[PUNCH CLOCK ANIMAL] GLASS STEW

[skinstealer]

GLASS STEW

a punch clock animal sidestory

time can't change everything.

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content warnings will be added over time + additionally applied to individual chapters. 
DISCLAIMER: this piece is a long time coming, and one i’ve debated making + releasing for ages. it’s an optional piece, and while it contains new worldbuilding/canon reveals, everything in it will be covered to a less graphic + content heavy degree in the main stories. please, stay safe, and don’t feel a need to read this if the content in it will be more upsetting than its worth.
this story is 18+ for graphic themes, including CSA/SA as a major topic, but is not, and never will be, meant for pornographic intent. this piece will focus on the feelings and emotions behind these experiences, and pulls from real life experiences and perspectives. this project goes through the hands of at least four editors before chapters are finished, to ensure that the portrayal of these experiences is accurate and not made for shock value.

once again: please, stay safe, and don't feel obligated to read this if the content would distress you.

comments welcome- though please, keep in mind the severity of the content here, and be respectful to both the content and the community around you.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1: BIG SISTER 

[CWs: SA/CSA/incest implications, extremely uncomfortable interactions, abuse, violence]

[skinstealer]

CHAPTER ONE: BIG SISTER

CWs: SA/CSA/incest implications, extremely uncomfortable interactions, abuse, violence

When you first meet your big sister, she is smiling. 

It’s not like the warm smiles your mother gives you, full of pride and confidence. When the person in front of you smiles, you can’t help but picture a knife, carving spiraling curves from ear to ear, letting smoke escape from the ends. But she smiles, and you think smiling’s a good thing, even if looking at her makes you feel a little sick. 

“Mother dearest,” she starts sarcastically, “said I should meet you. Say hi. Be a good role model.” 

You’re not sure you like the way she talks about your mom. Wane told you once that “mother” was way too stuffy, and you can call them “mom” or just “Wane”. 

 You shuffle from side to side, avoiding eye contact because you know your pupils are visible, and you know your nerves are showing, and it’s making you even more nervous to be here. Your mom wanted you to meet in a neutral location, somewhere safe, and away from the prying eyes of mortals. The room feels too small for the two of you, but you try to keep your spirits up. After all, this was a big deal!

Your mom told you about this way in advance, and you were excited! From the sound of it, having an older sibling was like… like an adventure. Your mom told you you were lucky, that they never got to have anything like this. You’ve spent the past few days unable to stop thinking about it.

But this isn’t how things went in your head. 

In your head, your sister was big, warm, and brave; just like your mom. She would scoop you up and spin you around and tell you all the god secrets that your mom said were too grown up for you. 

But here, in the real world, she is warm only in the feeling of heat emanating from her body, like a runaway fever. She’s smaller than you, not by much, but you don’t know if she’d be able to pick you up at all. She doesn’t seem scared, but that feels weird on its own… shouldn’t she be a little bit nervous too? 

“So?” The god leans in, interrupting your train of thought. She’s looking up and following your head’s motions as you turn to the side, trying to avoid the smoke. She’s just trying to be friendly, you tell yourself. Just interested. Curious. “You gonna tell me your name? I know you can talk.”

You’ve been stuck on that for weeks now, ever since your mom told you that names were important. That a name’s a legacy to protect, and to do right by. It just feels like so much weight, and you’re never sure where to start. “I don’t have one.”

“Why not? You too good for names?” 

“I don’t know yet…” She’s staring at you, and you swallow hard. “Sorry…”

“Well! Well, well, well. Better be careful there, sis.” She’s close enough for you to feel her breath, the smoke making your eyes well up. “Little kids without names can get lost out there in the big, bad world. If you ain’t got a name, nobody can find you if something goes screwy.” 

You swear that she licks along her teeth, but it’s just your imagination. It has to be. 

“Lemme guess. Mom gave you the big ol’ speech about choosing your own destiny or whatever the fuck.” You nod, not wanting to open your mouth and let the smoke in, the heat getting closer and closer to unbearable.  

“She sprung that on me early too. I thought good and hard about it. Went through all these names at first, trying to get it just right. I tried all kinds of shit… Hack, Sawbone, even fucking Glen if you can believe it. Do I look like a Glen to you?” 

You shake your head quickly, though you’re not even sure what a Glen was supposed to look like in the first place. “Just as I was thinking I shouldn’t waste any more time, it came to me. The perfect name.”

“You see, I realized- I needed a word. Words are, y'know, the old fashioned way of doing shit. Lots of people don’t spring for that now, but back then… I needed a word.” She pauses. “Do you know what kind of word you want, lil’ sis?”

“What kind?” 

“Yeah. You know. A feel. A vibe. What kinda energy you want to get across?”

