Windenburg Arc - Tumblr Posts

The Save File Chronicles - Trailer

Made a trailer/opening credits for my story. I wish I could tell you why I do not have any level of chill, but alas, I do not know.

The Save File Chronicles 

In this “slice of life with a side of bloodshed” story, gods, monsters, and all the supernatural in-between find themselves in an alternate universe with mundane lives and no memories of their former powers. Will the drama of mortality be enough? Or will the call of the otherworldly be too much to resist? 

CW: This story has adult language, adult situations, sex, gore, and violence. It regularly deals with traumatic situations, mental health issues, and drug use. It is intended for mature readers (18+).

I plan to post long-form versions of the chapters on my WordPress site and publish them in smaller bites on Tumblr. The chapters are coming very soon, and I will wrangle some sort of navigation post, lol.

Credits

Track: "I Owe My Soul 80", T-Pain

Music provided by: https://slip.stream 

Download / Stream: https://get.slip.stream/ADWefF

Listen on Spotify: https://go-stream.link/sp-t-pain

VFX from Motion Array and Footagecrate

Prologue: The Space Between Universes

CW: This story has adult language, adult situations, sex, gore, and violence. It regularly deals with traumatic situations, mental health issues, and drug use. It is intended for mature readers (18+).

TW: Blood and creepy characters in this chapter + references to death

Excerpt from "The After-life for Gods and Monsters," location of book unknown.

The space between universes isn’t anything so dreamy as the old myths portend.

There’s no feeling of weightlessness or enchanting choral music, and certainly, no gossamer hands gently guiding you toward a welcoming light. 

Mostly, there’s a concrete floor and dingy walls. And an old transistor radio tuned to 87.3 so the staff can listen to the real oldies—Selvadoradian chants with the occasional saucy tone poem from an ancient Windenburgian Monk.

You don’t float; you fall.

And after you land, or rather, hit the cold floor of what looks like the world’s shittiest warehouse, you’re pretty much left to your own devices.

At least, that’s how it seems. Truthfully, the warehouse is pretty busy, and everyone has enough work to do without wasting valuable milliseconds trying to decipher your questions through your tears. 

And the questions are always the same, anyway:

Why?

Because.

Am I supposed to be here?

Yes.

Can you give me something to relieve the pain?

Honestly, does this look like a pharmacy to you? 

Also, no. 

At some point, when you’ve pulled your shit together enough to stop wailing and accept your circumstances—come what may—someone does show up to talk to you.

Two “someones,” actually: Time and her wife, Substance. And yes, no matter what form they appear in, they’re a little bit rude. 

They’ll explain to you (with some level of irritation) that, of course, this isn’t a fucking warehouse, and it’s not their fault that your puny mind can’t interpret the true nature of the space between the stars. 

And no, not actual stars, obviously. The fact that you would even ask that shows you’re not listening.

Assuming they’re interested in your continued presence after all that, Time will sit at the desk, and Substance will mend your bones and stuff your organs back inside your body. 

—If you have bones.

—If you have organs.

If you haven’t already done it yourself, and frankly, if you want to make a good impression, you should.

The questions they ask are also always the same. And be you god, queen, man, or monster, you are expected to answer.

Who would you be in a whole new world?

What would you do with a new set of circumstances?

And on occasion, depending on who you were—or what you were, they’ll ask a secret third question.

It’s hard to tell if your answer really matters because as soon as you open your mouth, everything goes black.

And then, strangely, you start to hear a loud ringing.

—Followed by some upbeat choral chimes and a little bit of buzzing.

And try as you might; you won’t be able to recall a single tangible thing about the space between the universes.

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Chapter 1.1 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: ALICE]

Alice isn’t late, exactly. She’s just operating on a slightly different schedule than the syllabus demands. 

And this running she’s doing down the university’s cobblestone walks? That’s for cardio—which she could probably improve if she smoked just a little less Purple Haze. But the Purple Haze was medicinal for all her non-cardio-related problems, so, see, it’s impossible not to have it. 

Besides, a little panic is good for the spirit. It gets the heart pumping and the blood flowing, and if you ignore all the ways the cortisol getting pushed through your veins makes you want to throw up, it sort of feels refreshing.

Yes, refreshed—that’s what Alice is—not sweaty and overwhelmed and wishing she hadn’t left registration to the last minute because now she was stuck with an 8 am class.

Or what would be an 8 am class if she could’ve gotten herself out of bed instead of sleeping through her six alarms. But that wasn’t her fault because her dreams were weird as fuck and kept her up all night. She can deal with nightmares, but sad dreams are for the birds. And she can’t even remember what was so devastating, only that she feels like she lost something.

Shaking off the melancholy, she turns to the entrance of Psyded Hall and freezes when the doors fling open and students begin pouring out.

Motherfucker.

This is not how the final year of her MFA is supposed to go. She’s supposed to have her shit together for reasons she can’t even begin to enumerate until she’s had some coffee. 

Trying not to let her inner turmoil show on her face, Alice marches across the quad to The Bean Stand and asks the barista to hit her with a to-go cup of mocha-caffeinated goodness. It’s a splurge—10 simoleons—but after this stressful morning? She’s more than earned it.

And it's not like she was paying for it. That was all courtesy of Cyrus Martin and the credit card he gave her, which her mother didn’t know about because money led to her parent’s divorce. 

—that and her father’s now-wife, the former Alice Spencer-Kim-Lewis. Or, as Alice liked to call her, the “Homewrecking step-monster who deserved to slip on some ice.”

Technically, her father deserved to slip on some ice, too. Who the hell had an affair and named his daughter after the other woman? But her feelings about him were more complicated. 

To be honest, her feelings about both her parents were complicated. Her mother, Valeria Pierce, is driven, ornery, and smart, and Alice is just like her.

Except in all the ways she isn’t.

Like how she dreams too much, hates being pinned down, and often feels like a grouchy little gremlin who doesn’t want to do anything except enjoy excess and faff around. Alice likes art and photography and loses track of time trying to pinpoint the right angle for a shot. She doesn't have reasonable interests or practical skills. Her grandmother once described her as “all-heart,” and it was not a compliment. 

Frankly, save for being hot-headed and stubborn, Alice isn’t like her mother at all. But musing about her jacked-up relationship with her parents and all the jacked-up decisions she’s made because of it isn’t on her to-do list this morning. 

Heading into the Britechester Commons, she searches for a good spot to hunker down. A flash of red hair makes her panic—

But it’s not her ex, so she takes a deep breath, tries to slow her heart rate, and curls into one of the armchairs. 

