#like at least if it was the kitchen we don't mop the Whole floor in there. cuz it's a faff.

[notquiteaghost]

one thing abt the bug situation in this house is i understand the spiders. we have the big house spiders cuz we have a cellar and a garden, i am not ever surprised to see a big house spider. ceiling corners is the natural habitat of the leggy spiders i think. and i understand the slugs & the isopods that came in under the back door cuz we did let that bag of potatoes sprout n then go weird right by the back door

however. when i go to piss and there is an isopod in the bathroom.... buddy what are you doing. i keep piling our leftover veg in the flower beds for you! why are you not only inside my house but up a whole flight of stairs! that is not where your rotting carrot ends are! that is not where anything is! this is the only room in the house we regularly clean every surface of!

[msfbgraves]

Non-Konmari day 9: spoonie cleaning

I've already remarked that one of the things I like about Marie Kondo is that she doesn't compartmentalise. I have been raised in the tradition of going straight for the problem and fixing it. But that has always bothered me.

You see, if you go straight to the problem and fix it, you choose to not look at a whole bunch of other problems. 'Ah,' the Westerner says. 'We will cross that bridge when we get there. One thing at a time.'

That's all well and good, if you can deal with the discomfort caused by all the other issues surrounded with this one. But since moving in the physical world is difficult for me, I have a very low tolerance for extra discomfort.

'Onwards!' the Westerner says, by now. 'If you try to fix everything, you will end up fixing nothing. Discomfort is a part of life. Pain is good for the soul!'

No, it isn't, I think by now. Pain is terrible for the soul, and the body too, but let's not get too esoteric when the issue at hand is that I want to take a shower. In a clean tub, thank ye kindly. Except the tub isn't clean, so I will have to fix that. I could take a shower in a dirty tub but I don't want that, and this is my flat.

'Well, that seems pretty straightforward," the Westerner supplies. "Get your cleaning supplies and clean the tub."

Yes, I muse. But the least painful way to do that is to get a pillow, put it on the floor, kneel down and clean the tub. And the floor is kind of dirty. If I want to do that, best clean the floor first. Which means taking things off the floor, vacuum, and mop it.

Btw, since the vacuum is out, the easiest thing to do is also vacuum the kitchen. That way, I don't have to drag the thing out twice.

By this time, the Westerner wants me checked for ADD and a crash course on prioritisation. Only I am prioritising. One, these things need to get done, in whatever order, too, this is really the most efficient way on my strength, which is limited.

Unshowered, I walk to the kitchen and get the cleaning supplies. First thing, the little bin on the bathroom floor. Since I am handling that, I might as well empty and clean it. I do, and put the thing on a table in the living room, then put away the towels to get washed.

OK, if I want to vacuum efficently, I might take away the chairs, bin (I apologise for the continental English on display. I use whatever word or spelling is in my heart rn), and wipe down the table. And the chairs, while I am at it. Also the downside of the bin.

There's quite a lot of dust on the counters, though, and a few crumbs. It would be most efficient if I cleaned those first, and vacuum whatever ends up on the floor.

So I do, and spend a lot of time on the stove. Some removable parts are quite greasy. The best thing to do is put them in the dishwasher now, which is kind of empty. Also, if I want to to wipe down efficiently, I have to do something about that potted plant that I meant to throw out.

I rearrange the stove things in the dishwasher, put it on.

I take out the plant. There's earth everywhere. Good thing I hadn't vacuumed. And though I can feel the spirit of all my primary school teachers weeping in a corner, I am not totally beyond reason. It would in fact not be more efficient to get some fresh earth for it now, because I am not dressed and yet unshowered, so this thing will have to wait. I put it aside and start cleaning out the vase the plant was in. I remove a sticker with some really icky sticker remover, clean and polish the vase and put it in the cupboard. Rearrange some of the contents for more logical use. Crash on bed, then start cleaning up dirt and wiping down counters, put on water to use to clean the drains, as I will be here a while and that needs some time to do its job. I am quite determined to have it be a pleasant shower by now. So I put soda in the drains of both my sink and the bathtub - as yet uncleaned - and continue polishing the kitchen counters, since I'm here anyway. I have seen, though, that due to the dirt I will have to clean my brush, which is OK, since I have to clean some rags anyway due to the sticker stuff. For that, though, I need to hang some things I'd put in earlier and for that I need to clear some clothes off the clothing rack, hang the new clothes, which I do, mend a hole, and now can put the dirty rags in the washer with my dirtied brush.

The kitchen right now is getting close to spotless, which means I can work back and vacuum the floor, after which I vacuum the bathroom floor, deal with the drains, and, since I'm here, clean down the bathroom sink and mirror. I need to eat something, but heaven be praised, it seems there is nothing stopping me from mopping the floor. Granted, the dishwasher with the stove things is finished, so I clear that out first.

I grab something to eat - nice in such a clean kitchen! - clear that away as the dishwasher is empty, grab the mop and mop the darn floors. I know. Crash again, put something on Tumblr about my blorbos. By now it's getting kinda late so best clean and mop the toilet, which I had meant to do sometime before tomorrow. I need to vacuum a little in the toilet (separate room) and vacuum my rug for the hell of it. Mop the toilet.

By now I'm sure I stink, but the toilet, kitchen and bathroom are clean save for the tub, so I can put the pillow out, get on my knees without pain, and scrub the thing, which by now is actually kinda easy given that the rest of the bathroom has been done.

I finish, put away all the supplies, the dirty mop with the rest of the cleaning laundry, and have an extremely comfortable shower that I wanted in the first place.

This has been 8 hours of straight work to get to take a shower, and the efficiency of that seems sub zero. I think this way of working also qualifies for ADD.

The thing is that I didn't get distracted by these chores. I felt free to choose not to do them; I knew exactly what I wanted, finding an easy way to clean my tub. And if I'd done it immediately, I would have either have had to make extra work on myself by dirtying something under the pillow, or doing it standing up, which is hard on my back and makes showering painful.

A few years ago, when writing my thesis, I read The Now Habit, and felt it was an excellent help for dealing with the fears that lead to procrastination and distraction, and indeed a great help for Getting Things Done Now. In fact, I vowed to live that way forever. Get all the work and chores done in between scheduled relaxation, housework, playtime and social interactions. God, this is a Protestant's dream.

So there I went. If I had a window of free time, fill it with a bit of a chore, which meant a lot fewer chores and a freer mind.

Except for one little thing. After three days of this, my body was aching all over. Cool if you have the energy to schedule your relaxation between 13:00 and 14:00 for an episode of Buffy you love. But my body doesn't care about schedules. If it needs rest, it needs rest, and pushing through until you get to the scheduled rest will not get me anywhere other than weeping on the couch.

And true, I would have thought this associative way of working would have me crash like nothing today. Goodness me, I did not mean to spend eight hours creating the perfect conditions to have a shower in. That's not what was taught me. It's unpredictable, and undependable: can you let in anyone, in pajamas and apron, sweaty and covered in dirt? Hardly.

But waking up today, I was only a little stiff. Eight to nine hours of labour, and this was the only price my body exacted of me. It went away within the hour. Normally, I would have barely been able to move after a day like that.

So did I do what I had planned, and go to the thrift store? No, I didn't. But my kitchen and tub got deep cleaned, and I am in barely any pain. Is that really less efficient? Should that really be medicalised?

I so pray that it works for the rest of life. If every problem you can solve makes it easier to solve related issues: shouldn't that protect from the despair that causes giving everything, and failing, to attain something essential that the abled world demands of you to survive? Or, if not survive, be afforded a modicum of dignity?

Is it really true that things that not get handled directly do never get done?

Do you have to scale a mountain and risk to crash? Or can you look for the softest parts and tunnel through it? Even if that is in no way a straight line?

I really hope so. Because life has so many obstacles, and I've crashed so many times.

Everything I've learnt says that you can only survive if you face problems head on. Physical limitations blocking you? Go to the gym. Mental issues stalling you? Go see a therapist about it (don't tell anyone, though). I have always longed for somebody to say: "Do what you can. Do things in their own time. Get there your way."

Because, well, yesterday's goal was minuscule, and it took ages to reach it, but it was hardly the only thing I did, and the massive detour did bring other benefits. Like not being sick.

I don't know if tidying up my house will help me find a way to take care of myself without killing myself in the process. Not superficially. I mean, people would probably recommend me finding a coach, doctor or intermediary, talk to other people about specific problems I face, deal with them. But I have been trying to do that, non stop, since I was two years old. I see people I love either getting on the wagon or getting run over if they fall off it, convinced that it is simply too hard and what use is it, doing what you can?

But what if doing what you can, the easy, meandering way, could actually make you a little stronger? Just a little stronger? And yet a little stronger? The task, so daunting at first, just a little easier?

I hope so. I so hope so.

Because head on, I keep running into walls.

[forzalife]

Single Mom on NYE

What do you do on New Year's Eve? Do you get ready and go to a party? Do you dress up? Do you cook?

As the clock ticks down to midnight on New Year's Eve, the prospect of spending the evening at home paints a picture of warmth, reflection, and connection. For many, it's a deliberate choice to bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new one in the embrace of familiar surroundings.

Imagine a cozy living room decorated with twinkling lights and gold glitter decorations. The scent of a homemade meal or special New Year's Eve cookies and cookies wafts through the air, creating a sense of anticipation and celebration. Perhaps there's a playlist of favorite songs playing softly in the background, setting the mood for the evening.

All that stuff sounds so magical...however, that is not what is going down in my house. My son is jumping on the couch watching cartoons, while I bake more blueberry muffins. There are NO board games laid out or soft music playing. The only anticipation I have is putting my son to bed after a bit of the war zone of fireworks outside. My house is filled with the smell of Lysol and baked goods. Take a deep breath...take it all in.

The beauty of celebrating at home lies in the simplicity and authenticity of the experience. It's a chance to set intentions for the coming year, express gratitude for the moments passed, and create a sense of renewal within the comfort of one's own space.

(Peep the can of mixed greens in the background.)

