#I'm about to go dumpster diving to get my fucking boxes back

[chronomally]

Made matcha miso chocolate chip cookies to make up for previous cookie disappointments 👍

I was so excited to make these cookies and I don't. like them

[green-butterfly-writes]

Little Thief

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

this is from Jason's perspective, but the next part will be a more standard 'x reader' fic. the reader is a fox, in case that isn't clear. there will be more parts soon, I promise. the yandere is a bit slow burn-y with this story.

I'm Dyslexic, and don't have a beta, so spelling mistakes are likely.

“What do you mean something happened? We’ve got all the guys pinned down over here!”

“Red hood, who took it?”

“That— it’s fine don’t worry about it, I’ll get it back”

“Red-“ *click*

Red Hood disconnected his com, before creeping closer to the small fuzz ball.

“Nowhere to run you little thief. Just give it back,” he bit out, while reaching for the flash drive in the foxes’ mouth. The fox was not happy, being trapped in an alley with a large man blocking the only exit, but it wasn’t as unhappy as one would expect, looking more annoyed than scared. 

Red Hood continued his slow approach until the flash drive was finally in arm’s reach, his hand shooting out to grab it, only for the little fox to dodge and dive right under a large green dumpster. It emerged a moment later— without the flash drive.

“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!! I NEED THAT YOU LITTLE SHIT!!” Red Hood shouted, already realizing he’d need to move the whole dumpster to get the drive back. The fox sat in front of the dumpster, staring him down with a blank expression. It brought one of its front paws up to point at the metallic back door stapled into a wall of the alley. Red hood paused. That door led to the back entrance of a restaurant, he recalled to himself, did it want food? The fox sighed with such an attitude its full body sagged a bit, before pointing to the dumpster, and back to the door.

“A trade then…” Red Hood translated hesitantly, and the little red fox perked up with excitement, “I’ll get you some food and you’ll give me back my flash drive?” The fox nodded enthusiastically. 

Red Hood sighed, before walking around the building and into the generic burger chain before him. He was greeted with abused plastic tables, torn red booth seats, a singular front end worker who looked like he lost his will to live years ago, and a strong stench of weed radiating from the kitchen area.

“Welcome valued customer, how may I serve you,” the worker droned out. Red Hood looked up at the menu plastered on the wall above the dead eyed boy at the register. ‘What do foxes even eat? They eat chicken, right? There are a few chicken options… the chicken sandwich has vegetables on it… vegetables are good, right?’ Ya, he’s going with that. “Can I get a regular chicken sandwich and cheeseburger with fries?”

Once he had the food, he returned to the dumpster where the little fox sat expectantly with the black flash drive hanging from its mouth. Red hood approached, sandwich in hand, and this time the fox didn’t run. He placed the sandwich at the fox’s paws, and held out his hand, where the fox delicately placed the drive, before trotting away with its food.

*click* “I got it back”

The coms immediately flooded with admonishments; for turning off his com, for not telling them what happened, for disappearing for ten minutes without explanation, among other things. He listened without comment, much more focused on his surprisingly delicious burger.

A week later he found a familiar looking fox dumpster diving along his patrol route, and decided to give it some fries during his break.

At a certain point sharing his mid-patrol meal with the little fox had become a daily occurrence for the Red Hood. He found its presence soothing, the way it chirped in excitement adorable, and the few times it would let him run his gloved hand down its back were the highlight of his week. 

The fox was currently resting near him on the roof, devouring a box of chicken nuggets, while he reread some case files on his phone. The penguin was up to something — one of the goons that was apprehended last week had slipped up and mentioned a ‘secret shipment’, and then promptly died in his cell before he could be questioned. 

There was other suspicious activity too; he had been spotted with Twoface several times over the past week and a half, his underlings were more on edge than usual, and he had been quieter lately. He was planning something. Something big. But nobody could figure out what. There just wasn’t enough evidence.

Exasperated, Red Hood turned to the joyous little fox beside him.

“You know anything about what the penguins planin’, little fox?” He chuckled into the thought, not really expecting an answer of any sort. If he didn’t know, how could his little friend? 