She tells herself that it’s only September, and there are still plenty of opportunities to turn this hot mess train around. Tomorrow, she’ll start getting up early. And today, she’ll make her first step toward putting herself out there again. Jeffery—yes, that’s how he actually spelled his name—was not going to define her relationships. 

Sex life. 

Relationship?

Shit. She still hasn’t decided if she’s just looking for a hook-up to get her back in the mix or a sim who’s worthy of a long-term commitment. 

Maybe both? Alice tends to make decisions based on deadlines and vibes, and this one won’t be different; she’ll just slap a profile together and see what happens.

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Chapter 1.2 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: MIKO]

The Art History department has two other TAs, but as far as Miko’s concerned, they’re both bullshit.

They haven’t proven themselves incompetent yet, but it's only a matter of time before someone drops the ball, leaving Miko to pick it up. It’s how it always goes down, which is why, despite feeling like absolute crap, she’s organizing the art supply room by herself. 

Next week, the undergrads will start working on pieces for their first critical review. A lot of them are talented, but they’re also inexperienced. And as silly as it seems, having their supplies clearly labeled with helpful hints will be a gift from the Watcher when some professor is picking apart their work and demanding they make quick changes. 

You mean when some professor was picking apart your work because you’re incompetent.

It takes everything to ignore the nasty voice in her head and her burning need to pee. It’s just stress, anyway. She slept like shit—horrifying dreams kept her up half the night—and she still needed to get here early to finish up before the other TAs arrived. 

Her nightmares made no sense. Miko is only 24; she shouldn’t be worried about running out of time. But the clock in her dreams filled her with terror, and she had the strangest sense that she never used to worry about time at all. 

In fact, she used to wield it. 

It’s the kind of bonkers thought she doesn’t allow herself to have anymore. 

Usually, she was fine once she was on campus. It was where she could pretend she didn’t live in a tiny clapboard house in a Newcrest neighborhood the mayor swore would gentrify but hadn’t changed much since Miko was a kid. 

Not that gentrification was good. By the time they cleaned up the drunks in the park and picked up the trash, the cost of housing would be too high, and Miko and her grandmother would have to find somewhere else to live.

And your mother? Did you forget about her, or are you just extra delusional today? 

Miko doubles over at the thought. The worst part is that she knows it's her. She’s being mean to herself and has no idea how to stop it. 

Maybe it’s not the negative voice, you idiot. Maybe you really do just have to pee.

Son of a bitch. That’s probably right. Ignoring the implications of arguing with herself, Miko hauls ass up two flights of stairs until she’s on the second floor of the Commons. 

“Watcher, give me strength,” she prays when she shuts the stall door. The Ojos aren’t religious, but spending primary and secondary school under the watch of cranky nuns gave her the habit.

Her prayers must be getting misdirected, though. While she’s hovering over the toilet seat, fighting for her life, the other two Art History TAs walk into the bathroom and start gossiping. 

“I just don’t understand why she would organize the closet when we already had a plan to work on it this morning,” Emmett says.

“Because she’s a bitch,” Hande laughs, “Seriously. You can’t take it personally. Some sims just don’t know how to act.”

“I mean, but what’s the point?” Emmett continues. “We’re all graduating. Maybe someone will write you a good recommendation for the Royal Arts Fellowship if you go above and beyond. But you can do that without screwing everyone else over.”

“Some sims are unhappy. Like it's a trait,” Hande assures him, “Just ignore her.”

Miko waits until she hears them leave before she limps out of the bathroom stall, bladder still burning and her cheeks joining in on the party. The old nuns were right: The Watcher was a merciless god, and Miko was clearly on her shit list.

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Chapter 1.3 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: WILLIAM]

William would take his 3-hour Law Exam Prep class over being trapped on a guided tour with his parents any day.

“Britechester has been wanting to name a space for the Redding Family for years,” Mila beams. 

Holy fucking Watcher, the Director of Fundraising couldn’t be thirstier if she tried.  

“When the Goth family donated their private papers to the law library collection, we thought it was the perfect opportunity to bring you closer to our mission.”

William stifles a yawn. He slept terribly last night—tossing and turning from a dream he knew was a nightmare but couldn’t recall any details of. Or at least, no details beyond the fact that he was dead. It felt…strange. Sims died; it was how life worked, but for William, it felt wrong, like dying was something his body actively rejected. 

He tries to turn his attention back to the conversation. So far, no one has mentioned money, even though the school clearly wants it.

“I suppose I should be thinking about legacy. I’m long past my law school days.” William’s father pauses and waits for Mila to cut in with a joke about how he still looks like a young adult, which she does. 

And the thing is, Raphael Redding—Judge Redding to the world—might be vain, but he isn’t wrong. He’s distinguished without appearing elderly, which bodes well for William’s future. 

“What my husband is trying to say is that we have a connection to this place beyond our good memories of attending school here.” Sydney Redding smiles as if she hadn’t been complaining about how “sorry and dated” the campus looked on the way over.

“And part of our legacy is right here,” Raphael adds smoothly. He nods to William, “Isn’t that right, son? What do you think? Is this the right move for the Redding family name?”

Raphael has been setting up tests like this ever since he decided that William should soft-launch his political career as soon as he graduates. There’s no other reason to require his presence for something their family accountant will sort out anyway. 

“It depends on how big the lettering will be,” William jokes. 

It’s not really that funny, but everyone laughs, so William is off the hook. “Any chance I could break off? I promised Christopher I’d meet him for lunch.”

Sydney’s eyes light up, visions of flower arrangements and matching tuxes dancing in her head. Voters love a love story, she always tells him. He can build a ton of goodwill early in his career just by making a public show of settling down. 

“Christopher and William are perfect for each other,” his mother stage whispers, “William is constantly dipping out to see him.”

Taking that as his cue, William heads for the exit, launching the Social Bunny app on his phone as he walks. 

He has lunch plans, but they don’t include Christopher.  

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Chapter 1.4 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV: VLAD]

“You’re really not going to move any of your stuff in or sleep here?” William demands as he storms into the study room. 

“And deprive you of the joy of having a room to yourself?” 

“Don’t try to turn this shit back on me.”

Bemused, Vlad takes a sip of his coffee. He would prefer a mocha, but there’s no way he’s trekking over to the Commons. “You don’t even want to sleep here.”

“Yes, but that’s because graduate housing is…” William glances around the dorm, his disdain clear, "I’ve stayed in nicer hotels.” 

