is something that you do often with your family? Nothing, honestly...

Do you enjoy the sound of crickets at night and birds in the morning? YES!!!

Do you need a haircut? I'm ready for a trim, yes. I know I'm ready once my hair starts regularly tickling my neck.

What is the most expensive gift you have ever given someone? The promise ring I got Sara LMFAO oops, that was a terrible choice

Have you ever taken pictures in a photo booth? Yes, I know I have with Summer as well as once with Jason on my 16th birthday.

Do you feel bad when you kill bugs? Yes. I try to avoid killing them.

Do you like animal print things? I don't.

Do you have any pets that you had since you were born? Oh definitely not. The dog my parents had when I was born died before I was even one, I think. I have zero memories of her.

Are all your pets micro chipped? I highly doubt Crystal ever micro-chipped Cookie, seeing as she came with her collar. Roman also isn't; he wears a collar, too. Venus is a snake so obviously this doesn't apply to her. ... Unless snakes can be micro-chipped?? idk

Would you ever cope in a jail? No; full transparency, I would kill myself, and I know that with pretty much absolute certainty.

Have you ever seen an alligator in person? Yes; multiple times at the zoo and at least once in the wild, though I'm pretty much positive it was an alligator that escaped the local (and very nearby) zoo that had recently been destroyed by Hurricane Floyd.

Are you a liberal? I honestly don't know if that titles totally fits me, but I can tell you I am way, way more politically left than anywhere near right.

Were you fearless or a coward in the face of the child hunter in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? OH MY GOOOOOOOD I forgot about him, he absolutely scared me, lol.

Did you ever hit anything while learning to drive? I wish I was exaggerating, but I IMMEDIATELY hit a curb. In the fucking parking lot where I started, lmfao.

Have you or a pet ever gotten a tapeworm? *I* would rather fucking die than have a tapeworm; when I was younger, I was always SO paranoid I'd somehow gotten one. I've always been absolutely petrified of internal parasites. I've never had a pet with one, either. Thank fucking god because I would puke.

Do you know any furries? Yes; the roommates Jason and I housed with in the apartment were both furries. Jacob is still my friend (at least, we're on each other's FBs and will rarely interact), but he broke up with Amanda maaaaany years ago, and I never spoke to her afterwards.

Do you snore? Steal the covers? Roll around in your sleep? I rarely snore, but I know I do move a lot and absolutely steal the covers; Girt is also a blanket hog though so I'm very thankful I got a bigger comforter for Christmas, haha.

Is the lion the best character in The Wizard of Oz? I think I liked the scarecrow most.

Would you immediately look for someone right after you broke up with your bf/gf? No; it would absolutely take a lot of time to get over Girt.

Have you ever studied any new age or occult religions such as Wicca? I've researched them to some extent, yes.

Do you want someone aggressive or passive in bed? I am the most bottom motherfucker you will ever meet so do the math lmfao BUT I will add there is absolutely such a thing as being too aggressive to where I'm not into it.

Are you someone who actually likes to babysit children? No. I only "help" my mom watch my sister's kids because she's the primary caregiver and the one who really handles things. I'm just there to engage with the kids when they want to.

Do you find any of your friends’ parents creepy or really mean? Well we haven't been friends for many years, but I thought Colleen's father-in-law was SUPER fucking creepy, and turns out he had gross sexual tendencies anyway.

Who did you last have over your house, and why were they there? Tobey came for dinner a few nights ago.

Recently, who in your house has gotten on your nerves the most? I only live with my mom, and we've been doing fine. She got under my skin last night, but I'm over it.

Ever kissed a friend’s crush? No.

If something was wrong who is the first girl you would go to? My mom.

What do you dislike about your smile? I feel like my eyes squint too much and I just look high.

Have you ever kissed in the snow? I don't believe I have.

Have you ever liked a football player? No. Jocks have never been my thing.

Has the last person you kissed taken their shirt off in front of you? Yeah.

Are you good at hiding your feelings? NO.

When was your first kiss? It was like a month into me being 16.

What’s your most popular post? On my old Tumblr it would pretty much definitely be the gif I made of Markiplier and his dog Chica that basically went viral in the fanbase.

Is anyone in your family over six feet tall? I'm quite positive my brother is, at least. Maybe my dad, idk.

Has anyone lost their virginity to you? No.

What improvement would be the most beneficial to your life right now? My legs recovering would probably be it. It severely affects so many areas of my life. I'm finally getting better about using the bike, though...

Have you ever merged finances with a significant other? No.

What’s the least amount you’ve weighed since reaching your full height? Uh, somewhere around 120, which I woulda fucking killed to be again for years until I semi-recently learned my very base adult weight is like 160; going below that would, for my basic body composition, be emaciation. How the hell a scale told the doctor that, I don't know, I just trust them with the explanation that the scale was thousands of dollars and just super advanced.

What were your high school’s team colors? Red and white.

Who were your best friends in high school? Jason, Hannia, Girt, Summer... I had a good number of close friends.

Have you ever been to Chicago? If yes, what do you like best about it? Once, when I visited Sara. It was just so, SO different from what I'm used to; I don't generally like cities, but visiting one briefly was nevertheless super cool. I just liked all the lights and activity, and seeing how tall the Willis Tower really is. Like even craning your neck fully back, you can't see the top.

Are you close with your cousins? Nope.

Are you close to any aunts or uncles? Also no, not really.

What was your favorite thing to do at sleepovers when you were younger? Uh, probably swim if a pool was available and it was a good time of year. I liked doing a variety of things, like playing pretend, too.

Does your town have a big fountain in it? Yeah, we have a city park not far from here that has a fountain in the lake.

What’s your favorite rock band? SOBS Rammstein if that's the genre you wanna put 'em in.

Who’s your favorite country singer? I tend to like Tim McGraw songs, but I think Carrie Underwood has the best voice out of the country vocalists I've heard.

Has your hair color changed since you were a toddler? Yes; my hair was dirty blonde as a kid.

#survey #surveys #random questions #personal questions

[bloody-bee-tea]

Parents

Jiang Cheng is still panting heavily when he goes to check if they really did kill the yao, but when he turns slightly to make a joke at Nie Mingjue, his husband is nowhere to be seen.

“Mingjue?” Jiang Cheng yells out and he doesn’t want to admit it, but fear grips his heart.

The last moments of the fight were pretty hectic and rough; what if something happened to Nie Mingjue and Jiang Cheng didn’t notice it?

“Mingjue?” Jiang Cheng yells again, louder this time, when no answer comes and he goes back to where he thinks he saw Nie Mingjue last.

“Shush, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue scolds him out of the blue and Jiang Cheng follows his voice into one of the many destroyed houses around the place.

The did not lose the whole village to the yao; these are long abandoned houses they simply found the yao at and so Jiang Cheng frowns.

“What’s going on?” he asks, carefully stepping into one of the destroyed houses but he comes to an abrupt stop when he sees what Nie Mingjue is holding.

“Is that a baby?” Jiang Cheng breathes out and is at Nie Mingjue’s side a moment later.

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue says, even though it’s pretty obvious that the squirming and clearly upset bundle in his arms is a human baby.

“What happened?” Jiang Cheng demands to know and steps closer to check the baby over.

“I don’t know. She made a sound and when I came in here, I found her all naked on the ground, not even crying. I hope she’s okay.”

Now that Nie Mingjue said it Jiang Cheng realizes that he cut his own robes to dress her, and the act just makes him love Nie Mingjue more.

“Let me see her,” Jiang Cheng says, holding his hands out expectantly and when Nie Mingjue drops her into his arms he checks her over more thoroughly.

There are no visible wounds on her and even though she seems a little bit too cold, she’s quickly warming up, now that she can leech off Jiang Cheng’s and Nie Mingjue’s body heat.

“She seems fine to me,” Jiang Cheng decides. “Maybe a little bit hungry, but she doesn’t seem injured.”

“Thank the gods,” Nie Mingjue breathes out and gently strakes his finger over her cheek. “I was worried because she wouldn’t cry. I still remember how Jin Ling was, it seemed strange for her not to make a sound.”

Jiang Cheng decides not to take offense on Jin Ling’s behalf, because he was one loud baby and instead says “Babies are much more sensitive than we give them credit for. If her parents were hiding from the yao, it’s likely she somehow picked up on the fact that she needs to be quiet.”

“She’s barely older than six month,” Nie Mingjue says with a frown and Jiang Cheng presses her protectively to his chest.

