#retail work is hell on earth

[strigital]

sad news, everyone. no more self checkout sketches 'cause my ass got sacked due to a karen meltdown.

on the upside i'm submitting a complaint to the commission for work-related arguments and also i already have three interviews lined up this weekend because, surprise, cashiers with ~8 years of experience are a hot commodity!

hated this place anyways so fuck it and almost everyone in it (not the cleaning lady tho, she's the wholesomest grandma ever).

also i'm beginning my first internship (in college for now, cause i'm still a freshman) and right after -- the dreaded finals.

as y'all might guess i'm a lil stressed depressed lemon zest 😥😞🍋

[kil9]

also at my last job we had to have a food safety meeting thing before our first day and i couldn't focus because every time the lady said "bloodborne pathogens" (a lot of times) I just start thinking about video james

[sega-genesis]

They Shot The Wrong Fucking Beatle

after hearing "simply having a wonderful christmas time" by paul mccartney 74 times while working in retail, I came to the conclusion that they shot the wrong beatle

[stewystew]

Taking my adderall again‚ made a list‚ we are SO back

[digitaldiseas3]

sighhhhh telling myself that i’m working myself to the bone for just two weeks so i can just get as much money as possible before school starts

[aanalytic]

my space-alien-pretending-to-be-a-person disguise wasn't very good today and everyone could tell :(

[ruairy]

.

[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

The itch

An: so I’ve never written for TUA, I think, I haven’t written anything in like a long time cause my brain is made of worms most days, but the new season and mostly five in his new attitude? Personality? His almost soft tired of it all way, gives me the feelings. As a 28 year old women it’s odd that a 68 year old trapped in a 18 year old body works for me like it does but hey, I’ve liked weirder (cough I was in the Hamilton fandom cough) so enjoy this sort of bonding with Lila over the new mundane life and the exhausting reality of having to live it, because I love Lila and hate what they did to her and fives characters with the whole 7 year time line romance. Like why make her a mum of 3 and married to Fives brother just to ruin it like that. But anyway enjoy this weird fic.

Readers power: molecular manipulation, think piper from charmed, overhaul from my hero, uhhh it’s hard to explain but basically it means you can make things explode, freeze people and things by fucking with the molecular structure of said thing.

——————————————————————-

You wanted to scream, to smash things, to burn yours and fives apartment down, it had been six years of calm, six years of learning to enjoy ‘normal’. Six years of working at dead end jobs because you didn’t pass the god damn psych evaluation for the CIA, somehow you are far more ‘unhinged’ than your husband.

You and five spent 30 years together, a decade in an apocalyptic wasteland when you ended up teleported there by mistake, and then 20 years at the commission becoming trained and ruthless assassins. Now, now Five worked doing CIA investigations and you got stuck working at a grocery store gas station. It was calm, it was normal, it was absolute hell on earth and made your skin itch.

So sitting in the parking lot of the play place for your nieces 6th birthday, you didn’t know why you couldn’t make yourself leave your car, five was already here, he had texted you as much, everyone else minus Viktor who was in Canada, and Allison who hasn’t shown her face irl to any of her siblings in the 6 years, you just needed to get out of the car and walk in with the gift you signed from both you and five for Gracie. It was a set of toy weapons, knives like her dads old ones, and a few other random ‘play pretend’ things.

Closing your eyes you leaned your head back against the head rest, taking a deep breath. Almost hitting the gas when the passenger side door opened and slammed closed. Turning eyes wide you saw Lila, the exhausted mothers face blank staring forward

“I just needed a minute, just needed” you nodded

“Take all the minutes you need. I assume it’s like pulling teeth in there with Diego?” Lila nodded sighing loudly

“Fives the same way, just on other stuff, like deciding if he wants to go out to dinner or stay in and order pizza, or if he needs new underwear because the ones he has have so many holes in surprised they still count as underwear, or just simple things like the dishes, like how hard is it to wash a cup, it shouldn’t be as hard as it is, how hard is it to just tell me when you need a quiet night cause work was stressful, and you are exhausted from stupid people all day, i work retail, he acts like I don’t understand being tired of idiots…I just…” you paused looking back out the windshield

