Before Project Mayhem, before fight club, before Marla, before Tyler — there is still one sad sack of shit.
.
.
The hard part about work trips isn't making the plane or seeing another family of five burnt into their leather seats. It's missing support groups.
See, if you're lucky, the company will send you out to a major city. Cities are great. A little advanced work to find a slightly below average church or library, you're set each night you're there.
It's a bit of novelty, getting to be a new face all at once. People assume you've just been diagnosed. It's never the failed treatments, the degradation of their life and everyone in it, the continuous experience of knowingly dying — none of those things are the worst thing that happens to you.
It's finding out they will.
So people cry. They crowd around, I sob like I've been told I've got stage four colon cancer and three weeks to live. We all cry. I sleep soundly on the plane back or in the nice, four star hotel my company provides me.
Flying out to a small town, though. I'll be awake enough to be hallucinating by the time I get back for Remaining Men Together. The only mercy is that the next time I show for all the groups I missed, I can see who thought I died. I get to be resurrected.
The other part about small towns, you have to take a second, shitter plane to a local airfield, or you have to take a rental car. One of the most popular rental cars available right now, it'll light itself on fire if you use the cruise control at the wrong time. I know this because I sat next to another guy with my job, who worked for a different company, and he said I'll show you mine if you show me yours. So I told him about the faulty airbags, and he told me about the overheating switch.
I prefer to avoid driving.
All the rental place at the airport has left for me, it's one of those flaming cars. I use cruise control. If I don't, one of my narcoleptic spells will send me into the Jersey barrier.
When you drive into these small towns, you have to try to pay attention, or you'll end up a county over talking about the wrong wreck. They're otherwise interchangeable, but the miles on your rental car won't line up and those are the type of records that might get pulled out when the company is finally sued for the big one ten years down the line.
As a result, I see the same decor on the way in every time. Meth lab. Abandoned homes. Garbage fire. Classic Americana. There is no four star hotel here; I sleep the same.
The only reason I've been brought out here is because the poor shithead who drove his truck into the ditch drunk was driving my company's flagship vehicle. It loses power steering if the car jostles the right way going above 55 miles per hour. I've been told to keep track of potential incidents and make sure the company can firmly claim it's not at fault.
We've had this problem for decades, and we will for many more. Sometimes, everything is falling apart.
The job is simple, and I only get tempted by the town's blatant opioid addiction for a day and night. Painkillers would probably make me sleep. The thing about being a recall campaign organizer, though, is like recognizes like. It's not only other Compliance and Liability guys who tell you company secrets while sharing the aisle in business class.
When I'm finally back in my own town, after my own support groups, after crying my eyes out into Bob's meaty middle — I pick up my mail. There's the newest IKEA magazine. Half of it looks like shit. The type of thing you'd only see in some curated art deco, modernist, post-modern traditionalist bohemian minimalist apartment.
I have to have it.
I go to sleep, hard, like God himself tucked me in. I sleep with my wallet net four hundred heavier, because even an IKEA spree tends not to outweigh a work trip. I sleep, with my called in IKEA goods only two short weeks away, my job well done, and I know, my life is complete.
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Remus: You need to stay in the castle, where it’s safe from Sirius Black
Hogwarts: *had Voldemort living on the back of a teacher’s head without anyone’s knowledge, once sent 11 year olds into the Murder Forest with only a dog for protection, had a giant murder snake roaming the school for months, Harry’s best friend was petrified and only avoided death because she realized what the monster was, had a teacher attempt to memory wipe two students, had a secret murder chamber for centuries, and Sirius had broken in to the school before*
Like, Remus, where is this alleged safety inside the school???? Page not found
remus is epitome of ‘mouth running w/o knowing anything’ bc he just,,,,keeps saying shit,,,,,without any knowledge
also it’s funny because. sirius literally got into the school too lol AND WHAT MAKES IT WORSE—AND THIS IS JUST HITTING ME—IS REMUS WOUKD FUCKING KNOW THAT. HE WOULD KNOW HOW SIRIUS IS GETTING IN BECAUSE HE NEVER BOTHERED TO TELL DUMBLEDORE ANYTHIGN DID HE?