“And maybe she’s just especially bright,” he snaps back and then walks out of the house. “Come on, we still have to let the healers check her over, maybe we missed something,” he calls over his shoulder when Nie Mingjue doesn’t follow him immediately.

“Alright, alright. But Wanyin—no getting attached. We’re not keeping her,” he says and Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes.

“Of course we’re not keeping her. I don’t want any more kids, Jin Ling totally was enough for me,” he cheekily says, though immediately the doubt cuts deep again.

Jin Ling is only six, but the kid already has an attitude and he has his nose high up in the sky and Jiang Cheng is afraid that he fucked him over for good. He is not fit to raise any kid, least of all his sister’s child, and absolutely not the sweet baby in his arms.

“As long as you remember,” Nie Mingjue says and then keeps a hand under the babies bum the whole time they walk.

As if Jiang Cheng would ever let anything this precious drop.

~*~*~

“How is our baobei doing?” Nie Mingjue asks with a huge smile as he walks into the infirmary.

They are keeping her there for a lack of better accommodations, though Jiang Cheng is getting out all of Jin Ling’s old stuff again. Soon enough she’ll be able to sleep with them in their bedroom.

“She is perfectly alright,” Jiang Cheng gives back and looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor, tickling her tummy and watching her squirming around and squealing with laughter.

“And how is my most amazing husband doing?” Nie Mingjue asks as he drops a kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head and then blows raspberries onto the babies tummy.

“I am doing very well, too, thank you for asking,” Jiang Cheng seriously gives back and then erupts into laughter when Nie Mingjue gives him a disgruntled look at that.

It makes the baby clap her hands together and kick her tiny, tiny feet in the air and Jiang Cheng simply melts at the sight.

“And news of her parents?” he asks, mostly to distract himself from the urge of squeezing her to death and Nie Mingjue shakes his head as he sits down next to Jiang Cheng and picks her up.

“No. There were reports of a family running from the yao, but no one knew them and no one seems to know where the parents ran off to. I left a message in the house we found her in, in case they come back, but I don’t think it’s looking promising. It’s been a week already.”

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng thoughtfully says and offers up one of his fingers for her to hold on to. “What a shame.”

“Yeah,” Nie Mingjue agrees and then they fall silent.

Well, at least until their little baobei starts to scream bloody murder because she’s hungry.

~*~*~

They are laying in bed, Jiang Cheng tracing senseless shapes into Nie Mingjue’s chest when he speaks up.

“We’re not keeping her, right?” Jiang Cheng asks and Nie Mingjue tenses.

“Wanyin, I thought we were agreeing on this,” he cautiously says and Jiang Cheng props himself up to look at him.

“We are. I am not fit to be a father; I was barely able to be an uncle to Jin Ling and raising him—I did so much wrong. I’m too much of my mother and not enough of my father and I’m just—”

“Well, from what you told me about your parents and from what I have seen with Jin Ling you are exactly the right mix of them. Just from the top of my head I can come up with at least seven instances where you held or carried Jin Ling, so I’d say you are perfectly good.”

“I messed up so much with him,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “The real damage will only show when he’s older, just you wait.”

“Well, pardon me, but your parents were shit and you turned out alright if I dare say so,” Nie Mingjue tells him and pulls him into a kiss. “And I am not actually keen on being a dad, either. I was pouring so much into raising Huaisang when our father died and I don’t know if I can raise anyone without the explicit expectation of them having to be a Sect Heir.”

Nie Mingjue sighs and Jiang Cheng snuggles closer to him.

“Look at how I messed up with him. I put so much pressure onto him all the time because I feared I would die young and now he avoids any kind of responsibility as if his life depends on it. I already fucked up once. I’m not going to do it again.”

“You didn’t fuck up,” Jiang Cheng protests. “If anything you spoilt him too much. You were too lenient. It’s not like he ever cowers when you yell at him, right? He’s clearly not afraid of you or the consequences you keep threatening him with, because he damn well knows you’d never follow through.”

“Is that right?” Nie Mingjue asks, raising one eyebrow at Jiang Cheng. “Just like Jin Ling laughs at you whenever you threaten to break his legs?”

“That’s different,” Jiang Cheng huffs.

“I don’t think it is,” Nie Mingjue argues and then rolls them over onto the side so they can sleep.

“No more kids,” he mutters, burying his face in Jiang Cheng’s hair and Jiang Cheng agrees.

No more kids for them.

~*~*~

It’s been two months by now since they found little Baobei in the abandoned house and they have formed a routine around her.

The healers complained after two weeks of her being in the infirmary that she can’t stay there anymore so Jiang Cheng and Nie Mingjue took her to their own bedroom, letting her sleep right next to their bed, so they could keep an eye on her.

“Good morning, little baobei,” Jiang Cheng says when she grumbles herself awake and Nie Mingjue laughs at the sight.

“She’s just like you,” he jokes and Jiang Cheng can’t even manage a proper frown over her head.

“Shut up, she is not,” he denies and Nie Mingjue has not even the decency to argue with him about this.

“Let’s go find Jiang Zedong and hear how the search for parents for her is going,” Jiang Cheng mutters, a little bit miffed that Nie Mingjue wouldn’t indulge him in a little argument, but when Nie Mingjue comes over to pepper first Baobei with kisses and then Jiang Cheng, he decides it’s forgotten.

When they ask Jiang Zedong about the issue he stares at them like they lost their minds.

“What do you mean, possible parents for her?”

“What do you mean, what do we mean?” Jiang Cheng bites back, though he’s aware that the look is a little bit ruined with Baobei in his arms. “You’re supposed to look for possible parents for her, what’s going on?”

“You mean for other people to take her in?”

“Other people? Who else would take her in?” Nie Mingjue asks as well, and when Baobei starts to sniffle, he takes her right out of Jiang Cheng’s arms.

It turns out that Baobei is a very sensitive baby, and she picks up on moods incredibly well. They haven’t found much that can sooth her, but resting against Nie Mingjue’s chest always seems to do the trick.

Jiang Cheng can relate. It’s a very good chest to lean on.

“You?” Jiang Zedong shoots back and Jiang Cheng quickly reaches out when Nie Mingjue’s arms go slack.

He manages to secure Baobei until Nie Mingjue remembers himself and hugs her close again.

“We’re not looking to adopt,” Nie Mingjue tells him, and Jiang Zedong frowns in confusion.

“But didn’t you already? I mean, she sleeps with you and you modelled your whole day around her. You come running when she cries or makes any kind of sound and no offense, but you don’t even allow the healers to hold her for her check-ups. I am actually afraid of what you’ll do if I tell you that we did find someone to adopt. Honestly, I just thought you would keep her.”

Jiang Cheng blinks at Nie Mingjue who in turn blinks at him.

“We didn’t want to adopt,” Jiang Cheng eventually says and Nie Mingjue nods.

“Well, to me—and everyone else—it looks like you already did. Now if you excuse me, I have real problems to solve here,” he then tells them and simply marches off.

Jiang Cheng wonders what demon was possessing him when he appointed Jiang Zedong his second in command, but when Baobei gurgles he forgets that thought.

“We weren’t looking to adopt,” Nie Mingjue says and bounces Baobei in a soothing manner.

“No, we weren’t.”

“Maybe—maybe she adopted us?” Nie Mingjue tries and Jiang Cheng sighs, before he leans into Nie Mingjue’s side.

“My soul, maybe it’s time we face the truth,” he gravely says, and surprisingly enough he’s not terrified out of his mind. “We’re done for. We are her parents.”

There’s a moment of silence from Nie Mingjue before he shrugs.

“Could be worse, I guess,” he says and lifts Baobei up high in the air.

Jiang Cheng fights the urge to snag her out of his hands, because what if he lets her fall, but by then Nie Mingjue already has her safely against his chest again.

“Just promise me, Wanyin: if I put too much pressure on her, if I demand too much of her, you’ll have to smack me over the head.”

“I’ll smack you over the head whenever I please,” Jiang Cheng cheerfully tells him but then he nods. “Of course I promise. And—the same goes for you: if I snap at her like my mother did or if I don’t give her the affection she deserves, you’ll have to smack some sense into me.”

“I promise, my heart, but you already did a good job with Jin Ling.”

Jiang Cheng doesn’t comment on that, because the fear that he fucked his nephew up sits deep, but when Baobei babbles happily at him, he pushes those thoughts away.

“Oh shit,” Jiang Cheng suddenly says, and looks with big eyes at Nie Mingjue. “We have to come up with a real name for her!”

“Oh fuck,” Nie Mingjue wholeheartedly agrees and then they dissolve into laughter because if that is their biggest worry right now, then maybe they’ll be alright.