You glance down at her, seeing her genuinely curious expression. You ease up a little- surely the tics you saw earlier were just that, tics. She wants to get to know you, see?

“I want a name that sounds… nice, I guess. Something that makes people want to be my friend-” As soon as you say it, it sounds stupid and feels even stupider, your face heating up. You look away again, only turning your head more when you hear her start to laugh.

“That’s cute. Real cute. Let me tell you a secret, alright?”

She reaches up and pulls your head down with a meaty tendril, looking you straight in the eyes. Your pupils are showing again. 

“Everybody wants friends. People want people. It’s how the world works. What matters, is how you want to get ‘em. How you wanna get to that point. And y’know, it all circles back- when I picked my name, I knew exactly what I wanted.”

She can’t keep herself from grinning wide, the curls of her lips tightening at the ends.

“I wanted people to hear my name and say- ‘Wow, now there’s a real piece of work! There’s a real bitch and a half right there!’ Now, you might say-” She raises her voice up a few pitches, the sound grating on your nerves immediately. “ ‘Big sis, that doesn’t sound like it’ll make you friends at all!’ And you’d be right. It doesn’t, not in the easy way.”

“But when people hear the name Spit...oh, the right people come. They always do.” You try to move out of her grip, the tendril tightening around your neck just enough to be felt. Her face, Spit’s face is so close, too close-
 
“It’s people who value power, who value guts, that’s who I want as friends. But you…” She squeezes harder, and when she licks her teeth this time, you can’t wish it away. “You’re more of the squishy type, aren’t’cha? I mean, just look at you.” 

You think she touches your stomach, but you’re pretending you don’t feel it. “You’re totally harmless! You’d get eaten alive in a fight…” The emphasis in Spit’s words sends a chill down your back. “You went and lost your only saving grace when our dear, sweet, mama pulled you outta the ground and changed you...but hey-!”

She releases your neck without warning, watching as you sputter and try to get your bearings. “That’s why I’m here, lil’ sis! To be a guide! To be friends. You aren’t the type I usually pal around with, but it’ll be fun! I’m gonna teach you eeeeverything I know.” 

She slaps you on the back with a tendril, straightening up your posture immediately.

“Every!“

Something sharp digs in.

“Last!”

It stings.

“Drop!”   

You heard her loud and clear earlier… she… she wanted to be friends, right? This must be a test, to see if you’re strong enough! And you know if you focus on standing, on taking it, it’ll all work out.

She’s your big sister, after all.

So you focus on standing, and on taking it, and when you look into Spit’s eyes again you swear you see something there, something deep and raw and hungry. She nods slowly as you stay upright, withdrawing her arm tendril and reshaping it back into a thick stump. Glass shards shaped like claws impale outwards, getting far too close for comfort as she extends her newfound hand.

She puts on a friendlier tone, keeping her voice lighter.

“I’ve got an idea! Let’s shake on our new partnership!”

You look down at the glass and back up again.

“If...If I touch that, won’t it hurt?”

“You don’t wanna be rude, do you?” Her smirk widens, just enough to be noticed. “I’m here to be your guide! Teach you some manners, get some lessons under your belt, and here’s a lil bonus tip before the main course. When someone offers you a hand…”

She shoves her hand into yours, glass cutting in. You’re too shocked to even make a sound, a wave of fear rippling through your form. You think you see her smile more at that, every movement you make under gleeful, sadistic scrutiny.

“You shake. You understand, kid?”

You nod, holding the tears back as best you can. This is just a test, another test, you have to be strong, prove yourself, you have to, you have to-

“Say it.”

Her eyes are burning into yours.

“I, I-”

Her shoulders are shaking, laughter starting to sneak into every breath.

“Y-y-you? You WHAT?!”

Why is it funny to her? Why is she laughing? You don’t understand-

“I understand! I, I understand, I promise!”

She doesn’t let go. 

“Lesson number one from your new big sis.” She opens and closes her glass shard fingers, cutting uneven slices through the sludge.

“Speak!”

 You can’t tell if you’re screaming. 

“When you are SPOKEN TO!”

She squeezes her hand together around yours, sludge seeping in between the glass.

“Lesson number TWO!” 

There’s something wrong with her voice, it doesn’t sound right-

“You answer to ME, and ONLY me!”

Spit lets go of your hand at the last second before her other arm, tipped in a shard-covered stump, slams into the side of your head. You fall, unable to catch yourself before she pins you, shards slicing down your back in crooked lines, like her curled smile.

“Lesson three, the most important one…”

She squats down, watching the tears pool out around you as your face melts into the ground, almost splattered.

“This? This right here? This...ohhhh, this SACRED sisterly bond we have, this beautiful, FAMILIAL gift we’ve been given…”

Spit leans in, whispering directly into what’s left of your ear.

