#we fill three fucking trashbags a week

[daedrabela]

SO ALL NIGHT FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS I KEEP FLICKING LITTLE ANTS OFF OF ME WHILE I'M GAMING AND I KEEP THINKING IT'S JUST THE SAME ONES OVER AND OVER

WELL I JUST FUCKING LOOKED OVER AT MY TOMIE LAMP AND THESE FUCKERS HAVE THE THING COLONIZED THEY'VE GOT EGGS AND SHIT AND THEY'RE ALL BUNCHED TOGETHER

SO I FREAK OUT BECAUSE THERE'S TOO MANY BUGS IN ONE SMALL PLACE FOR MY LIKING AND WE GET THEM VACUUMED UP

I'M SNIPPY WITH HIM BECAUSE HE'S SLACKING ON GETTING THE VACUUM TO ME QUICKLY BECAUSE AS SOON AS I TURNED THE LAMP OFF THEY STARTED TO SCATTER

AND I'M ALREADY SPIRALING BECAUSE THE SPARE ROOM IS FULL OF SHIT AND I'M SICK OF LIVING LIKE THIS AND THEN!!!!

THEN!!!!!! THIS GUY ASKS ME "you know what bugs me?" BITCH IT'S TAKING EVERYTHING I HAVE NOT TO THROW HANDS WITH ANYTHING IN SIGHT RIGHT NOW YOU CAN'T JUST SAY SHIT

[master-sass-blast]

Winter Stay-cation.

*insert pithy quip here*

Summary: A massive squall hits New York City. The snow, combined with a deep freeze, brings the city that never sleeps to a standstill once the police issue travel bans. Fortunately, you and Piotr know how to keep yourselves entertained during your impromptu stay-cation.

Pairing(s): Piotr Rasputin x Reader, Nathan Summers x Wade Wilson, and Ellie Phimister x Yukio.

Rating: G for fluff.

Word Count: 3.4k.

Set after “It’s Truly Magical.”

A/N: The movie quote from Day Five is from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Rear Window.”

Taglist:  @marvel-is-perfection, @chromecutie, @girl-obsessed-with-things, @super-darkcloudstudent, @dandyqueen, @leo-writer

“—continuing into the middle of next week, if not longer. Expect heavy snowfall and temperatures below freezing, with windchill taking things below zero over the weekend.”

“Good grief.” You shake your head as you watch the weather report on the morning news. “It doesn’t get that cold when I fly full speed.”

Piotr, your husband, hands you a cup of coffee and shrugs. “January is ugly month.”

You smirk into your mug. “Bet this doesn’t compare to Siberian winters.”

“Not really,” he admits with a chuckle.

“The Chief of New York City’s Fire Department has issued a statement reminding residents to be careful when using their fireplaces and to monitor children and pets.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you quip, “Don’t use fireworks as kindling, we got it.”

Piotr snorts.

“In addition, the Police Department has issued a travel advisory in light of the predicted precipitation and sub-zero temperatures. All none-essential travel is restricted until the cold snap passes.”

“Groovy. Tell that to half the city.”

Piotr grins, shakes his head again, then turns the TV off. “Looks like we will have to keep ourselves occupied here this week.”

You cast a disparaging glance outside –where the snow is already up to Piotr’s knees—then say, “Like we were going anywhere else.”

 ***

 Day One

 There’s an upside to when the “deep freeze” hits. It’s already winter break, meaning there’s no coordinating classes, figuring out how to pick up students that don’t live at the mansion, or having to get up at the balls-ugly hours of the early morning in the stupid, frigid cold.

The two of you wake up at your leisure, around nine o’clock. You laze around in bed for a bit, snuggling and chatting and smooching, then head downstairs for breakfast. You wind up setting up shop at the dining room table, catching up on grading and filling out end of the semester report cards.

“Can you check these for me?” Piotr asks, handing you a stack of essays from his art classes. “I already made content-based marks; I am just not sure about English grammar.”

“Fun fact: most native English speakers aren’t sure about their grammar, either,” you joke with a smirk.

Piotr snorts, then checks his computer clock before standing. “Is about lunchtime. I was thinking soup and sandwiches?”

You nod. “Sounds tasty.”

“Would you like anything in particular?”

“Surprise me.” You make a contented hum when Piotr leans over the table to kiss you, then smile as you watch him head to the kitchen.

You really are the world’s luckiest woman (a sentiment you feel even more keenly when he comes back with a fresh cup of hot cider for you).

 ***

 Day Two

 “We should clean.”

The two of you are sitting on the couch. Your laptops sit on the coffee table, displaying the completed efforts of uploading grades to the online gradebook that the school uses. Two mugs that once contained coffee sit next to either laptop.

You look up at Piotr. You’re tucked against his side, head leaning on his shoulder while his fingers trace designs on the sleeve of your sweater (which is technically his sweater, but that’s neither here nor there). “Huh?”

“We should clean,” he repeats as he scrubs at his face with his free hand. “House could use it.”

You crane your neck to look over his shoulder. “We don’t really have that many dirty dishes.”

Piotr snorts, then raises an eyebrow at you. “When was last time we vacuumed? Or deep cleaned bathrooms? Or washed windows?”

“We can see out the windows just fine!”

Piotr grins and shakes his head. He stands, holding his hand out to you. “Come on, myshka. Clean home, clean mind.”

“I’ll have you know that my mind is nothing but dirty, and I’m offended that you would dare insinuate otherwise.”

Piotr laughs and helps you up. “We can start upstairs and work our way down.”

 ***

 Cleaning with Piotr isn’t so bad. He carries his fair share of the workload, does things to their proper doneness, and is a firm supporter of blasting tunes while cleaning.

“Take! Me! On!” You bounce up and down in time with the beat while you clean the sliding glass doors in your bedroom that lead out to the balcony. “I’ll… be… gone! In a day or two!”

Behind you, Piotr laughs. He’s hauling out a trashbag from the bathroom –no doubt filled with the sheer amount of crumpled paper towels it takes to get the place sanitary again. “I see you are enjoying yourself.”

“Absolutely not. I’m suffering endlessly. I’m going to die any minute now.” And then, to prove you point, you flop to the floor dramatically (taking care to use your powers to cushion your landing).

Piotr lets out a choked gasp, then clutches at his chest. “You keep scared me!”

You look up at him and laugh. “You know I can catch myself! You’ve seen me do that before!”

“Changes nothing!” He lets out a ragged breath, hand still pressed over his heart. “I could have heart attack.”

You giggle, then lift yourself off the floor with a swirl of wind. You land nimbly on your toes before him and wrap your arms around his waist. “Aw, now who’s being dramatic?”

“I fail to see how concern for your well-being is dramatic!”

You suppress a grin, opting to pop up on the balls of your feet and kiss him instead. “I’m very sorry I scared you, baby.”

“Is okay.” He kisses you gently, then gazes down at you with a rueful smile on his lips. “What am I going to do with you, myshka?”

“Dance with me?” You flash him an impish smile, then start bouncing in time to the music again.

Piotr chuckles, then takes your hands in his and bops along with you.

The two of you dance around the room –well, as much as what you’re doing can be called dancing. You sing the lyrics of the song to each other, not sticking to any particular key or tempo.

You laugh when Piotr lifts you into his arms, bridal style, then squeal in delight when he spins the two of you around.

It’s perfect.

 ***

 Day Three

 You wake up to the sound of Piotr’s phone chirping –because, even on vacation, he still keeps a daily morning alarm.

He groans as he comes to, then laughs when you roll over him and shut off his alarm for him. “Well, good morning to you, too.”

You set his phone back on his nightstand, then straddle his hips and plant your hands against his brawny chest. “You’re not making me clean today.”

Piotr smirks up at you, bushy eyebrow raising in challenge. “Oh?”

“We’re spending today in this bed,” you continue. “Just you” –you tap his chest—“and me, and as few clothes as possible. Sound good?”

He pretends to mull it over, even has he takes off the shirt he’d been sleeping in. “Are we allowed bathroom and meal breaks?”

“I’ll allow it.”

“Ah, very generous. Thank you, benevolent myshka.”

“You’re very welcome.” You giggle when he grins –then let out a delighted yelp when he rolls suddenly, pinning you between him and the bed. You sigh as he kisses you, eyes fluttering shut. You arms wind around his neck, holding him against you while his hands smooth down your body.

 ***

 Day Four

 Cabin fever starts setting in between the third and fourth day. There’s only so many chores you can do, only so many papers you can grade (and you’re out of papers to grade, which doesn’t help your case), only so much sex you can have before you’re gonna start losing your mind.

Fortunately, Piotr is well-attuned to you and your mental states –meaning he notices that you’re getting twitchy before you dip into pyromania to keep yourself entertained.

“We should do something fun today,” he says during breakfast. He spreads some sour cream over his plate of blinis, then adds cottage cheese and sausage meat. “Perhaps play some video games. Ellie has been pestering me to play some multi-people games with her and Yukio.”

“Could be fun,” you say before stuffing your mouth full with Nutella-covered blini. You swallow, then ask, “What did she want to play?”

“Ah… she had two. I think… Falling Guys and Among Us?”

A slow, wicked grin stretches across your place. Fuck yeah. “Let her know we’re in.”

 ***

 Piotr, unfortunately, turns out to be none too good at Fall Guys.

“No!” He wails, then flops back against the couch when he gets thrown off a platform and into the slime. “I could not run away!”

“You have to anticipate the enemy’s movements,” Ellie says over Discord. She’s already qualified and is spectating you and Yukio. “Predict their strategy, then counter.”

“I think it is less strategy and more ‘giant hands do not play nice with tiny controller,’” Piotr grumbles good-naturedly.

“Or maybe you got your butt kicked like a scrub,” Ellie fires back.

“I never contested that,” Piotr chuckles.

“Alright,” you say, eyes glued on your pink and yellow striped player. “I’m almost there, there’s plenty of slots left –no, you fucking pigeon! Let me go!”

“Language,” Piotr murmurs between bouts of laughter.

“It’s always a pigeon!” Ellie groans. “Fucking skyrats.”

“Language, NTW.”

You qualify for the next round (no thanks to the damn pigeon, who qualifies, too). Egg Scramble is next, and you wind up facing off against Ellie and Yukio for the win.