“It’s like your skin is on fire and nothing stops the itch of being a once highly skilled assassin who could fuck with peoples molecules and freeze them in time or make them explode?” You nodded looking at her

“I find myself flicking my hands out and remembering I can’t just blow up or freeze people anymore, it’s like an itch and anytime I explain it to five he just…”

“Doesn’t listen? Or doesn’t understand that you are used to how your life was and now that it’s different, it’s not bad but it’s eye burning mundane clock ticking by slower then ever reality?”

Nodding you sighed

“Diego, he wants to listen, he just, from what five always told me he had a hard time understanding others because his brain is just, frazzled and he feels inadequate, how they grew up I guess shaped them in every timeline. Five is just used to being alone he was alone for 30 years before we met, then I popped up and it’s just. I don’t think he gets that sometimes I just need him to..”

“Let you Help with the itching”

You nodded smiling at her

“He just, it’s been a lot, and we haven’t quite got the ‘normal life’ down just yet.” Lila nodded

“It’s not easy in normal marriage land either, 3 kids and a chunky husband who, doesn’t make it easier is….”

“Not helping the itching. Well how about me and you, when the itch gets too bad, we help each other? Maybe find a way to do something, go to a rage room? Do a fighting class something to feel the….rush? Of what we did before. Have Klaus or someone babysit the kids, be me and you and just….”

“Fighting each other like the before days?” You laughed nodding

“Yeah…I miss getting to kick your ass and having you kick mine…”

Lila laughed looking around

“We could start a fight club, you, me, Ben when he gets out of prison. Just….maybe we’ll get used to normal eventually….” You frowned nodding

“You know if you ever need anything, help with the kids, a friend to vent to when Diego is being Diego…I’m not to far from your guys place. I can always swing by, let the munchkin tornados beat up on auntie Y/N.” You smiled at her for all the mess you and her had been in against each other, she had become one of your closest friends and family members through it all.

Soon enough you finally made your way into the building, the screams of children everywhere, the smell of sugar and something faintly child everywhere. You spotted five by the ball pit, speaking with Ben, walking over you hugged five from behind sighing as you rested your forehead against his back

“Hello, love.” You squeezed him in response before looking up and over to Ben

“Ahh Benjamin, free from jail, good to see you didn’t die, love that you still look like you want to murder us all” Ben didn’t laugh, just glared at you before sighing

“Not in the snark mood got it.” You felt five squeeze your arm a bit pulling away from you, making you groan

Turning to fully look at you, he looked you over smiling softly

“How was work?” You looked at him blinking slowly before sighing and planting your forehead on his chest, groaning

“Ahh I see” his hand rubbed your back softly, his other lifting the beer to his lips.

“People are stupid. How hard is it to put a gas nozzle in a car….”

“Apparently impossible if what you tell me says anything” you looked at him nodding before turning to look around

“10 bucks says Diego forgets to put up the piñata like Lila asked him” five laughed slightly

“Nah 20 says Lila has a mental breakdown before cake is served” you looked over to where Lila stood with Gracie helping the young girl fix her party hat,

“Nah I think she has a breakdown after presents when she sees what we got Gracie” five laughed looking down at you, brushing the stray hair from your face, smiling at him you sighed softly again,

it seemed even if you wanted to rip your hair out from the new ‘normal’ reality you all had to live in, even if your skin itched from the need to return back to what life was before somehow, it was nice that you still had small moments, where normal wasn’t so bad, normal birthday parties for your nieces and nephews, seemingly normal holidays, and normal, non murder happy work. As much as you loathed admitting it, sometimes it was nice. Like now, now was nice.