Picture this...I put my son to bed. He is asleep in my bed so I can sleep through the night. #Win I have swept the kitchen, living room, office, hallway, entrance and my son's room. Now to spray and mop the entire house. The toys are picked up, the rugs have been vacuumed and the trash is outside. Don't forget, I washed all the dishes (the dishwasher is broken.) The muffins are baked and while you were at it, you managed to bake two dozen cookies. (Who are you feeding lady? You are single.) It's me, just over achieving over here.

Growing up in my superstitious household we had to do a number of things. All the Christmas décor had to be put up and stored away. The clothes had to be washed and the whole house cleaned. In our house it was bad luck to keep Christmas out after January 1. Also, you were forbidden to wash or dry clothes on New Year's Day. If so, you would run the risk of 'washing someone out' of the family. My family says, What you do on New Year's Day is how you will spend the rest of the year. So, if you are working, then working. Relaxing and enjoying family, then relaxing and enjoying the fam.

Now that I am in my forties, I don't believe all that stuff, however old habits die hard. I did take down the Christmas decorations, downsized them, organized them and labeled the storage bins. Again, its me being extra over here. I did take about three days to slowly get the house a little cleaner. I did wait to put my son to bed to get the floor completely clean. I wanted it to be clean at least six to eight hours before getting dirty again, even it was while we slept. There is nothing like coming home or waking up to a clean space.

Now, whether it's a lively countdown with confetti and cheers or a quiet moment of reflection under the stars, New Year's Eve at home embodies the spirit of embracing the future while cherishing the present—a meaningful transition from one year to the next within the sanctuary of home can be peaceful.

While I am grateful for 2023 and ready for 2024. The anxiety and anticipation for the New Year is a bit to take in. I am grateful for my son, my therapy, my therapist, my business and what the Lord has done and is going to do this New Year.

What are you grateful for? What do you look forward to in the New Year?

[floxtingdrm]

ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕦𝕘𝕖 𝟘-𝟞: 𝕎𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙 𝕪𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜!

You passed out on the cold hard floor, time passed a little faster when you sleep it's a nice feeling you'd get once in a while. You feel as if water surrounded you, the feeling of someone else's hand caressing your face, no words were heard but you somehow felt as if they wanted to tell you something, shout to you what they want. But in this strange space you can't move, not even the slightest budge, the hands quickly move away before you heard the voice of a woman, she was crying.

-" Gah! Hah... hah... What was with that dream..." You broke sweats and gaps as if you hadn't been able to breathe properly, the sound of your heartbeat slowed down as you wiped the remaining sweat on your forehead. Where were you again?

You were in one of the rooms you were cleaning before, but weren't you on the floor a while ago? And what happened while you had passed out? It was confusing and somehow strange but did someone carry you all the way into this room?

You stepped down on the cold hard wooden floor, at least it was dust-free since you hate that weird feeling of something sticking on your feet. You quickly put on the pair of shoes next to your bed and stepped out of your room, hopefully, Yuu and Grim were still around and that crow had brought dinner at least. But then why did it smell like fire?

-" So this was why I smelt that something was burning." the floor was damaged and it was still on fire, Yuu and Grim were nowhere to be found so you checked if you had your pen was still there and used the spell you had used before making the room filled with ice like before but at least it stopped the fire. Now the question why was there fire?

-"A-ah (Y/n) you're awake! the fire was spreading while you were asleep so we had to find some water nearby." Yuu said holding a bucket filled with water. Maybe it would be useful if you had learned a few more spells besides the ice magic you had.

-"Where's Grim?" You asked. "He's still filling his buck-""I got the water!" Grim ran in holding a bucket throwing it at the spot where the fire was, it was small so it didn't really spread that much. The room that was covered in ice quickly turned normal as the ice did not do well with room temperature, you quickly took a nearby mop which was surprisingly still alive after the fight with the ghosts.

It was a comfortable silence between everyone, you were deep in thought along with the others, Grim although hated it but still agree to help with the increasing amount of tuna cans. Yuu took glances on your way, sometimes he worries about you too much but you wouldn't want to put it in any other way. For you your mind now surrounds your own life, it felt as if someone had lied to you, your whole entire life.

Your parents weren't your own, you could tell by the glance that you didn't even look like them, you were an orphan and you knew it from the start. Yet there was still usefulness from you, you were a pawn and a very valuable one in other people's eyes, maybe Yuu is one of them but you were too blinded by the fact that he had grown up with you to even believe that he would betray you. Magic... was something you never wanted to even think about, you despise it as much as you despise a miracle, now having to possess one would it change the way you think about it? No.

-"(Y/n), Have you ever wondered what happened if you and I had an actual family?" Yuu asked. Yuu was as lonely as you were, maybe that's why you trusted him so much, he spent most of his life in the orphanage just to steal leftover food from the kitchen for you and himself. Your one and only brother, you don't want to lose someone as precious as this.

-"No, because you're my only family. No one can replace that you know?" You said still quite lost in thought.

-"Yeah you're right, as long as you and I have each other I don't think we need anyone else" Yuu answered.

-"Good evening! I have graciously brought you super!" The front door was slammed wide open as the crow headmaster stood there with two lunch boxes. Just when you and your bestie were having a moment, fantastic. "You're the monster that ran amuck during the entrance ceremony! I threw you out of the school, what are you doing here?!".

-"Hey! Just so you know I exterminated the ghost problem! Be grateful!"

-"Hm? What do you mean by that?" Looks like he probably didn't even know about the ghost that had lived here for a while. You stood idly in the background listening to your companions re-telling the moment while also reminding them to keep quiet about your magic. "I see, now that you've mentioned it some prankster ghosts were living here so students kept away from this dormitory. Such was the reason why it wasn't used for so long but I've forgotten it for a while because of my 'heavy' workload. Although for you three to work together to get rid of them.."

-"I'll just pretend I never heard that last part, so now that we've covered that can I have my food now?" you grimaced feeling a bit hungry.

-"They were just standing there giving directions! And the girl also passed out!" Grim shouted angrily while you were too hungry to even care about what he said. Would mint chocolate chip ice cream be a good dessert?

-" I'd like to see the three of you to show me how you exterminated those ghosts" You were annoyed by this man's audacity but begrudgingly agreed to help him in exchange for some ice cream while Grim just ask for more tuna and Yuu asked for a flavour of his choice.

-"Since we got our agreement, I shall now be the ghosts," the headmaster said. "Yeah, yeah whatever now hurry up I'm starving you freaking Crow!!" Grim shouted.

-"Transformation Potion!" he said perform taking out a strangely coloured bottle and chugging it down, based on the colour that would have tasted disgusting.

-"Oh and I'll get you what you want if you defeat me" he added.

-"Let's just get this over with, Grim get ready, Yuu stand to the side we need to avoid getting injuries and damaging the house" you instructed.

-"Ehhhh!? But I don't wanna! This is a pain and I don't wanna team up with you guys again!!" Grim said. Oh, you just wanna strangle the little talking thing right now and be done with it.

-" Oi Grim, You cooperate or not only are we going to kick you out but I'll also turn you into cat stew! You might get a chance at staying if you do well" you mumbled the last part to yourself.

-"Urghh... Fine but you two have to give me my tuna! You can't keep promising and not do it!" Shouted angry Grim.

-"Tch, Deal."

Q͓̽u͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽t͓̽h͓̽e͓̽ ͓̽s͓̽p͓̽o͓̽n͓̽g͓̽e͓̽b͓̽o͓̽b͓̽ ͓̽t͓̽i͓̽m͓̽e͓̽s͓̽k͓̽i͓̽p͓̽.͓̽

As the battle came to a halt Grim passed out because of certain complications, Yuu slumped down into a puddle, and you were still fine but it looks like you were on the same verge as the others. Crowley turned back into his human form, unharmed.

-"How 'bout that!" Grim said recovering from his tiredness.

-"I see... Some people can command monsters. Hm... My teacher sense was telling me since the uproar during the entrance ceremony... That you two have talents as animal or wild beast trainer" He's lying, you don't train them you make bargains with them that might never happen and then trick them into becoming your handmaid in doing your biding. "But... I can't let you two... But if I do then maybe..."

-"Um... If you can headmaster, Could you let Grim stay with us?" Yuu asked, he probably knew about Grim's wish to be a talented magic-user.

-"What now, the monster?" the headmaster said. For some reason, you wanted to support the little thing no matter what even if he didn't succeed.

-"Please give him a chance, he has a lot of potential despite being a monster" You swear this was embarrassing but it would be worth it for a pet.

-"You guys..."

-"Hah, it can't be helped, fine he can stay" Crowley agreed, we're getting a pet.

-"Really?!" All three of you shouted. If you could draw puppy ears and tails then it would have been perfection.

-"BUT!" You can't forget the 'but' in a conversation. "I can't simply allow someone, let alone a monster, who wasn't chosen by the Dark Mirror to enter school. I also can't let you two become freeloaders here until we have found your purpose for being here".

-"Talk about short-lived joy" Yuu and Grim sighed.

-"Still, concerning the fact that your soul was called here... The school has to take responsibility as owners of the Dark Mirror. For the time being you'll be staying at this dormitory rent-free. However other than the dorm you will have to provide yourself with the other necessities"

-"Seeing as you two have a few things with you... Here's my proposition"

-"So, what exactly are you going to make me do?" You asked getting ready to hear 'physical labour'.

-"No need to fret, I'll make you do maintenance and odd jobs around the campus. From what I can see, you're pretty decent at cleaning." what do you expect, magic your work or some- Oh wait they use magic here. "You will become the Handyman of this school. This way you'll be able to stay on school grounds without causing suspicion. You'll also have access to the library to research or study whatever you desire there, For I am gracious"

-"So, does this mean we can-"-"However only after your work is done."

-"... Can we also read the spellbooks?" You asked. You have magic and only these two next to you know that, you're basically a walking cheat code for cleaning.

-"Hm... I don't see the harm in it. You can read them, but only after work is done" Crowley answered letting you sigh in relief, it's no hard labour if no one knows.