“Damn it!” There’s the sound of something hitting the floor –most likely Ellie throwing her controller—when she and Yukio get booted out. “Yellow always loses!”

“Is that it?” you ask while the loading screen plays. “Are we at the final round yet?”

“There’ll be one more,” Yukio says. “To finish whittling down the competitors.”

Sure enough, there’s a round of Tip-Toe –which you get through by the skin of your teeth—and then you and eight other players are sent to the finale.

“Okay, Hex-A-Gone. You’ll want to just hop from tile to tile,” Ellie advises you while the level loads. “It makes the tiles last longer.”

“Don’t be afraid to drop a couple levels at first,” Yukio adds. “You can carve out one of the lower levels, meaning anyone that falls above you will have further to go and will be more likely to get out.”

“I appreciate it, but don’t expect any miracles,” you say, laughing self-deprecatingly.

Piotr kisses the top of your head. “You can do this, myshka.”

You follow the girls’ advice; you let yourself drop down two levels, then start hopping from tile to tile to start carving out the platform.

“One guy’s already out!” Ellie announces. “You’ve got this!”

“Shit! I fell!”

“That’s okay,” Yukio reassures you. “Find a decent mass of tiles and hop, don’t run. Make them last.”

“The pigeon grabbed another player,” Piotr marvels, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well, they both died, so fat lot of good it did them,” Ellie mutters.

You keep going, bounce from brightly colored hexagon to brightly colored hexagon.

“Only four left!” Ellie lets out a whoop. “Holy shit, you’re gonna make it!”

“Don’t jinx me!” you laugh as you dodge another player’s attempt to grab you. “Don’t jinx me!”

“Three left –two! It’s just you and one other guy!”

“You’ve got this, Y/N!” Yukio cheers.

You dive for a clump of tiles –and miss. “No!” You groan, then laugh as your character plummets into the pink slime. “Damn. I’m never going to do that good ever again.”

Piotr wraps an arm around your shoulders in a conciliatory hug. “You did wonderful job, myshka.”

“He’s right. That was really good. The winner fell a few seconds after you, so it was basically a coin toss as to who was gonna get the crown,” Ellie says while the winner’s animation plays on screen.

“Yeah! Great job!” Yukio congratulates you.

“Wanna do another round?” Ellie asks as she flicks between skins and accessories for her avatar.

Yukio laughs lightly. “Baby, we were going to get lunch.”

“Oh, right.”

“Perhaps we can try other game after lunch,” Piotr suggests. “‘Fall Guys’ is okay, but makes me too dizzy.”

“Yeah, sure. Text me when you guys are done eating.”

***

 Among Us doesn’t go much better for Piotr, if only because he doesn’t adhere to the strategy of the game. He does his tasks without fail –which usually leaves him alone, and thus a prime target for killing or pinning a murder on. He’s also a terrible liar, which makes it easy to tell when he is the impostor.

You laugh as Piotr’s little red spaceman goes floating into space. “I honestly feel bad.”

“I don’t,” Wade says (he and Nate hopped on the Discord call when Yukio sent them an invite). “Pay for some acting classes, Chrome Dome! Give us a challenge, at least.”

Piotr starts grumbling in Russian, but it gets cut off when the round starts up again.

(You all still wind up losing because Nate’s the other impostor and racks up bodies like nobody’s business.)

“I’m still waiting for when Ellie and Dad get the impostor role together,” you comment as the defeat screen flashes on your laptop screen.

“What, so we all die in five minutes?” Wade grumbles. “So we can suffer the agony of betrayal and not honoring trust again?”

“It’s just a game, Wade,” Nate sighs. “And I apologized already.”

“Is our relationship ‘just a game’ to you, Natey? I gave you an alibi –and then you shanked me in the shower like rejected prison bitch!”

“Language, Wade,” your husband pipes up, voice world-weary. “Please.”

You all start another round once Wade calms down –which, admittedly, takes a while and a great deal of coaxing from Nathan. You grin when you see that you’re an impostor alongside Yukio –then giggle to yourself when a plan pops into your mind.

You start stalking Piotr around the map. You fake doing tasks alongside him, acting as his shadow as he treks around the map. On the corner of your screen, you watch your kill timer wind down, then wait for the right moment once it runs out, and—

Downstairs, in his art studio, your husband lets out an indignant scream when your character murders his.

You fall back onto the bed and cackle.

 ***

 Day Five

 The squall rages on outside. The world is practically buried in snow. It’s a sea of white outside your bedroom windows, blinding and sterile.

You peer at the swaths of snow blanketing every inch of ground, every tree branch, and every shrub, then nestle further under the blankets. “Ugh. I don’t even want to get out of bed today.”

Piotr chuckles, then wraps an arm around your waist. “How come?”

“Have you seen what it’s like outside? It’s disgusting!”

“I thought you liked snow.”

“I do. That’s how you know it’s bad.” You sigh as you eye the fat, fluffy flakes falling from the sky. “I wish I could, like, go outside. Go to a store or something. Leave the house.”

“Is not safe to drive yet.”

“I know, I know.” You sigh. “Is it bad that I miss the color green?”

“Nyet. Is normal.”

You smile, just a little, when Piotr kisses the back of your head. You roll over to face him. “Can we build a blanket fort today?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What… here? In bedroom?”

“Yeah. We can make it look all pretty, and snuggle in bed, and watch movies, and have sex…”

“Bozhe ty moi.” Piotr snorts, then takes a moment to study your face, your eyes. “You really want blanket fort?”

“Kind of, yeah. I just… I want something new to look at.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a soft smile. He presses his lips against your forehead. “Alright, myshka. Let’s make fort.”

***

 “When a man and a woman see each other and like each other, they ought to come together. Wham. Like a couple of taxis on Broadway.”

You let out a content, relaxed sigh, then wriggle closer to Piotr.

The fort, admittedly, is simple –but you don’t mind. While you were taking a shower, Piotr assembled the whole thing, just to give you a little surprise.

He’d brought up a couple floor lamps from the main floor, then clipped some fairy lights to them before draping the largest quilt in the house over top to make the room. He’d pinned some throw blankets to either side of the quilt to make the sides, then made the bed and assembled the pillows so the two of you could have a nice, cozy, comfy den to watch movies in.

The recurring, delighted thought of ‘he made it for me; he made it for me because he knew I wanted one’ loops around in your brain like a bumblebee drunk on fermented crab apples. You grin, then loop your arms around Piotr’s neck and kiss his cheek.

He grins, cheeks flushing ever so slightly. “What was that for?”

“You made me a blanket fort.”

“You asked for one.”

“Yeah, but you made it for me. You could’ve just waited until we could both work on it.”

He shrugs, lips curving into a soft, pleased smile. “I wanted to see look on face. You were very happy.”

“Correction: I am very happy.” You kiss the tip of his nose, then his lips. “I love you, Piotr.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

 ***

 Day Six

 You know it’s bad when you wake up before Piotr.

You look over at your husband, who’s still slumbering away next to you –and sawing some logs, no less—then out at the winter hellscape outside, and decide there’s only one thing for it.

You’re channeling your inner Great British Bake Off contestant and demolishing the kitchen.

***

 Piotr comes downstairs around ten in the morning –which is a miraculous amount of sleep in time for him—but by then, the damage has already been done.

There’s a cake cooling on the counter (you’d found a box of cake mix in the back of the pantry and decided to use it as a warm-up. The mixer is working overtime on a double batch of sugar cookies –plus there’s already chocolate chip cookie dough chilling in the fridge.

You look up from the cookbook you’d been perusing –you were thinking pie next—and flash your husband a slightly sheepish grin as he gapes at the kitchen. “Uh… good morning?”

“Myshka…”

“I made cake.”

“I can see that.” Piotr drops his heads into his hands and makes a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Why?”

“Because being trapped inside is stressing me out and I want to cope by eating my weight in desserts.”

Piotr sighs, then lifts his head. He eyes the mixer, then the increasingly sheepish expression on your face. “How much is that?”

“In the bowl or in the fridge?”

“Bozhe ty moi.”

“Look, the way I see it, we can share—”

“You have that much correct. We do not need five million cookies.”

“Excuse you, I’m only making three million. Also, do you know where the lard is?”

Piotr’s face scrunches up. “Lard? Why—”

“I wanna make pie.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “We already have cake. And goodness knows how many kinds of cookies.”

“But those aren’t pie.” You smile impishly at him. “Plus, like, pie has fruit, so it’s good for you. You like fruit. Think about how good it’ll be to eat something with fruit after all the cake, and the cookies…”

“Or I could just eat fruit.” He sighs, resigned and slightly frustrated, when you bat your eyelashes at him. “I will check pantry.”

***

 Day Seven

 “—as of today, authorities are lifting the ban on nonessential travel—”

“Yes!” You launch yourself into the air, twirling around and pumping your fists before landing lightly on the couch once more. “Finally!”

Piotr laughs and shakes his head. “What, is staying inside with me so terrible?”

“Absolutely not.” You crawl across the couch and into his lap, then give him a loud smooch. “I have enjoyed every single day of your company. However, you’ve got about fifteen minutes before I start repainting the walls out of sheer boredom.”

Piotr bursts into raucous guffaws. He puts a hand over his eyes, shoulders and stomach shaking with each laugh. He sighs, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes as minute giggles slip past his lips. “Well, we do need to restock on food. And flour and butter, since someone decided to open bakery yesterday.”

You pointedly ignore the pies and full cookie jar sitting on the kitchen counter. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He snorts, then pats your thigh. “Get dressed, myshka. We will go shopping.”

“Fuck yeah!” You zip up the stairs.

Downstairs, you can hear Piotr start laughing again.

[hime-memes]

( Requested ) This long list of starters comes from the youtube content creator: Nisipisa ! In particular, the video: ‘ Let’s Go Window Shopping 6: Crimes Against Pants with Shein ‘

Trigger Warnings: Sexual Innuendo, Alcohol & Drug Mentions and Swearing.

As always: feel free to change anything within these starters that you see fit to make it work for your muse & the receiver’s muse !