[seaslugfanclub]

Hi! How you doin? I saw that Clayton and Alameda fell under the "Crush/Romantic feelings" category in one of your previous posts and was wondering if I could request some separate imagines on them? Since there's not much mention of them in your other works (especially Clayton), just to get an idea of what they're like with (Y/N). Please and thank you!

Sure!! I’d love to write more about Clayton, he’s so underrated 😭 Enjoy!

—————————————

Clayton

He’s one of the more… aloof villains of the park. Unlike the others who parade around the park giving backhanded compliments and insulting the elderly, Clayton tends to stay more on the sidelines.

I mean… the only thing he really liked to do was hunt, and he can’t exactly skewer any living creatures at the “happiest place on earth”

Though what he wouldn’t give to make a new coat out of that sardonically scarred lion…

With our beloved park attendant (Y/N), they found a couple ways to get along with him.

(Y/N) asked him about his hunting expeditions and his time in Victorian England

As much as (Y/N) hates the idea of killing for the sake of killing, Clayton can tell one hell of a story. He becomes super animated, hands waving around and voice super loud. He even got Gaston’s attention.

Other villains walked in on both (Y/N) and Gaston sitting crisscross applesauce on the floor as Clayton relayed the tale of his expedition in Peru like it was story time

He LOVES showing off his skills and strength, and what can I say, (Y/N) loves a show

As for the romantic aspect of Clayton and (Y/N)’s relationship, I believe Clayton fell first

Clayton was a man from Victorian England, where it was risqué for a women to show her ankles

Now imagine Clayton seeing (Y/N) in small summer wear attire, it is Florida/California after all…

During one of Clayton’s tantrums, he ended up screaming in (Y/N)’s face. And what did they do? They slapped him across the face, shocking him to silence

No one has ever dared lay a finger on him, and as (Y/N) immediately apologized to him he could only think one thing; “that was hot”

Clayton isn’t used to someone being genuinely interested in his past, and the way that (Y/N) looks at him when he retails his adventures keeps the Englishman up at night

It’s weird, but (Y/N) loves how big Clayton’s hands are, like they take one of his hands and covers their entire face with it, much to Clayton’s embarrassment

(Y/N) is now Clayton’s official backpack, they cling to this man as he walks around the park. Clayton loves showing off his strength and (Y/N) loves being carried

—————————————

Alameda Slim

Cowboy time baby

Alameda is one of the most unknown villains, like no one cares

But (Y/N) does, (Y/N) always tries to get Alameda included with the Villains and park activities

Whenever there’s a big crowd, Alameda always gravitates to (Y/N)

The size difference between them omg

(Y/N) brings Alameda old country music records, he now has a whole milk crate filled with albums

Gives (Y/N) mini concerts, yodeling along to the records

They have movie nights together in the common area watching old westerns! Alameda always interrupts the movie pointing out all the inaccuracies

One time Alameda tried to show (Y/N) how to square dance, and accidentally made them go airborne when he tried to spin them around

(Y/N)’s super curious about Alamedas yodeling, does it only affect cows? They decided to experiment on a bunch of different animals around the park, much to the park goers dismay

Turned out the only other animal effected by yodeling is… pigeons

Alameda ended up running for his life, a horde of hypnotized pigeons chasing after him

(Y/N) ended up having to convince Alameda it was safe to go outside again, after he barricaded himself in his room

Alameda likes to plop his cowboy hat on (Y/N)s head when it gets to hot outside

[sytoran]

𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄 (𝐄𝐗𝐂𝐄𝐏𝐓 𝐖𝐄'𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐑𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍') ⌇ wanda maximoff

summary: in which 'rockin'' is a euphemism for sex.