However, and much to his surprise, the little fox leapt from its spot, and pranced over to the opposite corner of the roof, before looking over its shoulder. Getting the message, Red Hood grabbed all the trash from their meal and followed. The fox led them from rooftop to rooftop, down back alleys, and between cars, before finally reaching an office building. It was a newer construction (relatively speaking) and bustling regardless of the time of day. It housed several different businesses, ranging wildly in specialty. “You're sure it’s here?” The fox nodded, “you know which one?” The fox shook its head, “well thanks for the lead, little guy,” the fox smiled as Red Hood ruffled the fur between its ears. He was already dreading telling the others he got a tip from a fox of all things… unless, of course, he didn’t. Plan formulating in his mind, he returned to his patrol, satisfied.

~~~~~

well, that's all for now, please let me know what you think! my ask box is open, and I'd love to hear from you 💚

[bishiglomper]

Today almost started with WW3 in my household

Bro has been very Anti-Mother since the Situation started and he hates her. Which. Fair enough. I feel offended on their behalf too. But he's gotta keep his mouth shut around her.

Sissy came home and had a meltdown after trying to look at houses with him.

Mom came in, trying to comfort sissy. Asked if she needed to kill anyone.

We said no. Not yet, anyway. He overheard and said something like it was going to come down to who kills who first... him or our mother.

I barely heard what he said but I put it together faster than mom did. I think she only heard "kill" and "your mother". More neutral compared to what he HAS been saying...

But mom just about stormed in there to throw hands. I had to physically block her way. "No, mommy. No." Yikes.

Day got better after that. Sissy calmed down and went back out with the boys to enjoy a gun show and grab food.

Mom and I worked on washing dishes and bagged up some dirty clothes in the basement. Mom wants to get the clothes out and to the new house first. I was hoping it would scratch that itch of making visible progress and give me that dopamine from progress. But the basement just got worse. 😵‍💫

Then sissy and I went dumpster diving around town for cardboard boxes.

We knew we wanted to take shit over ASAP to make room to actually sort the house out. It's too cluttered. We plan to take our shit and stage it there. Downsize our hoard AFTER it's out.

But the new house was absolutely filthy so nothing can be done until it's cleaned. But everyone had other things to do.

So I convinced mom to arm me with cleaning supplies and my sister dropped me off alone. At about 8pm.

There's a window bench that has storage. There was so much mouse poop omg.

Also that house is 90% dust I don't think it had EVER been taken care of. It's caked so bad in every little corner.

It doesn't help there's built in radiators and the place is Old and EVERYTHING is wood. So much wood.

I stuck my broom in this one radiator to clear out dust from the ridges and half a dog worth of fur fell out 🤣

Also my mop broke one stroke in.

I'm so fucking desperate to get it move in ready, I tried scrubbing the floor by hand. I got like 15 feet in and conceded defeat. We can buy a mop tomorrow...

I scrubbed the kitchen the best I could. The fridge and stove took an hour by itself.. and after my mop broke.. ugh. I needed to find enough shit to do to make me feel accomplished.

I swept aaaalll the floors. Did the first and second floors but sister request I come back home before I made it to the basement. I got the stairs though..

There's way too much to clean by myself. If we plan on trying to take care of the dust, anyway.

I'm hoping it'll be enough to just mop the floors. To bring the shit in. We can deep clean before we find places for it..

I was there until after 12. 4 hours.

4 hours is my cap of functionality. 1 solid block of hyperfixated working. After that I start to fall apart anyway.. oh man the second I sat down... 🥺💀

I hope I'm not dead tomorrow.. I can do without craft but I'm still trying to be a reliable DnD player 😵‍💫

[west-tokyo-incidents]

I'm just in a world of cringe culture because I cannot stop thinking about my Fnaf au and... tbh I'm not ashamed of it in the slightest 'cause it's fucked up as shit and right down the same alley as other horror shit I've written.

So basically I took the story line of Fnaf and said 'cool, what good guidelines, I'm only going to look at this shit once a blue moon'. Also I only referenced the first three games, but I could bullshit something for the others if it behooved me.