“I see you’ve spent the morning with your family.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

William knows what it means, just like he knows that Vlad prefers living at home and the bliss of not sharing a space with random sims who talk and breathe in ways that annoy him. He only sleeps in the dorm when he’s too drunk to get himself back to Henford-on-Bagley. 

“Maybe I would like a little companionship,” William grumbles, “Maybe I want to spend time with my best friend while we enjoy our last year of freedom.”

“But then where would you bring your non-Christopher boyfriends?” Vlad smiles, “In fact, it's lunchtime. Shouldn’t Vaea be on his way here?” 

“And what about you?” William snaps, ignoring the question. “There isn’t a single speck of free space in that entire compound you call a home, assuming you could find a sim willing to take the train to the countryside for a hook-up.”

Vlad doesn’t do hook-ups. He barely likes to be touched. Most of the time, masturbation suits him just fine. His ex was confused about this. Fuifui took great pride in being his first until he discovered that Vlad didn’t attach any morality to sex; he simply hated most sims so much he could never quiet his mind down.

“William, bringing my delightful brand of friendship to strangers is low on my priority list.” 

“Well, this is our last year of law school, Vladislaus. You are supposed to be meeting strangers, living it up, having fun.” 

Vlad wasn’t a hermit by any stretch of the definition. He let William drag him to any number of social activities. But it wasn’t his preference. He was better when he was alone.

“The Volkovs were wrong,” William continues, reading Vlad’s mind in a way that is only possible when you’ve been friends since the 5th grade. “You are fit for public consumption.”

Actually, Fuifui and his adopted family were far more specific than that. Their exact words were that Vlad lacked a conscience and a heart. The first part was accurate, but the second part? 

The second part filled Vlad with an unending desire to flay open his chest and see if it was true.

“Quit being so difficult and put yourself out there,” William scolds, “You don’t need to study, so you might as well use your time for something.”

“I could plan your wedding,” Vlad quips as he returns the book he was reading to the shelf. Truthfully, he just wants to rile William up so he can secretly check his phone. 

There’s no reason to admit it yet, but he is putting himself “out there.” Judging by the available profiles on Cupid’s Corner, though, it’s a wasted effort. 

The app loves to tout its “secret algorithmic formula”—and yes, Vlad read the entire website. The urge to read every single detail on a topic is one he can’t often subdue. But clearly, the algorithm is broken. Every single sim on this app is insufferable except—

Vlad’s finger hovers over the message button. There are a million things wrong with this profile that should send him screaming—typos, misspellings, terrible grammar. But her username makes it seem like she’s daring him to bring up even one of her faults, and Watcher helps him; he likes it. 

Her real name is Alice, and the title of her bio is “Nothing to see here folks!” Instead of describing her hobbies and university major, she just lists her top ten Tea and Treachery hot takes. 

Vlad fires off a message and grins when he gets an immediate response. 

“Are you even listening?” William cries. “I asked if you had nightmares.”

“I slept fine,” Vlad murmurs, focusing on crafting the perfect reply to Alice’s challenge.

Finally, he looks up from his phone to find William staring at him strangely.

“You know I don’t dream,” Vlad sighs. “Never have. Probably never will.”

(not for nothing but I love this dorm built by @bojanastarcevic and idc if makes my sims pay like $3000 a semester for tuition)

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Chapter 1.5 - Bad Dreams Are for the Birds

[POV ALICE]

“My fellow TAs hate me, and the Watcher is punishing me with a UTI,” Miko whines as she drags herself into their dorm room. 

Alice cuts off her voice reader as soon as her friend comes in. She isn’t ashamed around Miko, but it’s hard enough to focus on what anyone is saying without a computerized voice reading her all the latest TV gossip.

“They don’t hate you,” she replies, continuing to scroll the red carpet pictures from the Starlight Accolades. 

Was Judith Ward seriously wearing a red bustier? 

“They called me a bitch.”

“I call you a bitch.”

“You call me a bitch with affection,” Miko replies as she toes off her shoes and perches gingerly on the side of her bed. “That’s different.”

The solemn note in her voice makes Alice put down her phone. “Miko, you are not a bitch.”

“I agreed with everyone’s plan to clean up the storage closet, and then I snuck in early this morning and did all myself anyway.”

Ouch. “Okay, so you’re not chill—”

“Hey!”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re a bitch,” Alice assures her. “Although it is very extra. Why the hell would you get up early? And why do all the work yourself?”

“I…” Miko balks.

“Trust other sims exactly 0%?” Alice giggles when she rolls her eyes. “I’m not judging. I’m just saying that if you give someone a chance, they might surprise you.”

“How are you the one saying that? When we met freshman year, I was crying the supply closet, and you gave me a whole ass speech about how sims are shit.” She glances down at Alice’s phone and then narrows her eyes. Her twang becomes more pronounced as she grows more agitated. “And who are you messaging? Is it Jeffery? Because if it’s that motherfucker, I swear I’ll—”

“No,” Alice bites out, her voice sharper than she intended.

Miko startles, “Shit, I’m sorry; I know you worked real hard to get out of that relationship, and you’re never going back. I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s fine,” Alice lies because it isn’t. It won’t ever be. But she can’t say that because then everyone will worry that she’ll screw up again. “How about I get some snacks, and we can stay in tonight?”

“I guess,” Miko hesitates. “Didn’t you want to get pictures of your creepy death cult?”

The students gathering behind Pepper’s Pub are definitely not a death cult. They’re just eccentric undergrads in robes, making them the perfect subjects for an exhibition on Britechester’s Secret Society.

“My death cult can wait,” Alice declares as she jumps up and grabs her wallet. “They’re not anywhere near as important as your injured vajay!” She squeals and tries to block when Miko tosses a ball of yarn at her. 

“Don’t strain yourself!” Alice cackles as she slips out the door. As soon as it shuts, her phone starts buzzing with a message from Vlad. 

She should find it pretentious that he used his full name as his username. He’s also actively scowling in his profile picture, which only works because he’s objectively attractive and probably knows it. Ugh.

But he writes like a Simlish Literature textbook, which sounds kind of nice coming out of her voice reader. And maybe it's just her imagination, but he seems to like arguing with her.

She smiles when she sees his response to her teasing about Jenny and the Duke: 

It’s three paragraphs long.

(First chapters are so hard, omfg. Now, to continue luring them into a false sense of security while I quietly work on the secret society that is definitely not a creepy death cult...)

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Chapter 2.1 - Happenstance

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(If long-form is more your vibe, you can read the full chapter here on my WordPress)

Chapter 2.2 - Happenstance

[POV: WILLIAM]

"You can't cast Disintegrate on an entire universe," William grumbles. 