☰ PAIRING: sub!wanda x dom!gn!reader

☰ TAGS: modern!au, married life, oral sex, cunnilingus, smut, wanda in that mean girls santa outfit, strap-on usage, humiliation kink, degradation kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, overstimulation, safewording

☰ RATING: 18+

masterlist

"honey, i'm home!" you call from the doorstep, recklessly flinging your winter coat onto the back of a chair.

it had been a long day at work, (retail work during the holiday season was a fucking bitch), and you were more than satisfied to go home to your wife.

so when you were greeted with nothing but a faint cry from upstairs from wanda, instant dread filled your bones, damning you to think of the worst possible scenario.

you dropped everything on hand and ran up the stairs three steps at a time, wondering what the hell had happened. did wanda hurt herself? was she crying? was she-

of all the million and one possibilities of imageries painted in your head, not a singular one could've even begun to fathom what wanda was doing.

no, nothing could have prepared you for this.

"baby…" your words trailed off, the sight of wanda sprawled on your bed rendering you speechless.

she was donning that mean girls christmas outfit, the crimson one with the insanely short skirt and low-cut top. the fur outlining the outrageously exposing cuts almost seemed to taunt you.

in further aggregation, wanda was trailing a hand up her leg, from the high-heeled boots that showed off her deliciously exposed thighs. the earlier whimper had been a result of the vibrator she had pressed up against her cunt.

to top it all off, like the cherry on icing, wanda spread her body in a way such that your eyes could feast on all her assets at once - especially her wet pink folds in your direct line of vision.

your jaw slackens.��i'm in paradise.

you don't know what kind of miracle this is, that you've been blessed with the most breathtakingly divine woman to ever grace the earth, but you're certainly not complaining.

"daddy," wanda whispers in tone that is as honeyed as is sultry. wisps of red hair cling to her forehead, almost as if foreshadowing the what-ifs.

"merry christmas."

and then you pounce on wanda, quite literally, making her squeal.

your hands are everywhere, squeezing at her breasts and her ass, digging into the plush of her thighs and plucking at her nipples through the fabric. it's everything you could have ever wanted, and you're damn sure you aren't going to put this opportunity to waste.

"take - ah! - fuck, t-take - oh! - take it off," wanda gasps, nearly incoherent with how fucking rough you're being.

your hands are unashamedly explorative, and the redhead nearly comes undone with how fucking possesive you're being. you're pushing her into the bed but pulling her closer, until all she can feel are your hands on her skin.

"no, i wanna fuck you in that," you growl against her flushed skin. "wanna fill you up so bad."

wanda lets out a needy moan at your demandingness. your voice is hoarse, throat having run dry long ago. you finally bring yourself to pull back, but before wanda can complain, you've flipped her around.

her legs hit the floor with an unceremonious thud, high heels clacking against concrete tiling. using a hand to push her front against the bed, effectively bending her over, you groan in pleasure.

wanda is so perfectly spread out for you, so pliant and so submissive and so needy, and you're hungry. you could fucking devour her.

"are you packing, daddy?" wanda breathes out, turning to look at you with an innocent look.

wanda's question goes unanswered, because you've already unbuckled your pants, and the thick strawberry-red and quartz-white, candy cane coloured strap gets buried in her cunt from behind, before wanda could even register what was going on.

in the first thrust alone, the strap went hilt-deep, because of how wet wanda was. the scream she let out was earth-shattering, for she had already reached her climax, with help from the vibrator earlier.

"you're a fuckin' whore, mhm? couldn't even wait for daddy's instructions." you comment against the back of her ear, warm breath leaving goosebumps in its wake.

your eerie calmness scares wanda, in the most arousing way known to man. you're trailing your hands over her thighs. wanda's panting, trying to rock her hips back for you to stay inside.

with haste, you harshly slap her on the side of her bare thigh, reveling in the way her entire body shakes in that little santa outfit. wanda mewls, crying out in pain and pleasure.

you tug at her hair, so easy to pull, just because you can. forcing wanda to look at you, you say, "that's one."

wanda keens for your touch, visibly confused at your words.

you smile a mean smile, almost snake-like in the way it curves at the edges, the running a tongue over your lips in anticipation.

"how many days of christmas are there, baby?" you murmur, littering hickeys over the pale skin of her neck.