( Some sentences have been modified for length, understanding, or to give fuller context. )

“ First of all, these shorts ? I’m living for the whole outfit. I appreciate _____ finding a use for trashbags that’s not just holding trash. “

“ ... I don’t have enough brain bandwidth to actually hold enough information about it ... “

“ People deserve access to clothing in their size. 100 %. “

“ I’m already kinda impressed. “

“ This is a pretty dress & this is a pretty dress. That’s pretty ! That’s ... passable ? “ 

“ We had a lot of fun last time with t-shirts. “

“ Oh my god. Oh god ... Oh yes ! This is our first graphic tee of the day. “

“ It’s a crew neck in the ugliest shade of purple known to human or lobster eyes. “

“ Sorry: #Momlife. “ 

“ You can make sure your search engine optimization is as powerful as possible when you’re waiting in line to check out at Target™ for the fourth time this week. “ 

“ I didn’t mean to shame anybody that spends three days out of their week at Target™. “

“ If there wasn’t a panna cotta going on, that would be me. It’s my favorite place in the goddamn world ! “

“ It’s second only to shoe stores that sell a size twelve ! “ 

“ As we all know - I am not a mother and will likely biologically never be one, because God looked at me and said, ‘ If I give you a reproductive system, you’re going to be too powerful ‘ and so, he just nuked my uterus. “

“ I don’t find that this t - shirt celebrates motherhood in any meaningful way. “ 

“ I do think it celebrates having bad taste in a meaningful way. “

“ You know what ? For some people: That’s enough. “ 

“ ... We aren’t going to address why having a cutout tight might be useful ... “

“ And THIS is the sexiest shoe we could have put my girl in ?! “

“  You guys put her in this conservative nightmare heel ?! “

“ I like that ______ thinks you should wear all these graphic tees with light wash mom jeans and converse low tops. “

“ I think every website should encourage it’s patrons to dress like the main character of a Sarah Dessen novel from 2007. “

“ There’s some high schooler in a debate club that’s really into it. It’s kinda their whole personality, and they’re like: ‘ This is so ironically funny for me ‘. “

“ In the year of our Lord, 2008: I started high school and my absolute favorite shirt to wear was a shirt quite like this. “

“ It looked like I was wearing long sleeves under short sleeves when in reality, I was wearing a crime. “

“  Have you ever tried layering ? Like, actual layering ? It sucks ! “ 

“ You’re kidding ! A double whammy in the same row ? Oh my god ... “ 

“ ... We have also inexplicably made the model hit this pose. “

“ The person who needs these pants is someone who likes to go out and party - likes to go to the club - but, they are also the president of a fan club for Shar Pei dogs. “

“ You know what dogs I think are cute ? ( * Googles favorite dog * ) Just look at this guy ! “ 

“ Look at these pointy bastards ! “

“ This is like if you had a bat and you did a spell on it to make it a dog ! “ 

“ These ... Now THIS is a pair of pants ! “

“  Clinically depressed, stressed jeans. “

“  You take leopard print fabric and sew it into your distressed holes. “

“ You don’t have to frankenstein it into this type of fit ... this is kinda like how a hypebeast would dress if they were in elementary school. “

“ If you put a bow on this and a tutu: this is me and my girls rolling up to the Jojo Siwa concert. “

“ Am I saying I wouldn’t wear these shorts ? No, I’m not saying that at all - I would wear the fuck outta these shorts ! “

“  As we’ve established: my taste is awful. “ 

“ Do you think in 1503, when Lisa del Giocondo sat down to start being painted for this portrait - she thought in a couple hundred years some random fast fashion brand would take her likeness, photoshop a face mask on it ... and sell it on a graphic t - shirt ? “

“ The only responsibilities I had were watching Rugrats and learning object permanence. “

“ Stop living in the past. The future is fun because my videos are in it ! “

“ This little cherry top, I think I’d probably wear. I think it’s very sweet ! “

“  I’m so weak to anything with a grid print. “ 

“ I’m going to think about this shirt for the rest of my life ... “

“ What exactly does a lil’ house elf from Harry Potter™ have to do with this ? “

“ I do feel like this floral print will cause my brain to atrophy if I look at it too long. “ 

“ Rosé is not the only wine to rhyme with ‘ all day ‘. Rosé isn’t even good ! “

“ You know what ? I don’t work for _______, so it’s fine. It’s not my responsibility ! “ 

“ Hey guys, you having fun at mushroom college ? “

“ I saw two things: The crotch butterfly and the booty butterfly and now I’m thinking these are the only clothes anyone should ever wear. Ever. “ 

“ NOT THE ‘ SEX ’ EARRINGS !? YES ! “ 

“ This is brazenly and offensively targeting a very very very specific group of people that I went to my preppy college with and I don’t appreciate that. “

“ I’ve worn spaghetti sauce stained yoga pants to bed that are sexier than this ! “

“ I’d wear the fuck outta this. “

“ I don’t know what I can say ... the picture speaks for itself, this is awful ! “

“ I’ve been saying for the longest time there is absolutely no store online that I can find articles of clothing for my single, mid-western, art teacher from the 70s, halloween costume. Finally someone is filling that niche ! “

“ This is absolutely unprecedented, because _______ decided to take something that, not only didn’t exist, but that no one has ever asked for and make it a reality. “ 

“ They think to themselves: ‘ Man - I love leopard print and I love galaxy print: but, I wish there was some way I could experience them at the same time, in an orientation that looks like the very beginnings of a DMT trip, and I wish I could experience all that whilst exercising. “

“  This is so tacky that I wanna wear it. “ 

“ Lord - Jesus, life is so beautiful. and full ... and amazing ! “ 

“ Curse allttle and carra fu///ng ON. “

“ The Rocky Horror Picture Show did not die for our sins for you to make this, okay ____ ? “

“ I feel like the person that wears this is a representative from the International Coalition of Clowns that are also Sexy. “

“ I want the opposite of this: I want a pink pastel frilly one piece that just says across the front of it, in like Curlz MT font : ‘ Death ‘. “

“ Listen, I don’t know what font that is, but I would like President Joe Biden and Vice President Kamala Harris to outlaw it. I don’t think it does society any good. “ 

“ I heart freak city ? “

“ Uh yeah, I live on Drip Goth Punk street. “

“ Is that near Superfreak Sexy Gurl lane ? “ 

“ We have a big snake problem here in Boston and I’m glad _____ is finally recognizing this. “

“ Mama. “ * Cue insane cackling * 

“ This shirt says ‘ heart stopper ’ ... that’s me when I’m a serial killer ! “ 

“ That’s so topical and current ! Thank you, _______. “ 

[myherowritings]

Fever Talk

— “Side effects may include: light-headedness, disorientation, and accidental confessions of love.” You help nurse a fever-ridden Ground Zero back to health, but little did you know it should have come with a warning.

pairing: pro hero!bakugou x manager!reader word count: 3.9k genre: pro hero au, sick fic, fluff

a/n: i wanna take care of sick bakubabe and tuck him in and make him chicken noodle soup and see his flushed face as wipe away his sweat wait what o.o

In the 294 days you had worked as Ground Zero’s manager, not once had he taken a day off. 

Other than the government enforced national holidays (in which you still had to coerce him to stay home or spend time with friends instead of going to the agency to track new leads), not a weekday had gone by without you seeing him.

Until now. 

You had received a call directly from Bakugou’s physician (because you knew if Ground Zero had his way, he would show up to work regardless of what his doctor said), and they told you he was to stay home for the next three days because of a 38.6 degree fever. 

Your eyes bulged at the news. You haven’t had a fever that bad since you were in elementary school, and even then your parents made you stay home for almost the whole week.

“He shouldn’t overexert himself for the time being,” said his doctor over the phone. “I’m going to fax you the report and you have my full permission to use whatever means required to make Bakugou-san stay in bed.” 

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, sir.”

“Of course it is, Y/L/N-san.” There was slight static coming from his line. “It is Ground Zero, after all. If you’d never arranged for a car to pick him up and bring him to my office, the only time I’d see him is if he were fatally bleeding out.”

With small huff of laughter, you shook your head. The sad part was you knew what the doctor said was true. Bakugou would work himself to death he could. 

Thankfully, he had an amazing manager (you) to keep the stubborn ass (him) in check.

After ending the phone call with the physician, you settled down to get ahead on some paperwork while you could. But by the time one hour had gone by, you were already finished filing the pages and were left staring off into space as you wondered if Bakugou was doing alright.

You weren’t sure about him, but you definitely hated being left all alone while you were sick. 

Making your own chicken noodle soup just wasn’t the same as having someone make it for you with a sprinkle of love. 

You knew if you were the one with the 38.6 fever, you would want someone to come over and care for you. And you knew that although Bakugou would be utterly indignant if you showed up at his place to help him out, it would be better for him in the long run. 

At least, that’s what you were trying to convince yourself as you clocked out of work and made your way to the nearest convenience store, grabbing the ingredients for chicken noodle soup along with cough drops, lip balm, aloe vera tissues, teas, moisturizer, cooling pads, honey...and then some. 

Okay-- Perhaps you went a tad bit overboard with the care package, but it was only because you wanted Bakugou to feel better so he could get back to work as soon as possible.

There was definitely no other reason. 

You were sure of it.

As you stepped out of the elevator and made your way to his high-rise suite, you fished the spare key he gave you out from your bag. 

“Bakugou-san?” you called, knocking first for courtesy’s sake. When he didn’t reply you unlocked the door and opened it a small crack. “It’s Y/L/N! I’m coming in.” 

You heard a low grunt coming from down the hall and took it as an invitation to head in. 

When you walked inside, you noticed his living room and kitchen were, for the most part, exactly the same as it always did-- Well organized and thoroughly cleaned. The only thing out of place was the white paper bag on the counter with the medicine his physician prescribed. 

Setting the groceries next to his refrigerator, you headed down the hallway with the care package in hand. “I heard you’re not feeling well.” 

There was a quiet grumble of protest that made you snort.

“Can I come in?” you asked, stopping inches from his doorway. “I have some things for you.” 

“Hmmph,” was his coherent reply.

The first thing you saw when you walked in was Bakugou in the center of his king-sized bed, comforter and blankets half strewn across him, half draped on the floor. His cheeks were flushed a pale pink and his bangs were clinging to the sides of his face. He had dark circles under his eyes and his shirtless torso was glistening with cold sweat.