The only recurrent thing is 'children and adults are murdered and latch onto pizzeria robots intended for entertainment in order to get revenge' and 'murderer is eventually trapped in the body of one of these as his own personal hell'

Vice is obviously the killer. Because duh. He's not seeking some everlasting life or immortality, he's just a fucked up man killing people because Violence.

His first kill is a homeless teen girl who was unlucky enough to be dumpster diving outside his workplace after he has a particularly shit day. This is Mizho, who latches onto the equivalent of Mangle.

The next kill immediately after is her older brother(Paresse) who's looking for her after she doesn't show back up. He possesses the Puppet(Because duh.)

Vice promptly panics and dumps their bodies in the dumpster, and they aren't found until two days later, when some other local punks set the dumpster on fire. The punks, known for harassing the local homeless pop, get arrested for the murders.

Having gotten away with it, the Mangle and Puppet start tormenting all of the staff, but especially Vice, making his mental state all the more worse. He knows, deep down, what's happening. That he's being punished for killing, but... he wants to do it again. And he gets his chance one day when the power goes out in the place in a terrible storm.

While sheltering in place with various kids and parents, Vice weighs down the top of the Puppet's box and locks the Mangle away. His coworkers help because they agree those two could be a danger to the kids with everything happening.

Two little kids, who's parents had dropped them off for the day, sneak off from the group to go find food... Vice almost doesn't take the opportunity. But one of them says something that sets him off. He hides their bodies in Freddy and Chica's suits. (Eater and Hana) Cops are called and Vice is internally freaking out... but the bodies aren't found and the kids are assumed to be missing or having run away.

Soon after this, he confides in a very close friend and coworker while they're cleaning up after hours a couple days later. Said friend, Rage, reasonably freaks out and starts to call the cops(idiot move, honestly, just wait and call the cops afterwards) but Vice is faster. Rage haunts Bonnie.

No one files a missing person's report for Rage. Rage had abusive parents who disowned him, no one really close to him except Vice, their bosses assumed Rage had ghosted and just stopped coming to work, and the music studio he'd been trying to get with assumed he'd given up.

Well, most of them.

Vice wisens up and realizes he's only going to get lucky for so long. The investigation of the two kids is still on-going and the company is doing everything they can to keep the place's image up. Security is increased and Vice is made a manager.

When Freddy and Chica are sent in for repairs, Vice starts to freak out... but the company is too absorbed in keeping their head above water that they cover it up for him. Though they don't know who the killer, specifically, is. Rage is a major suspect, having just vanished soon after the disappearance, but he's no where to be found.

A woman does coming looking for him, though. Fussa Fusataro, a producer at the studio who'd taken an interest in him and started to take him under her wing. Vice is given the responsibility of talking to her and getting her off the company's back. It only works for so long. She's smart. She starts to put the pieces together. But she still, for some reason, trusts Vice.

He invites her to his place, acting like he can't say certain things while at work or he'll get in trouble, tricking her into thinking he's on her side. And he poisons her. Because of the nature of the visit, she didn't tell anyone where she was going, and becomes yet another mysterious disappearance. She haunts Foxy.

The place is eventually put under construction, to rework the old animatronics and make them something new. But during construction, Vice has awful dreams and is ruined by guilt and breaks into the old place, intending to destroy the haunted machines, only to end up in one of the suits himself.

---

As for the animatronics and their new ghosts, they don't get a lot of interaction with one another, but it's clear from the get-go that Paresse is very protective over all of the others. Big brother energy gone murderous. He's probably the first one to get a human kill during a night shift, but is very upset to find that the guard was not, in fact, Vice.

The puppet had to be sent off for repairs following the murder of Eater and Hana because Paresse became insanely aggressive. This is when the music box programming was installed in him.