not the animagus thing. not the secret passageways, literally nothing. and then he has the audacity to pretend like the castle is safe and sirius black can’t touch harry there (where he literally got into his dorm!!! was right beside him!!) he also has the utter gall to tell harry he’s disrespecting his parent’s sacrifice jesus christ what a flaming trash can of a wizard
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random twilight headcanons cuz i secretly adore him
primary weapon is a crossbow. fuck you
he's a Big guy. large silhouette. very broad shoulders. he's absolutely terrifying and WILL give u hugs /threat
he does not scold wild for being """crazy""" change my mind. Yes he worries, that is just his nature and Yes i think he mother hens him a bit when he's injured but if he sees wild windbombing himself across a 165916569135917ft drop just to gather a durian he's gonna think back to that time he set a goddamn bomb storage building on fire trying to catch a bug and he's not gonna be able to say Shit
his right middle finger is chopped off at the first joint. sometimes he tries to flip the others off lovingly with that hand but it never works and they cannot help but wheeze at the realization on his face when he stares at his nonexistent finger (he thinks it's funny too dw)
twilight does not have a shadow. this is a regular topic of discussion for the chain during dinner and they are consistently mystified
i believe there's been fics of this but i think it'd be nice for four to cut through that shackle around wolfie's leg. freedom.................... also i don't think injuries would usually carry over to one form or another but if it's a bad enough or Long-term wound that's constantly being reopened/prevented from healing, i think it would . perhaps there is a ring around twi's wrist that's scabbed over
big fan of twi and wars Being Buds. they r bothersome brothers who Will fight each other for sport but also hug and infodump to each other and roughhouse obnoxiously. wars may be like 24 and twi like 19 in my eyes but that doesn't mean they are past the stage of rolling around in the grass and trying to kill each other (affectionately very affectionately)
the markings on his face glow in the dark in hylian form! he also has the markings on his sides too; the strangely shaped ones on each side of his wolf form, in roughly the same places
can make a fuckin MEAN beef stew and absolutely nothing else
he loves to swim in nearby rivers in his wolf form and then purposefully shake himself off near the others. he takes great pride in their assorted panicked AW NO's and mournful goddammit's
^ if he's feeling particularly mischievous he will lie across someone's lap when he's still wet. woe, wet dog smell be upon ye
lastly his sense of humor is that of a very wholesome and innocent uncle and u cannot take that away from me
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More of the body swap fic I’m not writing:
(part one here)
Oh, evil. Mal's in Jay's body, Jay's in Evie's body, Evie's in Carlos's body, which means that Carlos is currently piloting Mal's body.
"Where did you let Carlos take my body?"
Evie winces. "Just down to your locker! We just let him pick up your spellbook, which was the right thing to do, and then, um."
Oh no.
"What happened." Mal manages, around the rock of dread sitting in her throat. Teachers, explosions, an adverse magical reaction with the spellbook leading to magical explosions…there’s so many things that could have gone wrong in the time she was asleep, and so few ways to fix them while she’s stuck in the wrong body.
Evie goes to push her hair back, realizes mid-gesture that Carlos’s body doesn’t have long hair, and settles for tugging on her bangs instead. It’s the same gesture that Ben makes when he’s nervous, which is weirdly sweet to think about. It’s sort of neat that they share unconscious gestures with each other when they’re thrown out of their usual sets.
"He sort of ran into your boyfriend. I figure that we can’t really make things worse than they already are, what with the lying to him, and the magic, and the fact that you cooked up this plan to try and get us to double for you anyway, so we're just starting the doubling process a little bit early, that's all!"
No.
No no no.
Evie leans forward. "Mal? Babe? What’s wrong?”
Mal’s stomach drops like a stone. Weird. She usually feels dread in her chest, not her gut. Apparently emotional reactions are stored in the body, not the mind, or whatever they’ve swapped. "It's Friday night. Date night."