"Of course I can," Vlad scoffs, "I literally just did it."

“No,” William glares, “You didn't. You'd need a magical item. Specifically, the Owl of Undoing and Christopher already said you can't have it." 

Vlad raises his brows, and William understands the look: Why are you defending him? Christopher plays a paladin. You don’t even like him; you’ve been cheating on him for months. 

Or maybe that’s just the guilt talking.

"I know what he said,” Vlad takes a swig of his barley bale. “That's why I pickpocketed him three sessions ago. Check your notes. I think you’ll find you already made the decision when you let me roll for it."

Asshole. Yes, William complains about Christopher. Yes, he feels trapped. But Lairs and Llamas wasn’t the place to sort that out. "Fine," he snaps, crumbling up a page of his notes. "You do it. Your enemies turn to dust, and everything resets to a single, non-magical universe."

"That doesn’t make sense,” Candy purses her lips. "How can we be sure the world has no magic? I mean, isn't that a little like saying there are no aliens? It doesn't make sense. There probably are aliens and magic, too. We just haven't discovered them yet."

Vlad grins. “Yes, William, isn’t it possible that there are more magical fish in the sea?”

William does not dignify this with an answer. Unlike Vlad’s family of loud, co-dependent lunatics, the Reddings operate via refined passive-aggressive avoidance and socially acceptable threats.   

Christopher scoops up the dice and flings it onto the map. It skips and rolls to a stop on the worst possible number. "Natural 20!" he exclaims. "I look for a portal that takes me and my fellow paladins back in time to undo Vladislaus's spell."

"Some things can’t be undone," Vlad chuckles. “Why waste your time?”

"Because you’re wrong," Christopher insists, his gaze sharp, "Natural 20 means I automatically succeed."

“Technically—” Gunther begins.

“Nope,” William holds up a hand. Gunther joined their table after Vlad sent their last player running through the quad in tears. He was exhausting, and they’d had enough of his But the Rules speeches to last a lifetime. “Not technically. We are not doing that tonight.”

“So I succeed?” The hopefulness in Christopher’s voice makes William shift uncomfortably.

But Vlad just laughs and hums a little tune. “Oh, do tell, William. How does the natural 20 work out? Can Christopher go back in time and undo all the damage?” 

William grinds his jaw. “No. There is no such thing as magic, which means even with a natural 20, Christopher’s move doesn’t work.”

Christopher slumps in his seat. 

“So the campaign is over?” Candy asks. 

“Y-yes,” William croaks and then clears his throat. “I just want to know how your characters start their new lives while we wrap up."

"I start a conspiracy theory newspaper about aliens and magic,” Candy smirks.

“Hmmm,” Gunther rubs his chin. “I think my barbarian queen becomes a personal trainer. And then she meets this cool, casual academic with black-framed glasses who—”

“That’s enough,” William interrupts. “Christopher? Are we—er—you alright?” He swallows hard, his resolve weakening. Why is he trying so hard to protect the feelings of someone he doesn’t care about? “The end can be a fresh start. It doesn’t even have to be an end,” he finishes, ignoring Vlad’s dark look. 

Christopher surges to his feet. "Honestly, fuck you, Straud. You ruined this for all of us! Especially for Will, who planned it."

William hates being called Will. He's told his boyfriend this a thousand times. But the guilt over being defended when it's obvious Christopher has no idea what’s going on keeps him from pointing it out. "Sit down, love. You don't want to do this." 

"No, I do. I want Vladislaus to know he's fucked up and selfish!"

"He knows,” William deadpans.

"Yes," Vlad agrees, "I'm quite aware of my faults. Now," he leans forward, resting his elbow on the table to prop up his chin. "Are you defending William because you're fucking him or because you're hoping this might excite him enough to tell you he loves you?"

It's the wrong thing to say. Or maybe it’s the right thing, considering that Vladislaus thrives off of chaos. Christopher charges around the table, dragging him out of his seat. 

“Is this what you want?” he shouts.

Yes. 

No.

No. Christopher doesn’t know what’s at stake, and William doesn’t need a white knight. He needs his boyfriend to have enough common sense to know when he's being goaded. “Don’t!” he shouts. 

But he’s too slow.

Christopher cocks back his fist and punches Vlad straight in the mouth.

(Love this Lairs and Llamas set by @valhallansim! Also, my IRL dnd group is really just a spy v. spy situation where we mostly plot against each other and then sometimes band together to fight a dragon we name after bad ex-boyfriends)

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Chapter 2.3 - Happenstance

[POV: ALICE]

“Eventually, you’re gonna have to tell your parents you’re on academic probation,” Miko warns. 

They’re just past Pepper’s Pub, nearly to the spot where the Secret Society regularly meets. Alice has been scoping them out since campus opened, but she’s never gotten this close. 

“Keep your voice down! I don’t want to spook the weirdos that I, another weirdo, am stalking.”

“You’re so dang dramatic; we are not even that close.” Miko lowers her voice, but to Alice’s disappointment, she does not let the topic go. “I’m serious. At a minimum, you need to get straight As, and even that won’t be enough to pull your GPA up.”

“D’s get degrees,” Alice jokes. 

“No, they don’t. You should at least prepare them for the possibility that you won’t graduate.”

“I am preparing!” Alice scowls, “Why do you think I’m out here working on this project?” 

“You said your New Year's Resolution was to live your truth. Lying to your parents about your academic status while cashing their checks to help you with living expenses is not ‘living your truth,’” Miko admonishes, making mock quotation marks with her fingers. 

“Way to throw my words back in my face,” Alice huffs.

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m just encouraging you. You made me promise to hold your feet to the fire!”

“And my feet are on fire! I am 100% focused on acing all my classes and blowing the review panel out of the water with my final project.”

“Bitch, you are not focused! You missed your 8 am class every day this week. I came back to the room to grab a textbook, and you were snoring!”

“First of all, I don’t snore.”

Miko rolls her eyes. 

“And second of all, I need to get these shots. Can we just let this go for now?”

“For now,” Miko agrees, “But I won’t forget.”

The rest of the walk across the bridge is silent. Once they reach the clearing, the air is crisp, and the shadows cast by the cliffs are just right. Alice creeps forward, intending to get a few shots before anyone arrives. 

“Hey!” Miko whispers, nervously twisting her hands. “What if something bad happens?”

Alice bites back a sigh. Miko's worries always revolved around a terrible outcome she believed was inevitable. Alice struggled to relate. She didn’t worry about the future. Hell, she had a hard time remembering that the future was coming and that she needed to do something about it. 