-"I'm not okay with this!!" There goes the cat. "I wanna wear that fancy uniform and be a student".

-"It's fine if you don't want to do anything, I'll just simply toss you out again," Crowley said with a sinister smile threatening Grim.

-"Fgna!! I'll do it! I'll do it!!" Grim said. What a priceless expression.

-"I'm fine with that, and you (Y/n)?" Yuu asked.

-"I'll be fine with it"

-"Wonderful, then you three starting from tomorrow, endeavour to be the best handyman at Night Raven College!" Crowley said enthusiastically before handing you the passes and dinner, finally.

-"This is gonna be a wild-ride, hopefully, I won't die"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Valentines Day special coming soon~(as in a year soon lol-)

@kimura-uzuri

[hinatastinygiant]

Chapter Eleven

Pairing: Mitsuya x Fem!Reader

Wicked Games Masterlist

The next morning you wake up from your living room couch because of a loud crash of glass breaking from your kitchen. You immediately sit up and stare in that direction half asleep and wondering what you should do next. Once you get past the oh my god, someone's trying to break into my house phase, you grab the unopened bottle of sake from the night before and run into the kitchen.

You wind up the bottle in your hand, preparing to swing, but stopping mid-swing when you realize that it's your guest who's staring at you like a deer in the headlights.

"Y/N!" he stares across at you with a blush that threatens to turn his whole face pink. "Uh, I'm really sorry about that. I didn't mean to make a mess!"

You look down between Mitsuya's feet and see small shards of glace on the floor.

"Oh," you reply, a bit confused about what's happened. You really should have said something else, though. Poor Mitsuya's staring at you like thinks he's about to get kicked out of your house.

"I'll clean it up right away!"

"No, no, it's alright," you assure him after realizing what's going on in his mind. "I've got it, don't worry."

You grab a hand mop from your closet nearby and scoop up the small pieces. As you stand up and throw the trash away, you think it's a bit strange to see Mitsuya like this- he's usually not this clumsy. He must still not be feeling so well.

"Are you hungry?" you ask as you turn back towards him. "I can make you something and if you're feeling dizzy or anything it might help."

"I'm okay, thank you," he shakes his head. "I was only trying to fill my water when I knocked it onto the floor by accident."

"No problem," you smile. "I'll grab you another glass." You quickly take another glass cup from your cabinet and fill it up with water to hand it over to him. "Want some medicine, too? I've really got a lot if you want some."

"That'd be great," he sighs softly. "I'd really appreciate that."

"Sure. You go sit in the other room and I'll be right in," you tell him before running off to your bathroom.

When you come back, Mitsuya's sitting on your sofa. You take the seat right beside him and toss him a bottle of pills.

"Thanks," he hums as he opens out the bottle and shakes out a few capsules. "I owe you a big apology, Y/N."

"Please, you don't have to do that," you shake your head. "I literally owe you so much. This was really the least I could do to repay you."

"I appreciate it," he nods. "But I still think you deserve at least an explanation."

You really can't deny that. Besides, you'd love to actually know what's going on with him. Ever since that day with the engagement announcements, Mitsuya just hasn't been himself.

You watch curiously as he places the group of pulls in his mouth and swallows them down with water. "Do you remember that guy from last night?" he asks as he places the items down on the table beside your couch.

You think back to the man from last night... Messy, black hair with intense, red eyes. Now that you think about it, you could swear you've seen this guy before.

"Yeah, I do."

Mitsuya takes in a deep breath and shakes his head in frustration. "That guy is Yuzuha's fiancée."

Your mouth almost drops to the floor as shock hits you like a truck. However, that's not what you were thinking of. That's not where you remember this man with the three silver earrings and narrow, rectangular glasses that serve as the only protection from his burning eyes. It's something else...

"You're kidding?!" you gasp. "What do we do?!"

"Don't intervene," he shakes his head. "Please, let it go, Y/N."

"What?! Why should we do-"

"Yuzuha's happy so we should just leave it alone."

Your eyes narrow as you look at your friend with confusion. This isn't like him at all. Sure, he's not the type to run headfirst into a fight at every little thing, but it's not like him to sit idly by and do nothing either.

"Our friend is getting cheated on and you think we shouldn't do anything about it?! That isn't fair to Yuzuha, we should..."

Your words trail off as Mitsuya sadly shakes his head.

"You, um, you have feelings for her, don't you?" you ask quietly.

"Yeah," he sighs. "Unfortunately."

You can't help but scoff at the ironic similarity to your own situation. "I'm in the same boat. Guess neither of us has good luck."

Mitsuya does nothing but nod quietly. You sigh and place your head down on his shoulder, taking a moment to pause in the quiet sadness.

"I think I remember that guy from somewhere else, too," you admit to him. "I think I've seen him before."

When Mitsuya's body tenses up, you know that he knows more than he's letting on. You lift up your head to get a better look at him and unsurprisingly, his eyebrows are furrowed together.

"Mitsuya, what does that guy have to do with Kisaki?!" you ask bluntly.

"Nothing, Y/N," he assures you.

"Oh, come on! I'm not an idiot! What's going on?!"

"I don't know anything for certain..." he replies cryptically.

"Fine," you scoff as you pull out your phone. "I'll just ask Hanma then. I'm sure he knows what's going on!"

Mitsuya places his hand on your wrist, stopping you from typing in your password.

"Don't do that. You're going to get yourself in trouble."

"In trouble?! Seriously if you're going to boss me around at least tell me the truth! Didn't you say I deserved an explanation!"

"Fine," he grumbles after a moment of thought. "I was trying to spare you from getting even more tangled up in all of this, but I'll explain it to you since you're not giving me much of a choice..."

Taglist: @darkmess0 @wakasa-wifey @plaggi @daiserenade @lunastellanova @sseorin @jinchuriki-hunter

[gingerteaonthetardis]

Hello, dear!

Here's a one-word prompt for the next century (or a century after that, we know how life gets).

Be it NinexRose or TenxRose,

Handkerchief

Much love! And thank you for existing! 🌸✨

sasha, thank you for the ask! hope you don't mind, but i used your lovely prompt as a jumping off-point for the first day of the doctorrose fic marathon.

prompts: handkerchief, alternate meeting, alternate universe

rating: t (for thirsty)

read on ao3.

-

The sun was high over London.

Rose had lived in the city all her life, and she knew—knew with certainty—that it had never been as blisteringly hot as it was right this moment. The people on telly were calling it an "unprecedented heatwave." She was calling it a rapid descent into madness, brought on by 30∘C weather. It was unbearable, and so she'd firmly told the building super on the phone two days earlier.

It was rare for a place in the city to have any sort of climate control, and she felt her own good fortune keenly, but that didn’t make it any less bloody hot when it broke.

The linoleum against her back had long since warmed to her body temperature, depriving her of the brief, sweet relief she'd felt when she first laid down. But now, she was too sluggish to move. She rolled her head to the side, grimacing at the dusty baseboards beneath the kitchen table. The whole place was really due for a cleaning, but such things would have to wait at least until the sun went down.

She arched her hips up, digging into the pocket of her denim shorts, and withdrew her mobile. After choosing the first contact, she resumed chewing distractedly on her bottom lip as the phone rang.

“Anything?” A sharp, Scottish accent came promptly down the line.

“Nope. You?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m telling you, Amy, Wilson’s having us on about this so-called ‘maintenance guy.’ If there is one, how come I’ve never seen him before?” It was far more likely Wilson just wanted to offload his responsibilities onto someone else—even if that someone else was a fiction.

Her upstairs neighbor pretended to consider, giving a thoughtful hum. “He could be a ghost?”

“Oh, I quite like that. Explains all the moaning you hear in the corridors.”

“No, that’s just Jack and his boyfriend.”

Rose snorted. “Don’t let Ianto hear you say that, he’d be mortified. God," she cringed as a spider skittered across the floor, enviously immune to the heat. "I really need to do the cleaning. I’m pretty sure there’s a colony of dust mites starting under the cupboards.”

“Me too,” Amy said wistfully. “I’m due for a good dusting."

“Oh, hush, I bet Rory’ll do it for you. Last time it was the washing up—maybe next time he stays over, he’ll break out the mop. And speaking of next time—”

“Don’t start.”

“When will you be seeing Doctor Love again?”

Amy’s groan was loud enough to make Rose pull the speaker away from her ear, a wide grin splitting her face. “He’s a nurse, Rose, not a doctor. A nurse. You know this.”

“And?”

Her friend sighed. “This Friday.”

“Ha!” Rose’s laugh echoed over the ceiling tiles barely a second before a knock sounded at the front door. It was an act of divine will to peel herself up off the floor, especially with the way her skin wanted to stick. “I knew it! You'll have to tell me everything, but later. Right now,” she lowered her voice as she padded barefoot to the door, “I’ve got a ghost to catch.”

“He’s here?”

“In the flesh.” Rose paused. “Hopefully. Later, Ames.” She hung up before her friend could get in more than a few notes of the Ghostbusters theme tune.

Slipping her mobile back into her pocket, Rose peered out through the peephole into the hall, but saw only blue, presumably of a shirt. She sent up a silent prayer—please be him—and then wrenched open the front door.

The man who stood there was distinctly not a ghost.

He was, in fact, quite a solid person. Tall, with wide shoulders and lean, muscled arms crossed casually over his chest. Some sort of tool belt was slung low around his hips, signifying his purpose at her door. And the blue was his shirt, she registered dumbly. It suited him quite well. Namely, his eyes—which were also blue. And sparkling. And she was gaping like a fish.

“Right. Hello,” she started awkwardly.

“Hi.” His smirk had a funny slant to it, like he was just trying it out for the first time and hadn’t yet got used to the expression.

“Are you maintenance?”

“I’m John, actually. But yes.”

A high-pitched sound that could plausibly have been a giggle—or a particularly squeaky hinge—escaped her, and she rolled up onto her toes, bouncing nervously. “John. Right. That—that’s great. I’m Rose.”