Rage rapidly became the next aggressive after being killed, always the first one to move during the night shift and trying to scare Fusataro away from Vice. He became somewhat more docile after Fusataro was murdered, more out of mourning for her than anything.

They can communicate with one another, but it's not like talking as humans. It's more of a subtle sharing of disembodied emotions and thoughts than it is direct spoken word.

[jaskiersvalley]

Look I knew from things my friend reblogged that you have A Gift but now I'm following you and crying every time you post because it is ALWAYS top quality and I am but a poor little goblin with Feelings. You are my favorite and I love you. (also "oh what a hairy valley it is" is fucking hilarious I laugh every time I read it)

You are my new favourite and I love you too! Especially because you find “oh what a hairy valley it is” funny. As thanks, I hope you like a bit of a twist on the Witcher Wolf Pack and their Bard in a modern setting.

Street life was harsh but the wolves had learned how to play the game over the decades. Witchers had become nothing more than myths and they had died out. Or rather, they faded from visible existence and found ways to get with the times. But nobody really wanted grizzly, musclebound men with facial scars so the wolves of Kaer Morhen were left behind by society. It wasn’t like they could get paperwork and ID needed for work and rent, so they lived on the fringes, accepted the ‘help’ of a sorcerer. It wasn’t much better, living on the streets as wolves most idiots mistook for large dogs. But at least they could slink around relatively undisturbed. They could shift forms as they needed but most of the time, they remained four legged.

They had a whole system worked out, honourable as much as thieves could be. Because they needed to steal, needed food and money to survive. The back alley that they’d pulled blankets and cardboard boxes to had become home. But they couldn’t live off things they fished out of the dumpster all the time. It was how they ended up with a range of schemes and ploys.

Easiest was the sad, scared puppy game. It was one that Lambert excelled at, looking vulnerable. If he rolled in a puddle first, he could look exceptionally pitiful. His scars showed up the least too and, as the youngest, he often got the most response. Some days he would hang around outside a food shop and whimper at those going in. The more generous humans would emerge with their shopping plus a little something for him. When something was thrown his way, Lambert would snatch it out of the air and run, hide the stash until he could haul his trophies home to share.

More elaborate was the teamwork of Vesemir and Eskel. They didn’t pull it off often because it was much more dangerous for them both. At some traffic lights where cars were slowing down, Eskel would step in front of a car and get clipped. He’d perfected the art of just getting a glancing bruise on his shoulder but it sounded impressive enough. Once the car stopped, Vesemir, in his grizzled old glory, would fling himself in front of the car with a whimpering howl. That usually got everyone’s attention, the poor old dog, shaking and quivering on the floor. It was enough of a distraction for Eskel to shift to human form and dive into the car, pulling anything of value out. They had to be so careful, not taking anything from those who obviously were in need. That was on top of the constant worry that Eskel could actually get hurt or Vesemir would get carted off to the pound. But the few times they did it, they often got enough things to pawn or, once, a shopping bag full of party food.

Geralt was too bulky to look sad in front of a shop, he got chased with a broom more often than not. He also didn’t have Eskel’s light fingers to steal from cars or Vesemir’s gravitas to look convincingly injured. What he could do though was pickpocket and steal bags. It was so easy to walk pad through a square, a stray dog nobody paid attention to. A snout in a passing pocket resulted in a mouthful of wallet. And the times someone put a bag down to look at their phone or, rarely, to pet him, he could pick up the bag and trot off without much fuss. The other thing Geralt did was trail buskers. He learned about them, knew those who were busking for fun and those who needed the coins tossed at them. Those who did it for a hobby, Geralt had no qualms about ambling up to and snuffling their things. It usually earned him a pat on the head and a laugh. It meant he could curl up with whoever it was playing and, at the end of their stint, Geralt could snuffled a little more under the pretence of curiosity. Nobody ever thought to look in his mouth to find the coins they could have sworn were there.