“Think positive thoughts, okay? Worst case scenario, it's boring and nothing happens. Best case: we see something truly awesome.” 

“But—”

“Nothing bad is gonna happen, I promise.”

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Chapter 2.4 - Happenstance

[POV: WILLIAM]

Somewhere between Gunther screaming, Christopher snarling, and Vladislaus grinning like a total sociopath, William realizes he has lost control. 

"Try it again," Vlad purrs.

"No, Christopher, do not try it," William growls. "Walk it off!"

Gunther taps William’s shoulder, "We should call the campus police. This is assault!"

"No,” Candy huffs, "This was two idiots. And the only thing we should do is leave."

William shoots her a grateful look. He waits until she hustles Gunther and Christopher downstairs before he rounds on his best friend. "Why?"

"Why what? Why is Gunther such a fucking killjoy? Why is Chris's right hook surprisingly adequate?" 

"None of those is the right question, and you know it! This is a game, you unhinged tosser! I am creating a story that you are playing with other sims. Winning is about coming to a resolution together."

"I can't come to a resolution with those idiots. We'd still be fighting if I didn't make that move. Is that what you want?" Vlad’s tone turns chiding, "Endless weeks of going through the motions trying to preserve something that gets destroyed anyway?” 

“You don’t even like him!”

"Well, of course, I don’t like him,” Vlad barks a laugh, “What’s to like? Christopher thinks ‘good’ is a personality trait. He enjoys fruitcake. He respectfully declines to offer up his opinion. I more than dislike him; I loathe him entirely.” 

“Then why are you doing this? What do you care what I do in my relationship?”

“It makes you miserable,” Vlad intones like he’s explaining the concept to a toddler, “You’re trapped in a toxic dynamic, and you don’t like him either.”

Avoid. Avoid. Avoid. “Can you not just pretend?”

“For him?”

"For me!" William explodes. "I know you are capable. You can be charming and chill and nice—yes, nice, Vladislaus—when you want to be."

Vlad affects a pout. "Had I any idea your bedroom paladin was going to take his dice and go home, I would have—"

"Can you, for once in your life, just fucking spare me?"

“I did spare you,” he looks genuinely perplexed. “Or at least I tried,” he lifts a shoulder, “You broke it up before I could finish.”

“I don’t need you to put my boyfriend in the hospital.”

“I rather think he’s your ex-boyfriend, now.”

“Vladislaus!”

“What?” he rubs his chest and dips his head. “I didn’t mean it. I…I lost control.” 

William sighs. “I said pretend for me, not at me.”

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Chapter 2.5 - Happenstance

“My kingdom for a way less boring secret cult,” Alice mutters.

“What?” Miko frowns but keeps her voice low enough not to echo. 

The Secret Society members haven’t done much of anything besides huddle in small groups and talk. Alice and Miko have been sitting on pins and needles for over an hour. 

“I know you think I’m crazy and don’t have a plan,” Alice starts.

“I hate to break it to you,” Miko replies, “But you don’t. You think if you get straight As and a distinguished mark on your final project, it will be enough to get you over the hump. But the review panel awards that to projects that offer ‘groundbreaking editorial commentary through art.’”

“I know! You don’t think I know that?” 

“No, I don’t think you do,” she hisses. “I love you, Alice, you’re my best friend. But you have no idea how any of this will turn out. You are betting your entire degree on an exhibition about a bunch of undergrads in costume. Students who pull off distinguished marks work on their projects for years, not months.” 

“I know!”

“Then why are you doing this?” she prods. “You could delay graduation; take the time you need to actually get your GPA up.”

Just the thought of hanging around an extra semester sends Alice’s pulse racing. She bites down on her lip so hard she tastes blood. “I can’t.”

“Oh, Alice...”

“If I don’t do it, then Jeffery’s right: I am stupid, and I was lucky that he was willing to take care of me because I obviously can’t do it myself.” The words shame her so much she wants to curl up in a ball. Alice shakes her head to clear it. “I don’t mean that. I’m just…I don’t mean that.” 

Miko climbs to her feet and scowls as she offers a hand. “That man hit you.”

“I know what he did. I was there. And I don’t want to go back.” She takes the hand, letting Miko pull her to her feet. 

“Good. And your weirdos are starting to do something more than talk, so let’s get this party started.” 

Alice strips off her sweatshirt and stuffs it into her backpack so she can move freely. Then, out comes her camera.

Click. She snaps pictures as the sims in robes begin to twirl, their bodies curving and sensuous, almost—

—ecstatic.

Click. A low hum builds as the robed figures speed up, their bodies bending and snapping in unnatural ways.

Was it some kind of yoga? Alice started taking classes during rehab in hopes it would help her calm down, but she never learned any shit like this. She pauses to check the battery on her camera.

“We have to go,” Miko croaks.

“What do you mean?” Alice looks up, but what she sees doesn’t make any sense. Those sims can’t be floating. And where is that light coming from? Was it always there?

“Alice! Seriously! We gotta move!” Miko tugs at her arm, jolting her back to reality. 

Right, the correct thing to do when the weird cult you’re stalking starts chasing you is run. 

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Chapter 2.6 - Happenstance

William isn’t surprised his boyfriend is still downstairs, but he acts like it. "I thought you left. I was going to call you tomorrow."

"I think it's over," Christopher says.

"What's over?" William rubs the back of his neck as if he can dispense the guilt prickling over his skin. "The fight? This hellish night? The game?"

"Are you for real? You know that's not what I'm talking about."

"Oookay.” William tries to stall, “What are you talking about?"

"Tell me you love me."

“What?”

Christopher repeats his demand. "I love you. I'm not afraid to say it."

Adrenaline surges. If they were on the first floor, William would throw himself out the window and run. 

Love is…

Well, it doesn't matter what love is. William isn't a "love" kind of guy, and the Reddings are not the "love" kind of sims—not in the way his boyfriend wants. 

"It's only been six months," he tries.

"It's been a year. It took me six months to get you to agree to something more than sex. And I thought it was because you were afraid of being hurt, and once we got past that, you'd open up. But that didn't happen." He crosses his arms across his chest, "It was never going to happen."

“I—”

“You what?” Even in anger, Christopher politely steps aside to clear the way for two sims running off the elevator. 

Guilt morphs from a prickle along the back of his neck to a pressure in his skull. When they met at his parent's fundraiser, Christopher was the only sim not trying to buy influence with Judge Redding. William had been so desperate for a taste of affection that he ignored his rules about chasing after someone approved by his parents. 