"t-twelve!" wanda gasps, a jolt of arousal flowing south when your tongue finds her pulse point.

"how many times am i gonna make you cum?" you question, barely over a whisper, hovering over her lithe body. she's so little in your hands, so easy to pin down, so easy to please.

you fuckin' like that.

wanda only manages to splutter, grasping at the fabric of your clothing in search of comfort once she realizes your ploy. "i- i can't, daddy. too much, it's too much-"

"mhm, but you can do it 'cause you're my good girl," you respond with ease, taking the opportunity to flip over her hand and place a chaste kiss on her knuckles. "and you're gonna count after each one."

wanda tries to argue again, but her body is saying otherwise. she's dripping down her thighs, slick coating her fluttering folds. almost as if on cue, she raises her ass up slightly higher.

you can only smirk in response, running both hands over the expanse of her thick thighs. "pretty little slut," you mutter, watching with a hawk-eye as her thighs clench with need.

"inside," wanda whimpers, trying to grasp for you, abd you quite nearly lose your goddamn mind.

with a vigour of all energies exerted, you begin thrusting into her like it's the last thing you'll ever do. with the added height of her high boots, it means that you don't need to bend your knees down to do it properly.

and it also means that you fuckin' pound into her however you like.

which is precisely what you're doing, as wanda's moans digress into screams. the way she's whining out the numbers each time she convulses and reaches her high is intoxicating.

two. three. four.

"so big," wanda whines with slurred words, drooling onto the pillow. "m' so full."

it only spurs you on to drive the girth of the candy-cane strap deeper inside her pussy. the way you're moving it in tight circles makes wanda think you're trying to ruin her insides.

"so tight and wet for me, doll," you grunt. "bet you'd let me fuck you 'til all our neighbours know, mhm? what're you gonna say to them when you can't move your legs?"

it's not like she would complain, anyway.

it's embarassing, how fucking wet she is, even after having cum four times. she's still soaked, drenching your strap and her thighs, dripping onto the floor.

but you couldn't give any less fucks, the only thing on your mind being the fact that you wanted to break her. ruin her, 'til she was unable to speak, to move, to think.

flipping wanda over again, you bask at the view you've been blessed with. ample breasts and smooth skin, all wrapped up in a little tiny santa outfit. she's laying on her back, almost bashful at how greedy your eyes are.

before wanda could even think to close her legs, you pried them even farther open with a cocky ease that sent another wave of slick down her thighs.

and then you were burying your head between her thighs, warm and wet sensations simulating her oversensitive cunt. all you had to was grunt about how fucking needy she was, and wanda was gone again.

five. six. seven.

dear god, wanda tasted better than any dessert you'd ever had.

you were insatiable, lapping and sucking like a demon starved of innocent souls. but your desires couldn't quell, not when wanda fucking maximoff was at your mercy.

the crescendo of your wife's screams of sweet sufferings had your head spinning. she was crying, the tears streaming each time you brought her over the edge. her wails of hot-white pleasure had you keening for more.

"you gonna cum again, doll? already?" you teased through heavy pants, sharp breaths for air brushing against wanda'a clit.

when you received no response, you probed her with a harsh slap on her ass, confirmative in forming a bruise.

that in itself had wanda streaking powder-white cream all over you, the world stuttering on its axis. "ei - ah, fuck - e-eight," wanda whined, words slurring with drool. even in that state, she was divine.

just as about you were to slam the strap into your wife again, she cried out her safeword, "vision!", with the remains of her stamina. you slipped out of that headspace almost instantly, moving up to comfort your wife.

the time stills for a moment. wanda's erratic breathing gradually steadies. you let your eyelids flutter shut.

"sorry, baby," you whisper into her ear, littering gentle kisses over her neck. "too much?"

wanda merely smiles at you through droopy lids. "you have a lot of stamina. maybe i need to go boxing with you and bucky."

a chortle escapes your lips as you nuzzle into wanda's chest like it's your personal pillow, basking in the feeling of the rise and fall. wanda sleepily reaches up to touch your hair, and she lets out a shaky sigh.

it's a picturesque scene, with intimacy so tender you want to frame this moment in time before it flees away like everything eventually does.

however, if loving paid a price, you'd go into debt for wanda maximoff.