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

#bt writes #the untamed #mdzs #mingcheng #mdzsbingo #established relationship #canon divergence #adoption #found family #quite literally #fluff

[yurtletheturtlehenderson]

COSMIC - S1:E2; Chapter Two, The Weirdo On Maple Street - [Pt. 2]

A Will Byers x Male!Reader Series

𝘠/𝘯, 𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘴, 𝘋𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘰𝘥𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘮𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯.

|| 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Lucas, Dustin and I take our seats once we get to class.

"Oh, that can't be good." I sigh, gesturing to Mike's empty seat.

"Yeah, he's never this late," Dustin added.

"I'm telling you, his stupid plan failed," Lucas stated.

"I thought you liked his plan?"

"Yeah, but obviously it's stupid, or he'd be here."

"If his mom found out a girl spent the night—" Dustin began.

"He's in deep shit right about now."

Dustin shifted in his seat, and leaned forward, whispering loud enough for us to hear. "Hey, what if she slept naked?"

"Ugh!" My face screws into a sour, disgusted look aimed at my brother, unintentionally speaking at the same time as Lucas. "Why would she do that, Dustin?"

"Oh, my God, she didn't."

"Oh, if Mrs. Wheeler tells our parents..."

The thought of Mom finding out was enough to elicit an anxious groan from me, and I let my forehead fall against desk where I buried my face.

"No way. Mike would never rat us out."

I hesitantly looked up, making eye contact with Lucas. He gave me a reassuring smile, knowing I worry easily.

"I don't know." Dustin said warily.

"All that matters is, after school, the freak will be back in the loony bin, and we can focus on what really matters, finding Will." I frown at his specific choice of words for El, thinking back on how scared she seemed last night. I desperately want to say something, but decided against it, not wanting to get in a fight. Fighting won't get us any closer to finding Will.

|| 𝟑𝐫𝐝 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐏𝐎𝐕 ||

Mike Wheeler rides his bike down the small slope of grass towards his front yard. When El refused to let Mike's mom know she was there, Mike had no choice but to resort to plan b. He had led his mom to believe that he had ridden to school when in reality he had stopped around the corner until both his parents were gone.

When he got to the driveway, he dismounted his bike and led it into the garage, however something caught his eye. He stared in awe as the once withered and frankly the most miserable looking plant he had ever seen in his life, was now a beautiful lush green and stood as tall his knees. 'How had Y/n done it?'

It took a solid moment for Mike to gather his thoughts and focus on the task at hand. He parked his bike and made his way inside.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

"You want anything to drink?" Mike decided to take advantage of the empty house so that he could show El around. "We have OJ, skim milk... What else? Um, we have..."

Mike trailed off when he saw that El was more fascinated with the things in his living room, mostly his TV set.

"Oh, this is my living room. It's mostly just for watching TV."

El lightly traced her fingers around the frame of the TV as she examined it.

"Nice, right? It's a 22-inch.

That's, like, ten times bigger than Dustin's."

El turned her head and said quietly.

"Y/n."

"Well, yeah of course. Y/n too."

"Y/n. Brother?" She asked, making sure she remembered correctly.

"Yeah!" Mike smiled, then lightly shrugged. "Well, technically adopted. But yeah, they're still brothers."

El's brows furrowed in confusion.

"Ad-adopted?"

"Yeah, um, it means that he came from different parents. Mrs. Henderson adopted him because his parents were unable to take care of him. It's funny actually, Y/n is from Hawkins. Or at least that's where they found him. They didn't used to live in Hawkins; I don't know much about it cause Dustin was so young he doesn't remember any of it, but I think him and his mom were visiting family here and they just... found him, I think? I'm pretty sure that's why they moved here, or something."

El seemed to understand as she thought about it. She then turned to look at the all the pictures on top of the fireplace. She slowly walks to the fireplace and steps up onto the brick platform. She gazes at all the family photos. Particularly, the photo beside the one of Mike; of a smiling girl, a little older than herself, with long brown hair and a pink sweater.

She smiles longingly and speaks in a soft voice. "Pretty."

"I guess." Mike's face is contorted in confusion and a little in disgust.

"That's my sister Nancy. And that's baby Holly." He said as she moved to the slightly larger photo of a young baby. She then moved along to a photo with Mike, Nancy, and Holly, along with two other people she didn't recognize.

"And those are my parents. What are your parents like?" As usual, El says nothing and she steps down from the fireplace and walks up to a large green chair.

"Do they live close?" Mike continued. He notices El run her hand along the top of the plush green chair. "That's our La-Z-Boy. It's where my dad sleeps. You can try it if you want." He offers. El looked up at him, intrigued. "Yeah." He assured her, with a warm smile on his face. She cautiously sits down as Mike kneels down beside the chair. "It's fun!"

She looked to Mike, wondering what he is up to.

"Just trust me, okay?" She gives a quick nod, and braces herself, not knowing what to expect. She is taken aback by the sudden collapse of the chair, she is now laying down and the chair is rocking back and forth. She lets out a gasp, and then a nervous chuckle.

"See? Fun, right?"

With one hand on the back of the chair, and the other on the front, he brings the chair back into its default position. "Now you try."

With a small smile on her face, and feeling more confident she leans over the side and pulls the handle, letting her entire body go flying backward into a slow rock. Mike and El both look at each other and laugh gleefully.

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

Some random rock song on the radio that Jonathan barely recognized came to an end as Jonathan Byers drove to his dad's house. His eyes darted to the radio unit in his car for a moment as his heart fell when the familiar sound of "Should I Stay or Should I Go" rang throughout the car.

- 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

"Darlin', you got to let me know"

Jonathan is sat on the edge of the bed next to his younger brother Will. The two of them are in Will's room, bobbing their heads along to 'Should I Stay or Should I Go' by The Clash.

"Should I stay or should I go?"

"You like it?" Jonathan had to raise his voice so he could be heard over the loud song. Will looks to his older brother and grins.

"Yeah, it's cool!"

"All right, you can keep the mix if you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. All the best stuff's on there. Joy Division, Bowie, Television, The Smith's... It'll totally change your life."

"Yeah, totally," Will says with a smile. However, the smile is quick to leave when the two boys hear their mother yelling on the phone.

"Where the hell are you, Lonnie?"

Will slowly turns his head to the door, listening to his mother yell at his absent father.

"I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear it." Jonathan mimics his brother's actions and looks to the door. Finally, he gets up and walks towards the door.

"This is ridiculous! I'm so sick of your excuses.

"One day is fine and next is black"

Before Jonathan sits down, he lowers the volume on the stereo.

"He's not coming, is he?"

"Do you even like baseball?" Jonathan asks softly.

"No, but... I don't know." He shrugs sadly. "It's fun to go with him sometimes."

"Come on. Has he ever done anything with you that you actually like? You know, like the arcade or something?"

Will shrugs his shoulders weakly. "I don't know."

"No, all right? He hasn't. He's trying to force you to like normal things. And you shouldn't like things because people tell you you're supposed to. Okay?"

Will only looks down at his feet sadly.

"Especially not him."

Will silently nods his head in understanding.

Jonathan decided to change the subject.

"But you like The Clash? For real?"

Will nods his head eagerly with a smile. "For real. Definitely."

"So... is Y/n a fan of The Clash?" Jonathan asks, genuinely curious.

A faint blush dusts Will's cheeks as he looks down at his hands. "Um, yeah, I think so."

"Maybe you should show this to him. I bet he'll like it."

"Maybe. You think?"

"Yeah, from what I know, he has great taste. He's pretty cool."

A loving smile spreads across Will's face. "Yeah, he is pretty cool."

There's a small pause filled only with the now dulled melody of drums and guitar drifting through the air. They had talked about it before, but only vaguely, never fully addressing it and it dawned on Jonathan that there was probably still loads of fear for Will because of it. He looks down at his brother who he loved more than anything and sent him an encouraging, honest smile.

"Will, you guys are best friends. You two are just too close to ruin the friendship. Why don't you think about asking him to the arcade or something? Just the two of you, maybe come back here for some mac and cheese or something if that'd make you feel safer, and you could " he shrugs. "let him know how you feel?"

Will looked up at his brother, shocked. But his body was flushed with relief, he could feel the air in the room hitting his sweaty and clammey skin giving him chills. Not quite knowing how to handle his brothers reaction, his eyes simply fall to his hands where they fidgeting in his lap.

"But what if that does ruin the friendship? What if he doesn't feel the same way, and decides to stop hanging out with me. Or if someone finds out- I just- I just can't. I'm not ready."

