#trip 3 i go down when my alarm goes off. my laundry is still wet. i restart the machine

[frecht]

where's that post that is like college is all about going up and down stairs bc i (3rd floor) did my laundry (1st floor) today and it was an ordeal. should have been 2-3 trips max but it was. seven (7)

[allmight-amiright]

Who Even Are You. Bakugou Katsuki

Request: Ghost by Halsey is such a good angsty Bakugou song and nobody can change my mind. Like he's done it he became a pro hero. He starts throwing himself into his work more and more and because of it he's losing his s/o. (not a request but it could be... I'm mainly just sharing my thoughts)

Word count: 2.2K

Warnings: Mild swearing.

Notes: God damnit I’m a slut for Bakugou Angst.                                                           I’ve literally been listening to this song on repeat since like 11 p.m.              and ope. It’s 2 a.m.

*Listen to the song HERE!*

*Read Part 2 HERE*

*Read Part 3 HERE*

Curtains were drawn.  Lights were off.  The world outside was asleep, just like the young man next to you.  You wished you could say the same.  You had been wide awake far past your boyfriend at this point, watching as the red numbers on the alarm clock changed with each passing minute.  This had become a regular occurrence for you.  Your mind raced with a million different thoughts that wouldn’t slow down long enough for you to fall asleep.  

You look over at the sleeping blond on the bed next to you.  His hair was plastered flat against his head, still wet from his shower.  Being a pro-hero had already started taking a toll on him.  He would come home, too exhausted to do anything but take a shower and go directly to bed.  You had stopped trying to ask him about his day.  You were tired of the “Can we talk about it in the morning? I’m exhausted.”  Especially when he wouldn’t even talk about it in the morning.  “Sorry, babe.  I gotta get out of here.  Villains don’t wait.”  

It was like he had become a totally different person as the years had passed.  He used to be bouncing with anticipation, ready to tell you all of the details of his day.  How many bad guys he caught.  How many people he saved.  How cool he had been.  But, now, you were lucky to even get a “goodnight” out of him.  It was like he forgot that you even still existed.  You would believe it if he did.  

You place your feet down on the floor, the hardwood carried a chill all the way up your spine.  You padded out of the bedroom as quietly as you could, careful not to wake Bakugou from his slumber.  Right now, you just needed fresh air.  You pulled your jacket out of the closet by the front door and stepped out into the chilly night after slipping on a pair of shoes.  You sat down right outside the door, watching your breath turn white before it dissipated into the night sky.   

Everyone told you this would happen.  Everyone told you not to get involved with him.  

“He’s the type to get obsessed in his work.  I mean, you saw how he was in high school.”

“We just want you to be happy.  And we just don’t think you’ll be happy with him.”

You never believed that they would be right.  At the beginning, things had been perfect.  Conversation had flowed with ease.  Jokes and teases were shot at each other with loving sneers.  He always made sure to have time for you.  Whether that be taking a quick break in his day to have lunch with you or using his day off to take you somewhere special.  He was caring in that harsh way that only someone like Bakugou could manage.

Remembering always made everything so much harder.  It forced you to accept the fact that he had the ability to care about you somewhere in his heart.  It forced you to accept the fact that he did love you, despite everything that you told yourself.  But that was all in the past.  That wasn’t the now.  The Bakugou that you had fallen head over heels for was not the same Bakugou that was fast asleep right now.  The old Bakugou had fallen away the minute he started taking more shifts at the agency.  He said it was because he wanted to do more.  He needed to help more people.  He was a hero and he wanted the world to know that.  “Villains don’t take a day off, why should I?”  More shifts turned into longer hours, much against the wishes of his supervisor, but Bakugou didn’t care.  He was a pro.  He could handle it.  And he could.  He could handle his 90 hour work week.  He just wasn’t able to handle everything else that life had to offer on top of that.  His work had started causing him to push away his friends.  There were no more guys’ nights with Kirishima.  No more game nights with the Bakusquad from high school.  He didn’t even have enough time to answer the text messages from his friends that only wanted to make sure that he hadn’t worked himself to death. 

 It was heart-shattering to watch him push away all of the people that he had cared for.  But, you had been sure that he was never going to let it get to the point where he was pushing you away too.  He loved you too much to do something like that.

Right?