It was a great ploy until a new busker turned up. Geralt couldn’t get a read on him. The man looked and acted like a peacock but he smelled tired and hurting. Before Geralt could even approach him to investigate, the man was setting his instrument to the side and reaching out in invitation for Geralt to join him.

“You might need a bit of rest.” The man said and pulled a water bottle from his pack. Shoving his handwritten sign of gratitude from the plastic container, it was filled up with water instead. “It’s a warm day, I doubt there are puddles around for you.”

It turned out, the man chattered a lot when he wasn’t playing. He was called Jaskier, had no real family to speak of and loved singing. There was an art to speaking a lot without saying much and Geralt knew Jaskier was a master. In the evening, when Jaskier packed up, Geralt couldn’t bring himself to take any of his coin.

“If you’re ever in the area, you’ll always have a blanket to rest on with me,” Jaskier promised and waved to Geralt. It was only then that Geralt realised that not once did Jaskier touch him.

Once a week, Geralt sought Jaskier out. It was oddly relaxing and on his third visit, Geralt found he had actually fallen into a deep sleep, trusting this stranger to keep him protected. Of course, the others teased him about it relentlessly. Late at night when they were all sprawled in their alley with a rare treat of beer Eskel had managed to snag, they laughed about Geralt’s crush.

“Fine. You go see if you can do better,” he grumbled.

From then on, the wolves took turns and each came back suitably cowed. Eskel had taken the first chance to go see Jaskier for himself. He’d come back subdued and quiet. “He told be about his White Wolf,” he’d said. “How I must be his brother because I’m just as handsome.”

There was nothing handsome about Eskel, or so he thought. His scarring in wolf and human form had his lip pulled up and, as a wolf, he looked like he was continually snarling, teeth bared.

“He wasn’t scared,” Eskel whispered in wonder.

Unable to believe it all, Lambert went to see Jaskier next. He only came back late at night and refused to say anything. It was only later the next night that he whispered to Eskel that he’d tried to goad Jaskier into hurting him, to prove a point. And he got belly rubs instead. Which were a lot nicer than anything Lambert had experienced in a long time, so he had to slink off and think for a few hours before returning home.

Vesemir still had his doubts. His three pups might have been taken in by the singing stranger but he was suspicious. Determined to get to the bottom of their infatuation, Vesemir set out to spy on Jaskier. It didn’t go as well as planned because he was spotted and beckoned over. Even worse, there were freshly bought treats in Jaskier’s pocket, coming out to appease him.

“You look like you could be their father,” Jaskier prattled, handing over another treat. “The same noble, ancient look they’ve got. Living on the streets is no easy feat and I imagine you’ve done it your whole lives. But your pack seem wonderful. You ought to be proud of your boys.”

Vesemir would have thought it all some great, cunning plan were it not for the fact that he could smell the street on Jaskier. Obviously he’d been sleeping in hostels or the like until recently. And yet there he was with the best treats he could afford for a bunch of stray dogs who he knew to be wolves.

From then on, Jaskier enjoyed the company of a wolf beside him for four of the seven days of the week. Geralt slept on the blanket, running and eating in his sleep. By contrast, Lambert was needy, demanding attention and petting, constantly by Jaskier’s feet. Eskel liked to lie calmly and watch, sometimes he’d howl along and get laughs. Occasionally trotting off and coming back with a snack or a drink for them, clutched carefully in his mouth. The first time he presented Jaskier with a sandwich, he man had looked both scandalised and then blissed out as he bit into it like he was starving. Vesemir was by far the calmest, he watched Jaskier rather than the crowds around them, keeping track of how things changed.

“He sleeps on the streets,” he told his pups one night. “I worry for him.”

They couldn’t find Jaskier though, it was a large city and there were a lot of places to hide. By pure luck, they were settling down into a tangle of limbs, tails and fur when they heard voices.

“Just hand it over and you’ll live.” A menacing voice growled.

“I can’t give you that. It’s how I make what little money I have. I’ve already offered you everything I can!” That was definitely Jaskier.

“Along these parts, our word is law. You’ve not paid your dues and now we’re raising fees.”