"That's okay. All I'm saying is, he is way too nice to be the kind of person who would do that. And you are way too important to him. And hey, if you ever do feel ready, or you guys do go out in the future..." Jonathan trails off, sensing the awkwardness creep up. He chuckles and looks back to his brother.

"All I'm trying to say is, I'm here for you. Always."

Will smiles gratefully and Jonathan leans forward to the volume back up.

"Should I stay or should I go? So you gotta let me know, should I stay or should I go?"

- 𝗘𝗡𝗗 𝗢𝗙 𝗙𝗟𝗔𝗦𝗛𝗕𝗔𝗖𝗞 -

#you'll float queue #stranger things #will byers x reader #reader insert #will byers #dustin henderson #mike wheeler #lucas sinclair #cosmic #m!cosmic #el hopper #eleven #y/n henderson #stranger things x male!reader #stranger things x reader #will byers x male!reader #the weirdo on maple street

[ckret2]

Alright let’s talk GVK spoilers!!!

My reactions as best I can remember them!

- love how Kong is humanized from the very first scene, like every time he shows up he’s humanized so much more than other titans are. If that was at the expense of other titans being made likable I wouldn’t enjoy it so much, but like, Godzilla is made pretty lovable over the course of Monsterverse, Mothra is too, and all the titans featured for long are given recognizable emotions that let us see them as more intelligent and feeling than “just” animals; so all of them are made understandable/likable/sympathetic. But of them all, Kong is the only one really humanized. Which makes sense, because like, big monkey! Basically our distant cousin!

- And they kept playing, like, normal songs for him, which cracked me up.

- I really appreciated how you could SEE the titans in this movie. After all the weather effects to hide the titans in KOTM, there was such a clear difference in this one from the very start. Kong in the daylight! Godzilla makes his first attack at night, and even then you can see him much more clearly than you can for most of KOTM! Nice!

- after the Iwi were portrayed as silent stoic witnesses in Skull Island, I really appreciated that they took an Iwi character, made her a main character, and gave her dialogue and a real role to play in the story while also keeping her deaf/mute. I think that was a good way to improve on the way that the Iwi got got sidelined in the last movie while still maintaining the worldbuilding!

- I didn’t appreciate so much that, y’know, they murdered the rest of her people off-screen in order to do it. Couldn’t they have gone “her parents died so she got adopted by a Monarch agent that was close to her family, but like, the rest of her tribe is fine”? Or at the very least “their island got fucked up so they had to be evacuated but like they’re settling in somewhere else”? “They’re living under this island dome with Kong and they know what’s up and Monarch’s keeping them in the loop and they decided they’re chill with their new dome home, but this one girl likes to go on adventures with Monarch”? Something? Did we have to kill them all off? Y’all make up an entire fictional indigenous culture and then murder them off-screen when you don’t need them? Just let them live.

- a few minutes in I was like “hold on, we’ve got two characters that speak sign language, we’ve got a giant gorilla, gorillas learn sign language, is there any reason they can’t teach Kong?” and then later I was like “OOOOOH!!” Humans and titans learning how to communicate with each other has been one of my favorite themes to explore in Monsterverse fanfic so I was absolutely tickled to see it getting explored in canon, too.

- That said I think it’s hilarious that the girl managed to teach Kong to sign without, like... anybody seeing. Kong’s hands are above the tree line and there are cameras everywhere, how did NOBODY with Monarch see him signing.

- Bernie’s weaponized being an annoying coworker to such a degree it can only be called an art, and I really appreciated it.

- Godzilla’s extra chonky in this movie and I dig it. Roomie noted he was extra crocodilian and I dig that too.

- “There’s been no confirmed titan sightings in three years” I don’t buy that for a minute. They’re BIG. Rodan NESTS IN VOLCANOES. They found a MOTHRA EGG. Humans have A SCARILY WELL-FUNDED ORGANIZATION DEDICATED SOLELY TO FOLLOWING TITANS AROUND. Like, most of the lore in GVK that I don’t personally like, I can be like “eh... I can tweak it just a little bit with headcanons to make it work for me...” but NO confirmed titan sightings? You expect me to believe ALL of them moved underground when we’d previously seen them all prefer to live above ground? You expect me to believe that now that they’re all AWAKE, they learned how to HIDE?? Uh-uh. And at the end of KOTM there was stuff in the credits about using titan droppings as biofuel, obviously they’re still walking around up top! Can’t take that from me. Nope.

- Who the FUCK is Ren Serizawa and how is he related to Ishiro Serizawa? IS he related? Maybe they just dropped the surname as another “yeah this is a Godzilla movie for Godzilla fans” easter egg but I have a hard time believing that he can’t be somehow related to the other character with the Very Important Last Name who was so important in the last two Godzilla movies. If he is related I’m sure it’s been explained in a tie-in comic or the novelization or something, I’ll look it up later.

- I had to look up how much weight huge battleships can carry while writing a KOTM fic where Ghidorah hitches a ride on one, and y’all, I had to pull weird gravity-negating magic to get him to ride on that boat. Godzilla and Kong woulda sunk that boat like a rock. All I could think during that scene is “this wouldn’t work and I know that because I DID THE RESEARCH and I wasn’t even getting PAID.” I’ll choose to believe that Monarch gets special heavy duty ships designed to carry titans but nobody mentioned it because it wasn’t relevant to Kong’s journey.

- The bit where they could see where Godzilla was swimming because he’d got half a ship hooked to him that was bobbing around on the surface, didn’t Jaws do something like that with a buoy? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Jaws. Anyway good reference.

- Insert “they’re gonna need a bigger boat” joke

- I LOVED the part where they shut down all the ships to get Godzilla to leave. Both because, one, it’s a spectacular callback to KOTM’s “turn off all the guns so he knows we’re not a threat” that makes it seem like now that’s just what Monarch knows what to do to get G to chill out, and two... we know that Godzilla backs off either when he’s killed his enemy or when his enemy has yielded to him. At the end of KOTM—and the end of GVK—the act of yielding is presented as very ceremonial and uniform across species: everyone lowers anything they’ve got that could be dangerous (claws, fangs, beaks, axes) and bows to show Godzilla they’re not gonna fight. Battleships, obviously, can’t bow, but even without being inducted into whatever secret titan cultural intricacies might be going on, humans have figured out their own way to “bow” to Godzilla: cut all the power, so their ships can’t move and can’t use weapons. I know the movie presented it as “playing dead,” but c’mon, if Godzilla could hear MechaG power up from halfway around the planet then he could hear that Kong’s heart was still beating, and he’s been around enough boats to know humans can turn them off and on when they want. The humans bowed to Godzilla. He accepted that they yielded and left.

- Mark Russell looked like such a dad in this movie, like he’s retired 100% from being a rugged action hero and now he’s just Pure Dad. I like him better when he’s a dad, it’s a good development for him. He got like 3 lines and I’m like “I appreciate this character development.”

- Despite all my qualms about how conspiracy theories and extremist groups are handled in Monsterverse (and WHICH conspiracy theories they decide to reference), I really love Madison and Bernie’s dynamic. The adult man who’s the excitable wide-eyed believer in every BS conspiracy you can possibly imagine; and then the serious, severe Teenage Girl On A Mission who’s hypercompetent because she was raised for five years by a friggin doomsday cult militia; and despite having wildly different personalities they’re just, in total agreement about everything. Handled just a BIT differently (like, leaving out the more gross IRL conspiracies) they would be a wildly fun comedic duo—especially with Josh the Only Sane Man coming along as the hapless sidekick. And they all play off of each other so well! Both in a comedic sense, and in more serious moments—when Bernie talked about his wife, there was a real moment of empathy between him and Madison with very little said. I’d watch an entire movie just about the three of them. I’d watch a TV show.

- On the one hand I wasn’t too much of a fan of KOTM’s “all titans... are inherently In Tune With Nature... nature has a Balance, because that’s a Real Thing and not an anthropocentric concept to describe how we like nature to act, and they automatically restore it... because they’re like, some kinda borderline divinities or something... we should probably be worshipping them...” thing; but, now that it was totally absent in GVK, I sorta miss it. Like I feel like there needs to be a balance, a few humans who are like “i lowkey worship these dudes?” and a few others who are like “they’re cool but like, that’s a lil extreme” and that neither side be presented as Right in how they regard titans’ relationship with nature.