“This is our little secret. What happens between us…”

You can’t focus on what’s happening, what she’s doing to you.

“Stays between us.” 

You feel so sick, you don’t understand it, this isn’t how it was supposed to go, this is too much, you want your mom-

You can’t hold yourself back from vomiting as she hits you again mid-gag. 

“You know what, lil’ sis? I found the perfect name for you. It’s a goddamn, one of a kind, laugh riot.” She kicks your side, spindly-looking leg hitting harder than it looked like it ever could. “I’m gonna call you Wretch. You get that, kid?” She starts giggling, shoulders shaking like it’s one of the funniest things she’s ever heard. “Do you get the joke?”

You’re choking on your own sick as you nod. You think you’re saying something but you can’t make it out, it’s just to follow rule number one, it’s anything to get her away from you. 

Anything to go back home to Mom. 

“Then LAUGH.” 

You laugh for her, barely able to hear your own voice. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh, and she starts talking again, not waiting for you to stop. 

You can’t remember what she says. 

Maybe you don’t want to.

The drive home is all you remember after that, pulled along in a bumpy cart for hours. The driver doesn’t speak to you, and part of you wishes he would more than anything, that he would notice that something’s wrong and ask if you’re okay. 

But, he doesn’t. Not now, and not ever.

The next time you see your big sister, she tears off your arm and splatters it against the rusted floor of her room, sending you to bed crying. You see her standing over you while you’re pretending to sleep, and you tell yourself that it’s all just dreams.

The next time you see your mom, you don’t tell them. They’re happy that things are going so well, and you tell yourself that their smile is worth it.

Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months. Months to seasons. You lose track of the visits, of the times spent crying, of how many times you feel glass cut into your form, of how many nights you stay up getting sicker and sicker.

The name she gives you sticks. When you meet with your mom in their giant, cavernous mountain, they’re confused and concerned at first, giving you a weird look that doesn’t go away even as you explain.

“It’s a test.”

They stay quiet, looming over you and listening to every word. 

“When people hear the name Wretch, they’ll think of somethin’ pitiful. Somethin’ gross and sick… but I’m not gonna be gross. I’m gonna be good.”

“I’m gonna have a scary name, but I’ll have friends that don’t care about that! They’ll see that I’m tryin’ as hard as I can, and, and… the right people will come.”

“Big sis says they always do.”

[skinstealer]

CHAPTER TWO: SHOCK BROADCAST 

CW: self harm, mentions of shock content/violence, sexual mentions/implications 

The game’s good, tonight. Real brutal one too- you’d be on the edge of your seat if it wasn’t some rerun. Even then, you missed the middle of it, and it never hurt to revisit a match considered a classic. These sorta death games had a wild following, and while you’re not the most avid fan, you keep up when you get the chance.

Sometimes they make you feel a bit queasy, but you figure it’ll go away easy enough.

It’s fine. You’re good. Show’s good too, and you ain’t gonna spend any time worrying about it tonight- it’s a party night, and that makes the night yours. This was your element, surrounded by pounding music and people laughing as they grind all over each other. Yeah, this kinda shit was where it was at. 

Someone eats shit off a ledge and you laugh before even thinking about it. Automatic process, routine at this point. Somebody falls? You laugh. Somebody gets some teeth knocked out? You laugh, and something hurts your head while you do it but it’s just a part of the game, and nothing more. Nothing worth worrying about.

Over the sound of the TV you can hear talking, just barely audible- you knock the volume down a few notches, curiosity too much to handle. Nobody ever got hurt from a little bit of eavesdropping anyway, not like you’re committing a crime.

From the sound of it, it’s Eastwood and his not-quite-boyfriend Aster- you can’t stand this guy on a good day, and from the sound of it, he’s not having one of those. You try to lower the volume one more tick, finally able to make out words...including your name.

“She….she needs help, Eastwood. I’m worried.”

Eastwood doesn’t say a word, not that you can make out anyway.

“Please...you can’t let her destroy herself forever.” 

“I’m not her babysitter, Aster.”

“I’m not asking you to babysit her, she isn’t a child- but she needs someone right now, and you’re here.”

“That’s all that qualifies me? I’m here?”

“Eastwood…”

There they go again, bickering and bickering and bickering. You’ve heard this shit so many times before, though usually it’s about the weather or what to eat...never about you.

You don’t know how to feel about that.

“I’m not obligated to help her work through her own shit, not when I have so much on my own plate. I’m a parent for fuck’s sake!”

“I know, I know...but it’s just…”

“Just what?”

“I’ve seen what happens to people...like her.”

“People like her.”

“You know...people who would throw away anything just for a bit of attention. It’s terrible to say, I know, but-”

“Yeah. It is kind of terrible.”