There was the soft thump of someone being struck and the smell of blood. The wolves were up on their feet as one, quietly padding closer to investigate. Jaskier was on his knees, guitar behind him along with his usual pack which looked like it had been rifled through already. Opposite him were three men, one of them with a nail studded baseball bat.

“I think you need to be taught a lesson,” the man snarled and raised the bat. It arced through the air and there was the sound of it striking flesh and a sharp whine of a wolf in pain rang through the alley.

“What the fuck?”

Geralt was laid flat on the floor and panting, white fur staining red. The other three wolves were snapping and growling at the attackers while Jaskier knelt and watched in awe. Lambert jumped first, jaw latching around the wrist holding the bat and shaking his head.

In two minutes, the attackers were running, bleeding and cursing and the alley was silent save for the panting of the wolves. Eskel and Vesemir shared a look as they approached Geralt. They shifted, ignoring the gasp of surprise from Jaskier.

“You need to shift, pup,” Vesemir stroked over Geralt’s head. “Let us get a better look.”

It took a moment longer but Geralt was human once again and wheezing.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hands clenched in fists.

“Let them sort it,” Lambert murmured from just behind Jaskier, making him jump. “It’ll be okay. Geralt’s just a drama queen.”

“A drama queen with broken ribs,” Eskel grumbled. “At least the nails didn’t puncture his lung.”

In all of that, Jaskier was quiet and surprisingly unafraid. Puzzled, most definitely but he didn’t panic or run.

“Will he be okay?” he asked, soft and worried.

“He’s a strong one, survived a lot worse.” The reassurance from Vesemir lifted a little of the tension. “Why aren’t you running and screaming?”

“Why should I? You saved my life and you’re the wolves I’ve known for weeks now. It’s nice that you can talk back now.”

That seemed to settle matters somehow. And the wolves got a fourth act in their repertoire. Now, Jaskier sang and busked with the protection of a wolf by his side at all times. And, when he returned back to the alley, he always shared his bounty with the others.

“And when I get famous, you’re all coming with me. We’ll tour the world together,” he promised each night from the centre of the wolf pile. It usually earned at least one tail thump or a chuffed out wolf-y laugh. The wolves might have indulged him in such fantasies but they were the ones who had to eat their words. A talent scout did indeed pick Jaskier up. Along with his four wolves who became his bodyguards.

Part 2 here.

[flauerpauer]

4th August 2022

Dear Laurits,

You have only been gone for two days and I really have a hard time imagining that I won't see you for another two months.

We’ve recently been to your mum’s house and looked inside of that box you got from your first girlfriend when you broke up, and it really looked like she was crazy. However, now that I think about it — what if I’m just as crazy — if not more?

I'm so crazy about you that I listen to your playlists whenever you aren’t here, I think about you all the time, whenever I hear a nice song I can’t help but send it to you. The only thing I can say in my defense is that I just want to share every moment of my life with you. I can also see that a lot of the things I do I do for you but when I think about it… it’s my way of showing love to you and maybe trying to get your attention with some things, which we know comes from my childhood and I can’t help it.

Most of the people I talk with, often say that I do too much for you — the thing is that you don’t expect anything of me. What’s more is that when I have my bad days I get your support and it doesn’t feel like there are any expectations coming from you. And I appreciate it so incredibly much!

But of course it works both ways, so even though I really like to make you breakfasts, don’t mind doing the laundry for you or tidying up the room, I do not expect of you to make those services equal on both sides - I really don’t care about that. Though I must admit I really appreciate some help from time to time - especially if it’s from your own initiative as I hate asking, because it makes me feel like I’m a mother. In fact I’m not planning to be a mother for the next few years and I’m at no point going to be your mother. I think we would both hate it. That’s some Nietzsche shit. 

No wonder I get low grades on my essays — the way Im writing is really fucking chaotic, but that may also be because the train of thoughts about you is also a wild ride.

And as I wrote that I lost the train of thought. Might be because of the moaning behind the doors. Or because I’m messaging you about how big of a reward it is going to be when you come back. I don’t have to leave your side ever again you heart tingler. 