- “All titans come from THE HOLLOW EARTH” nah I don’t buy that it’s silly. Basically, what I object to is the idea that all titans have some sort of intrinsic similarity (they all come from the same hitherto-unknown location; they all are part of the same pack that has the same alpha; they all are fueled/fed by the same energy source; etc) rather than letting them be SEPARATE species whose only unifying traits are “they’re all big enough to fuck everything up everywhere they go” and “they’re big enough that the typically-insurmountable barriers between different biomes (mountain ranges, valleys, long distances with terrible weather) aren’t insurmountable for them, so even if they’re specialized in different environments they still all have to deal with each other pretty often.” I’ll make some exceptions for convergent evolution (i.e., claiming multiple titans developed similar traits that are relatively easy to spontaneously evolve and a prerequisite for a creature to survive at such a large size). But I can’t buy “this big gorilla has more biologically in common with this big crocodile-iguana than he does with, say, gorillas,” or most of the other “all these titans have THIS IN COMMON” claims that Monsterverse makes, including “everyone’s from hollow earth.” So I’m tossing that out the window and substituting my own headcanons. Some might’ve evolved there but some evolved on the surface. Maybe a majority of them like ducking in and out of the hollow earth like some kind of titan shortcut system. Kong’s species, I can buy, IS native to hollow earth, considering that they built a whole-ass society down there with tools and architecture.

- I’m SO curious about the little underground Kong home, the Godzilla motif in the floor, and the axe that appeared to be made with a Godzilla scute. What’s the story there??? We know Godzilla’s species and Kong’s species are ancient rivals. Is it because Kong’s species hunted Godzilla’s to steal their scutes to make weapons, seeing them as a valuable resource the way, like, early humans considered woolly mammoths a valuable resource—thus making that Godzilla on the floor equivalent to cave art of mammoths made by people who hunted them—until the Godzillas got pissed and started fighting back en masse? Or were Godzillas and Kongs already enemies when Kongs decided to start making weapons out of their corpses? Did they use to be allies, fighting together, with Godzillas voluntarily offering shed scutes and/or bones of their deceased members to Kongs, and that place used to be a shared home until they started fighting?

- What about that power source, is it something that was already there that both Kongs and Godzillas started to deliberately harvest for technology/atomic breath? Or did Godzillas automatically channel that stuff and Kongs exploited/borrowed/traded with Godzillas to utilize it too? Or is the power from Godzillas who collaboratively poured a bunch of power into the place thus that Kongs were able to use it too? I doubt Godzilla’s species CREATED all that weird energy but the question remains of whether, like, they channel it FROM underground, or naturally produce the same thing in their own bodies, or what.

- Godzilla using his atomic breath to dig a hole STRAIGHT TO KONG just to KICK HIS ASS is hilarious. How lucky that Hong Kong just HAPPENS to be straight over Kong’s house! Were all the tunnels to the hollow earth made by pissed off Godzillas who wanted to kick monkey ass??

- I loved the aesthetic of the battle scene in Hong Kong, with the brightly colored neon building outlines, VERY cool look. The choreography of the battle scene was great too, especially

- we literally broke into applause when Kong shoved the axe handle in Godzilla’s mouth. Love it, perfect callback, that was the ONE thing from the original King Kong Vs Godzilla I was hoping to see referenced and there it was.

- You could really see a difference in how Kong and Godzilla fought—Kong doing a better job at using tools and the environment, Godzilla fighting more like a reptile. They seemed to emphasize Godzilla’s more animalistic behaviors in this movie to accomplish that contrast—he was down on all fours and moving like a crocodile more often, he was clawing at Kong’s chest—but even though it seemed a bit different of a combat technique it also didn’t seem out of place compared to how he fought in prior movies. And we’ve already seen that if Godzilla’s involved in a fight and one of the combatants knows how to use the environment, it’s typically not gonna be Godzilla. (See: Ghidorah using the reflection in a building’s windows to see what’s behind him, and recognizing a nearby power source and biting it to juice himself up.)

- So many of Godzilla’s enemies seem to have specialized in negating his atomic breath in order to combat him! The MUTOs directly suppress his ability to use it—and it makes sense that that’s an inborn ability they have, since they evolved to use Godzilla’s species as prey. Kong has a weapon that both acts as a shield to absorb the breath and turn it back against Godzilla’s species—they didn’t evolve to counter Godzilla, but they developed tools once a rivalry happened. Ghidorah’s the exception—which makes sense, since he came from space—but even at that we see him using tactics specifically to take into account Godzilla’s most powerful weapon (such as keeping one head on lookout for when he starts glowing so that they know when they need to dodge).

- LOVED the reveal that MechaG was based off of Ghidorah’s brain, it has vibes of both the Kiryu Saga and the way that Heisei MechaG is based off of Mecha-King Ghidorah. Not the most surprising plot twist, since we’d theorized that they might use San to make MechaG, but I wasn’t 100% sure they were gonna go with it until they finally did. Even when I was going “huh, the mecha pilot’s chamber looks weirdly organic” I didn’t make the connection to WHY until the reveal, lol.

- “Ghidorah’s necks are so long that the heads have to communicate with each other telepathically” that’s COMPLETELY WILD but I love it, it follows very well from their prior portrayal as telepathic empaths in Heisei, it lines up with their emphasis on electricity (because BRAINWAVES AND ELECTRICITY, hey ho movie monster pseudo science!), and it very much compliments my own private headcanon that they’ve got some psychic/mind control abilities.

- The movie ended with both “Godzilla won, technically” but also “since they teamed up as equals, the ending doesn’t FEEL like ‘Godzilla wins, Kong loses’ but rather ‘they both won against a common foe’” and since I’m on both Team Godzilla and Team They Should Be Friends, I’m happy with this outcome. Plus since the last time they fought, the Japanese movie company graciously let the American monster win, so it’s only polite that the American movie company graciously let the Japanese monster win.

- There were just a few too many humans in this movie. I was intrigued by Ren but we didn’t get much out of him, but like I guess somebody had to be in the pilot’s seat other than the Apex CEO. Didn’t care for the author of the hollow earth book, I feel like his role was superfluous. Didn’t need the Apex CEO’s daughter there at all, coulda done without her. How about this, combine all three roles. Instead of having a whole-ass author who knows about the hollow earth, just casually reference that Rick from KOTM wrote a book about it since he was the expert, and (since he wasn’t in this movie) say that he tragically died going to explore the hollow earth himself, and that way we’ve got the book with the “titans are from there” theory AND an excuse to share the “humans die when they go underground” info. Now, have Ren be working for Apex as a pilot for Mechagodzilla, but have him be MechaG’s pilot because he’s also a good pilot in general, and can fly those HEAV things. Have Apex send him to Monarch to be like “hey, you guys trust me right, since I’m Ishiro Serizawa’s relative? We at Apex have heard all about your failed hollow earth expedition, and due to Ishiro I’ve got some past ties to Monarch so I’ve got high clearance with y’all, so I could bring over this useful Apex tech that’d let you go underground and use what I know about hollow earth from my past time at Monarch to help guide things.” Once they’ve got the little chunk of energy stuff and go topside, he hustles it straight to Apex and straps into his seat to run MechaG. Bam, you’ve combined “person who knows enough about hollow earth to help the expedition,” “person who represents Apex’s interests and gets the energy,” and “person who pilots MechaG” into one character, in a way that takes three flat/underdeveloped characters and turns them into a single interesting character with a lot going on and some intriguing ties to the rest of the cast.

I think that’s everything?? Hoo.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #meta

[all-my-love-for-harry]

A dad, but make it official.

summary: All Harry has to do is sign the papers. 

word count: 3.8k

a/n: sooo, a lot of you have been asking me about harry adopting artemis and them moving in with harry, and i’m sorry for not answering!! but here it is, sorry to keep you waiting! btw, i’ll start putting the dates in each blurb so none of you get confused with the timeline!!

you can find more of my shy little boy here

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August, 2019.

To many people in the outside, it seemed like Harry and Y/N haven’t been together for much, but to anyone who actually knows the couple and gets to see how they are with each other, it seemed like they’ve been dating for years.

Harry knew Y/N was the love of his life, and he also knew there were two things that he wanted more than anything in this world: put a ring on her finger and give his last name to her son.

There wasn’t a protocol on what to do first when it comes to take big decisions with your partner, and they weren’t a normal couple either. But what Harry was sure of, was his endless, unconditional love for the both of them.

The actual conversation of Harry becoming Artemis father legally didn’t come up for a long time between the couple. Harry’s heart ached to know what Y/N thought about them being an official family, but by any means he wanted to make her uncomfortable.