"It's fine!” Evie-as-Carlos says quickly, sitting back as her voice squeaks and cracks on the end of her words. Fascinating. Once they’re back in the correct bodies, Mal is going to have to take advantage of that. She didn't have nearly enough fun tormenting Jay while his voice was cracking, and Carlos is too good at hiding things from her to show such a potential weakness. But now that she knows the potential is there, there’s so much fun to be had in finding just the right ways to make him squeak. “Carlos knows how to go on a date, right?"
Oh, gods.
The last time Mal saw either of their boys on a date, it was with each other, in their correct bodies, and the building they were last spotted in exploded under deeply suspicious circumstances the next morning. Well after they were in the clear, of course, but early enough that Mal couldn’t very well be fucked to wake up and snoop around after them. It’s possible that living in Auradon has changed them for the better, but Mal’s seen the sort of explosives that Carlos thinks are appropriate for flirting, and unless things have changed a lot more than she’s been told, they’ll be lucky if the school is still standing in an hour.
"As me??" Mal squawks. “Really?”
Evie considers this for all of three seconds, but it’s a very active sort of consideration. Or possibly it’s just that Evie’s used to being constantly aware of what her face is doing, and any micro-expression she makes looks big on Carlos’s face. Some of them, Mal is realizing, don’t have very many facial expressions.
"Okay, maybe not,” Evie says slowly. “But they've been out there for… almost an hour at this point, and I haven't received any more texts about imminent danger, so it's probably fine."
“More?” Mal shrieks. It’s lower than expected. More of an enraged howl than a shriek of anger. Fascinating, says the part of her brain that isn’t occupied with the current issue at hand. She’ll have to try shouting more later, see what other stupid noises she can get out of Jay’s body before they swap back. “More?? And what do you mean, probably? Evie, this isn’t just some random date that you can dip out on at the end of the night and never see again. This is my boyfriend, and our friend, and he knows all of us. He’s going to realize that something isn’t right, and there’s no way he’s going to let it go. He’s been asking me for weeks if I’m ‘okay’ and if I should be ‘talking to someone’ about the ‘stress in my life’, like talking to an adult has ever made somebody less stressed about things.”
“You aren’t seeing a therapist?”
“Not you too!”
Evie goes for an exasperated look this time, which works surprisingly well. They should make a book, like one of the stupid emotional ones that the stupid school therapist had pulled out the one time Mal actually sat through a therapy session. Identifying Emotions on Your Friends, they could call it. It’d be useful, actually. A sort of reference guide for the next time she fucks up and switches their bodies around like the worst ever game of musical chairs.
“M, I thought you were already going to therapy! You have a block in your calendar every week that literally says therapy, 4pm. I’m going to regret asking this, but what are you doing during that time if you’re not, y’know, going to your court-mandated therapy appointment?”
Jay’s face is easy to set into a smile, and much harder to get into a workable sulky expression. Mal is persistent though, so she manages. “I’m throwing rocks at children.”
Don’t tell don’t tell don’t tell, she sends psychically to Jay, just in case there’s a secret body-mind connection still at play here. Don’t tell or I’ll disembowel you.
“She’s sneaking out to cause mayhem, obviously,” Jay says, letting a little half smile play at the corner of Evie’s mouth. He’s been putting the time they’ve been ignoring him to wicked use, and the expression is much more believable on Evie’s face than the first ones he tried. “C’mon, Eves. I leave therapy to go outside and hit shit all the time, it’s no big deal if Mal’s not going.”
Evie’s eyes narrow, and she tries to put her hands on her hips. Unfortunately for her, Carlos’s body is about eighty pounds soaking wet, and doesn’t have much hip for her to work with.
“Do the words court-mandated mean nothing to you?” Evie hisses, quickly crossing her arms instead in a shockingly decent recovery move. “Mal Bertha, once I’m back in my body I am going to drag you down there myself, and if you don’t cooperate I’m going to tie you up and carry you, and I’ll get Jordan to help me, so the ropes are going to be cute and glittery, and you’ll have cat hair on you the whole time.”
“Do your worst, princess,” Mal coos. It works surprisingly well in a lower register. Performatively flirty is easy in Jay’s body, which really isn’t surprising. “I’d love for you to tie me up and have your wicked way with me.”
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