He cocked his head to the side, still wearing that odd little smile. “Nice to meet you, Rose.” His accent was strong and decidedly Northern, and for some reason, it seemed to be turning her brain into some sort of formless liquid. “Can I come in?”

It took her a moment to remember that she was blocking the entry, and she stepped clumsily to the side. “Oh. Yeah, sure.” She swallowed, hoping against hope that she could pull it together in the next ten seconds. “Come on in.”

-

It had been a day from hell, if he was honest.

The HVAC at Úlfur Square going down first thing in the morning in the middle of a heatwave would have been enough of an issue without that cheapskate, Wilson, insisting that it would be too expensive to fix. So, instead of doing any actual repairs, he was being sent door-to-door, measuring windows for individual window units.

The whole thing was a bloody waste of time and money, and it was horrific for the environment to boot, not that anybody in these flats could do anything about that. They were about as powerless as him when it came to Wilson’s barmy decisions.

He did not enjoy the reminder.

So, he was in a predictably unpleasant mood by the time he’d made it up to the ninth floor.

That is, until he’d heard her voice from inside the flat, thick South London accent piercing the door.

“Got a ghost to catch…. in the flesh.” A pause. “Hopefully.”

He certainly hoped she wasn’t talking about him. The last thing he needed was an amateur psychic adding to his stress.

But, to his surprise, the woman who opened the door didn’t seem like a psychic at all. Not unless psychics were mind-meltingly gorgeous. Which she was.

And her name was Rose.

She couldn’t have been above her mid-twenties, and her eyes were a wide, intelligent brown. Her beauty was the sort that dared you to confront it: bold-featured, spelled out in a sharply-angled jaw and wide, pink lips that immediately spread into a smile.

And, of course, she was wearing possibly the shortest denims known to man. This was the most distracting factor, turning his brain to mush as he attempted to introduce himself.

John blinked himself back to reality, suddenly aware that he’d been staring as he followed her into her flat. The hems of her shorts were beginning to fray in the most distracting way, little threads hanging down the backs of her thighs. But she was saying something—probably something important.

"What?"

"Do you need to look at the thermostat?" Rose said, clearly repeating herself. She fidgeted with the strap of her vest top, gliding the elastic over her thumb. He tried not to follow the nervous gesture too closely. "Or the vents?"

"Nah, just the windows." He stepped around her deftly, if only to get her legs out of his eyeline. He didn't need distractions; he had a job to do. And anyway, he didn’t want to be one of those men ogling unsuspecting women. Down boy.

"Oh." She huffed out a little sound like a sigh. "What do windows have to do with the central air?" The woman plainly knew how to ask the right questions, which was oddly intriguing, even if he didn’t particularly want to answer. He knew she wouldn’t like what he had to say. None of the other tenants had, so far.

"Nothing," he answered, sliding out his measuring tape with a cheerful whir. "But they've got everything to do with the AC units he’s putting in every apartment."

“You’re kidding. That cheapskate.”

His words exactly. “Nope.” His lips popped around the ‘p’ sound, making him sound far more disaffected than he actually felt. “Not kidding.”

He took the measurements quickly, not looking forward to the next three floors ahead of him. It would only get hotter as he climbed higher. He wouldn't even be doing this if Wilson could find the sodding building plan—

“So, that’s what he’s got you doing? Putting in, what—a hundred units?” Her voice tilted up at the end, genuinely curious, and he shot a glance over his shoulder to where she stood—leaning up against the edge of a small table. The surface was littered with scraps of fabric, multi-coloured and bright. Her eyebrows arched expressively.

She was the first person who didn’t want to blame him, it seemed. In fact, she almost sounded sorry for him.

He shrugged. “More than that. But that’s the job. What is it you do?”

"I'm a seamstress," she replied, shrugging. The motion was strangely graceful, and he forced himself to look away. "My best friend, Amy—she lives upstairs—well, she works at the ballet and I was always fixing tears in her costumes. Got to the point I was doing it for everybody, so they hired me on."

He stifled a snort of laughter as he jotted down the window measurements into his notebook. "It's the same with me," he said. "Wilson was hopeless when he first took this place over, and I offered to help. Now I do maintenance full time."

"Guess we both just sort of—fell into things, yeah?" He could hear the smile in Rose’s voice like a siren's song, urging him to look up. But his gaze was somehow trapped, watching her legs un-cross and re-cross. One of her kneecaps was dotted with freckles. Little kisses from the sun, unevenly placed.

The observation made him sweat.

"Yeah," he mumbled, finally looking up. She was biting her lip like it was a pink, overripe fruit, and he wondered if he was in hell. At least that would explain the heat. "Guess so."

-

The next time he showed up, she remembered her manners.

His brow was slick with sweat as he carried the unwieldy window unit in through her front door, and she tried not to hover. Amy said she had an independent streak a mile long and hated people doing things for her, even things she couldn't do herself.

It was why she'd taught herself to drive, despite the impracticality of owning a car in London, and why the plumber tended to avoid her calls. He wasn't overly fond of her sitting on the floor beside him, insisting he explain every step of the process so she could fix it herself next time.

But there was nothing to be done about this air-conditioner; the installation was simple and would only take a few minutes, he said, and then he’d show her how to use it.

"D’you want a drink?"

She didn't mean to address the question to his straining biceps, but such was life.

"Sure," he grunted. "So long as it's not tea."

Rose snorted. "In this heat? I'm not that mental."

"No," he agreed, and she felt the heat of his eyes glance off of her skin, even as her back was to him. It was like a physical weight, sending prickling awareness down her spine. "Definitely not."

Her thoughts were abstracted as she stood in the kitchen, preparing two tall glasses of lemonade. Condensation pooled against the tips of her fingers, and she was grateful that her freezer still worked, at least, because the heat had everything else on the fritz. Including her.

That is, it must’ve been the heat, because she didn’t love her other options.

Days had passed since his first visit, and Rose hadn't quite been able to remove the hot handyman from her head.

There was some plausible deniability in the oppressive weather, but it didn't stop his eyes from leaping to mind when she closed her own, or the memory of his arms crossing over his chest from dancing through her dreams.

And then he’d shown up at her flat again, his half-smile blooming into something wider, almost sillier, the moment she opened the door. Which sent her into babbling stupidity.

According to Jack, this was because she was intensely single and needed to get a leg over. But Rose wasn’t so sure. It felt like something about him specifically turned her mind to pudding. Like there was some potentiality in him that called to her.

She heard the beeping in the other room as the window unit kicked on, as well as the soft rushing of blessed, cool air entering her flat. Seconds later, heavy work boots entered her kitchen on steady steps. “Well, your AC’s up and running now. It should start cooling down in just a few minutes.”

She turned to face him with thanks on her lips, hand already extended out in front of her to give him his lemonade. But her heart dropped all the way into her stomach at the sight that met her.

Sweat had plastered part of his thin shirt to his skin, highlighting every contour of his chest—every line and plane standing out in sharp relief, emphasized by his raised arm, where he’d lifted his hand to mop at his face with a handkerchief. None of this should’ve sent her head spinning the way it did, but she found her mouth closing and then opening and then closing again, unable to formulate words. Sentences. English.

“Thanks,” she managed.

Watching him drink the lemonade was scarcely less distracting. His throat worked, and her traitorous eyes couldn’t help but track the movement with strange fascination. She had to say something—something normal.

“So—you sound like you’re from the North.”

John chuckled, the sound flooding butterflies through her belly. “Well-spotted. Grew up there, with my mum.”

“What brought you to London?”

She didn’t miss his hesitation, or the way his eyes darted to the ground before he spoke. But when he did, his voice held a forced levity. “It was a small town, where we lived. Everybody knew everybody. After a while, the smallness stopped being comforting and it started to feel…”

He trailed off and then shrugged, as if finding the right words didn’t matter. But it clearly did.

“Stifling?” she offered.

“A bit,” he said, huffing a laugh.

“Do you miss it ever?”

“I guess, but you know how it is—or maybe you don’t,” he added, smirking faintly, “living in London your whole life.”

She grinned, biting down on her tongue to stop the burgeoning laughter. Her accent was as dead a giveaway as his, she supposed. “How could you tell?” she teased. “Guess I need a refund on all those elocution lessons.”

“Definitely.” He nodded in mock-sobriety. “Your teacher was a hack.”

If it weren’t for the glitter in his eyes, she’d assume he was making fun. But she could see only gentle amusement. Something so rich and sticky, like fondness, only it seemed impossible for her to have earned the sentiment. It sent prickles of heat up and down her spine.

“But then,” he added, “so was mine.”

Her escaping laughter filled the whole kitchen.

-

Of course Rose would be so bloody easy to talk to.

He stood around in her kitchen much longer than he should have, taking slow sips of a first and then a second glass of lemonade, listening to her throaty laugh and wondering how in the world he’d gotten so caught up in this stranger after only a few minutes in her company. Her oversized t-shirt that swallowed her shorts, the wisps of hair that came loose from her ponytail—everything about her felt engineered to make him mental.

She was just so effortless and bright.

And she was pulling things out of him he’d never expected to tell anyone else—certainly not a stranger. He found himself telling her about how he’d always liked fixing things, even from a young age. How he’d had to get good at it if he wanted to have things other people just… got.

“But really, I think I wanted to help people,” he admitted. “And this is what I’m good at. Maybe it isn’t changing the world or saving the universe—”

But she’d cut him off before the self-deprecating comment could fully form.

“I think that’s brilliant.” She was insistent, reaching across the ever-decreasing space between them to grasp his arm. Her skin was impossibly soft. “Most people mean ‘doctor’ or ‘scientist’ or something, when they say they want to help people, and we need them. But we need people who do what you do, too.”

He missed her touch the second she released him.

“Obviously,” she added, “or else I’d melt.”

Her impish smile made him laugh. “Well, the world’s lucky I’m not a doctor. Bad bedside manner, me.”

For some odd reason, she refused to believe that.

It was with great resentment that he dragged himself back to reality: a reality where he still had three more floors ahead of him, all of whom needed the relief of cold air.