---

"i can't feel my legs, detka," wanda says aloud after a while. "i have work tomorrow."

"oh. i would say sorry for what i did, but i'd be lying."

thanks for taking the time to read :) reblog if u enjoyed!

masterlist

[pfhwrittes]

boxing day sales? boxing day sales.

(boxing day, 26th december. for some ungodly reason it’s a crazy day for retail — my comparison for the USA/North American folks would be similar to Black Friday)

fun fact: B&Q never used to close for Boxing Day, that’s changed in recent years but I have worked boxing day before and it is hell on earth.

the boys working boxing day below:

simon hates it. refuses to leave the safety of the warehouse. won’t even leave through the doors to cut across the shop floor for a cigarette. man has nicotine patches up and down his arms. has shouted at four customers today for trying to get him to bring out stock they want. changed the sign hanging on the warehouse doors to “IF YOU’RE NOT JOHN PRICE YOU CAN FUCK OFF”. will be getting disciplined for his attitude as soon as the store manager can find him (it’s been 6 hours and simon is still successfully evading the man).

gaz is amazing. he’s sold 3 complete kitchens, 4 bathrooms and 1 bedroom already today. continues to charm the arse off of every client that he sees and poaches clients that are waiting for other members of the design team. the only sign that he’s getting fatigued is the constant mug of coffee by his computer and slight tightness around his eyes.

soap also hates it. far less successful with avoiding being disciplined and has been pulled up for groaning in the face of a particularly prickly customer. he doesn’t care. he hasn’t left the paint desk in three hours and he wants to go off for a walk. he’s frustrated that he can’t go off on his little jollies around the shop to bother his favourite people because everyone is too busy. will absolutely sulk in the staff room when he can.

price has a vein throbbing in his forehead. he’s spent the majority of his shift at the customer service desk backing up the team members that are being berated by arseholes wanting a refund on christmas decorations that have clearly been used. “listen, store policy is that used electricals get written off and the customer gets a credit note for the value of them. if they have a problem, i’ll deal with it.” jesus christ let this man outside for a cigarette before he strangles the next miserable twat with the fairy lights they’ve brought back.

[robotslenderman]

My parents threw out a toaster and kettle with a combined retail value of $500AUD and I'm so pissed off. they KNOW I'm saving up to leave. motherfuckers. mum says the toaster is setting off the earth leakage but honestly she has a history of lying so that may or may not be true. I'm particularly suspicious she replaced both at once - apparently she can't clean the limescale off the kettle.

I have never seen her even try that in my life. I have never once seen a descaled kettle in our kitchen that wasn't brand new.

waiting for people to go to bed then I'm going to check the bins out on the kerb and fish them out, hide them in the car then smuggle them in on the weekend. Then I'll test the toaster. if it works just fine I'll descale the kettle, clean out the toaster then hide both of them so I can use them when/if I leave. because there's no WAY in hell am I going to be using the cheap shit when these appliances could work just fine. they're fucking KITCHENAID.

[papermatisse]

Don't Look Back || K.JM

† genre: horror

† word count: 2.7k

† warnings: automatonophobia, liminal spaces/warped reality, explicit death scene

† synopsis: one of these mannequins is out of place...

† (a/n): third installment of my spooktober anthology event, but ironically the first story I actually finished! this one is based on this mannequin game I played once where you were being chased by mannequins. at first it was creepy, but as it dragged on, it got kinda funny lol. this one does not get funny ☺️

† taglist: @scuzmunkie @hipsdofangirl @hydroyaksha

anthology | main masterlist

Working in retail is hell on earth, but it's not so bad when you have your best friend to suffer alongside you. Shenanigans between tasks, shared breaks for lunch dates at the food court, inside jokes to keep you going through the shift. One inside joke in particular was in regards to a certain mannequin in the men's section.