You blinked, dragging your gaze away from his chest. “You look terrible.”

He coughed. “Wow, thanks.”

“Have you even taken your medicine yet?” you fretted, going over to the side of his bed and pressing the back of your hand against his forehead.

His only response was a groan.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

In a weak movement, Bakugou swatted your hand away from his head and frowned. “I don’t need the stupid medicine.” 

You pursed your lips, checking his temperature once more only to have him shove your hand away. This game went on for a good five minutes before you cried out in frustration.

“Let me check your fucking temperature!”

His eyes shot open in shock before they narrowed in your direction. Through a fit of coughs, he yelled, “You’re not supposed to shout a sick person, baka!”

“There’s an exception if shouting is the only way words will get through the thick skull of theirs!” 

With an exasperated sigh, you cupped his face between your hands and kneeled down until you were eye level with him as he laid down on his bed. You felt him squirm in your grasp but you were unrelenting.

“What the-- What are you doing?!”

In a split second, you gently placed your cool forehead against his warm one, comparing the two temperatures. It was something your parents used to do when you were a child to check if your fever had gone down. The effectiveness of the method? You weren’t quite sure if it was effective at all, really. But you ended up okay, so something about it must’ve worked.

As you felt the heat from his body reach a temperature almost too hot to touch, you frowned. Bakugou’s lips were parted slightly as he let out light huffs of breath.

“Y/L/N…” 

You swallowed. His voice was raspy and his nose was flushed a cute pink color and you absolutely hated your brain for succumbing to the stupid Florence Nightingale effect.

You’re his manager, you scolded yourself. What were you thinking?

“Yes?” you said, a little breathless despite your better judgment. 

“I have to…” He blinked slowly, a weird expression on his face and he softly but firmly pushed you a good distance away. “I have to fucking sneeze--!”

Turning his head to the side as fast as he could and covering his mouth, Bakugou let out the loudest goddamn sneeze you had ever heard in your life. You could’ve sworn his million dollar windows rattled at the force of his monster sneeze.

You looked at him, slightly alarmed. “Uh… Bless you?”

“Thanks,” he mumbled, wiping his nose with a tissue before tossing it into a trashbag. 

Watching him with a curious--and also slightly grossed out--expression, you drummed your fingers against your upper thighs until you figured out what to say.

“Well,” you concluded finally, “you felt really hot.”

Katsuki gave you a blank look. “I could’ve told you that myself.”

You glared. “But I confirmed it.”

“Actually, the doctor confirmed it.” 

“Do you want me to make you chicken noodle soup or not?!”

He instantly shut himself up as he straightened his position on his bed. 

Tilting his head to the side, Bakugou mused, “You can cook?”��

You considered his question. You weren’t as great of a chef as he was, but you could hold your own in the kitchen. “Well, I can cook chicken noodle soup.” 

“Soup does sound nice…” he said dazedly, wiping the cold sweat off his hairline before shutting his eyes as a sudden tingle of pain hit him. 

Your expression softened to one of concern as you rushed out to get his medicine and a glass of water. You returned to his bedside and poured the proper dosage of medication in a small measuring cup. 

“Here. Take this and drink some water, Bakugou-san,” you said, extending your hands out to him.

He accepted the cup with a grateful nod. “Bakugou.”

You blinked. “Pardon?”

“Just Bakugou.” He drank the medicine in a gulp and washed the taste down with some warm water before meeting your gaze. “We yell at each other all the time and you’re here in my bedroom alone-- I think we’ve been past the honorifics for a while now.” 

Your cheeks heated up. Sure, the two of you were close-- Closer than most managers and their clients. But officially dropping the honorifics seemed like a whole other step in your relationship. And you hated that you were so happy about it.

“Right… Bakugou,” you said slowly, testing out the sound. You smiled, growing nervous as you looked away. “Well, Bakugou, I’m going to make you some soup now. You just drink some more water and lie down, okay?” 

Katsuki grunted in what you thought was a noise of agreement. 

You turned around to leave the room only to be stopped by his sudden voice.

“Y/L/N?” he called, placing the glass of water on his nightstand. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” you choked out, surprised by his show of sentiment.

And as you hurried out of the room towards the kitchen, you tried to ignore the pounding of your heart as a disoriented grin spread across your face. 

Just Bakugou, huh?

- - - - -

“So, how does it taste?” you asked eagerly, staring at him as he took the spoonful of soup into his mouth.

“All my senses are dulled, but it seems good.” He swallowed the broth with a shrug of approval. “Do you really have to feed me though?” 

You stopped blowing air onto the soup-filled spoon to face Bakugou with a wide-eyed look. When you had returned from the kitchen with a bowl of hot chicken noodle soup in hand, you found him sprawled out on his bed with an eerily peaceful half-smile on his face. 

Meaning the medicine had just kicked in. 

Naturally, you were quite concerned over his unnervingly lax state of being, but after reading the warnings and directions on the box, your worries quickly faded. 

Side Effects May Include: drowsiness, nausea, fatigue, confusion, disorientation…

The list went on, but the only side effect you noticed was how disoriented and loopy he was. Katsuki was significantly less aggressive than his normal self and you could’ve sworn you even heard an uncharacteristic giggle or two come out of him. 

As much as you admired the headstrong and determined Ground Zero, cute and frivolous Bakugou was something you would most likely never witness again in your life. So of course, you had to make the most of it while you could.

“Of course I have to spoon-feed you, Bakugou,” you said with a tsk. “What if you spill on yourself and get even more sick?”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” he mumbled, but still parted his lips as you brought the spoon closer to his mouth.

You sighed, amused. Even drugged up with a 38.6 degree fever, he was still a smartass.

“Just eat your noodles.”

His nose crinkled at the demand in such a way that made you want to tweak it, but you refrained, instead scooping up more soup and cooling it down with some air. 

After the long (and rather difficult) process of making Bakugou finish his food and water, you quickly washed the dishes and cleared the kitchen, returning to his bedroom with a cooling pad in hand.

“Bakugou,” you said quietly, peering down at his resting form. “I brought you something.”

It didn’t look like he was in any pain, but his cheeks were still an angry pink color with damp hair framing his face. Kneeling by his bedside, you wiped a droplet of sweat from his brow with a hand towel and brushed his hair aside. 

His eyes fluttered open at your touch and his half-lidded expression was filled with daze and vulnerability. Katsuki reached his hand out to poke your cheek and you froze. 

“Wh-What are you doing?” 

“Your face looks nice,” he mumbled in reply, his voice so drawn out you were certain it could only be the medication talking. “And your hair, too.”

He grabbed a strand of your hair and ran his finger through before getting caught in a tangle. Bakugou’s mouth quirked downwards into a pout and you wished you had a camera at the ready to capture that moment (and definitely not use it as a potential source of blackmail).

Although you knew his words came from a fever-induced haze, you still felt your face heat up at all the attention he was giving you. “Thanks. Y-Your face looks nice, too.” 

“Hmm.”

With a satisfied nod, he dropped his hand and shut his eyes again, breaths growing steady. 

You let out an amused breath of laughter as you continued wiping the sweat off his face. When Katsuki seemed significantly less sweaty, you pressed the back of your hand against his forehead. His temperature didn’t seem as hot as before, but he would definitely not be well enough to go back to work tomorrow. 

“How are you feeling, Bakugou?”

“Hot.”

He tossed his sheets off him, revealing his perfectly toned chest and abdomen for the second time today. If you had known you were going to be attacked like this, you would’ve come better prepared with a cold water bottle and hand-held fan. Preferably with a mist attachment. 

You cleared your throat. “I brought a cooling pad. Would that be helpful?”

“Hmm,” he moaned in confirmation.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

While a cooling pad wouldn’t reduce Bakugou’s fever, it would help make the heat slightly more bearable. And as you felt his body heat, you couldn’t help but wonder if his quirk helped him stay more tolerant of the high temperatures, or only caused him to feel hotter-- But that was a question for another day when he was no longer ill.

Pushing his hair back to reveal his forehead, you placed the gel cooling pad you bought from the store on his face, gently smoothing it down with the pad of your thumb.

Satisfied at your work, you smiled down at Katsuki, ready to stand up and take your leave. But as you stood, his sudden voice stopped you.

“Thank you...angel.” 

Almost choked in surprise when you heard that word come out of his mouth. Was he referring to you? Well, of fucking course he was, you snapped at yourself. Unless he was talking to himself, you dumbass. 

You open your mouth and clamped it shut a few times, completely speechless as he laid on his bed with what you could’ve sworn was an amused smile on his face. Thankfully, you didn’t have to think of what to say because he seemed to knock out as quickly as he said those words. 

His breathing shallowed and you let out a sigh of relief knowing you were safe from further embarrassment for today. 

“Why can’t I just tell you I like you?” you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he drifted off into a deep sleep. “You’re a stubborn client and you make my head hurt, but I can’t get your stupid face out of my head.” 

You glared down at him but, as expected from a sleeping person, the only response was a soft snore.

You sighed, pushing yourself off his bedside and wiping your palms against your upper thighs as you exited his room. “Get well soon, Bakugou.” 

Maybe one day you’d have the courage to tell him your feelings when he wasn’t sound asleep.

- - - - -

Three days had passed since you helped nurse Katsuki during the peak of his fever, and now he was back and better than ever.

Actually, that was a blatant lie he told you on the phone as he called in saying he was showing up to work. Most employees called hours earlier to say they were calling out. But not the famed Ground Zero-- Nope. He was certainly something special.

When he showed up, he was still coughing and sniffling here and there, but attitude-wise, it seemed like he was in tip-top shape with his usual obstinance and unyielding passion you had grown to admire.

“Glad you’re feeling better, Bakugou-san,” you greeted when you entered his office, a friendly but obviously work-appropriate smile on your face.

He raised a brow when he noticed, adjusting the cuffs on his work shirt as he glanced at you.

“What happened to just Bakugou, Y/L/N?” he asked nonchalantly in what was almost a playful tone.

You blinked rapidly. Did you get sick and now this was just some weirdly vivid fever dream? 

“Ah-- You had a fever when you said to drop the honorifics and so-- I figured it was just the illness talking.” 