“Well, thanks for the lemonade,” he said lamely. His feet dragged, unwilling to turn him towards the door. “Guess I owe you a drink.”

Silence fell.

“Oh.” To his mortification, a flush crawled up Rose’s cheeks, and she bit down on her lip in obvious discomfort. Great. All her talk had just been good manners, he reminded himself. Just polite socialising with someone she was stuck spending a bit of time with.

And he’d gone and made it something it wasn’t.

“Right,” he found himself going on, voice tight. The word seemed to be coming to him from a great distance. “I’m off, then.” And, without another word, he turned and legged it out of the flat before he could stick his boot further into his mouth.

“Stupid,” he muttered, lengthening his stride. The stairs were just ahead—a few more steps and the beautiful woman would be behind him for good. He wouldn’t have to be distracted by her long legs, or her pretty, shiny hair, or her beaming smile, or the way she laughed, or how she seemed so interested in talking with him—

“Wait!”

John froze. And despite himself—despite his good sense—hope bloomed.

Maybe he hadn’t bollocksed this up. Maybe she had felt… whatever it was that he felt.

Right. What he was going to do was this: he was going to give her his business card. His card with his number on it, where she could reach him. Any time, day or night, but perhaps especially during evenings or maybe weekends. If she wanted.

He could couch it as a professional thing, even—just an offer of help, in case anything went wrong in her flat ever. Or if she needed a friend. Rose seemed like she’d make a good friend.

And if she tossed his number in the bin, fine. The ball would still be in her court. He still would’ve done something.

That, he decided, was the plan, as he turned to face Rose, only to see...

His own handkerchief, being waved in his face.

“You dropped this,” Rose explained rapidly, still flushing—or perhaps she was red from running after him in the heat. She pushed the wadded up fabric into his palm, and a tingle passed through his fingers. Like a current, electrifying him head to toe. “I’m sure you’ll be needing it again. Lots more flats to take care of.”

Do it, you coward.

Give her the card.

But for some reason, his hand was frozen around the handkerchief. Reaching into his back pocket felt about as realistic as crossing a million miles in a single instant. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable; he didn’t want to push.

So, he nodded, forcing a friendly smile—hopefully not a grimace—onto his face. “Thanks, Rose.”

Her lips fell into an “o” shape again, parting in something like shock, and his own cheeks started to heat. Why did saying her name sound so intimate all of the sudden?

“You’re welcome, John,” she replied. And then, after a moment of stillness, a moment that could’ve easily lasted ten minutes, she turned heel and darted back into her flat. Disappearing.

Perhaps for good.

Reluctantly, he turned his back on her and the closing door. “Stupid,” he muttered again. The sibilant hiss echoed up the stairs ahead of him, shaming him as he stalked up to the next floor.

-

The blessed cool didn’t last.

Barely twenty-four hours after John showed up with the air-conditioner, the lights went out. And not just the lights—everything went out. The refrigerator stopped humming. Even the buzz of her brand new air-conditioner died suddenly away.

The power for the whole flat seemed to be gone in a second, leaving her in a dimness that the mid-morning light couldn’t penetrate.

Without all the white noise, the space was eerily silent.

Ten seconds later, her mobile rang.

“Did you just lose power?” Amy’s voice was predictably sharp.

“God, you too?” Rose asked, groaning as she collapsed onto her bed. The rumpled bedding was cool against her back, but without the steady influx of cold air, she knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long. She tried to savour it. “You know, I’m starting to think we should withhold rent or something. Make Wilson fix the stupid central air, properly this time.”

Her friend’s scoff echoed down the line. “Admit it, you just want to see the sexy maintenance guy again.”

Rose rolled her eyes. Of course Amy would’ve noticed the man’s looks; her friend always had an eye for these things, having worked for a while as a model. It was difficult to stop the embarrassment from seeping into her tone as she said, “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not all as wildly horny as you.”

“Jack is.”

“Yes, well, Jack’s an exception,” she snorted. “His libido is borderline superhuman. But now we’re on the subject: how’s Doctor Lo—”

But Amy cut her off with a hiss. “Shh! He’ll hear you.”

“He’s there right now?” A slow smile spread across Rose’s lips as she sat up. “And what were you doing, pray tell, before the power went out? Playing naughty nurses?”

“Shut up,” Amy managed through her riot of giggles. “We were just talking!”

The tangible joy in her voice made Rose’s own heart race in sympathy. It was high time the beautiful redhead got her happy ending. She’d spent so long pining after a man who would never come back—most of the time Rose had known her, really, she’d been hung up on him—but now, it seemed her heart was in the process of being reclaimed.

Good, she thought warmly. Good for her.

And—the thought came sneaking in, unable to be ignored—maybe it would be her turn, eventually.

But this wasn’t about her; it was about Amy and her happiness. “Talking, is it? That’s what you call it these days?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter!”

“How can I when you’re the one who dragged me there?” She was grinning so widely that her cheeks hurt. “Anyway, if he’s there, why the hell are you talking to me? Go… spoon or whatever it is you do!”

“Spoon,” her friend echoed, mimicking Rose’s accent. “You’re unbelievable. And you definitely need to be serviced by that handyman.”

“Amy!”

“Call me when your power comes back, all right? I need to go stop Rory—I think he’s going for the dishes again.”

“Go, go!” Rose giggled at the sound of Amy’s ever-present heels clicking across the floor, and the obvious squeak of her opening a door.

“Yep, he’s got the gloves on. Stay cool down there!”

“You too, ta!”

And then the call ended, leaving her once more in the uncomfortable stillness of her empty flat. It made her hands fidget.

She’d never liked the quiet. Growing up on the estate, she’d felt most at home amidst the hubbub and noise, the impression of bodies everywhere. A place where people were too close for secrets, pressed between too-thin walls. It was a little like how John had described living in a small town, actually.

Oh, stop it, she chided. He’s not coming back today.

It had taken several days for John to show up the first time, she reasoned—no doubt due to Wilson’s negligence—so it would probably take just about as long for him to show up this time. There was no sense waiting around for him, hoping he’d show up.

Instead, she forced herself to her feet, and went searching for her duster.

It was time to tackle those baseboards.

-

He couldn’t help it—he hesitated outside Rose’s door.

John had spent approximately the length of the tube ride over kicking himself for hitting on a person who lived in a building he serviced. How mental was that? Not to mention, unprofessional. And now he had to see her again.

But this is the last time. The reminder didn’t make him feel even the tiniest bit better. In fact, he felt worse. An odd, sick feeling filled his stomach as his hand lifted, and then knocked gently against the hollow door.

“Shit! Just a minute!” The sound of her voice through the door was a jolt, making him stand taller—more tensely—in anticipation.

Blimey, but this woman had too much power over him.

Seconds later, the door fell open to reveal—Rose, of course, but Rose unlike he’d seen her before.

Her face was bright pink, coated in a thin sheen of sweat, and her hair, though pulled back, stuck out chaotically. Bits of it were plastered to her forehead and the side of her neck, where the trail of chaos only continued: down the front of her t-shirt, sweat—or possibly splashes of water—had turned the thin fabric nearly transparent.

She was wearing a bright yellow rubber glove on one hand, in which the other glove was crumpled, and both were dripping with—yes, definitely sudsy water. Spatters of the same decorated her shorts, which were mercifully not the denims, but only marginally less distracting for all that.

And she went impossibly redder as she took in his sudden appearance.

“Sorry,” he found himself saying, “is this a bad time?”

A look of bafflement crossed her face. “What? Oh—no! I mean, I wasn’t expecting you or anything. Obviously,” she added, gesturing down at her body. “I mean, look at the state of—but no, it’s not a bad time.”

“Right.” He grinned. “Well, I think you look lovely. Suits you—the yellow, I mean.” The words spilled out without his conscious awareness of their formation, and he stilled instantly, prepared for her uncomfortable reaction.

Damn, damn, damn. He’d told himself he wasn’t going to do this.

But instead of freezing up, she just giggled. A high, delirious sound he hadn’t heard since the first time he walked through her door. But still. Her smile was incandescently bright. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“God, what am I like? Blocking the door again,” she tittered, stepping aside. “Come on in, then. I’ll just go… change my top.” She disappeared so quickly into her bedroom that he almost felt she was avoiding him.

But she reappeared just as quickly, pulling a fresh t-shirt down over her stomach. She’d discarded the yellow gloves somewhere along the way. “D’you want something to drink?” she called over her shoulder, already heading to the kitchen. “I’m all stocked up on lemons.”

“No need.”

“Oh.”

Was he losing it, or did she sound disappointed? Rose paused on the threshold of the kitchen, chewing aimlessly on her full bottom lip. Her lips, along with her face, were still so pink. She must’ve been cleaning quite vigorously before he showed up.

“Won’t be a minute,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Wilson’s finally decided to get someone in about the HVAC. I’m just here to take out this troublesome box—” and he smacked the top of the window unit with his free hand, “before it blows another fuse.”

“Is that what happened?” Rose gasped. “Oh my god, did I turn it up too high? It’s just been so bleeding hot—”

“No,” he rushed to reassure her, though he had to hold back a laugh. “It’s nothing to do with you specifically. More to do with having over a hundred air-conditioners overtaxing the system. Not your fault at all.”

She gave a sigh of audible relief, and he shot her an teasing grin.

“Like you said before. Wilson’s a cheapskate. This one’s on him.”

Her answering smile held just as much mischief. “Good to know.” But then, her expression changed, the corners of her mouth dipping unsteadily. “So, you’re not… going to be back to fix it?”

For a moment, he was struck dumb.

She definitely sounded disappointed. It was hard to mistake: the way her voice went all tentative and soft, like she was hoping for a different answer than the one they both knew he’d give. And she was fiddling nervously with the hem of her shirt again, like she had that first day.

He held her gaze carefully, trying not to stare. “No,” he said.

And her face fell.

Do it, you coward.