I think I might go dumpster diving soon and then go to bed. I’m really tempted to smoke in order to calm my mind..

but I think I’ll wait with it for another day. 

I love you, 

Din honningprut

[thej0ry]

Well........When they decided they wanted to leave, we all agreed to make it as quick and easy as possible, and to just divide up our stuff and go our separate ways. Blaiz, Chas-Chas and Funk were going to stay together, of course.  We played Separation Rock Paper Scissors, and it was three on one since they were all a team. The first thing we played for was the RV we were living in and they won it, and the agreement was made that everything inside the RV was theirs too because it 'came with the RV'. I got to keep my punching bag (since I would hang it from nearby trees or lampposts, or pay a passerby a couple of bucks to hold it for me while I went at it) and a box full of knife magazines that I buried out back months ago.

I slung the punching bag over my shoulder and looked back at these three angels.  I knew I had to say something. Something profound. Something they'd never forget and would remember me by.  This could very well be the last thing I say to them. But I'm not good under pressure so I just reminded them to cancel my knife magazine subscriptions and tripped on my way down the RV stair. And it wasn’t even like a trip I could play off or down play it in some way. It was bad. It was a really bad and embarrassing trip that I know will haunt me for at least 6 years. Maybe even 7.

Truthfully, I still haven't recovered from the breakup. Not really. A breakup can be bad by itself, but three? At the same time? Hard to bounce back from that. I had a job at Old Navy for a couple of days, but I got fired from that because I kept bumming out the customers because I would cry and hug mannequins for most of my shift. I eventually found a job dumpster diving for this piece of shit Larz who fucking loves to toss whole bricks at me when he’s in a bad mood. He owns a storage garage/unit place and in exchange for five cool items a day, he let's me sleep in an empty unit in the back. It's really hard finding five things he thinks are cool from dumpster diving because all he really likes is cryptography and Mike's Hard Lemonade. But the things I bring him have to be from the dumpster. I can’t bring him a Mike’s Hard Lemonade because he’ll know I didn’t get it from a dumpster because he refuses to believe someone threw out a whole case of ‘the good stuff’. Thankfully, he also likes knives, so I've been slipping some of my magazines in with my hauls under the guise that I found them in a dumpster.  

YEARS of that passes and one day, as I'm spraying toilet cleaner on me to keep me clean from the dumpster I'm about to climb into, I see off in the distance... Blaiz. She walks over and smiles. She asks how I am, and makes small talk. I'm trying my best not to fall over and pass out... Here she is... Blaiz... A love of my life. I can't hardly believe it, it was too much. Her radiance, her aura, her smile... But also, toilet cleaner really makes me light headed so that maybe had something to do it with. Plus it was like a really hot day and the heat was like, melting the garbage bags and the garbage fumes were just blasting me in the face, it was a lot.

But anyway, Blaiz asks if I'm doing anything and says that her and Funk and Chas-Chas would like to talk. I lie and say I have to go to an award show tonight for the award they're naming after/giving me in my honor for being such a good fighter/lover/puncher. But I said to forget the award show, because of course I'd come and talk. But Blaiz was like 'No! Are you kidding? We can talk tomorrow, go accept that award that's so cool' stuff like that. So she gave me her address, congratulated me on the award, and told me she'd see me tomorrow.

Next day I arrived at the address and I was completely blown away. A house. A full house! With an upstairs. And a freaking backyard. I was so impressed and so proud of them. As I was walking through the neighborhood to the address, I thought they just parked the RV in a suburb’s park like we would sometimes do. I nervously walked up the driveway and knocked on the door. I hear Blaiz yell from somewhere in the house that she was coming. A wave of very potent smelling weed assaulted me as the door swung open. We exchanged awkward pleasantries and she invited me in.

Blaiz tells me Funk and Chas-Chas are in the living room and she leads me to them. A lump forms in my throat. Funk and Chas-Chas. Still as beautiful as ever. Chas-Chas was taking a hit from a big weed bunt but starts coughing as I walk in. Funk is seated next to her, her arms around a big pillow she’s holding to her chest.