"I have plenty to say!” he shouts, “Vladislaus is like a brother to me, and you punched him in the face! But, hey, I should thank you. You showed your true colors and saved me from a hard decision."

William expects anger. He wants it—righteous fury thrown his direction so he can bat it away. 

"I didn't save you from anything," Christopher calls over his shoulder, his face a mask of pity. "And I wasn't talking about Vladislaus; I was talking about us."

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Chapter 2.7 - Happenstance

[POV: ALICE]

Alice and Miko fall through the door of their dorm room, laughing.

“Holy shit!” Miko exclaims, “I thought they were gonna catch us.”

“They were nowhere near us,” Alice chuckles, “We probably could’ve stopped running once we hit the quad.”

“So you say.” Miko walks over to the closet and starts peeling off her sweaty clothing. “I thought they were gonna beat us with their candlesticks, and I was gonna die not knowing who you were messaging on your phone.”

“You are so nosy,” Alice teases, stripping off her t-shirt. “Why do you need to know?”

“Because I am your best friend. Your confidant. Your advisor.”

“Bitch you are not my advisor!” Alice crosses her arms, “But fine, just for your own sense of peace and as a thank you for accompanying me on a dangerous mission. I have a date.” 

Miko slaps her hands over her cheeks. “Ohmygosh! Tell me everything.”

“I’m telling you one thing. And I’m not using his full name because I do not want you searching for him on the internet and giving me his life story.”

Miko nods encouragingly.

“His name is Vladislaus. He’s in his final year of law school and describes himself as loyal,”— Evil and loyal, but after her outburst earlier, Alice doesn’t want Miko to worry about her ability to date someone half-decent. “He loves to argue about Tea & Treachery, so you’re saved from hearing my season two show theories.”

Miko scowls. “That is not enough information, and you know it.” 

“That’s all you get,” Alice shrugs, heading for the bathroom, “I’m taking a shower.”

“Okay, hold on, missy! We have more to talk about. What’s your project now that the Secret Society is off the table?” 

Alice turns and leans against the door, arching her brow. “Oh, they are not off the table. Did you see how creepy and weird that was? That’s the kind of project that catapults me into creative genius territory. And I got a whole new plan. I’m not just going watch them; I’m gonna infiltrate.”

“That is not a—”

“If you say that’s not a plan, I will scream.”

“Fine,” Miko narrows her eyes, “It’s a plan. And if you can pull it off, a good one. Which is why, despite my better judgment, I’m going to help you.”

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Chapter 2.8 - Happenstance

William considers answering the call and then immediately hanging up. When he texted Vlad about his breakup, the bastard responded with: “You’re Welcome,” which is the exact kind of assholery William doesn’t need.

It’s also the exact kind of assholery that’ll just call again.

Groaning, he pops in his earpiece and answers the call. 

“I need to know the exact percentage of the real me I should be on this date,” Vlad says without any other greeting. 

“What are you talking about? Date? What date?”

“The date I have next Friday. I met someone on Cupid’s Corner. Try to keep up.”

“Keep up?” William is beside himself. “It’s four in the morning.”

“Is it?”

William knows this is a ruse. Vladislaus has an eerily accurate internal clock. “What the fuck are you for real calling about?” 

“I told you. I have a date, and after a series of messages in which she defended her gloriously wrong Tea & Treachery opinions and rebuked my use of the word ‘precipitous’ at least three times, I have decided that she is, in fact, perfect. So I…I don’t want her to be disappointed by me.” 

William balks. Vlad actually sounds anxious.

“But I also do want her to be disappointed so she can properly set her expectations…assuming things go beyond a first date, which is not a foregone conclusion.”

Vlad’s ex did a number on him, though in Fuifui’s defense, nothing the Volkovs observed was untrue. Vlad didn’t have a moral bone in his body. He was manipulative, rude, selfish, pretentious, and a generally unpleasant sim to be around.

But he was also funny, and thoughtful, and incredibly loyal. If he loved you, his patience was ten miles long. And he would solve any problem you set before him, albeit with more violence than you wanted. 

He deserved to be loved. He wanted it with a visceral yearning that William didn’t understand. 

“Did you hear me?” Vlad demands.

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“I’m balancing out your faults with your good qualities,” William says.

“Of all the idiotic—”

“The good qualities won out.”

At that, Vladislaus Straud is finally silent. 

“Making an effort does not mean you are pretending. That Fuifui and his family thought that was their own fault. You were not lying to him. And you won’t be lying to…”

“Alice.”

“You won’t be lying to Alice if you try to be the least shite version of yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says, “And I’m sorry about Christopher.”

William snorts. The thanks is genuine, but the apology is not. He doesn’t push it because, at the end of the day, he isn’t really sorry about Christopher either. 

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Interlude #1 - Wolves is Watching

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Interludes are just a little peek at what's going on in other corners of the save file (because I am unwell and unhinged and can't stop sharing things about this silly little story I'm playing, lol). You can totally skip them, but when you see these characters in the main story later, you might have some fun insight into their motives.

Don't worry; Akira is definitely getting a POV 😈

Fun tidbit: Justin "JJ" Parks was a sim I had in my game made by the fabulous @florwal. He randomly showed up in Alice and Miko's scene, and I couldn't move him because I was using WW to pose a bunch of other characters. I checked his household, and he was a werewolf (lol, idk how it happened. This game is chaotic sometimes), so I decided to make him part of the story.

(Also, a thousand paragraphs of appreciation for The Crown by @rheya28. I could not have dreamed of a more perfect spot for Jacques Villareal to run)

[Transcript]

Jacques: Ah, JJ, the baby wolf. You shouldn’t be here unless we have a problem.

JJ: The witches are—

Jacques: I’m going to stop you right there. That doesn’t sound like a “we” problem.

JJ: It happened on campus. Someone was taking pictures of The Order, and you know how witches are about their kids.

Jacques: Almost as bad as vampires. What crew? It better not be Elmyra; she’s supposed to stay in Oasis Springs. 

JJ: [hesitates]...No crew. It was just other students. 

Jacques: Are you fucking kidding me?

JJ: No! The witches chased them for a little while and then let them go.

Jacques: And you interrupted me for this? What the fuck am I supposed to do with that information?

JJ: [choking] Never slay a witch with a power that might…be…useful…

JJ: That’s what my ma always said. Witches don’t want to lose anymore of their own, so they don’t kill another witch who might have a power they can use. 

Jacques: Good job, wolfy. I’m pleased. Have a drink. Take a load off. Akira!