“But here’s my card, in case you ever need anything else.” He reached into his back pocket, feeling for the worn-down edges of the cards he always kept there. He was usually giving them to mums with broken televisions, of course, but one could never be too prepared. “You know me,” he said cheerfully. “I’m happy to help.”

Rose took it, and he watched her face carefully—so carefully, looking for any sign that what he wanted to say next would be well-received. Her lips lifted into a soft, sweet smile, but her eyes remained on the paper.

“Thanks, John.”

Just do it. “Don’t hesitate to call,” he added. Gathering his courage, he said, “Even if it’s just for a drink. We can even go somewhere with air-conditioning, if you like.”

Her chin snapped up. He waited for her to freeze. For anything to happen.

But her smile just widened, her teeth catching on her bottom lip. The skin around it went white from the pressure, but the rest of it looked soft and pink and highly kissable—

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Finally, she nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she laughed, low in her throat. It was such a sweet sound. He wondered if he’d ever tire of hearing it. Maybe it was too soon to say, but… he had a feeling.

“Fantastic.”

[jokerscig]

“That’s Life” - Arthur Fleck x Reader

A/N: this is my first arthur fic so i hope i did him justice, i haven’t written fan fiction in a few years eek. let me know if you want to see more, my ask and messages are open! feedback is appreciated. (gif is not mine!)

Warnings: angst, fluff, thats literally it lol

Summary: Arthur returns home from Arkham State Mental Hospital after finding out the truth about his childhood.

Pairing: Arthur Fleck x Reader

Word count: 1,056

-

Arthur had been gone for a while now. He said he had to run some errands, nothing out of the ordinary, but by now, it had been dark outside for at least an hour. You try not to worry, doing your best to focus on the pile of bills and paperwork in front of you. Jesus you thought. Has the electric bill always been this high?

Your thought is interrupted at the sound of the apartment door creaking open. Arthur sulks in without a word, shuts and locks the door, and peels his jacket off his soaking wet body. He slowly makes his way into the living room and joins you on the couch. Still silent. He is shaking.

“What happened, Arthur?”

You know something is wrong. You knew something was wrong the minute he stepped through the door. You gently take his hand in yours and rub his back with the other. His eyes are fixated on the floor and his dripping hair covers his face. His elbows rest on his knees, hands covering his eyes. You sit in the complete quiet for a moment.

“Artie, please talk to me. We don’t even have to discuss it, but please, say... something.”

He takes a long pause before speaking, breathing in and out deeply.

“I went to the psychiatric hospital today.” Arthur says in a hushed, shaky voice. “After reading my mother’s-“ he stops, choking on the word. “After reading my mother’s letter to Thomas Wayne, I needed to know the truth.” Arthur’s voice becomes more strained, and you know he is beginning to cry. His face is still covered by his mop of hair.

“T-they told me she was diagnosed with schizophrenia and narcissistic personality disorder when I was a child. That she was completely out of it. She... she abused me. She let her boyfriend abuse me, let him beat the both of us. They left me tied to a goddamn radiator, malnourished and alone.” He chuckles, deteriorating into a laughing fit within seconds. You stroke his hand, trying to calm him down.

You felt tears forming in your eyes. You knew Arthur’s childhood and life in general weren’t the happiest, but neither of you had ever imagined anything this awful. Why did he have to go snooping in his mother’s file? You secretly wished he hadn’t, believing ignorance would have been easier. He doesn’t deserve to feel like this.

The outburst passes quickly, and Arthur begins to cry harder, his breath becoming shakier as he continues. “And she isn’t even my real mother, Y/N.” he says, finally raising his head to look at you. “The adoption papers were in her file, too. My whole life has been a goddamn lie, and it’s her fault I’m suffering from these fucking disorders!” he shouts, slamming his fists on the coffee table. He buries his face in your neck and cries. You wrap him in a tight hug, planting kisses on his head and caressing his back. You don’t know what to say. What the hell are you supposed to say to your boyfriend when he finds out his life is ten times worse than you’d thought?

You let him cry for a moment before speaking, trying to conjure a response.

“I’m so.... so sorry, Arthur. You don’t deserve this. You deserve so much better than the shit life has thrown at you. I’m.... so sorry.”

“All I have is you and her.” he cries softly into your chest, still holding you tight. “I don’t have anything or anyone else.”

You softly run your hands through his dark, curly hair. “You still have me, and you always will, Arthur. I would never hurt you, never abandon you or-or leave you alone. You are too precious and too important, and nothing you’ve already gone through will ever happen again while I’m here. I’m promising you that right now, okay?”

He lifts his face from your chest, cheeks stained with tears and eyes red. You wipe the stains away with the sleeve of your shirt and take his face in your hands.

“You’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.” You plant a soft kiss on his lips and take his hand, leading him up from the couch. You walk him to the bathroom and sit him on the side of the bathtub, grabbing a towel from the closet on your way in. You help him remove his wet t-shirt and bottoms and towel dry his hair gently as he stares blankly into space. “I’ll be right back.” you whisper, as you sneak into the bedroom to fetch him some dry clothes. He slowly steps into his pajama bottoms and pulls his t-shirt over his head.

“Isn’t that better?” you ask, hands around his waist. Still a bit spaced out, he replies with a sad smile, and you walk him to the bedroom, arm around his waist. You tuck him into bed, and neither of you says anything more, as you are both exhausted. There is nothing else to say. You climb into bed with him and kiss his head before drifting off, hoping the morning will be better.

-

Arthur wakes up the next morning to an empty spot opposite him in bed. You are in the kitchen, preparing breakfast. You would normally wake him up around the same time, but after the events of last night, he seriously needed some rest.

He slowly slinks out of bed and into the kitchen. The sun is bright and the radio is on. Frank Sinatra’s “That’s Life” plays softly in the background as he hugs you from behind, kissing your cheek. “Feeling any better?” you ask hopefully. “I’m okay.” says Arthur. You turn to face him and bring him in for a hug. You sway together to the music

“I said, that's life, and as funny as it may seem

Some people get their kicks

Stompin' on a dream

But I don't let it, let it get me down

'Cause this fine old world it keeps spinnin' around.”

Arthur hums gently to the tune. “I won’t let it get me down” he sings. You laugh softly. He is so strong, you think. Even in his darkest hour, he manages to make you smile. It is in that moment you know that you’ll be able to get through this. Together.

[tartaricing]

Doctarded: Act 5 - Cleaning It Up

Doc enters a long and somewhat funny road to redemption. It was definitely a large project all and all but I was glad I was able to step out of my comfort zone and create some content that I usually don't create. I hope all of you enjoy it and leave any comments!

Doc emerged from the office, swallowing thickly. He was no longer in his scrubs and lab coat, but in a pair of overalls and a sweater with the sleeves rolled up. With a heavy sigh, he went to the cafeteria.

Tachanka, Lion, and Blitz were already in the kitchen. Tachanka was hauling government beef while Lion and Blitz were cleaning stoves. Lion stopped to see Doc, who was already with a mop and bucket.

"And here is the man of the hour!" Lion sarcastically raised his arms for a hug, only to hug himself and walk away.

"Now you will taste the life of a common man!" Blitz sneered, kicking the bucket away from Doc.

"Very mature, Elias. Oliver," Doc turned to both of them, deadpan, "Let's get this done like adults, shall we?" Blitz and Lion burst out in laughter as Doc started to clean the floor.

However, cleaning the floor when everyone's pissed at you was no easy feat. Blitz and Lion proceeded to play soccer with the rolling bucket. Doc swiftly recaptured it, but it wasn't for long.

After many conflicts with the bucket and an eventual spillover, Doc was able to mop the whole kitchen. He wiped his brow and whistled low in a prayer for an easier task, but Tachanka presented him an entire bag of frozen hamburger beef patties.

"You make hamburger. I clean tables," Tachanka dropped it on his hands as he casually walked over to the cafeteria tables. He sat down on a table and called Finka. Doc grunted in frustration, taking the nutrition primer and reading the directions on making a hamburger. He put the bag down on the counter to let the patties thaw, then he heated up the grill and squirted on some liquid butter alternative. While waiting, he turned to Lion and Blitz and asked:

"Can you men please help me with the burgers?"

"Why?" Bandit raised his hands up in indifference, "You helped yourself to my boyfriend."

"Adultery is a sin, you know," Lion added, "I'll get the lettuce."

"Don't be so petty. We're having hamburgers tonight," Doc sighed, "I thought you liked hamburgers."

"We do," Blitz corrected him, "We just don't want to help."

"Bah, we've no choice to help our fellow brother here," Lion corrected the German, "Get the onions, mon ami." Blitz growled and took out the onions and madly chopped them.

"Where's Mute and Bandit anyway?" Doc asked, opening the bag of hamburgers.

"They're bathroom duty. Mute's done though so he'll be here," Blitz answered through tears. With Doc grilling the hamburgers, Lion and Blitz put together the vegetables. Mute came in heated the buns on Doc's grill, occasionally pushing a patty. Bandit came in next, setting up the stations. People started to file into the cafeteria, causing a long line to snake around the room. Tachanka came first though.

"You sat and talked to Finka while we did everything else. Why are you first?" Doc was flabbergasted at the large Russian's audacity to cut in line.

"Doesn't matter, give me burger," Tachanka spat his answer, "Double cheese, no vegetables!" Doc rolled his eyes as he assembled the burger and set it on the rack. The other man took it wordlessly. Dinner went on silently between the six until everyone was served. When truly done, Doc dispersed to his own table, eating a burger with all the vegetables.

"Doc!" Someone called out to him.

"What grievance do you have this time?" Doc muttered between bites.

The voice approached him, revealing the owner to be Montagne. Montagne was smiling this time, a rare sight since the trial.

"Gilles?" Doc swallowed a large bite of his burger.

"Holy shit, that burger was good!" Montagne squealed, "It had nothing but the basics, but mon dieu that tasted so good. I didn't know you could cook!"

"Well grilling beef patties according to a nutrition primer isn't all that hard…" His eyes shifted sideways.

"Well I'm glad you could make so many, because I had seconds! I was even considering a third," Montagne laughed.