So he kept the thoughts to himself for some time, focusing on being happy with what they had right now and knowing they were in for the long run and it would be just matter of time until his wishes would finally come true.

It was a rainy day in London, a storm was supposed to happen at any time now. Y/N’s car was at the shop and Harry promised her to pick her up at UCL so they could go for Artemis afterwards.

They were hoping to get there before the rain started but still had umbrellas and a raincoat for Artemis, just in case. The sky was gray and the wind was extremely strong, so Harry drove carefully.

“Will the two of us get down?” Harry asked once he parked the car, looking through the window how different parents would get out of their own vehicles and ran to the doors of the school.

“Yeah, but let’s hurry”

The couple went out of the car and held hands while hurrying inside. Artemis’ classroom was just down the hall, and by the time they reached it, it was almost empty.

Artemis was sitting on one of the chairs coloring a book, but as soon as he looked up and saw Harry and his mum enter the room, he put the book away and ran towards them.

“You’re here!” He exclaimed, happily hugging Y/N’s legs and then Harry’s.

“Was everything okay today?” Y/N asked while Harry took Artemis to grab his things.

“He was a total sweetheart, as always” The teacher smiled. “If the storm gets worse, class might be cancelled. We’ll be sending an email”

They thanked the teacher and walked out of the classroom. Harry scooped the little boy in his arms and Y/N carried his backpack. It was already starting to rain so they hurried inside of the car.

“Where are we going now?”

“Harry’s house, honey. Is that okay?” Artemis nodded excitedly, kicking his legs back and forth.

“Harry, can you put your song?” Harry chuckled, knowing exactly which song Artemis was requesting.

“I can’t believe he likes this song” The curly haired man sitting on the driver’s seat laughed as the first notes of the song from his old band started playing in the car.

“They say that we’re not good together, and it’s never gonna work out!” Artemis screamed the lyrics of the song he had listened to so many times Y/N has already lost the count.

“I mean, who even showed this to him?” Harry was dying from embarrassment but was also enjoying himself.

“Perhaps I might be responsible for that” Y/N said, smiling innocently.

They had no choice but to join him and sing along too. These were the kind of moment where Harry felt at his happiest, two of his favorite people with him, doing something so mundane like riding a car but at the same time it felt so special and dear to him.

Harry’s house was a little further away from Artemis’ school, so the ride was longer. But they had fun during it.

“So, what do you want for lunch?”

“Nuggets!” Artemis threw his little arms over his head, actually thinking Y/N would allow chicken nuggets.

“What?! We need real food in our tummies!” Harry exclaimed while laughing.

They ended up eating pasta and Harry might have or might have not slipped some chicken nuggets under the table while Artemis was helping Harry cook.

After eating all three together, Artemis asked for permission to play with the toys he kept in Harry’s house, so Y/N and Harry were left alone in the living room.

“Hope you’re in the mood for red wine” Harry sat down beside his girlfriend, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Think he’ll be there for long?”

“He does like the toys you bought him, so he might be there for a while”

Harry leaned towards her, capturing her lips in a kiss. He put his opened palm on the side of her head, deepening the kiss. Y/N pulled away to breath, but she planted little pecks all the way through Harry’s jawline until she reached his lips again.

“I love you so much, baby” Harry whispered, inches away from her face.

“Mhm, I love you more” She cooed, smiling at him. Y/N gave him one more peck before pulling away and sighing.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, putting one piece of hair behind her ear. “What’s on your mind, uh?”

“It’s… I don’t know, we don’t have to talk about that”

“Talk about what, darling?”

They adjusted on their seats so they could be facing each other.

“Just… don’t freak out” she told him. “I’ve been thinking a lot, and… well, you make me, us, very happy. And I really do want this to be… you know, a permanent thing” she started rambling, Harry’s face started to form a goofy smile. “How would you feel about adopting?” She asked abruptly.

“Well, it depends. Adopting a new baby or… my little fella over there?” He pointed down the hall. “Because I’m pretty fine with either, love”

“How are you so calm about this?” She frowned.

“Because I want this too, Y/N. You two make me very happy and I do see us as a permanent thing. I’m glad we’re both on that page, you know?” He took her hand. “I’m also glad we’re talking about this. There’s nothing more I want than give Artemis the Styles last name, legally. But adoption can take a little while so I’m happy we’re discussing this now”

Y/N smiled big at him, looking directly at his gorgeous green eyes. “So, you only want to give my son your last name?”

“I mean, I guess we can sort something out for you” Harry rolled his eyes playfully. Y/N opened her mouth, pretending to be offended, making him let out a big belly laugh.  

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For the next few weeks Y/N and Harry met with an adoption attorney to start looking for the process. They were told it shouldn’t take longer than six months, and that the fact that Artemis’ other parent was absent and did not have any paternal rights, it would be easier to get through the process.

“There’s something else” the attorney said. “You must live with the child for at least six months before we can make any moves, it’s the law”

Harry nodded, sinking in the information the man in front of them was giving. “If there’s more questions, feel free to give me a call”

They shook hands and Harry walked him out of the house. “Well, that went good, innit?”

“Yeah... I mean, at least we know how the process works now” Y/N sighed, whipping the sweat from the palms of her hands. She kind of had an idea of that the process was, and somehow she wasn’t scared of the adoption part but the whole living together wasn’t something they’ve really discussed.

“At least now we have the perspective for the future” Harry gave her a big smile. His mind started to imagine their future together, as a family, and he couldn’t be more excited for it.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

October, 2019.

Harry’s been really nervous lately. The trial against the man who’s been stalking him had him on his nerves. He’s been asking Y/N to stay in his house because he was scared the man would go there while Harry wasn’t with them.

It was safe to say he was scared. And so was Y/N. She knows exactly who’s he talking about as she herself has had an encounter with the homeless guy. Recently.

Three days ago she was out in a morning run before going to work, she had a late class to give and Artemis was already at school so she wanted to take advantage of the free time.

When she was running back to her house to get a shower and drive to work, she noticed someone standing in front of the house. Y/N slowed down, trying to get a better look of the person who was there.

He was just looking at the house, staring. She gasped when the man turned, giving her a clear look to his face. It was the same man who’s been tormenting Harry for quite some time.

She knew Harry was taking that man to court, but she didn’t understand why he was in her house and how did he get her address.

Was he following her?

Too scared to come any closer, Y/N got her phone out of her pocket and called Harry.

“Are you sure it’s him?” he asked in the other end of the line. It sounded like he was looking for something around his house.

“Yeah, he turned and I saw his face” She mumbled, her gaze still focused on that man.

“I’ll be there in five”

He hung up and Y/N waited for him to get there. It didn’t take Harry long to get there, as he was driving real fast. He was mad, furious even. But he was also terrified.

One thing was tormenting him, but his family? The people he loves and cares about?

When he saw Y/N standing a few houses away from her own, Harry almost jumped out of his car. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He scanned her body up and down, trying to make sure she was in one piece. “Where is Artemis?”

“He’s at school, I went for a run. Can… can we go?” Y/N was practically shaking and Harry almost had to carry her inside of his car. They drove off and Y/N was finally able to breathe. “What did he want?”

“I don’t know, love. Was he there when you left for your run?”

“No, I didn’t see him”

“I’m gonna handle this, okay?” He put a hand on her knee. “He’s not gonna hurt you or Artemis” He promised. There was something about his voice and his hand on her knee that soothed her.

She only felt safe again when they were back inside Harry’s house, all the doors locked. Y/N had to call the school and say she was sick, and to be honest she kind of felt like she was.

“I can’t believe it, Harry. Did he follow me? Or you?”

“Probably me” He sighed. “God, I just want it to be over. I don’t understand why he would do that two weeks before the trial”

“Well, it was fucking terrifying. What a bloody creep” Y/N wrapped her arms around herself.

“I’ll take care of it, okay?” He leaned to kiss her forehead. “Everything’s gonna be fine”

She nodded and watched how he disappeared from the living room, probably to call his lawyer. Y/N started thinking about the next steps she should take. Perhaps it was time to look for another house, one with more security or in a gated community. But, could she afford that? Yeah, her salary was nice and she was able to provide for her and Artemis just fine, but she wondered how buying a house would affect her economy right now.

Harry returned to the living room with a glass of water for his girlfriend, sitting next to her on the couch. To Harry, she seemed a lot more relaxed than when he left. It was hard for him too, his mind was going places and thinking things he’d rather not to.

“I know it might be a dumb question, but how are you?”