“Just look at these parties-”

“You don’t seem to complain when you’re at ‘em.”

“Because- okay, alright. If we’re going to have this conversation, I need you to actually listen to me, and not make snarky comments. Can we do that?”

“Fine. Tell me whatever horrible things you’re worried about.”

“Well...it’s just...I’ve seen people like her, people who act out for attention, or seek out dangerous kinds of attention...I see them get hurt, sometimes in ways that can’t be taken back. Someone is going to end up taking advantage of her, Eastwood, and I’d rather there be some kind of prevention happening before you have to play damage control.”

“Okay.” You hear Eastwood sigh. “That’s...fair enough, I guess. I’m not in any fucking place to tell her to stop sleeping around-”

Aster snorts, and you roll your eyes.

“Knock it off. I’m not in any place to tell her off for that, but I don’t want her getting messed up either.”

“That’s not all I’m worried about, though.”

“Go on.”

“You know my work. Being in the Hoopla TV industry...you see some shit. People say it’s one of the most screwed up businesses to be in, not as bad as Consumption mind you, but it’s not pleasant. I’m spared a lot working as a newscaster, but I see what comes on the channel after my segments...hell, I think there’s some on right now.”

You shrink in your seat, just in case they’re looking over.

“And it’s all violence, Eastwood. It’s all these death games and fighting and gore splatters...it isn’t good for anyone’s head, to be surrounded by that, to be immersed in that as a part of culture...and I’ll be honest, a good part of why it’s so prominent is because she encourages it.”

“Now hold on-”

“I’m serious. She’s a god, the big figure of this zone- she’s a role model, whether she’s cut out to be or not. And the fact of the matter is, people look to her, and what she likes, and they idolize. I don’t think she’s a violent person, she’s given me no reason to think that...but it’s still there, and it’s not just affecting her anymore.”

“I watch plenty of that shit too, Aster, it’s not making me a problem-”

“You don’t hold the same kind of position she does, and you’re not watching it like that, not all the time and never the severe stuff...some of the late night showings are basically shock porn, for fuck’s sake.”

You can feel your face burning up, some kind of knot tangling up in your stomach. Shock porn...it wasn’t shock porn, you’ve never seen anything like that-

not on TV

-in your life.

“Her attitude about this, how she handles this, everything...it’s going to consume her-”

The word sends a shudder down your form, you hate it but shove back why, it’s not important-

“-and she’s going to get hurt. It can’t keep going like this.”  

Eastwood is silent, not saying a word. For some reason this makes you feel worse, like you can feel Aster’s words seeping into him and making sense. It wasn’t fair, this was...this was some kind of bias against you, maybe he was jealous of how much time you got to be around Eastwood-

“She needs help.”

You don’t wait to hear what’s next.

You get up from the couch in a single smooth motion, leaving a few smears of hot sludge behind- you can’t help it, this shit’s got your body heated, like it always does. Eastwood panics a little as you walk towards him and Aster, trying to play it off and failing miserably. You don’t say a word, pupils following the two of them as you pass by, purposefully hitting Aster’s shoulder on your way out. You can hear him fussing as soon as you’re past, and you can’t help but hope the sludge doesn’t get out of his wool for days.

The music seems to pound louder as you walk through the warehouse, passing by people writhing in time with the beat. You’d join them in a second, just a second...just need to clear your head, get all the bad out so you can focus on what matters- your night. Fuck Aster and Eastwood, the hell did they know about you anyway? It wasn’t like you were asking for people to all have their eyes on you, you didn’t ask to be put into this position! Fuck, Eastwood goes on about how he didn’t want to be born all the time, and somehow when it’s you it’s a problem! Fucking hypocrites, all of them. 

Your head is swimming, and you can smell the faintest hint of smoke. There’s no one around you, just a hallway- you don’t even remember walking down this hallway, completely immersed in your own head. The smell of smoke gets stronger even as you’re all alone, and you shove it down, you shove it all down, it’s not going to bother you, not tonight, not now-

You’re seeping all over the tiles, your hands shifting into claws-

a trick you learned from her 

Fuck.

Fuck this. 

Fuck all of this.

You’re going to get yourself together-

You slap your own face, splattering some sludge on the wall. It’s fine. It’s fine-

You’re going to get yourself together, get yourself hyped up, get yourself laid, and it was going to be amazing. It was going to be the best shit ever, and fuck what Eastwood and Aster said. At least this way, you’ll be appreciated, even if it’s just for a night. And after tonight, who knows? You could just do this again and again, and then you’d never have to be alone.

You can handle yourself, you don’t have a problem, and you never have.

You start walking again, the hallway seemingly constricting around you with every step. It’s almost as if you could feel her walking behind you, hand on your shoulder-

[TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER THREE]