"…I'm glad you enjoyed them. At least I didn't fuck it up. But seriously two are enough."

"Don't take my word for it, everyone else liked them too!"

Doc put away his trash to see Blitz glaring angrily at him. IQ just criticized his onions and praised Doc's patties. He chuckled nervously as he went back into the kitchen to clean the place up.

Bouncing between kitchen duty, bathroom duty, and his medical duties, Gustave was run ragged. He couldn't indulge in his most private desires nor could act like a complete degenerate to anyone or anything. The medic that was sent to watch him was a man with a doctorate in Psychology, which made it harder to shrug off any of his issues.

"Gustave, you can't, again reconcile with someone without sexualizing them," The medic sighed, "They will be uncomfortable."

"But I'm not, Mercutio!" Doc countered him, hopping into his overalls, "Rook isn't my boyfriend, but my best friend."

"When a best friend sexualizes another, it is creepy," Mercutio added, "Situation be damned!"

"Well I feel like shit now," Doc yelled over the curtains, "Be right back, I've been called to clean the bathroom."

"Enjoy! Manual labor is indeed a cleansing experience!"

"…You wouldn't say that after the stuff I've cleaned…"

Blitz shoved the bin of supplies wordlessly to Doc. He glared at him, sulking. "Just because you haven't fucked anything up doesn't mean you're free in my book. I took the women's wing. I don't want any rape in my team, you creepy fuck. It's going to take a lot more to convince me. Get the fuck out of my sight." He walked away with his own bin of supplies.

Doc frowned in shame but pushed the bin into the men's communal restroom and went to work. He was well-aware of how disgusting a human can be, but this experience redefined it. Clogged toilets, smeared feces, clogged sinks… He knew humans as a collective were absolutely disgusting now. He started with putting Lysol on the sink and squeegeeing the mirrors. He then wiped the stalls with a dilute bleach solution and cleaned the toilets. He did this stall by stall, realizing how nice manual labor was for him. It was purposeful, productive, and it kept his mind busy. Mercutio had a point.

What broke him out of his trance was a familiar voice in another stall. It was a panicked voice. "Is… anyone in there? Hello?"

"Gustave here, cleaning the bathrooms, like the piece of shit I am," Doc called out, lazily wiping the stall.

"Oh… Hi Gus," The voice slowed down, now warm with the mention of his name.

"…Julien?" Doc's wiping came to a stop, "What's going on?"

"…I broke it off with Blitz," Rook's voice started to break, "I love him, but with what I did with you…"

"No, I should apologize," Doc started, suppressing his emotion, "I was being selfish and creepy. I wasn't thinking rationally. I used you when I shouldn't have, Julien."

"But you didn't use me, Gus. I usually prevent these things."

"Don't be such an apologist, Julien!" Doc punched the stall, "I abused your trust and I'm incredibly sorry. I've fucked up so much and I don't want to lose you. You're one of my best friends and that's why I couldn't face you these past few days. Why didn't you even throw me off when I kissed you?"

"Because…" Rook's voice trailed off for a moment, digging into his conscience, "I don't want to lose you either. I felt not only your stress when you kissed me, but your latent feelings. Yes, I'm aware of the shit you've done, but at the same time, you're still my best friend too. Yet I think what I feel for you is beyond that… I won't deny you're a silver fox, though. I just felt uncomfortable being with Blitz after that. He's a great man with plenty of wisdom and fun but he deserves better."

"No, you deserve better."

"But I want you. That's why I was willing to let you use my body. That's why I don't consider myself used…"

"Julien-"

"Not in the traditional way of course. You do and go through so much for us, it's amazing. I can't comprehend what you've seen and done. You just don't… stop. You keep going and going and going, and that's what's killing you, Gustave. Blitz is like that too, willing to forgo sleep just to fix his shield. It's admirable. I put up with cheating with you because I thought it would make you stop. I thought if I the body you oh-so like on the line, it would make you understand the importance of resting."

"…I guess you were able to put yourself together the way Mercutio put me together. Well done."

"I'm a hypocrite. I should've gone to Mercutio for this shit," Rook scoffed at himself, "I just downplay it because you made me feel good, plain and simple."

"What the fuck are we even now, Julien?"

"We're still best friends, right?" Doc was now sitting on a closed toilet.

"Yes."

"What are you going to do with Blitz, me, and everyone else?"

"Well, I'll let Blitz find whoever but I'm still going to be a friend to everyone. It's like how you're still generous after dealing with our crap. Sorry to say, though, I'm in no fucking shape for a relationship after this shitshow."

"Me too. I guess we're two birds of a feather, huh?"

"Yeah," Rook chuckled, voice filled with mirth, "I've missed you, Gus."

"I missed you Julien."

The weeks have come and gone, with Doc on his last two days of house arrest. People have slowly warmed up to Doc again. Doc and Rook had started talking regularly again. Finka had let Doc know more about herself again. Smoke and Lesion had started to observe his orders more closely. The boy in the green hat sent him stationary and a bottle of Chianti. The SAS were even more respectful of him now.

Doc and Finka were in the laboratory working on Finka's nanomachines. They were recording dendrite lengths only to see her rapidly recording numbers.

"Slow down, Finka!" Doc gasped, "You usually don't write this fast, what's going on here?"

"I'm sorry Gustave, but I have to leave soon," Finka apologized as she recorded some more numbers.

"Why?"

"The UN consortium is in town and Tachanka and the others took it upon themselves to go," Finka spoke fast, "I told him not to, but he's still going to do it anyway."

"And what is wrong with that?" Doc was incredulous.

"The UN is planning to cut funding to the Spetznaz. Tachanka and the others set up a plan to appeal to them."

"What is wrong with Tachanka's plan?"

"They're planning to fake having Tourette's to appeal to them to not cut their funding!"

"That's dishonest!"

"That's why I told him not too, but he won't listen. Really, I have to go." Finka packed up her bag and ran out of the lab. A ball of disgust formed in the bottom of Doc's stomach. He followed Finka immediately after.

"What the hell are you doing?" Doc stopped in his tracks, seeing Six bracing herself in front of the door.

"I was going to help Lera, ma'am," Doc answered, saluting her.

"Unfortunately, you're still under house arrest. I cannot let you go outside. If you have to help her, you must do so from here."

"Six, ma'am, I want to speak with you about something. I want you to make an exception"

"Do tell…"

They went to Six's office, with Doc presenting his case to her.

"PRE-MEDIDTATED FRAUD?" Six bellowed in shock, eyes wide.

"Believe me, Lera gave me a throughout account of what the Spetznaz men are planning to do."

"But do you have evidence of this?" Six calmed herself down, "I want to a concrete reason to let you out."

"Indeed I have," Doc pulled out a USB stick and put it in her laptop. He opened a file. The sounds of the Spetznaz men yelling curse words, the explicit plans of fooling the UN, and Finka's protest was enough to convince her. "Only someone like me can tell they're frauds."

"GO, FUCKING GO!" Six screamed.

The Spetznaz men were teetering on the edge of the front row seats. The UN consortium was packed with the brim with CTU's from around the world. The judges were analyzing each CTU's appeal to not have their sweet, sweet funding taken away. Some were laughed off stage, some wept with them, some were immediately booed. Next to them were the Scotland Yard, which was only two people. One of them was a tall, string bean of an Irish man, with wild puffy dark hair. The other was a taller, broader man. He looked like Sledge but softer and had a dark auburn faux-hawk.

The Irish man whispered to Glaz, "Your leader looks like he's full of shit,"

"Language, O'Daly!" The Scottish man admonished him, "Also that's incredibly rude."

"Just saying what I feel, Kiernan, gosh!" O'Daly fired back, crossing his arms.

"Will the Spetznaz come up? Spetznaz?" The announcer droned on. Many repeated her, but in different languages. The Russian men got up and walked up to the stage from the back end.

"Remember what we rehearsed," Tachanka reminded them, "Let's give them a show. I love you all."

One of the judges, an old man in a suit and glasses, looked at the four men. His lips curled up in intrigue and asked, "You men are Spetznaz, yes?"

"Indeed we are, sir," Glaz replied, "Please listen to our plea. We still need funding."

"Can you please list the reasons that we need funding, sirs?"

Tachanka stepped forward, "I will, sir. Russia, despite its big economy- ASS LICKER!"

"Sir, this is not a game. If you're going to shout curses at us, please leave the stage."

"We are completely serious. I have Tourette's Syndrome. So do the rest of us- SHIT!" Tachanka continued, motioning towards a shaking and blubbering Fuze, "Still has heavy amounts of poverty in rural areas. This thins out- ASS! Our forces. While we do get plenty of funding from our home country, it's not enough-"

"TITTY SPRINKLES!" Kapkan had an outburst, seizing up on his shoulder, "Our weaponry and equipment are showing wear. They can only last so much against the snow. SHIT!"

"WASHCLOTH!" Fuze blubbered and shook his head, "While the Spetznaz is still for counter-terrorism, we decided to ramp up our efforts- HAMBURGERS! Towards peacetime. That means delivering care packages to those impoverished and war-torn and funding for survival supplies to us and civilians. SHIT!"

"Boop," Glaz made it soft but high-pitched and snapped his fingers. He was doing it consistently but no one really heard him after Fuze stopped talking.

"ASSHOLE!" Tachanka had another outburst, "In conclusion, to take away our funding is not only hindering the peacetime efforts of our country, but spitting on the face of the differently-abled that chose to serve their country. FISHSTICKS!"

"Mhmmm…." The old man mulled over his response, "Anything to champion to differently-abled and the efforts of those who bring peace. Perhaps we were wrong to underestimate the progressiveness of the Spetznaz…" He took a pen out and signed a few papers, "You keep your funding." The Russians gathered in a circle and cheered quietly amongst themselves. Just as they walked off the stage, the back door burst open.

"THEY ARE FAKING IT!"

The crowd gasped and whispered amongst themselves. The old man picked up his pen and fixed his glasses, and roared, "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON HERE?"