“Well it wasn’t,” Katsuki said simply. “Why would I say something I don’t mean?”

Quirking your head to the side, you stared at him curiously. “So when you said I had a nice face and pretty hair and called me and angel…” you trailed off teasingly. “You meant it?”

A subtle blush formed on his face as he rolled his eyes, scoffing to disguise his embarrassment. You tried not to smirk. 

“Tch. I change my mind,” he grumbled, staring down at his unopened paperwork. “You’re right-- That was just fever talk.”

“Of course,” you agreed with an innocent smile that told Katsuki you didn’t believe him one bit.

Bakugou scowled. “What’s that smile for, baka? It’s not like you didn’t say embarrassing things yesterday either.”

“Oh, like what?”

“When you thought I was sleeping and told me you liked me.”

Your smile dropped and your face felt hot enough to burst into flames so big, it would’ve given Ground Zero himself a run for his money. When your gaze met his, you caught sight of the small smirk on his face and wondered how Bakugou was so quickly able to regain the upper hand. 

You told him you liked him when you were certain he was sleeping-- Not when you thought he was. He was snoring when you said it, for crying out loud! So either he was bluffing about hearing your confession, or he was only pretending to sleep the other day to hear what you had to say.

Narrowing your eyes, you huffed. You certainly wouldn’t put the latter option past him.

“You heard that?”

“Memorized every word.”

“Well,” you said haughtily, a sorry attempt to save face, “if what you said was just fever talk, then what I said was just Florence Nightingale talk.” 

He grunted. “That’s stupid.”

“So are you!” you cried, growing increasingly flustered by the minute.

“That’s not something you should say to your number one client.”

“And that’s not a tone you should use with your godsend of a manager!”

You felt the tension rising, but instead of him snapping back with a snarky comment that would send you to the grave, Bakugou let out a throaty chuckle that left you staring uncertainly at him.

“You’re right.”

You blinked. “I’m what?”

“You’re right.” He snorted at the confused expression on your face, but sobered as he said, “Thank you. For taking care of me the other day. I know it’s not part of your job description and you didn’t have to do that-- But you did. So, thanks.” 

Biting the inside of your lip you held back a shy smile.

“O-Oh. You’re welcome,” you said, a faint flush on your cheek as you tried to let go of the topic. “Anything for my favorite Pro Hero.” 

But apparently, Bakugou wasn’t ready to let go of said topic.

“Your favorite Pro Hero…whom you like?” he pressed, a mischievous glint never leaving his eyes.

A sinking feeling set in your stomach when you realized there was no use denying it any longer-- Bakugou would forever and always hold this against you and there was nothing you would do about it. 

“Maybe,” you forced out, puffing your chest up despite the shakiness of your voice. 

There was a beat of silence and you held your breath. The moment felt like it lasted for eternity and you were ready to plug your ears and run to the other room instead of waiting for his response. But you swallowed your pride and held your head up high… Only to hear a reply you were not at all expecting. 

“Good. Because I hear he might like you, too.”

Your eyes widened. “What? He-- I mean you… What?” 

“I like you.” Katsuki shrugged. 

You blinked. “I also like you.”

His red eyes gleamed as he grinned. “I know.” 

Bakugou took slow, purposeful steps around his desk until he stood mere inches in front of you. You gulped, eyes darting from the ceilings to the walls as you avoided his intense gaze.

“I like you and you like me. And we’re not dumb high schoolers in U.A. anymore, Y/L/N,” he said, an amused tone despite the serious look on his face. “So what are we going to do about it?”

“You tell me.” 

His eyebrow quirked at the challenge and you mentally high-fived yourself for your uncharacteristically nonchalant reply. “I think I’m going to do something I’ve wanted to do for a while now.”

Katsuki’s pupils were dilated and he looked at you in such a way that made exactly what he wanted to do quite clear.

You briefly looked around his office-- No one else was in the room, the door was shut and locked, and there was a handsome Pro Hero in front of you looking like he was seconds away from devouring his next meal.

“Then do it,” you said.

In the blink of an eye, Bakugou placed one hand on the small of your back to push your body closer to his while the other gently cupped your cheek, tilting your chin up as you met the teasing brush of his lower lip. A quiet gasp escaped your mouth at the sudden spark and you found yourself throwing your arms around the nape of his neck to steady yourself, fingers softly gripping the base of his hair as he deepened the kiss.

Katsuki kissed you until your head felt like it was spinning, then kissed you again once you had the chance to catch your breath. It was deep and passionate and all your senses were filled with traces of him.

“Well, we definitely did something,” you managed to say in between pants as his mouth found the sensitive spot behind your ear.

“Took us long enough,” Bakugou mumbled, lifting you up by the thighs as seating you on top of his desk. “Now, if we’re done talking, I think we have more things we need to catch up on.”

It was safe to say making out with Ground Zero in his penthouse office would forever be one of the best moments in your life.

a/n: whoop, the end! okay i know they don’t exactly act like manager and client but pfft i’ve been playing bts world and my managerial skills are great so i’m def qualified to write this ;p anyway hope you enjoyed this mess of a fic! i struggled so hard writing this request and i’m not that proud tbh but i hope it made you smile at least! :) xx sof

[dracoskullonmain]

The moment i realized my own mother was a failure of a human.

[Warning: the following is a rant.] so, i’m mostly screaming this to the void of tumblr, but i need to get this off of my chest. I realized over the past week that my mother, the woman who gave birth to me, is an utter failure as a mother, a daughter, and a human being. Background: I come from a toxic home. The main culprit is my biological father Charles. He’s everything that is toxic masculinity rolled into one trashbag and given a massive paycheck. Since i was born, i have lived in fear of him. He put holes in walls with fists and feet, smashed tables, chairs, lights, and couches with bare hands. He can and has hurled engine blocks across the garage, smashed a window with a digger, thrown a crowbar down the hall, and taken a belt to my ass so much that i couldn’t sleep for three nights.  And he used his strength in conjunction with his financial wealth to rule the house with an iron fist. It was his house, his rules, his internet, his this and that and blah blah blah. Everything was his even if you bought it with your own money. Once, he decided it was a suitable punishment for not paying attention to take my Nintendo SP, a gift from my recently deceased great grand mother, and throw it into the wall to smash it to pieces. 

i can recite a list of incidents that could fill up a 50 page book just from memory, which is sad since i have memory issues, and have forgotten even more. But on Sunday, i learned a new truth about my family: My mother is an accomplice to all his actions.  It never fully dawned on me until she called me, mid day, to inform me that a week earlier my elderly grandmother had gotten into an argument with my dad, and became so desperate to get out that she got in her electric scooter (she cant walk anymore) and try to drive away. if she hadn’t gotten stuck in a ditch just outside, she would be missing today because my father would have watched her leave without a care in the world. Unfortunately, in getting out of the ditch thanks to the local police and fire department, she tried to drive up the driveway unattended since my father wouldn’t come down to help her as he was too angry with her. She fell into another ditch, gashing her leg wide open. She has been in the hospital for a few days now, with a nasty infection in the muscle tissue of her leg and foot.  and my mother, the woman who raised me, who gave birth to me, who’s job it was to protect me from the moment i came into this world, had the fucking audacity to try to paint it as my grandmother’s fault. Why? because my grandma yelled at my grandpa.  See, he has a rapid form of Dementia, which at this point has left him a husk of his former self. for the longest time he was the one who took care of grandma. It came on quickly, and robbed him. Now he cannot function, and Grandma needs someone besides my asshole of a father to do things for her cause she’s got a decaying spine and severe arthritis. So without a family beyond me and a cousin to confide in, and no support network to speak of, she lashes out sometimes. she needs help. What’s he do? Decides to yell at her for yelling at grandpa. And he gets mean. He’ll attack any vulnerability he can find to win. He’s savage, and he’s attacking an old woman verbally. He also locked her out of the house when she left! So ya. She’s sitting there, telling me it’s grandma’s fault she’s practically dead, with a horrible infection that could go Sepsis at any time and weak kidneys that cant fight that off.  I know my grandma. i cared for her on my own for a year. i listened to the bullshit everyone had about her. And she tries to claim she’s doing her best. And that’s when it hit me. She’s not going after my dad for yelling at my grandma and driving her out of the house... She’s going after my grandma. She chose her fucking deadbeat, abusive, manipulative, volatile husband over her own fucking mother, who she PROMISED to care for.  And she thinks, in some twisted way, that i will side with her on it. She didn’t even have the fucking guts to tell me WHEN IT HAPPENED.  She’s allowed my dad to abuse my grandma verbally... And she allowed him to abuse me. my brother. my sister. Thats why we all left when we had the chance. My sister got knocked up by a guy she barely knew at 16 and took the chance to bail on my mom and dad, because she knew mom couldn’t protect her. Mom’s promises are empty hollow lies because she doesn’t have the guts to stand up to my dad. My brother tried to leave at 24, planning for years until he had enough friends in on a plan to move out together. the only reason he moved back in was because his dead beat girlfriend (now ex-wife because she decided after literally 11 months of marriage that she didn’t love him!) was bleeding cash all over the place and left him poor.  And me? When my friend i didn’t very well like invited me to move in with him in new york, i fucking took it. It was only because the other two roommates bailed on us and i wasn’t able to cover their fucking debts after i lost my job due to illness that i moved back to my parents. At which point when the offer to care for my grandma came up, i fucking threw myself at the chance.  It was because we all knew that house was unsafe so long as Charles lives in it, and we all knew deep down my mom’s promises that he will change and her constant “he’s made such improvements” were the ramblings of an abuse victim who’s so delusional that she honestly believes it’s better to live in a house where getting beaten, threatened, yelled at, and having personal belongings at constant risk of being destroyed then to live poor but safe.  Six years ago i ran away from home. I ended up trapped at a local library, hiding from a storm because i couldn’t take my father’s abuse anymore. She came to me there, and begged me to return home. She promised me that if he ever shouted or threatened or hurt me again, she’d divorce him on the spot. She lied to me.  I endured five years of additional abuse on-top of my already long list. i could make entire classes of childcare or social communications students turn white with just a few stories of what he did to me. My therapist asked me why i never called child protective services on him as a kid, and it occurred to me because i was taught by media and other families at the time that being abused like that was fine.  And now he’s abusing my grandma. He’s threatening her life. And my mom just sits there and lets him. She does nothing but justify in her own twisted mind that incurring his wrath is somehow our own fault for not keeping out of his way, as if it was possible to know what was in and out of his fucking way. And as i write this, i realize the real reason i’m upset with her. She is an abuse victim like the rest of us, and deserves some understanding... But that ends when you let others get abused by them. She knows he’s cruel. she knows he’s unhinged. she knows he’s volatile and savage. And she WILLINGLY brought my grandmother into that home, putting her in danger after lying to her about the house.  And for that, i cant forgive her. I will never forgive her. She let him hurt everyone, and just sat there. She couldn’t even run away. Right now, he’s jobless because of covid19. she has a job with the local police as dispatch. She has the power in their relationship for once. And she lets him have control.