I take a seat on the couch across from them as Blaiz half sits/half leans on the arm of the couch Funk and Chas-Chas are on.  Blaiz just kinda looks at me. She was always hard to read, and right then was no different. There’s some awkward small talk - I compliment their house and they talk about the jobs they got. Blaiz has started an edible bakery. Chas-Chas runs her own head shop. Funk is an astronaut.

There’s a slightly uncomfortable lull in the convo, so I ask why they invited me over. They all look at each other and Blaiz stands up. She tells me wants to show me something and leads me upstairs. From one of the rooms, I can hear the familiar sounds of the old plug and play console we had. Blaiz knocks on the closed door and a soft ‘Yeah?’ is called out from behind it. Blaiz looks back at me, and her face, clear as day, is full of hope as she opens the door.

A kid is sitting cross-legged in front of a TV set playing “ If You Were My Brother, I'd Kill You With a Rock & 13 More Biblically Inspired Classics”. My favorite game. I look at the kid and look back at Blaiz. She just smiles and nods. Blaiz tells the boy that someone is here to see him and closes the door behind me. I go over and sit down next to him and tell him this is one of my favorite games. The boy mutters a response as he clobbers Abel over the head with a rock. We both sit in silence for a good while and I just watch him play.

SMASH SMASH SMASH. The kid is just pounding the rock over Abel's head, not doing any combo moves, or flashy finishers. It was kind of hard to watch. Here’s my favorite game, with very intuitive controls and simple combos, and the kid is just doing the same move over and over. I kinda start shifting uncomfortably, and sighing and all that. It was kinda hard to watch. Eventually I tell the kid he’s playing it wrong and I try to give the kid a few pointers. As I’m explaining the Fratricide Combo, he tells me to be quiet.  I tell him I’m just trying to help and I reach over to show him the buttons on the controller, but he pulls away. I try and grab the controller and a scuffle breaks out where we’re fighting for control over the controller. Just then, God smites him in the game, and it’s Game Over. He stands up and just starts yelling at me. Fuck you this, Fuck you that... Where was I his whole life, what a shitty dad I am, how he knows now why moms left me, all this.

Blaiz hears this and rushes in and is like what the hell is going on. The kid is crying now and he runs over to Blaiz. Everyone is freaking out, Funk and Chas-Chas come in too, to see what’s going on. I try to explain I was just helping him with the game, and he yells back that I suck at that game and he beat all my highscores(But he calls them LOWSCORES because they were so low) and points to the tv. The screen says NEW HIGHSCORE: FUCK YOU DAD - 99999 Points.

I’m not going to lie... seeing me dethroned on my favorite game... it hurt alil. Hearing this punk ass kid say I’m bad at it... it hurt alil too. If you insult my skill at If You Were My Brother, I'd Kill You With a Rock & 13 More Biblically Inspired Classics... The gloves are off. So we get into this huge argument/roast off. And this kid just starts roasting the fuck out of me. Like I could not come back against some of the shit he was saying- WHICH! I will say was a lil unfair because he has all sorts of dirt and shit on me thanks to his moms, and I don’t even know this squirts name! He starts to break out the Yo Mama jokes and Blaiz grabs me by collar and very forcefully escorts me downstairs.

So I get tossed out the house. I’m trying to apologize but Blaiz won’t have it. She doesn’t want to see me around here ever again. It was a mistake bringing me here in the first place. I go,

‘Can I atleast know his name? Could I atleast know my son’s name.’

And she goes, ‘you know what Jory? His name is Aid.’

I gasp...

‘Like Kool-Aid?’ I ask.

It was my first choice as far as baby names went.

Blaiz just nods her head and goes, ‘Yeah.... Yeah like Kool-Aid. But you know what? Tomorrow we’re going to city hall, and changing his name.’

And I’m like, ‘Uh-uh! N You better not! Blaiz.. you better not!’

And she’s like, ‘Yup! We’re gonna change it. And you know what we’re changing it to? Tang!’

TANG?! I can’t believe it.

‘The fucking orange orangutan astronaut shit?’ I ask in disgust and disbelief.

‘Yeeesss the fucking orangutan astronaut shit Jory’ Blaiz says with a really mean and disrespectful voice. The door is slammed on my face as I yell out that I hope she knows he’s going to be bullied with a name like that.

That’s what’s been going on with me.

this is literally one of the 3 weed smorking girlfriends right?? is this blaize??? did blaize buy a house???