"I may not be part of the Spetznaz, but I am their medic," Doc descended down the stairs, towards the stage. His white lab coat was trailing behind him, but instead of scrubs underneath, he wore his GIGN armor, "I have never diagnosed any of them with Tourette's Syndrome."

"BULLSHIT!" Tachanka roared, "He is lying. I AM IN LOVE WITH RUSLANA! AT NIGHT I DREAM ABOUT KISSING RUSLANA-AAAAAAAH!" He hopped back, eyes wide, "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"Finka told me everything. None of you went to me about this and I can tell by looking you're just abusing the symptoms," Doc continued.

"That bitch!" Tachanka cursed, "KAPKAN AND I TOUCHED WIENERS. I mean, winter is a very cold time of year!" The crowd went from awestruck silence to speaking amongst themselves.

"Do you have any definitive proof of this, medic?" The old man asked.

"Don't mind if I do," Doc tossed a USB stick at the table, "The video should tell you it's all pre-meditated."

"Bylat!" Tachanka cursed once more, running off stage and out through the back door. The Spetznaz followed him. Doc followed them too.

The Russians ran through an alley and that's where Doc followed them to. They emerged to an Asda, where Thatcher and Sledge were shopping. "Bloody hell, I've never seen Russians going inside an Asda!" Thatcher spat. Sledge shrugged his shoulders.

They went from aisle to aisle, with Fuze accidentally bumping into Mute, who was enjoying his donuts. Mourning the fallen donuts, Mute took after Fuze. After sneaking around the store, the Spetznaz burst out and ran across the street. Doc and Mute ran after them. The next destination was an ice cream shop.

"Aizawa is best man and anyone who disagrees can suck my dick!" Hibana claimed over a scoop of butter pecan.

"No, Endeavor is best man!" Frost slammed the table and got into the other woman's face, jumping her scoop of Pumpkin Spice.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Present. Mic." Ying tersely ate her Neapolitan scoop.

"Ying, I'm glad you were able to find this ice cream shop but get out of here with that trash," Frost got into her face too.

Confused at the discussion, the men ran out of the shop. Doc secretly got a pint of Cheese ice cream. They then ran across the street once more, finding themselves in a Starbucks. The men realized they wanted some coffee so they waited in line and waited more for their drinks.

"Ever took a shit so good you sit on the toilet for a few minutes afterwards?" Valkyrie asked, clutching her Pumpkin Spice latte. Ash, Ela, and Zofia agreed elatedly over their Pumpkin Spice lattes.

The men shuddered in disgust and chugged down their coffees and went on their ways. So the Russians ran across the street again. Tachanka bumped into Kiernan, who was holding O'Daly on his shoulders. The men cursed loudly and pursued Tachanka. And so they went…

To the salon, where Fuze got a haircut…

To the bank…

To the pet store…

To Blick's, where everyone cursed at O'Daly, Kiernan, and Glaz for taking so long…

"Long time no see, Glaz," Kiernan held his copics up to him.

"Kiernan! O'Daly! My animating comrades!" Glaz hugged them both, covered in oil paints.

"Well, we still need a background painter," O'Daly greeted.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!" Tachanka shooed then out, continuing the chase. They set out on the street again, where Kapkan ran over Lion.

"Mon dieu!" Lion yelled as he brushed himself up, "Wanna get some coffee with me, mon Cheri?" Rook looked at him distastefully, arms crossed.

"Non." Rook tossed a cup of water at his face and walked away.

Their chase ended up in McDonald's, which was a few clicks near the base. Everyone ran past except Tachanka, who went up to the cashier and said, "I'll have two Number 9's, a Number 9 Large, a Number 6 with extra Dip, a Number 7, Two Number 45's, one with Cheese, and a large Soda." Just as he paid, the whole order was in a bag and he ran out with it. It now went back to base with them weaving in and out of various rooms.

"You trying to burn the place down, O'Daly?" Clash popped out to see the Irish and Scottish men running around the dormitories, "…And O'Daly wrangler, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Hi Morowa!" O'Daly greeted.

"Hi Morowa," Kiernan greeted, "We went to the UN consortium. We could've been in Team Rainbow with you, a pity."

"Scotland Yard needs you, Kiernan. O'Daly would burn everything if he doesn't have you," Clash agreed.

"Speaking of trouble, there you are!" He grabbed the collar of Tachanka's shirt and pulled him towards him and O'Daly, "Weren't you taught not to bump into people?"

"Cyka bylat!" Tachanka yelled, "That's my McDonald's!"

Mute shook his fist towards Fuze. Fuze gave Mute a number 9 and then they shook hands.

Six came into the room, livid, "Tachanka, Fuze, Kapkan, And Glaz! I saw what you did on CNN and you are all SUSPENDED!" She saw Kiernan holding Tachanka and O'Daly and let the former off his hands, "Thank you Kiernan, as good as you are, Scotland Yard wouldn't be same without you."

"No offense taken, ma'am," Kiernan replied, "Let's go home, O'Daly." The two left the base without a word. Two entered the base, debating while walking the dogs.

"So if you had to share a room between Doc and Tachanka, who would it be?" Buck asked, giving a dog a treat.

"I mean if I gotta choose between a closet pervert and a douchey con artist, I'd take Tachanka. At least he won't touch me at night," Echo answered.

"I respect Doc for what he does, but I'm glad I'm old, grouchy, and ugly. But I don't want Tachanka conning me either," Buck replied. Six yelled at the Russian men as she called in some helicopters to take them away. Everyone filed in to see the mess unfold, some even coming back from going out. The men scowled or hung their heads in shame as they left the compound. Six made a short statement but after that everyone still stayed. Doc pulled out a pint of cheese ice cream and gave it to Rook.

Doc then separated himself from the crowd, and then said, "You know, I learned something from these past few weeks. Yes, humanity is cruel and disgusting at times but at the same time humanity is amazing and progressive. No one is perfect, and this is big coming from me. Yet in all my years of service, you have to hit rock bottom to really learn how to a better human. Yes war is hell, but it doesn't excuse you from making the mistakes I or the Spetznaz made. And yes, we at Team Rainbow aren't perfect, but we can learn to make a better world for all."

"Yeah," Rook said, digging into his ice cream, "Speaking of trust you shouldn't start a relationship with someone just because they touch you down there."

[frogsandfries]

I mean,

I should really get my Uggs resoled--they're in great condition otherwise--and maybe now we can turn our attention to clothing storage and possibly repairing or replacing the vacuum. There's always going to be something to spend our money on, like bookshelves--he has an absolute mountain of books and they've been living in a trunk in the closet. The trunk will not close if we leave all the books in it. If we get the books managed, we could stop using the dining room as overflow storage. We would have to bear in mind the cats, get something that they could jump and climb on and kick off of.

His parents have us Christmas money to help us get this garage shelf we've been looking forward to getting for the kitchen. I think I've mentioned the roach problem and I mention it shamelessly because I could honestly wipe up after myself and clean the kitchen to a spotless degree every night and because they would still smell food, they would still come into my kitchen. Now, I'm not going to pretend I'm perfect. We clean up after ourselves, but the dishes may only get done once a week. They may be left covered in mummified food, they may be haphazardly rinsed off, they may be left full of rinsing water for more than a couple days. BuT wHYyYyyYY ArE tHeY TaKiNG oVEr mY CuPbOArDs?!?!?!?!?!?!! There's no open food in my cupboards!!!!!!!!!! I don't even put away dishes that even look dirty. What are they doing--eating through any boxes I have, and through any liners inside and living off that?!?!?! I mean, I'm going to have to throw away those potato flakes; they came with us from the last place and I'm more apt to use a packet of the flavored potatoes. But do I have to get up there and re-wipe down everything?? Will that fix anything??

Honestly, I don't think it will. I think the only solution is to bomb the whole building at least. Which would be fucking expensive any which way you did it.

So this shelf, which was meant to be a space solution, has also become a roach solution. I'm hoping that by keeping piles of diatomaceous earth at each foot of the shelf, as well as keeping the shelf away from the wall, I can quarantine the food and dishes. There is fucking roach shit in our silverware organizer that was not in there when we moved in. I know because I washed the damn thing myself. We should buy a new one anyway, this one is breaking apart. I was thinking about just buying individual trays from the dollar store.

Did I mention, they sprang pest control on us several weeks ago, after not getting the guy up here for mooonnnnttttthhhhhssss. Then they gave us a notice that our apartment was a toxic hazard, or whatever, I'm paraphrasing. A habitability concern. I fucking disagree. Management left the roach problem unattended. It's been so disgusting in there, we each smash a handful of them every time we go in there--so we started just dumping our dishes and eating whatever took the last hands-on prep. It was worse than I liked it, but I was just shy of cooking roaches into everything I prepared. The pest control person refuses to do anything about it and I'm not sure if management won't cover it or just wants an excuse or fucking what.

Actively keeping the kitchen clean is not working. In fact, after keeping the kitchen cleaner, wiping up more, rising the dishes better, they've started to egress from the kitchen to the dining room that only the cats eat in. I had to put their food up! Not helping! If I'm in the kitchen heating something up, there's at least a dozen of them attracted by the smell of food. *violent shudder* I mopped the kitchen floor completely clean the other day. My cats still spend their evenings stalking my kitchen.

At this point, I don't believe the shelf will even help. Even if we move the toaster oven, all the dishes, all the canned goods; even if we just completely throw away any open food packages or bags, like the flour and sugar. Even if dirty dishes go straight on the dishwasher, the sink stays clean and empty and the counters stay wiped off........I genuinely believe I'll still get roaches if I try to prepare food in the kitchen. But I guess the good thing about quarantining the kitchen is, it'll make it easier to move out.

Right now, if we just tossed everything in the kitchen back in the tote we used to move all the kitchen stuff in the first place, we're bound to take the roach problem with us. If I can successful quarantine for a year, I think we could move with fewer concerns.

You can't just move, with a roach problem, from one place to another.

I know my partner wants to put down roots, but I don't want to raise a kid around roaches.