I’m tired and full of hatred. How can a mother let this happen to her family? Why? i will never respect her again. I will never listen to her again. And when she grows old and needs help like my grandma does, i will not sully my life to accommodate her when she couldn’t be bothered to protect her kids or parents from him. ... how sad is this? At least for now, i feel a bit better. If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading. I’m gonna go play some games and not spiral anymore. goodnight everyone!

[resmarted]

in the summer of 2015 i found you and fell in love or in lust or in lunacy, i mean call it what you want, i fell deep. tonight we are in another timeline though, specifically 2000 and i’m a regular girl with the same parents but they never left jersey. i was gonna be a dude but i know you’re gonna be feelin some type of way if i do, or i Feel like you are. my sister irl has a jersey accent when she gets mad or starts to yell, and she swears it’s yatty but i’m like you wish, you drank the water of tom’s river and heard nothing but those accents for the first three years of your life. that’s your secret identity, like she would make a killer jersey housewife if anyone famous from jersey wants to claim her and put her on tv. i’m not sure where i was going other than to say in real life my parents moved to arizona and then new orleans during the process of the pregnancy with me, which i’m sure either they drove through roswell and all these areas that had chemical explosions and caused a bunch of deformed people ala the hills have eyes. in this realm that never happened, they never moved and i grew up in jersey too, and we go to the same school, obvi. you have long hair and a middle part, and i sit behind you in science class and watch you draw in your notebook, write poetry in the margins, and sometimes you leave it out for me to peer closer because you know i’m looking. you’ve always known. we go back and forth like this for a long time, and i’ll do geeky stuff like play my walkman a little too loud so you can hear my super cool mixtape. people start burning cds around this point in time, but i could never commit to a discman, they were too bulky and even in an alternate dimension i just can’t see myself ever owning one. so i have loud headphones and this strange promenade between us lasts about three semesters until you ask if you can borrow my tape player before lunch. it’s right before summer break and it’s the only thing that keeps me from feeling violent in this world, but i like you so much and i’m so relieved for you to have something of mine just so i can have an excuse to attach myself back to you. when you return it the next day you leave a mixtape of your own in there on purpose and disappear onto the bus before i can be like hey you left something! you expose me to sleater-kinney and bikini kill and other bands i never actually listen to irl but all my friends do so it just Feels like i do also, the point is. i listen to your stupid mixtape over and over and over again. on the bus. in the car. in the park. mostly just in my bed, though. i want to learn who you are through these songs, like somehow that will guide me closer to your soul, when really your number is in the directory i could just call you. so i do. i tell you i like your tape and we talk on the phone for hours that night, and your mom says it’s okay for me to sleep over and my mom is a delinquent who doesn’t even know whether or not i’m in the house, so this is excellent all around. i start sleeping over regularly and we like the same things, the same magazines, the same artists. michél gondry made a new stop animation lego piece and we buy his portfolio dvd for each other during graduation, because duh, we think just alike. so we exchange one of them for chris cunningham’s collection and spend the summer on your mom’s couch in the ac obsessively watching aphex twin and bjork videos, and then something really fucked up happens. college starts and within the first week you have a new boyfriend and a whole new life. i’m working at a retail job i’ve hated since sophomore year, “taking a year off” and “working on my art” but really i’m just spending my days alone without you, not necessarily seething about it, but mostly filling the void with fiction and fantasy and getting high in my room alone a lot. i don’t know how to handle sharing you, so i’m never nice to him and it causes tension between all of us, and if i could just be my own person this wouldn’t be such a big deal but alas, here we are. when you break up, which happens on and off, i’m a little too happy and am ready for you to bitch away about how bad he sucks because i know, right! we laugh drunkenly, teenagers confused and ready to know everything just so we can say we have experienced xyz, and at some point it just happens. i just hold your waist closer and closer and start kissing you. and we make out for hours okay, it’s not like i’m a complete predator like we are the same age and i’m wearing sweatpants in this scenario, chill out. you let me cradle you to sleep that night and from there we turn into magic and mayhem. you tell me you don’t like some of my friends and i tell you i’m so sick of how you talk to me like a dog all the time, and we yell like neighborhood trashbags, getting drunker and louder. oh, this is when we are a little older, by the way. we have managed one of those seaside houses where a zillion kids live in it, basically the shore house and i mean, we are in jersey right now in this specific realm, so why not? we have dramatic talks and cry about how much we love each other at night, and we waste so much time letting our emotions wash out of our bodies like total dorks. we love each other, though. we are basically a lesbian version of sam and ron. i always talk about getting out of jersey one day and you always say you don’t want to, you like it here close to the family. i will go wherever you go, it doesn’t matter to me. i follow you like an obedient puppy and am always begging you to forgive me for the sins that most of the time i am not even aware i’ve committed, and you still let me cradle you at night even when you’re pissed and want to burn all my things in a roaring blaze just to let me know your particular mood with me. you still let me cradle you at night and you don’t pull away, even when my arm has fallen dead over your body in that way that you hate and i’m snoring into your neck, unable to move back into a better position. and i am so thankful that you still take me by your side at night no matter what, because i’m bound to screw up a ton more times and am going to need a lot of nights like this. your body is my haven of redemption and i need it constantly, i need you constantly.

[fuck-customers]

This one's a doozy

I started working for the company in mid-late 2016. They hire at above minimum wage, which I thought was killer for someone with little experience and they seemed to present a very accepting, open, environment. But I have not been happy or healthy since I started working there. At my first location, I was cross-trained and was promised to be put in the system as a designated hitter. That didn’t happen till three months in, because they were “busy and never got around to it.” My asmt took a liking to me, we became friends and he was the only one I could talk to about my life and frustrations with the company. One day he confessed his love for me, and me, a 19 year old female, was so afraid to tell anyone because he did things already that might be seen as special treatment but he would be the only one to stick up for me when I needed to call out. He would corner me in the stockroom and grab my hips, try to kiss me, and I would always be able to get away but the camera didn’t work in the back so it was my word against his. Despite being promoted, I would have no pharmacy training besides ppls and would be thrown in headfirst whenever an ic3 happened. Often I tried to ask questions, only to be blatantly ignored and left on my own with irate customers. I was desperate to leave, I didn’t want to report my asmt because he had two small children and confided he was barely making it by as it was. So I moved to a different city and transferred. This one was better, I was trained better in the pharmacy, I learned way more than my old store (I didn’t realize how little they trained me until I switched!) But the management tended to frustrate me. my ASM would talk down to us a lot, shift leads would get away with doing no work, but this store has the least complaints. I learned a lot and made friends, and was told that I would go far in the company and would be shift lead had I been old enough. The biggest complaint for this store was the pharmacy tech classes. I had been trying to sign up for them since I had gotten there in late December. Classes, I was told, were in March. January, I asked about it. February, I asked about it. No answer back, just an apathetic “we’ll get around to signing you up.” I was told where to go and and when it was THE DAY BEFORE the first class. I had no car, no one to call to help me as I was in a new city, and no money for uber. I was supposed to have textbooks and supplies for this class. They only ordered them that day. Luckily, my coworker was also taking the class and let me borrow his and that I could ride with him in the morning. I stayed up all night reading the chapters and answering the questions on each page. I didn’t sleep, when he picked me up in the morning we tried to quiz each other but I hadn’t soaked in enough information. Every week he would let me borrow the book the night before, always saying he wasn’t finished with the assignments but he knew I at least needed to know a little bit of what we were talking about. I stayed up all night again. The third week, my book came in the day before. I fell asleep hunched over it and accidentally missed the class. I was told there was a make up class, but wasn’t given any information despite asking my pharmacist every single day until–you’ll never guess– THE DAY BEFORE THE CLASS. TWO HOURS AWAY. I had to drop the course, and was told there was another class in July I could start then. Due to an abusive roommate situation, I moved and transferred again. This store has the brunt of it all. As soon as I started my first day, I knew I made a mistake. Walking into the stockroom, boxes leaned ominously and dangerously stacked all around. No carts were clear, the floor was full of trash, and there were mouse droppings everywhere. Each and every bay was absolutely full, unorganized, and not following OSA guidelines. (Single items in top stock, open boxes, things from other bays thrown hastily on top) The photo department looked like a landfill. No organization. Again, trash and open boxes everywhere, all leaned on each other/thrown on top, every cabinet and drawer randomly and hastily filled with supplies. Impossible to find anything. I made a comment to the General Manager, “Oh, it’s making my ocd have ocd”. He looked at me and said good, you’ll be the one to clean it. Just for pointing it out? Every concern I brought up to him, he blamed on the old manager, saying he’d just taken the store over. I learned recently he’s had the position there for about a year. On my first tag night, I was hanging tags in the freezer when I noticed an ice cream container was busted in the bottom. I took it out for 1506, and looked at the bottom. It was from January. (It was June at the time). I decided to look at some of the other bigger ice creams. I pulled outdates of about 15-25 cartons, the oldest dates I found from 2015. Holy shit. I brought it to the attention of one of my managers. She told me to stop distracting myself and do tags instead. What, to sell all your expired items faster? I put it on myself to check outdates for the entire grocery department since that night. Over the course of two weeks, I have found items from 2014. I have filled about 10 big trashbags stuffed to the brim with disgustingly outdated food. Also found medicines and birth control tests from 2014-16. Unacceptable. All my managers demeanors changed towards me after that. I was given more of a workload it seems then everyone else. Instead of pushing for daily and weekly outdates, anytime I worked he put that on my list. I was the only one who could do it, it seemed. Everyone’s excuse was the “store was just too busy”. With twice the staff of my old store with the same amount of duties, you couldn’t find any time to check the yogurt in the cooler every day? Besides that, I was assigned to organize truck by myself in the stockroom, by myself. I cut my face due to a heavy tote stacked wrong slipping. I was told by coworkers that’s weird, they usually have two-three people sorting truck, and usually the stronger guys do it. (I have a smaller frame and I’m not super strong, you can tell from looking at me.) The other night, I was told I had to clean and organize the entire photo department. Me, the new girl. Because I said something about it. I was about to have a panic attack because of my workload, and because I felt like I was being retaliated against. Luckily an hour and a half into moving heavy boxes around and trying to make sense of where things could go, I was told to cover the front. I thought my coworker just needed his break, but an hour later I was told there were two call outs and I’d be the only one closing with my manager when there’s usually three people closing. Now let me say this about my GM. Whenever I hear him get called to the front, he would take his sweet time getting out there. I’d see him glance up to the intercom, then continue a conversation with a coworker, just shooting the breeze. Same with calls for vendors or anything else. It would be 5 minutes before he’d even start to walk where he was needed. He waited even longer that night for me. I had to do the work of two people, three if you count the work he failed to complete. I had to do price checks by myself, would wait with an irate customer for a return without receipt for up to ten minutes before he came strolling to the front talking about “I heard you the first time”. Every single remark, every thing he has to say to me, any instruction I get from him is laced with condescension and rudeness. I have no idea what I had done at first, and only when I got overwhelmed with the hostility and answered sharply would he have his calm cool demeanor and lecture me that he’s only trying to teach me to do my job better. And when I first got there, two weeks of pushing to be signed up for my PCTB training, I was told because this store wouldn’t get credit for doing it outside their region, I’d have to wait until December- January. That was a huge disappointment for me. Today I got sick at work and threw up twice. He wouldn’t let me go home. He talked down to me that people fake sick all the time, I had to look at it from a business point of view, that he couldn’t let anyone go home just because they wanted to. I almost quit on the spot. I was about to throw up on his shoes just to make a point. I am so done with this company. It has disappointed me way too many times for me to keep killing myself for them. I’ve been having panic attacks every other shift and the work environment is not worth it for a little above minimum wage. Fuck you, Greenwalls, i’m out.