You catch yourself scoffing at the very naivety of the thought.  It didn’t take long for him to do the very same thing to you.  It had gone from date night every Saturday to once a month and then it became every few months.  But, that’s only if you were lucky.  Honestly, you don’t even remember the last time the two of you sat down and ate dinner together, let alone went out on a date.  

You hated it.  You hated being cast to the side and only being wanted when it was convenient for him.  You hated having to beg for him to talk to you, give you any ounce of attention that he could spare.  You just kept holding on, as if one day, he would snap out of everything and go back to normal.  You had been waiting for that one day for nearly five months now and you were coming close to your breaking point.  Everytime the front door closed behind him, the resentment in your chest grew.  Everytime that door closed, he strayed further and further away from the person that he used to be and further and further away from you.  He was always just out of reach for you to grab ahold of him and bring him back to normalcy.  

It would be a lie if you said that you didn’t love him.  If you didn’t, you would’ve followed him out the door a long time ago, never to come back.  You cared about him more than anything else in the world.  The thought of leaving him made your heart hurt, but with each passing day, the option began to hurt less and less.  You loved him, but it was obvious to you that he wasn’t willing to put the effort into your relationship anymore.  

“Y/N?”

“Katsuki? What are you doing up?” you ask, looking up at the sleepy young man, the bags under his eyes startling apparent even in the dim light. 

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Couldn’t sleep.  You’re turn.”

“I woke up and you weren’t there.  I thought something happened,” he offers, his voice still gravelly from just being pulled from sleep.

“Go back inside, Katsuki.  You’re going to get sick.”

He starts to go back inside, but stops to look at you.  “Are you coming?”

“No.”

“Y/N, it’s too cold for you to be out here.”

“Just go back to bed.  I’ll be in soon.”

“Okay,” he mutters, yawning slightly as he goes back in the apartment.

You rolled your eyes.  That might’ve been the longest conversation the two of you have had all week.  Hell, maybe all month.  You leaned your head back against the brick wall. You could leave.  You could walk down the stairs right now and never look back.  You had friends that would let you couch surf or you could always move back in with your parents.  You could be away from this.  You wouldn’t even have to tell him goodbye.  Would he even notice?  He would probably just assume that you left for work early.  He’d be too tired that night to realize that you weren’t sitting on the couch watching Full House reruns.  It was so tempting.  It was less than fifty feet from your apartment to the stairs and then only three flights to the parking lot.  You could get a taxi from there and take it to Mina’s or Kirishima’s.  It would’ve been so simple.

That’s a bitch move.

You sat outside until the sun rose.  You checked your watch.  It was nearly six in the morning.  Katsuki’s alarm would go off in half an hour.  He’d sit up, rub his face, just like he does every morning.  He’d stumble into the kitchen, placing slices of bread in the toaster.  Then, he’d have to make more because it never failed that he would over-cook the first batch.  It would be just like every other morning for him.  In his own world, nothing would be off.  Things would be just how they always were.  

And they were.  His morning started the same way it always did.  You made coffee while he got ready so it would be ready when he was done.  He had sat on the couch to watch the morning news while you went to get ready for your own day.  He hadn’t even said goodbye to you when he left.  

With him out the door, you dragged your suitcase from the closet and any duffle bag that you could find.  Clothes from your half of the closet and dresser were thrown in wherever they would fit.  Your things were cleared out of the bathroom.  It would be like you had never even resided there.  Your bags sat packed by the front door, so you would be ready to leave when he got home.  You wouldn’t have to keep living with what little remained of your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.  You could return back to feeling whole and happy rather than continuing on this path that left you with zero satisfaction.  

You weren’t expecting him back so early.  It was only four in the afternoon, yet Katsuki came trudging in through the door, dripping from head to toe.  He looks at your bags sitting by the door.  “You got a business trip?”

“You’re home early.”

“Yeah. It’s pouring out there and my quirk doesn’t work right in this kind of rain.  Didn’t you have work today?”

“No.  It’s Thursday.  I never have work on Thursday.”

“Really? Since when?” He asks, removing the water-logged pieces of his costume and hanging them up in the laundry room so they can dry.

“It’s been that way for the past three years, Katsuki,” you sigh.  

“Oh.  I guess, I never noticed.”

You get up from you were sitting on the couch and started towards the door.  “Katsuki, I’m leaving.”

“Y/N, the bags by the door kind of gave that away.  When will you be back?”

“I won’t.”

“Damn, that long of a trip, huh?  Well, you’ll have to text me when your flight lands,” he says, finally emerging in fresh clothes.