Jacques: Congratulations. You’re going to college. Pick a major. JJ will show you who to keep an eye on. 

Akira: No.

Jacques: I don’t want any harm to come to them until I know how much they’re worth to the witches.

Akira: I said no.

Jacques: That sounds suspiciously like you are going back on your word. What would your sister say?

Akira: That you’re a piece of shit, and she wouldn’t spit on you if you were on fire.

Jacques: You should consider psychology. Might help you improve your negative worldview. 

Akira: Get fucked. 

Jacques: I intend to. Oh, and Akira, no swords. 

Chapter 3.1 - What Not to Wear

VLAD

“I don’t think you should go on a date at all, it's going to end up completely fucked,” Neve remarks.

Vlad rolls his eyes at his sister and dips his shovel back into the ground. “You’re in a lovely mood.”

“I’m just saying she’s probably some kind of dummy with a heart of gold. And you already made that mistake with Fuifui.”

He is not discussing his ex with his little sister. She only knows anything about him because Vlad made the disastrous mistake of bringing him home. “Can you mind your fucking business?”

“It’s not my fault you left your phone where Mandy could get it.”

“Ah, yes, in my pocket. I should have known she’d take that as an invitation.” Vlad rolls his eyes and continues digging, although the sweat dripping down his back has become distracting. Why Neve had to murder someone in September instead of waiting until winter like she had an ounce of common sense is beyond him. 

“I’m just saying Fuifui was—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion,” he snaps as his shovel clangs against a stone, “And if you’re not going to help clean up your mess, then fuck off.” 

“You’re just cranky because you didn’t get to do it.”

Vlad resents how right she is. “You are lucky Cecelia Kang is on vacation. The next time you decide to kill someone on a property we don’t own, call Nyx.” 

His sister makes a face, “She always makes me sit with my discomfort and meditate. I don’t want to do that shit. I just want…” She glances away, “I just want it to be over, okay?”

Truthfully, Vlad wouldn’t call her either. Nyx, real name Eva Capricciosa, had married their Aunt Sol without any concern about the Straud family’s habits. But she did insist on some completely asinine rituals whenever a body showed up. 

He takes a break from digging and hefts the shovel over his shoulder so he can examine his sister. Neve got all of their father’s features—the dark brown hair, the expressive eyes, a light dusting of freckles. And right now, all those features are twisted into a mask of grief. 

“I don’t ever want to be that close again,” she says quietly. “I…I’m better if I have some distance.”

Vlad is too tired to soften his expression, so he softens his voice. “It’s not a requirement for this family. You don’t have to.”

“I do,” she growls, temper flaring. “I confirmed everything on the list. The man had Bubba’s picture. He took a call and gave them an account to wire money, and when he spotted me, he called me a little bitch and told me to run along.”

“Bubba can take care of himself,” Vlad admonishes. He understands revenge. If Neve wants to punish some neanderthal who called her a bitch, he has zero complaints. But his grandfather’s list of enemies is miles long, and they’d be here for centuries trying to eliminate every threat. “If they don’t cross the property line, we don’t bother with them.”

“But—”

“You’re sixteen, Neve. You need to stop skipping your science lab to stalk commandos through the woods because when you fail to grasp the material, it will become my responsibility to help you.”

“I was safe,” she assures him. “Is it okay to hug you?”

Vlad would rather die, but his sister seems to need it. “Five seconds,” he bites out, “And if you sigh with a sense of peace or comfort, I’ll push you off this cliff.”

She laughs and wraps her arms around him. “You’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother. And you’re still cleaning up the blood,” Vlad grumbles.

“Yeah, it’s weird,” she pulls back and scrunches up her face, “It was all green. Can sims have green blood?”

A thousand sighs would not be enough to express his frustration. “You seriously need to stop skipping science class.”

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(Part 1 of 4)

If you prefer the long-form version of this chapter. You can read it here on my WordPress.

Chapter 3.2 - What Not to Wear

VLAD

It’s Wednesday, two days until his date with Alice, and Vlad is no closer to having something to wear. William volunteered to go shopping, but Vlad declined. He doesn’t have the money to find something that meets his exacting standards, and the salespeople always complain when he tears out the tags before trying anything on. 

It’s honestly a fucking headache. 

He drops his bag by the front door and toes off his boots. His mother hums in the kitchen, frying up something divine. 

He stuffs the simoleons they found on the body the other day into the jar on the counter. Truthfully, the Strauds didn’t lack money; it was just that cleaning it already took a lot of effort, and they didn’t want any unnecessary attention. 

Plus, his mother thinks a lack of simoleons keeps them grounded. “Capitalism rots the brain and erodes free will” is her favorite saying. That and “It doesn’t make much sense to pay when you can steal.”

“You’re home!” she turns and smiles, pulling him into a hug and ruffling his hair. Vlad fidgets but doesn’t fight. “I thought you were eating on campus,” she says when he finally twists out of her grasp.

“William has a study group and the cafeteria is serving macaroni salad. Do you know how long that food has been sitting? Ages. It’d be the perfect cover for a poisoning. I’m surprised I’m alive.”

His mother snorts. “No one would murder you by poisoning a college cafeteria. The likelihood of you getting medical attention before your body gives out is too high. Even fast-acting poisons are slower than you think.”

She would know. Julia Straud is an expert in poisons. It’s an interest of Vlad’s, too. Usually, they talk about it for hours, but today, he isn’t in the mood.

He heads for the couch and collapses, letting the muted feeling that’s been dogging him all week wash over. The high from the brawl with Christopher might’ve carried him, but one punch was nothing to get excited about. Instead, the buzzing under his skin has simply grown when, for once, he’d just like silence.

“Why so sad, my sweet darling?”

Vlad’s eyes flash open. His mother is standing over him, smirking. 

“Is sleeping illegal in this house?” he grumbles, “I didn’t think that was one of the rules.”

“Don’t be disrespectful. You know it’s not,” she shoves at his legs until he sits up. “Why do you look like someone just shit in your oats?”

It isn’t any use keeping secrets, although it’s not expressly against the rules. His mother has a way of hunting down every hidden truth. She couldn’t wrangle their merry band of lunatics otherwise. “I have a date—”

“Oh, my lands—”

“Do not get excited.” He cuts her a sharp look. “It may go nowhere. Your expectations should be in the basement,” Vlad pauses, “Actually, lower than that. Your expectations should be in hell.” 