[the-voice-of-hell]

Rent is Theft, part 13

Unlucky number 13!  This is as far as I’ve gotten the story (aside from a little outlining and writing ahead), so it may be a while before more updates come in.

Read from the beginning here, read the previous chapter here.

Note:  My MC is a Filipina trans woman and I am not.  If you have notes on that or anything else, hit me up.

                                                        ***

     I needed to be alone, but it wasn’t in the cards.  When the elevator door opened on my floor, a single eyeball rolled in from the hall.  I freaked out badly, jamming the door open with both arms, scooting the thing toward the crack between elevator and floor.

     The big metal box tensed.  It wanted to close the doors, was pushing back.  I hopped and came down on the thing with more force, popping it into the crack, the elevator shaft, and who knows where?  I shuddered at the disgusting experience, crashed against the elevator door, let it shove me until I slipped out into the hall and fell down.

     Leimomi’s voice.  “Are you OK?”

     “Nope.  I’m not.  Don’t worry about it.”  I avoided her eyes, but looked all over the carpet before I stood up - looking for more of those eyes.  Nothing in sight except Momi feet, I clambered to my feet.

     “Are you sure?”  She wasn’t moving.

     “I need to do this thing.”  Did I?  I didn’t want to.  “Just...”  I made it clear I needed to get into my place and she got out of the way.  I opened and closed the door in a hurry, headed toward the living room.

     That’s when I heard, “Ow! Oh!” from out in the hallway.

     I dragged myself back to the door in a hurry and opened it.  She practically stumbled into me.  “What the hell, Momi?”

     “My hair was caught in the door.”  She looked too sad.

     I couldn’t take it, not anything.  “Just step back.  Further.”  I closed the door on her and went to the living room.

     I connected my phone to the wifi and looked it up. Courtney Love racist.  The ugly words came back.  Stereotypes.  Shitting on black people to their faces.  Trying to get her audience to chant the N word like a fucking Klan rally.  “GOD!,” I said, “Why do you have to be such a creepy fucking BITCH?”  Ugly words of my own.  She made me do it, I thought, but then, that’s what lots of misogynists say, isn’t it?

     Fuck absolutely everything.  I felt like my own skin had betrayed me.  I should never have named myself after someone.  What a fool.  I grabbed my hair, grabbed my back, thrashed around on the couch.  The world was pure evil and I wanted to scratch myself, pull myself, drag myself out of it.

     I stopped my thrashing and curled there, face down, balled fists pushing into my eye sockets.  I could see stars wriggling vermiform in the darkness.  You creepy old lady.  And who am I?  A creepy old lady.  Was there some nasty prejudice I was sitting on, waiting to come out?  What was I really like when drunk?  What was anybody capable of?  What are courtneys specifically capable of, since that’s what I was?  A self-made courtney.  The thing I chose to be.

     I finally got the will to stand up, remembering I still had a few posters left among the debris, posters that needed defacing.  I kicked the couch over and punched myself in the forehead three times before marching to the bedroom.

     In the bedroom I looked around.  First one.  Back wall.  Posed to look like a big victim.  Maybe she was.  Fuck her anyways.  I ripped it down and tore it up in my hands.  I accidentally scratched myself up with fingernails and rings, but I didn’t care.

     Another one.  Fancy lady, got some work done.  Ain’t you a queen?  I ripped the poster down.  Half of it clung to the wall and I snatched that two, then ripped it up.  I felt stings where the scratches on my hands were being rubbed the wrong way.  Didn’t care.

     One left.  One surviving courtney, up on the ceiling.  I glared at her.  “How could you?!  What is wrong with you?”  I jumped, trying to catch the edge of it with my fingers, rip it down without need for a step stool.  No contact.  I tried again.  I am not going through the effort of getting a ladder for this bullshit.  I nicked the edge, but she was up there safe, smug.

     Was that look smug?  Or vacant?  What was behind those eyes?  Anything at all?  For years she’d been acting like some kind of mindless, twisted animal.  I avoided the rumors but they kept coming at me, adding up.  She was a terrible person.

     I gave up, and kicked over my sleeping couch in frustration.  I kicked it again and again.

     At last I went back into the living room.  The little whistle was there to greet me, blowing through my ghost.  I flopped on the hard floor and crawled under the upended couch.  It’s a home for turtles.  That’s what was next for me.  Turtledom.

     There was a knock at the door.  Go away.  I’m just a corpse.  It persisted, in nervous little passes.

     At last I heaved myself up to feet, shoved the couch off of me.  It clattered loudly, landing upright and gouging a couple of thick chunks out of the wall.  I answered the door.

     It was Momi.  “Courtney, what’s going on?  I know you said… I know you don’t wanna say, but...”

     I held up a hand to quiet her.  “I still don’t.  Bad time.  I should be--”

     “Why are you bleeding?”

     I looked at my hand.  The scratches were worse than I’d thought.  The skin was ragged around them, blood thick and red all over them, brighter where it had smeared over the rest of my hand.

     Then I looked past the hand at the Hawaiian lady.  She was looking at me in shock and sadness, tears welling in her eyes.  I put my hands behind my back in shame.  “It was just a silly accident, hon.  I’ll be fine, I’ll be OK, don’t worry.”

     “Really?”  Her voice cracked and she fanned herself.  What an odd, cute gesture.  She was so miserable though, it was getting to me.

     I pushed the door farther shut with my shoulders, just my head poking out.  The apartment was my turtle shell.  “Really.  Hon, this thing that’s got me just now?  It’ll pass.  Don’t worry about it.”  Sometimes I try to regulate my expression.  This time I knew I didn’t have to.  I could feel my face melting into sad, kind warmth.

     It seemed to work.  She laughed at her emotional display nervously and stepped back, wiping her face.  “Ah, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I’m weird.”

     It’s time.  I knew it was.  It felt weird doing this as a floating severed head, but there couldn’t be a better time.  “You aren’t weird.  Listen, there is something you can help me with.”

     “You need help with your hands?”

     “No.”  I looked both ways.  Hall empty.  “I need you in my life.  I sorted out my shit.  I haven’t touched that dude and I never will again.  I don’t know what I was thinking, I just gotta take it back, anything I did.  If I can.  If you will.  I think I love you, Momi.”

     She straightened up, a little taller than me, and looked like someone had punched her in the chest.  Breathless.  Her lips did a mad little dance.  Her eyes looked like they were about to cry, then didn’t.

     “I don’t think I love you.  I do love you.”  My head was threatening to turn upside down like something from the exorcist as it strained to look pleading without the benefit of any other body language.  “It’s fine if you don’t.  I’ll try to--”

     She folded her arms angrily and looked down at me.  “I love you too, but this is too much.  I can’t do stuff right now.”  She looked away.

     “Wait.  Right now?  Like, we can do stuff some other time?  Like, a week?  A month?  A year?”

     “Mmm… A week.  Maybe.  Let’s see how we feel in a week, OK?”  She could barely bring herself to look at me, then she left me hanging there, and disappeared into her apartment.

     I retreated into my turtle house and resisted the urge to do a crazy dance.  I staggered out to the living room again and flopped in a chair.  “What did I do to myself?”  I couldn’t resist crazy dance time anymore.

     I twisted out of the chair and flopped onto the floor, rolling one way and then the other, squealing like a child.  I stopped, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, and slammed my head on the floor.  Stars again.  I had nearly knocked myself out.

     I was finally still, relaxing after my ridiculous scene.  My hands stung.  My head hurt kind of badly.  That’s no way to give yourself a concussion.  I went to take a bath.  Hopefully, no passing out and drowning would happen.  I had something to look forward to in a week.

                                                        ***

     There was definitely a welt across the back of my head.  I could feel it out with my fingers.  Maybe an inch below the crown, a smooth scar almost like a burn, sensitive like a bruise.  It was remarkably straight - a horizontal line like a cut.  At least the oddness of it held at bay any worries I had about getting a bald spot.