“I’m not going on a business trip, Katsuki.”

He tilts his head at you, confusion etched across his features.  “Then, where are you going?”

“Listen to me.  I’m leaving.”

“You told me that.”

“I’m done. I’m moving out.  I’m breaking up with you.  I’m leaving, Katsuki.  Do any of those get it in your head?”

“What- What do you mean you’re breaking up with me?” He asks, his voice startlingly quieter than usual. 

“I can’t do this anymore.  It’s like I’m living with a ghost!  You’re never around and when you are, you’re so exhausted that you won’t even speak to me.  I’m tired of you pushing me away, Katsuki.  I understand that your work is important and I understand that this is your dream, but you’re overworking yourself to the point where you don’t have the energy for anything besides work.  I can’t keep living with in a situation where I have to ask to get you to pay me a little attention because you are so caught up in playing hero! It’s like you’ve forgotten that we’re supposed to be dating.”

“What do you expect me to do?  Just let innocent people get hurt, because you want someone to tell you that you look cute?  Y/N, I can’t just throw away everything that I’ve worked for just because you’re being a baby.”

“I’m being a baby, am I?  Why don’t you tell that to all of your other friends who feel the exact same way?  Katsuki, if you want to keep living your life like this, knock yourself out.  Just don’t expect me to be in it,” you say, shouldering the duffle bag and pulling up the handle on your suitcase. 

“Y/N, please.  Don’t just walk out on this.”

“I don’t even know who are anymore, Katsuki!  You are not the same man I fell in love with.  When he comes back, tell him to give me a call.  But until that happens, we’re done.”

[ammacdiaries-blog]

When In Williston....Just Don’t

First entry.  First attempt at writing a short story.  The following is a true story.  Obviously, names aren’t included.  I do welcome all feedback.  Please also share.

Here goes….

Fresh out of training, yet still in my probationary period dubbed first 120.  I began my embarquement from Seattle, Washington to Chicago, Illinois on my normal run called The Empire Builder.  The total journey would be 6-days; 3 there and 3 back.  Assigned to the Sleeper Car, I was in charge of first class services.  This entails providing services to 16 to 24 rooms with 1 to 5 passengers per room; making beds, to-go meals, luggage assist, etc.  I especially like working in the sleepers because of the direct customer contact.

This summer was proving to be an especially difficult one.  Continual track work bestowed us with countless delays.  This resulted in irritated passengers.  Still nothing I couldn’t handle.  Even as we entered Wolf Point, MT and I learned a tornado caused a freight liner to derail just ahead of us, I could still direct the mood of irritated passengers into a more positive one and keep people entertained.  

I guess I was too focused on the people and paid no attention to my arachnid homies, causing one to get especially bitter.  I asleep in my room, while Charlotte spun her web somewhere in the vicinity.  After a long day of whipping out some web, she must of developed a bad taste in her mouth.   

Through her several eyes, I can only guess she saw me as one of two things: An asshole who was keeping her trapped there, or a nice humid incubator where she could sink her teeth into a nice tender thigh.  Since Wilbur never gave her any bacon, after writing all those messages in the web, I assume she saw this as her one opportunity to get some good squealing in.  

I awoke with a burning sensation in between my legs.  Not that of a result of a great time with a complete stranger in a cheap hotel room.  But still one that would require countless antibiotics.  Where’s the fun in that?  I’m not sure whatever happened to Charlotte.  But I’m guessing after her journey to the nether regions of my southern hemisphere, she turned eight feet up and six feet under.  

Now me being me, I of course fell right back to sleep.  If the intruder alarm in my house won’t wake me up for long, chances are some heat near my hot pocket won’t wake me up either.  When I awoke though, I discovered Charlotte’s little parting gift for me.

Throughout the next several hours, I worked as normal.  Trying to ignore the pain of what started out as a pea-sized nob, and then had grown into a half-dollar sized coin.  By the night, I had started mastering the penguin waddle.  You skinny people might not get this reference.  But the penguin waddle is what us larger people do when chafing occurs in between the thighs.  As to not piss our ham hocks off any further, we keep our thighs close together and swish our hips, while keeping our legs straight in order to keep pain at a minimal.   I haven’t had to use this maneuver since my teenage years.  Luckily, it was like hopping on a bike after not being on one for a decade.  Oh the things I take pride in.