"Why is he… hot?" Jennifer asked as the two folded clothes on a shelf situated before said mannequin. (y/n) looked up at the mannequin towering over them, wearing the articles of clothing they were currently dealing with, prompting her to snort at the commentary.

"Only you would point out a mannequin's physical attributes."

"No, I'm serious!" Jennifer pushed in her defense, chuckles bubbling out by the end of her sentence. She raised a hand to the man as she began passionately explaining herself. "He has gentle eyes, and the classic Disney prince smolder! And his hair!"

"It's all painted on!" (y/n) couldn't stop laughing along with her friend, who only seemed to grow even more offended with the ongoing dismissal of her newfound beau.

"You're telling me you've never found a painting so beautiful that it keeps you awake all night thinking about it?" At this interjection, (y/n) grew quiet, knowing she's done exactly that and Jennifer knows that just as well as she does. Nevertheless, (y/n) continued her folding with a dismissive grumble, Jennifer giggling to herself as she did the same.

(y/n) spared a few glances to the mannequin, acknowledging the details Jennifer highlighted. The soft, faded brown of his round painted eyes, the chiseled molding of each of his strong features, the almost Adonis like creation of this seemingly out of place mannequin.

The store was older with a variety of mannequins. Blank ones of varying poses, delicate ones with makeup styles straight from certain decades, many of which were broken or dilapidated in a way. The mannequins on display were, of course, the most put together of the bunch, and this included the mannequin perched atop this men's shirt display.

Since that day, the two would continuously tease each other about him. Snapping photos of him as they pass by to send to the other, faux discussing a boy they met only to reveal it was the mannequin the entire time, or merely the subtle winks and glances that fully conveyed their jesting intentions.

Nevertheless, the mannequin, of which the girls had affectionately nicknamed Suho, remained a permanent fixture of the store, even during remodeling. Instead of tucked away at the back in the men's section, he now stood on a display only a mere few feet in front of the cash registers, facing out towards the customers. With his back facing them, it prompted a few more jokes out of Jennifer, easy bait that they both knew was practically handed to them on a silver platter, but still as funny as ever.

"Hey, are you okay manning the station on your own?" Jennifer asked, nervously glancing up from her phone.

"Of course. Why? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, my mom's car broke down on the highway." She sighed, shooting another text from her phone before looking back to (y/n).

"That's tough. Go ahead, I'll be okay."

"Thank you. I seriously owe you one!" With that, she ran off to the back of the store, leaving (y/n) on her own at the register.

She really did mean it when she said she'd be alright. With only about a half hour left until closing time, and with only a handful more customers remaining, it wasn't anything she couldn't handle.

The air was stuffy and the fluorescent lights above were somewhat irritating. A monotonous pop song that has played about a hundred times today alone droned distantly from the speakers, and without her friend to drown it out, (y/n) was beginning to lose herself to the elements of the store.

Discreetly out of the corner of her eye, she could see an old woman, bundled up in a dense purple cardigan, carding through the rack of dresses. As far as (y/n) was aware, this was the last customer, and she highly doubted she'd be buying anything from that selection.

She drummed her fingers along the counter, eyes getting lost in its beige void, waiting for her day to end so she could leave this long and tedious shift. Beyond the grainy ambience of the playlist, she listened to the metallic screech of hanger against bar as the woman pushed aside each article of clothing.

Screech.

Screech.

Screech.

It was a cycle of monotony encircling (y/n), in which every element blended together in a jarring cacophony of noise. The woman with her hangers, the next pop song starting up, the low hum of the fluorescent lights above.

But between all of this, an element of surprise somehow managed to slip into the mix. A scrape which sounded so distinct, yet something (y/n) could not pinpoint. It grated upon her ears however, drawing a grimace out of her that had (y/n) immediately glancing up to survey the woman again.