“I’m a little bit freaked out, but I’m fine” She gave him a half smile.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You don’t deserve this”

“Hey, don’t be sorry. It is not your fault someone thought they had the right to harass you, or that it was okay to stalk you” She took his hands in hers, looking directly at her eyes.

“Move in with me, both of you” He said, tightening the grip in her hands.

“Harry…” she whispered.

“Just, hear me out. I’ve been thinking about it since we had that meeting with the attorney, and… I’m ready whenever you are, okay?” he paused. “But I have to admit it would give me a lot of peace if you two were here full time. I hate to think something could happen to any of you while I’m not there” Harry sighed. “Please, just think about it. Promise me you’ll at least consider it”

Harry was looking at her with big puppy eyes. It was already impossible to say no to him on a daily basis but when he pulled out that look… He could get whatever he desired and he knew it.

“I’d think about it. It’d be a big change and I’d be more comfortable if I talked with Artemis first. His opinion is important too”

“Absolutely. Thank you, baby” Harry pulled her in a hug, kissing the top of her head.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

Turns out, Artemis was more than okay with the idea of living full time with Harry. When Y/N talked to him, he started jumping around his room, saying how he couldn’t wait to see Harry again.

She must admit it took a huge weight out of her shoulders knowing Artemis agreed. The man never came back to their house, but Harry insisted on them moving as soon as possible.

“Jesus, mate. How many toys do you have?” Harry asked, playfully groaning while carrying one of the boxes that were filled with Artemis’ toys.

“Harry, will there be enough space for my toys at your house?” Artemis was watching Harry carry the boxes, he was sitting on top of other box.

“Of course, monkey. I know you already have a room there, but if you want to choose another one, we can decorate it as you please”

“Can it have a cool wallpaper?”

“What would you like?” Harry chuckled.

“Clouds!” Artemis has been obsessed with Toy Story lately, and he wanted his room to be exactly like Andy’s.

“If clouds is what you want, clouds is what you’ll get”

Y/N decided to not take any furniture with them, as Harry’s was plenty enough. She had decided to rent the house to one of her friends that was looking to move.

Harry of course didn’t let Y/N carry anything relatively heavy, so he did all the lifting. The moving truck that they rented along with the people they hired were out of the house, putting everything inside of the car.

“These are the last boxes. We left Artemis’ room for last”

“God, I never noticed how much stuff he had until I started packing it” Y/N laughed.

It only took them another hour to get everything out of Y/N house. She felt nostalgic after the last box was out of the house. She knew she made the right choice, and couldn’t be more excited for this new chapter, but this house held so many memories.

Y/N’s moms bought this house for her and for Artemis. He was only one when they walked through the door for the first time, back when it was only the two of them and no one else.

But now it wasn’t just Artemis and Y/N anymore. And that was more than okay.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

January 30th, 2020.

It was Harry’s birthday week. He was supposed to play this concert in Miami and Y/N had the biggest surprise planned for him.

Y/N made sure they were there to see him play, and to bring onstage his birthday cake. There was something else she wanted to give him, but that surprise was something she’d keep to herself until they were alone.

“The weather doesn’t seem to get better” Harry said, looking through the window of the hotel room they were staying at.

“Do you think the weather will get better before the concert?” Y/N was knelt down in front of Artemis, tying up his sneakers.

“I hope so” He sighed.

“You still joining Lizzo for her number tonight?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fun. Will you two watch me?” Harry walked towards the bed and sat next to Artemis.

“Who’s Lizzo, daddy?”

“A very nice person. Would you like to meet her, bud?”

Artemis nodded shyly. They headed downstairs to eat lunch at the hotel’s restaurant. Harry was in the middle of helping Artemis clean his face with a napkin when some girls approached them.

Y/N sent a kind smile their way as they asked for a picture. Harry being Harry, agreed.

“Is that Artemis?” One of them asked. “Hi, Y/N” They both smiled.

“Hi, girls” She smiled back.

“This is Artemis. Say hi, baby”

The little boy mumbled a little ‘hi’, looking down his plate. Harry got up from his chair and Y/N took the pictures for the girls. They were actually very nice and Harry was very pleased with the way they treated his loves.

Ever since he started dating Y/N, Harry took special attention to the way fans treated her and Artemis. Most of them were polite as they’d never really do anything to upset Harry, but there were still the ones that would get a little pushy. Especially with Artemis.

Usually he tried to understand. Artemis was an extremely adorable child, and people liked to compliment cute children, right? But his baby didn’t like to be touched by strangers. Harry was pretty sure Artemis would riot if someone tried to pinch his cheek.

“They were nice, weren’t there?” Y/N asked once the two girls walked away and they went back to their lunches.

“Yeah, they were very kind”

Rest of the lunch went smoothly and then Harry had sound check at the venue. Artemis wanted to go to the pool so Y/N and he stayed behind. Some other fans approached them when they went by the pool and talked for a little.

After a little while they had to back to their room to get ready to go to Lizzo’s concert at 9pm. It was a little past Artemis’ bedtime, but this was a special occasion.

*:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･: *:･ﾟ✧ ✧ﾟ･:

January 31th, 2020.

The weather wasn’t getting any better, and Harry was nervous the concert would get cancelled. He really wanted to start his birthday celebration on stage, singing in a room full of lovely people.

But it really did seem like the universe didn’t want that.

Later that afternoon they got a call from the fire department saying that under any circumstances they show would be played tonight as it wasn’t safe with the storm coming in the way.

Harry felt really bad about it. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone but even if he’d want to (and he really wanted to), there was no way he could play the concert.

“I know it’s not what you wanted, but it was not safe, honey” Y/N sat behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Artemis was with Mitch and Sarah at their dressing room. They were waiting for their car to pick them up from the venue. “You’ll still have a great birthday, H. I promise”

“I just don’t want to make them upset” He mumbled.

“They’re not. You can’t control the weather, Harry. This is not your fault” She moved to look at him. He looked very sad, he was really looking forward to this show.

The car arrived shortly after and they were back at the hotel safely. Harry still looked upset so he didn’t talk much in the ride back. Artemis was already sleepy, so as soon as his head hit the pillow, he was out.

After brushing their teeth and doing their nightly routine, they were ready for bed. Harry was sighing and pouting like a baby, and Y/N felt really bad for him.

“Okay, I was going to wait until tomorrow for your actual birthday but you clearly need a cheer up” Y/N got out of bed and walked to her suitcase.

Harry looked at her confusedly but got out of bed as well. “What are you talking about?”

“So, I know we haven’t talked about this in a while, but I received a call from the attorney the other day”

“And…?”

“He told me he had the papers ready if we still wanted them” She had the papers hid behind her back so she slowly put them in front of him. “He said all you had to do was sign and you’ll be officially a dad” She flashed him a little smile. “It’s okay if you’re not… ready yet or have changed your mind. You can sign them whenever you want… or not. Your choice”

Harry looked up at him, his emerald eyes were full of tears ready to come out. He was truly speechless. It had slipped through his mind, being honest. It truly did catch him by surprise but he couldn’t stop the butterflies on his tummy.

It hit him. All he had to do was sign. And his boy, would be his. Officially, Legally his.

He nodded furiously, breathing a smile. “Do you have a pen?”

☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁☁

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[justlookingvm]

Tessa Virtue’s leap from Figure Skating Olympic Champion to Executive MBA | Kneading Dough Canada

https://youtu.be/JAAkEDRFJ1A

Host: Vinay Virmani

T: If you’re going to build something, you need options in your life. I’ll say this especially as females, it’s important to be independent. To feel like you can be self-reliant and to take care of yourself.

[Intro presented by Tangerine]

V: Tessa, welcome to Kneading Dough Canada.

T: Thank you so much for having me.

V: It’s a pleasure. Kneading Dough Canada is a financial empowerment platform as you know, where we talk money, we talk mindset, we talk about financial lessons that you’ve learned along the way to hopefully inspire the next generation.

T: Well I’m so grateful to be on, I really appreciate it. I think it’s always refreshing to hopefully lend that female lens but also maybe that perspective from the amateur sport world too.

V: Yeah, you know Tessa you’ve accomplished so much, both in your personal and in your professional life. As an athlete you have achieved so many incredible honours, you’ve represented us, this country of Canada at the highest of international levels, but what I’m really excited about is you’re about to add another accomplishment in the form of three very special letters, MBA behind your name. Talk to me about that decision.