Going late into my 3-day, and still no where near Chicago, the abscess between my thighs had now grown to about 6-inches.  Still too scared to seek medical attention, I did find it in my better interest to let a crew member know just in case, you know, something worse could happen.  Despite his years of experience and vast knowledge of how Amtrak handles things, I still chose not to make management aware.  During the first 120, it was ingrained in our heads you will be fired for any mishap.  I must emphasize, this is not the case as I later learned.  

Our layover in Chicago, when on time is approximately 18-hours.  The delay from the derailment lowered that layover to approximately 4-hours.  I had planned on going to urgent care, getting an I&D, then leaving out on my return trip.  Unfortunately, I had just literally pulled a 24-hour shift, and was allotted 4-hours to do laundry, take a hot bath, nap for 1-hour and then return to work the train going back.  I was riding myself hard and putting me away wet.  

The wound had now spread from my groin to knee and was the most beautiful color of dark purple, had it not been my flesh.  Full car coming back, there would be no rest for this wicked man.  

In the distance, I heard the sound of a call light go off.  As it was lunch time, this could only mean they wanted to order their food to-go as opposed to being normal people and eating in the dining car.  Normally I wouldn’t be so irritated by such an easy request.  But my time back on this bicycle was making my ass more tender than veil.  

After collecting their order and returning with their food, I knocked on their door.  The vibrations of the knocking must of set off the richter scale because a splitting of the plates happened.  I ruptured.  The man answered the door with the biggest smile.  Those fresh burgers for him and his girlfriend had finally arrived.  And how he couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into them.

Yes he was greeted with that, but no.  There would be no smell of fresh angus beef and bacon in the air.  There would be that of the foul stench of the walking dead.  I dare not say what just happened.  We both looked at each other as if to say “What hell did you eat?”.  He knew it wasn’t him.  I knew it was me.  But he didn’t know that.  I gave him the look like it was him.  Which I hope made him believe it was his girlfriend.  Both our faces wrinkled to the point of needing an immediate injection of botox.  We still managed to exchange product for gratuity.  If they are still together, I won’t ever know.  

I was at a loss.  There was no more penguin waddle left in me.  I could only now slither like a slug to the nearest shower room and play doctor with my first aid kit.  I texted my partner in crime to let him know that an act of God had just occurred.  And thank goodness because we were approaching our next stop and I had to let passengers on and off.  There was no way I was going to help people with sappy, soupy pants on with the fragrance of that one wouldn’t even smell in a soup kitchen.  

Now seriousness was going to have to take place.  There was no further thing I could do but seek medical attention.

“Good afternoon passengers” came across over the PA system.  “Our next station stop will be Williston, North Dakota.”  

This was to be my stop.  The conductor had called for an ambulance to take me to the hospital.  I had only had about 15-minutes to pack my room, dress my wounds, dress myself and be available at the door.  Oh, and please don’t forget that I’m still only one 1-hour of sleep.  

As I stood there waiting for that next station stop, my passengers had began to cluster around the vestibule area, eager to step off the train, have that much desired cigarette, and of course witness my grand exit.  

I open the door upon arrival and before me are approximately 14 paramedics.  Not quite the paparazzi, but still very intimidating.  Then the press conference begins.

“Why is it you think you need an ambulance?” the one reporter boasted.

“I beg your pardon?”  What the hell kind of question is that?

“Why do you think you need to go to the hospital?”

Am I interviewing for a patient position, I thought.  I turned and look behind me to see my passengers just a chomping at the popcorn, anticipating what I was going to say next.  Well I’m sorry to disappoint.  But your not going to hear me say “Oh I have a compromised immune system and a wound the size of my fucking thigh just blew up in my thigh and I thought this would just be the next fun thing to do in my day.”

“I’ll be more than happy to answer that questions on our way to the hospital without an audience.”  I assertively replied.  

While dancing in the back of the ambulance to every pothole on the road, someone must have heard me say “I have ebola”, because when I got to the hospital, every person was wearing thick gowns, spit guards, and filtered masks.  I’m now so emotionally distraught, and tired, I have no idea what to do.  

I then was blessed to meet probably the only person with a brain, the PA who walked in asking why she felt she was on a movie set instead of a hospital.  As the lambs started “baaaaaaaaaahing” out their reasons, she quickly schooled them and said contact precautions as normal.  None of this additional crap is necessary.  She then looks at my wound and says “Cellulitis and possible MRSA.”  Oh Christ, I thought.  My next emotion was to cry.  Apparently this was something they didn’t know how to handle.  Well not handle so much as acknowledge.  