     The next day I set to work in my apartment, getting the scraps off the walls, picking up the collapsed things on floors.  I took down ceiling Courtney with more dignity than I could muster the previous day.  Who was to say how I’d feel about the racist asshole in a week? ��She was rolled and tucked away.

     But as the maneuvers went on, I started to accrue a list of missing requisites.  I didn’t have enough household cleaners, I needed something to fill the gouges on the wall.  I wanted more allergy meds to wax into my living room, see if I could stop the whistle once and for all.

     So at about two in the afternoon, I showered up and dressed summery for an outdoor jaunt.  I had a dress and a large summer hat with a floppy brim.  Contact lenses let me rock giant black sunglasses that would shine in the sun.  Violet red lipstick.  Smack my lips.  Time to go.

     Out in the hall, Methadone Mike was using a bristle broom to grind powdered allergy medicine into the carpet.  He looked green.  I took off the shades and hung them in the front of my dress.  He still looked olive green.  Jaundice pairing weirdly with his sun-abused skin?  Bad lighting?  I still smiled at the green man and went about my way.

     At the elevator I pushed the call button.  It instantly opened up.  Sharon.

     “Sharon!  Hiii, Maria, remember me?”  I walked in like a queen, arms in the air.

     She was looking past me to Methadone Mike.  “Mm, yeah, what’s that?  We didn’t have a cleaner up he--”

     “He just wanted to clean up after himself, spilled a trashbag.  G’byee!” She was trying to hold the door but I hedged her out by waving at Mike like a theater kid.  The door sealed us in, and we went up.

     “Maria, what’s going on?  You seem jumpy today.”  She looked suspicious for sure.

     I just couldn’t care.  No way you get the juice to figure this out, lady.  And if you did?  I smiled maniacally.  “Maybe it’s just the weather.  A chance to wear this dress?  I’m pumped up and I don’t even know why.”

     Her mouth shrank to a pin prick, her eyelids lowered, her eyebrows tried to jump up into her hairline.  She opened her mouth to say something, and the elevator reached her floor.

     “See ya ’round, Sharon!”

     I was rid of her, I had a week until Momi time, and I was bouncing.  Then a random pain in the back of my head snapped me to reality.  I realized there’d been a buzzing sensation in my head that had just gone mute, that there was a strange feeling at the back of my head which ended with that twinge.

     What was it?  I touched the back of my head.  Pain like a bruise.  Then the elevator popped open on twelve.  The programming on those things left something to be desired.  I looked around to see if Methadone Mike was still around, but he wasn’t.  The broom was laying in the hall and his apartment door was open.  I almost went to investigate, but thought better of it.  I had my own life to lead and that guy had plenty of experience looking out for himself.

     I wore high heel sandals and it was pretty much impossible to walk sensibly in those things.  It was strut or gangle, nothing in between.  I was strutting on the way to the store.  It was a large urban drug store, so it tried to be everything to everyone, have whatever one might need.  But it didn’t have my spackle, so I had to try a paint store.  I found one within longish walking distance on my phone, but that walk quickly turned into a gangle.

     The gangle took me back close to the apartment, but just far enough away that I had to make a decision of it.  Divert for sensible shoes, or keep walking straight.  I made the wrong decision, and the gangle grew painful.

     There it was again - a sensation on the back of my head.  I paid attention to it this time.  But in doing so, was I imagining things, or noticing things?  Was that shifting sensation something legitimately happening in the muscles or other tissues?  Or was it my imagination  I felt like the back of my head had been replaced with a plastic puzzle ball, and it was threatening to fall apart.

     There was a humming sound.  I couldn’t tell whether it was just in my head.  Sometimes it felt like I was making it happen, compulsively humming just loud enough that it couldn’t quite be heard above traffic - just felt.  Why couldn’t I stop it?  Why did it usually feel like I was even doing anything?

     Stepping through the door the omnipresent traffic noise burst like ears popping, and I could - for just a moment - hear the hum clear as a bell.  Then it was gone.  I looked around nervously until someone came in behind, forcing me out of the way.

     I timidly went about my shopping and realized I was already sad.  I had really good reason to feel happy, but it wasn’t enough.  Something was wrong with the world.  It was right on top of me.  I went to the counter to ring up my goods, and the puzzle ball shifted.  The humming began, quietly but clearly.

     “Here.”  I put my spackle and a cheap palette knife on the counter.  I smiled weakly.

     The clerk took little notice and rang it up.  “Eight dollars and eighty-six cents after tax.”

     “My card.”

     “Just swipe it on the...”

     The damned hum.

     “Thank you,” I said as I entered my PIN.

     “Thank you,” he said.

     The gangle home was taking me down restaurant row.  The tech giant I used to work for basically created a neighborhood, and the restaurants to serve it lined the main street, along with a few odd banks and such.  I’d been on this street before, looking for lunch, watching the money fly out of my account every day at the expensive places, knowing I could save a lot of money by packing lunch, never ever getting up the will to make that happen.

     It was a miserable time.  Back when I could imagine I belonged there, I came to recognize lots of random people on the street.  But more buildings had opened since then, more people had transferred or been laid off or got burned out, and the turnover had led to a completely unfamiliar street scene.

     Who were these people?  Some had a vague optimism - the new lights of the tech industry.  Most were just hustling to get from point A to point B to appease the capital fascist order of the place.  Minimize your human needs to maximize your hustle.  Install an office app on your smartphone so you can work on spreadsheets while you take shits.

     “Hey!”  I didn’t recognize them, but somebody recognized me.  I turned to face them, and the hum grew again.

     It was Grime.  He had some kind of mess on his hands, maybe sloppy eating, but he quickly tucked those things into his pockets.  Cargo shorts, yuck.  “What brings you back, Court?  Think it’s time to go legit again?”  He looked hopeful.  Going legit in a hurry was the only way the apartment situation didn’t end in shackles.

     “No, I can’t.  Just shopping.”

     He noticed my mood.  “Hey, don’t think anything of it.  There’s lots of shit you can do, or nothing at all.  You need something to eat?  You look weak.”

     “Mm, yeah, OK, but remember where we’re at.”

     “I’m the whore and you’re done with that, roger.  Get a bite in you, baby.”

     “Alright.”

     I followed him back inside.  He’d seen me passing a restaurant and come out of it - hence the surprise attack.  As he sat at the table, I saw his hands again.  The splotches were discoloration on the skin, like port-wine stain.  I didn’t know much about that condition except it usually happened at birth.  Could it develop in an adult?

     He noticed my look, waggled his fingers, and shrugged.  “Whatever.  It doesn’t hurt.”

     “That’s good to hear.  Man… I hit my head yesterday and it feels hella fucked up now.”

     “Aww, that’s terrible.  How about symptoms?  Dizziness?  Disorientation?”

     “Not those.  Just like… a buzzing.  Pain.  Weird sensations.  It’s bruised, for sure.”

     “That sucks a lot.”

     A waiter came and he had them bring a bacon and egg ciabatta sandwich and tall rum and coke for me.  He remembered what I liked from a lunch long past.

     “Thanks, Graeme.”

     “Think nothing of it, Courtney.  So talk to me.  Anything else bothering you?  Just a hard walk on those shoes?”

     “You don’t miss a thing, do you?  It’s almost creepy.”

     “Hey.  Guys like me get that word sometimes whether we deserve it or not.  Take it easy on me.  It’s cordial, associate.”

     “Cordial it is, sorry buddy.  Hooo, yeah, it’s a weird one.  I have a good reason to be in a damn good mood, but it just isn’t taking.  Maybe the head thing is the problem, maybe the inconvenience of the walk.  But I’m almost… scared for no reason?”

     “They say head injuries can cause symptoms of depression.  I wish we could figure out how to get that looked at.  Until then, maybe try not to exercise so much.  Let somebody take care of you, OK?”

     “Mm, I’d like that.”

     Maybe the feeling had receded some, because I started to feel passably well for a minute.  The drink came and I said thank you without thinking, hardly moved my lips.  My voice was uncharacteristically clear and feminine, and I half wondered if I’d even said it, or just imagined it.  Better get that drink in you quick, girl.

     “Wanna talk about anything else for a bit?  Work’s a bitch.”

     “No.  I mean yes, let’s talk about something, but not work.”

     “OK, who’s got you feeling like you should be in a good mood, Courtney?”

     “Nope.”

     “Oh, alright, sorry.”  He rolled his eyes around behind those raccoon-like glasses, looking for a subject.  “I got it.  Cordial associates on the Illegal Building Association.  Want the low down on the building?”

     I was very much not interested, but it could work to pass the time.  “Why not?  Hit me.”

     “OK, where to begin?  Sharon’s gone.”

     “Bullshit, I just saw her.”

     “She told me she’s leaving.  I guess she isn’t out the door yet?”

     “Let’s just hope she doesn’t get any more snoopy at the last minute.”

     “Let’s.  She seemed pretty sharp, so tentatively, I think her leaving is good news.”

     “Good news.”

     “OK, that wasn’t very interesting.  Oh, we might have a problem down the road.  You know how all the buildings in Seattle just started getting bedbugs again a few years ago?  Neighbor on thirteen says she feels itchy all the time.  She blames allergies, thinks there’s a problem with the building’s AC, but she knows bedbugs are a possibility.”

     “Did you say thirteen?”

     “Yeah, so if it’s bedbugs, they don’t have far to go.”

     “Yeah, but that isn’t what gets me.  I didn’t know we had any upstairs neighbors.  A few floors up, maybe.  But I thought for sure thirteen was empty.”

     “Maybe you were wrong, maybe she moved in more recently than all that.  Her name is Laura.  Think you’ve seen her?  Maybe walking the Pomeranian?”

     “Thankfully, no.  I have not.”

     I couldn’t bring myself to eat the thick bread at the moment, and kinda sucked the egg out of the sandwich absentmindedly.  Fortunately, Grime didn’t make any off color jokes about it.

     He said, “That’s cool, but she’s one to watch out for.  She doesn’t work at all, so she’s around a lot.”

     “What does she look like?”

     “Like money and talcum powder had a baby that grew up to be a mummy.”

     “Marvy.”

                                                        ***

     Read next chapter here.