T: It’s been you know lingering in my mind for a long time. Education was always a priority in my household growing up in my family, and I thought about law school for quite some time and then I retired at 28 or 29 and thought maybe that’s too long (giggle) and realized also I wanted to flex a bit of a creative muscle. So this MBA program has been a dream of mine for quite some time. I want to be a student again in every sense of the word and I’m eager to learn the ins and outs of the business realm and that corporate sphere that I’ve had a unique perspective of, you know for 10 15 years, but if I’m going to take on a new role whatever that may be then I really want to feel like I’ve adopted that rookie mindset once again, and earned my stripes, I’ve gotten the credibility to to deserve a place there.

V: I want to take it to the world of figure skating though, because the world of figure skating is so glamorous as a sport. You know

T: I wasn’t sure where that sentence was going to land. It could have gone so many directions.

V: I I’m so like fascinated by the world of figure skating because the glamour, the imagination, the costumes, the drama, the whole production value. It looks so beautiful and elegant, but behind it there’s also rigorous routine, training and it’s not cheap.

T: Uh huh

V: So growing up, dd you have those conversations with your family and did you understand the investment that it was taking to sort of put you through the highest levels of figure skating.

T: The 2 things that my parents were always wiling to invest in or prioritize were education and sport. And it was important to them that we were exposed to as much as we could be. I’m the youngest of four. You know I’m of two minds because on one hand I do believe they tried to shield me from the burden of that sacrifice, that they made for all kids and for you know all of these adventures. But I was also keenly aware of it. I knew the the toll and I knew the cost and um you know I felt that responsibility…

V: Was there anything that you remember early on where there was an incident or a moment where you were like, I recognize like you talked about the toll.

T: My parents were so conscious to ensure that I wasn’t carrying that weight, and yet I moved away from home  when I was 13 and I was kind of budgeting at that age for groceries and 7-eleven runs (laughs), whatever it is that a 13 year old needs. Taking taxis everywhere and I made a decision when I was 15 um to be able to do it on my own. My mom was always quick to say you know you have to look after yourself and you always have to make your own way and she was all about sort of creating that sense of security and freedom, so that I had options.

To be honest I had a tumultuous relationship with my father when I was a teen and I think it was just a decision, at that point. I didn’t feel right.

V: Yeah

T: I didn’t feel right accepting that kind of support anymore um and maybe it was a bit of pride you know, not wanting to

V: You don’t want to be dependent on anybody.

T: Totally. Yeah, and that’s not to say that I’m not aware of the privilege that I had growing up to have those opportunities. It was just a real marker of OK, if this is the path I’m choosing, um and I really need to make sure that I can I can do it on my own or in a way that really isn’t such a burden.

V: You know talking to you today has reinforced independence. You know being independent, not being dependent and and just being self-sufficient. And how gratifying that is, you know I think a lot of people, especially as you said, I hope a lot of young women watch this show and and really listen to your advice. And the fact that you took that decision at such an early age.

T: You know it’s interesting I found old journals not too long ago, and there was a page in one and I don’t know, judging by my handwriting I might have been 12? 11 or 12? And I had written my goals and that were, you know the to win the Olympics, be on Oprah, which I’ll settle for uninterrupted and Kneading Dough, uh buy a cottage, like buy a family cottage

V: Right

T: And at 12 that was on my mind and the feeling of walking into this cottage that my mom and I were able to dream of and then buy together, is so visceral and it’s it’s so much about, like I think back to being young and maybe not having, especially for her like that sense of security and and just really feeling like that can be a safe place now. Um so again it’s more of the representation of that.

V: I’ve heard you say something that has really resonated with me always because it’s something that I believe in. That the highs are so much better when you’ve experienced the lows. And obviously Scott Moir and yourself accomplished so many great things together. Something that I always try to tell the younger generation is, sometimes you have to just sit back celebrate your failures.

T: Well we learned to embrace it by making it part of our process, in that, not only did we anticipate failure and expect it and embrace it, well, we practiced it. So we learned to fall on demand, get back up, refocus, and

V: OK

T: be back into our program still trying to amalgamate as many points as possible.

V: You know I remember once um I must have been in grade school and I and I failed a few subjects. I was never a good student.

T: OK

V: And you know we didn’t have a lot of money at the time and I remember my my dad, I was really afraid to tell him that you know I’ve failed these courses and blah blah blah, but he said to the family, he said, alright everybody get ready we’re going for dinner. And we went to this restaurant that was only saved for like birthdays or anniversaries. And so we get there and he’s ordering all these great things on the menu and I’m like “dad, I don’t think you heard me like I failed, like I failed and here you are taking it t the restaurant.” And I remember he looked at me and he said “You know I want you to celebrate this failure. I want you to take it in because if you’re winning all the time, you’re not going to learn anything.”

T: Wow, and obviously that stayed with you

V: Oh yeah, you’re always going to learn so much more from the losses.

This next set of questions is called the two cents round, so you can’t overthink these things.

Tessa, we all know about your discipline but what do you splurge on?

T: Clothes

V: Clothes, OK, all right. What part of your budget are you working on lowering?

T: Clothes (big laugh). Actually not really because I will say, it’s more what it represents like part of that is like my I love it and it’s become also intertwined with my career and my brand if you will. Um

V: Its an investment in yourself.

T: I think so, that’s how I twist it

V: So, what is us the best financial decision you’ve made so far?

T: Hire the right people

V: Building the right team around you.

T: Yeah absolutely.

V: Describe your financial persona in just one word.

T: I want to say careful?

V: Careful.

T: Careful in that I’m strategic

V: I like that, OK

T: But I’m willing to have some fun.

V: OK, all right. Tessa if you could run any business, what would it be?

T:  My own.

V: Your own. OK. All right I’m not going to push you more. [Tessa laughs]. They say patience is a virtue, how long did your first paycheck last?

T: I mean I spent my whole career basically operating at a deficit, so everything went back into training. I worked towards certain things and the you know I was really fortunate to get some funding and bursary grants, and then eventually sponsors and um was able to build this little nest egg, but mostly  it went right back into training.

V: Tessa, this year we’ve been having such important and meaningful conversations about women in sport. And you know of course there’s such a long way to go for those conversations really to achieve equality, but as somebody who’s such a big advocate for women’s empowerment in sport, how do you feel that you want to lend your voice to those conversations?

T: I think, currently the biggest impact I feel I can have is really connecting with those young female athletes at that precipice of maybe dropping out um for all the heart breaking reasons that we’re learning about through research. Whether that is you know body image, or lack of self-confidence, lack of self-worth, it’s just not good enough. Like the access to resources, there are opportunities, um I think those conversations are really important and that’s where I’ve been feeling most fulfilled, when I’m able to connect with those athletes and you know I’ve been able to benefit from all of the lessons and the opportunities that sport has lended it uh to my life. And I just so want that for other female athletes. And you know we’re seeing that there are more mentors, more representation, more access to viewing these formidable female athletes, and I hope that resonates.

V: Tessa, we’ve uh had the opportunity to work on a few branded campaigns together. There’s this Tessa grace, and there’s this element of everything being held to a certain standard. In everything that you do, especially things that are public facing. Talk to me a bit about that.

T: I hate the word brand but I’m going to say it, my brand has been

V: I mean you definitely have a very strong brand

T: Well it’s been built on the very foundation of me and my personality and if those values aren’t upheld in every sense of you know the word, then I’m I’m not useful to anyone. Then I’m then no brand would want to hire me, um because it if it gets diluted, then I then I just think um it’s losing the very essence of what resonates with people. And I’m really careful about that like I only partner and pair with brands that I would authentically stand behind and feel really good about promoting.  

V: I love that

T: And I’m conscious of where I lend my voice and my likeness, a very clear mission statement, and you know I love to be hands on but that’s where like the creative fulfilment comes in

V: Right

T: And honestly that’s where the most successful engagement also comes. If I’m involved and it’s a collaborative process, um it’s much more successful for the brand too.

V: You know, over this past year, there’s been such a strong connection to mental health and financial wellness. Many Canadians have a very high debt to income ratio, which can be very stressful. For you, how do you protect not only your mental health, but when it comes to financial wellness. How do you really protect your sanity?

T: As an amateur athlete I grappled with that um day after day. I think it’s important to find purpose in saving and planning. So, you know my mom started those conversations with me when I was young but that was all to sort of plant the seed of like you need to plan for this. And if you’re going to build something you need options in your life. For me you know it’s helped having a corporation for example, because a lot of my money is tied up there and it it’s great um but, it’s also made me very careful and strategic in how I spend it.

V: What is your one big piece of financial advice to all young women out there?

T: Surround yourself with the right people and set yourself up for independence.

V: I love that. Financial freedom.

T: Financial freedom.

#Tessa Interview: Kneading Dough