Because at this moment, I had learned Nurse Ratched had continued her education, becoming a doctor, my doctor and was standing before me.  “If we don’t keep you here, what is it you think you’re going to do?”

I didn't understand the question.  Yes, it was to the point.  I just didn’t see how it related to me.  “What do you mean, what am I going to do?”

“Well do you think Amtrak is going to just give you another ticket?  What are you doing to do?”

Despite Nurse Ratched’s continued education, I noticed she still somehow must have missed any courses involving bedside manner.  It feared me though that once I explained I was an employee and fully insured, how quickly her tune changed.  But that wasn’t a hill I was ready to climb.

While being admitted as an inpatient, I had understandingly fallen asleep to only be awoken by the Hospitalist, a harpy I dubbed Olga the Oger.  “Michael, we need to talk.”

I fumbled to awaken myself.  SInce my bladder felt as if to explode, this initial task was a bit easier.  “I need to use the restroom first.”

I’m not sure what kind of fetishes this harpy had, but she grabs a urinal,sits it in front of me, then sits down herself, giving me the strongest execution of poker face I had ever seen.

“Without an audience.” I commanded.  

While waiting for her to come back in the room, flapping her wings to perch in her nest, I fell back asleep.  Then again with that same shrill I heard “Michael, I said we needed to talk.”

Hold up.  What’s that?  No ma’am.  You obviously don’t know who I am.  It was at that moment my hummingbird ass was put to rest by my alligator mouth.  I couldn’t believe I had it in me.  The harpy looked down, looked at me in the eyes, then said “I am getting security.  I don’t feel safe with you in the room.”

Security must have been busy fighting the meth monsters from the emergency room.  Because she came back with no soldiers.  Which I was fine with.  I grabbed my big boy britches, apologized and proceeded our discussions.

Three more times she ran out of my room in fear.  No my friends, not from my hot temper.  But to change every order she had already written for me because she failed to find out my allergies beforehand.  I was starting to feel that Charlotte and I were going to be seeing each other again in the after life by the way things were going.

Well I survived the that 5-day stay in the hospital.  But no.  Mount Fiji had yet to be conquered.  My final night in Williston was to be at a hotel.  Work had generously called me cab to take me to the Ritz, no Discount something or other inn.

As I stand there waiting for my chariot to arrive, a strong sense of anxiety consumed me as I saw this black SUV come racing towards me.  Oh God.  This can’t be my cab.  I found placing my luggage in the back to be especially easy as the the whole back window had been busted out.  Upon entering the cab, I took notice to the several inches of dirt and dead insects upon my bench.  I especially loved that my “driver” rhythmically licked and chewed his lips as if they were two cheeseburgers from the best burger joint in town.

“Now they told me you would need a receipt.  I told them we give receipts on cards.”

Fair enough I thought.  Wait….What’s this.  Lip Licker hands me the card of a female real estate broker who specializes in short sales at Remax.  On the back of my card it says Cab Fare $17.00 and a signature.  Oh yeah.  Accounting will look at this like seeing a turd floating in a punch bowl.  

Thank Christ, I’m at the hotel!  I walk in to see the accommodations were doable.  Not the Ritz as I dreamed.  But after my week, a cardboard box set up in the middle lane of a highway in a rainstorm wouldn’t seem so disappointing.  “Sir.  We have your complimentary dinner available for you in the hallway over there.”

Dinner in the hallway?  Oh hell yeah!   Jackpot.  I couldn’t wait.  As I stand in line behind every roughneck in the state acting like vultures before 3 metal canisters, I couldn’t hardly wait to see what lottery winnings I could be consuming.  Door number one had something that I think might have been tuna.  Whatever it was, it was shredded, white, and crusty on top.  Behind door number two, chicken so oily, had I dropped it, Foghorn Leghorn would have slid straight to the Canadian Border.  Then behind door number three, corn dogs so hard, I could speer someone’s eyes out from across the room.  I figured between the preservatives, and the 600 different antibiotics running through my system, the speers would be the best way to go.

Oh let the C-Diff begin!!!!

It’s safe to assume, if I’m ever bit again, by anything, I’ll probably not wait so long to address it.  Maybe I’ll start asking for directions too.