It’s not that he didn’t understand William’s advice about being a better version of himself. It just seems impossible to follow it. Pretending is fine in short bursts, like when the police are questioning him, but pretending for the sole purpose of getting someone to like him? Even if he could manage it, the whole thing would be so exhausting he’d need a week of sleep to recover. 

And what if Alice was like Fuifui? What if she got confused about who he really was?

“You could buy something you like,” she offers, “Go to one of the fancy boutiques in town where the salespeople peddle temptation to ruin like the devil taught them.”

“It’s called clothing, mother, not ‘temptation to ruin.’ And obviously, that’s not an option. I don’t know why you, of all sims, would suggest that.”

Her eyes narrow, “Because I love you. If you want to buy something to wear on this date, then I will make it happen. By any means necessary.”

It’s not worth it. Holding this territory is hard enough without assholes like Jacques Villareal getting ideas in his head because he thinks Julia's spendthrift son is a weak spot.

“Never mind,” Vlad groans, “And I actually mean it. If I find money under my pillow or in my wallet, I will be fucking pissed.”

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(Part 2 of 4)

Chapter 3.3 - What Not to Wear

VLAD

Cleaning the coop and feeding the chickens has become an unbearable chore since Vlad’s grandmother brought back a rooster from a place he can only assume is hell. It takes forever to get the little asshole subdued so he can collect the eggs, and today, Vlad doesn’t have time to dilly-dally. He needs the early train to Britechester. The lecture doesn’t matter, but collecting payment and securing more clients for the upcoming exam season does. 

“Come on, you little shit, I haven’t got all day,” Vlad growls. 

If a rooster could shoot fire from his eyes, this one would. He pecks at Vlad’s feet, beak breaking through the soft leather of his lace-ups.

“What the fuck?” 

Roosters don’t talk, of course, but they can look self-satisfied, which is exactly what the little asshole does.

“Leave Barnabus be,” his grandmother, Emily, calls out, “Bloodvein will handle it. I have something important for you.”

His cousin hasn’t left his shed in three days, so Vlad can’t imagine him handling anything, but maybe his grandmother knows something he doesn’t. 

He shoots Barnabus one last threatening look. “One day, they will call me to slaughter you, and I’ll do it with a smile.”

Emily is waiting in the kitchen with her cup of coffee. “Your mother said you need something special to wear on your date.”

“I should’ve known she couldn’t keep her mouth shut.”

She shrugs, “Cheer up, sonny-boy. Your mother’s loud mouth is your saving grace. I brought some of Bubba’s old things down for you to try on.”

Vlad goes still. He knows everything will be impeccably tailored and made of the softest fabric. Briefly, he closes his eyes and imagines the feel of a silk-lined jacket. “Why would Bubba agree to this?”

“I didn’t,” his grandfather grunts as he slinks into the kitchen and drops his tacklebox on the table. “But that one,” he points at Emily, “Is a cheat at cards, so now I have to give it all up.”

“I don’t cheat, you crotchety son of a bitch, and you should be glad your grandson is even willing to wear your tired-ass work clothes,” she fixes him with a look, “You don’t need them.”

Vlad doesn’t interrupt. The best way to escalate an argument with a Straud was to get involved, and there was no reason to put the chance to try on Bubba’s suits at risk. As a result, the argument subsides relatively quickly, but there is a gleam in his grandfather’s eye when Emily thrusts the pile of clothes into Vlad’s arms. 

Bubba—real name Nikolas—bathed cities in red from Selvadorada to Komberebi. When governments needed a job done with brutal efficiency, they called Covert Ops. When they needed a job done that only a lack of conscience and a strong stomach could handle, they called Nikolas Straud. He says he doesn’t miss it, and despite a strict policy against falsehoods, it’s a lie the family allows.

“I’ll go change,” Vlad announces, barely resisting the urge to take the stairs two at a time.

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(Part 3 of 4)

Chapter 3.4 - What Not to Wear

VLAD

Up on the second floor, Vlad runs into his cousin, Mandy. She eyes him suspiciously in the hall and then makes a rude gesture before stomping downstairs. 

He slips into his grandparents’ bedroom and begins stripping off his clothes. Below him, he can hear Mandy begging for cereal and his grandmother telling her to eat the eggs she cooked or “fuck off.” He already knows Mandy will veto the eggs and head to his mother’s house to see what she has to offer.

Jokes on her, it’s eggs. 

He savors the feel of the suit on his skin as he stares at himself in the mirror. 

“You probably don’t need to let the hem out. I used to be your height back when I wore it,” Bubba explains. It’s the only warning Vlad has that he’s in the room. Even at his advanced age, the man moves like a cat. “Custom pockets on the inside for throwing knives,” he holds Vlad’s gaze in the mirror. “Not that this is that kind of occasion.”

“It isn’t,” Vlad replies softly, dashing away a tear. He’s never been able to control his crying. It’s just something that washes out of the static haze inside him. Strong feelings are so rare he’s learned not to fight them, even if he can’t always decipher them or understand why they’ve appeared. “I can’t wear this, Bubba. She’ll think I’m a complete psychopath.”

His grandfather snorts. “You are.”

“Rude,” Vlad chastizes. “Last I checked, you’re not a licensed therapist.”

Bubba shrugs, “Like calls to like. Now, do you want to keep this in case the right occasion ever pops up?”

Vlad thanks him and dashes across the yard to his house and carefully hangs the suit in his closet before grabbing his wallet and heading back out. 

He spots his father loading the truck and feels a wave of fury wash over him. The Strauds have one vehicle, and accommodating eight adults is difficult, which is why they have a system. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Vlad shouts, “You know I have class. I need to get to the train station.”

“I’m not kidding,” his father says, “Now do you want to be a little shit, or do you want a ride? I got things to do.”

Idiotic things. Things to piss Vlad off. Things that require ignoring the whiteboard in the kitchen and taking the damn truck anyway. Vlad works his jaw but doesn’t make a move for the door.

His father leans against the truck and folds his arms. “Fine. You want to tell me what’s wrong, or is this the ghost of your teenage years sent to haunt me as punishment?”

Vlad glares. 

Josef looks up at the sky as if praying for patience. “Wear your dark blue button-down and your purple jeans. My brown boots are by my bed; I already shined them. Blue matches your skin tone, and the purple jeans are your most worn-in, so you’ll be comfortable.”

Vlad realizes that all the tension he’s holding disappears. He takes a deep breath and nods. “Thank you. I’ll be right back.”

“You’re welcome; I love you,” his father says, “But watcher help me, Vladislaus; if you’re not out here in fifteen minutes, I’m leaving, and you can walk your ass to the train station.”

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(Part 4 of 4)