Instead, what she was met with was Suho. More specifically, Suho now fully facing her.

She felt her stomach drop at the sight before her, her jaw falling in a silent gasp as he now faced the cash registers. The positioning of his limbs were all the same, that lifeless and distant stare still directed aimlessly forward.

He was just… turned around.

There was no one here. No one to have moved him at that very moment. The thought rattled her brain, hopelessly attempting to conjure some reason to the almost supernatural display before her, but nothing came to mind. No explanation as to how Suho could have moved.

"Excuse me," a voice startled (y/n) out of her stupor, redirecting her to the customer awaiting service. The old woman. She had chosen her dress.

(y/n) had quickly rung her up, bidding her a good night and thus being condemned once more to a bout of solitude. The fluorescent lights still pulsed above her, the next pop song now well into its playthrough, and Suho was still very much so facing her.

The moment her phone had indicated closing time, (y/n) all but rushed out of the cash register nook, not daring to look back at Suho. She had instead opted to retrieve her phone, quickly texting Jennifer the freaky encounter she'd just had. Though before she could make it very far, however, she patted her pockets, realizing her keys were not there.

In a brief moment of panic, she patted her other pocket, worry shooting through her as she was sure she just had them. That must mean they were dropped by the registers or something.

She sighed, turning around to retrace her steps, though stopping immediately as she stared down the walkway of the store.

In regards to the general layout of the store, carpeted sections of varying genres surrounded the reflective ceramic tiled pathways. Men's section, women's section, children's section. And among those sections were, of course, mannequins. So many mannequins. Mannequins which usually stared forward with a blank canvas of a face.

They do not usually crane their necks to stare at the exact spot you stand in—though that's the reality (y/n) met when she turned around.

Every mannequin in her general vicinity stared at her with those barren faces of theirs, heads all turned in her direction no matter where they stood. The sight had her entire body leap with fright, a brief yelp of shock expelling from her lips as she was greeted by such a sight.

(y/n) took a tentative step forward, eyes nervously bouncing from one figure to the next, monitoring for any movement of the sort, looking out for that telltale scrape of their porcelain-like joints shifting. Yet as she reached the end of the aisle, there was nothing of the sort. No change. They remained staring at the spot she once stood, and as she turned the corner to head back to the register, she felt silly for even toying with the idea of mannequins moving.

As she arrived to the registers, she began rummaging through the various hideaways she could find, coming up empty. The counters were spotless and the drawers contained their usual miscellaneous items tossed in over the years. She began considering other locations to check, and while she stood there in her own thoughts, her eyes naturally wandered up and ahead of her to where Suho usually stood.

Except now, there was no Suho.

(y/n) froze for the umpteenth time tonight, though only for a moment before she rushed over to the now barren spot. And where Suho once stood, there lay her keys, abandoned on his pedestal with no sign of the mannequin.

Without sparing another thought, (y/n) grabbed her keys and booked it for the backroom. Her feet slammed against the tiles beneath here, breath already heaving as she barreled down the long aisle of mannequins whom she ignored at all costs. She didn't care where they were looking. She didn't care if they were even still sitting there. All she knew was that she needed to get out of there as soon as humanly possible.

She yanked open the door to the backrooms. The walkways between the different storage areas and facilities of the store, and the only way to get to the back where she was parked. The fluorescent lighting here was more sparse than that of the store inside, bringing a repetitive pattern of lit spots alongside dimmed ones down the gray walled corridors which seemed to stretch as far as the eye can see.

Why was the corridor so long? Was it always this long?

Why was she out of breath? How long has she been running down this corridor?

She suddenly came tumbling to the floor, gasping as her body collapsed onto the concrete floors of the backrooms. She lay there for a moment in shock, gasping for air, wincing at the scrapes now lining her hands and forearms. A grimace slipped out of her as she pushed herself up, the sound of her weak voice reverberating off the endless labyrinth she had found herself in.

There was only the sound of her huffing and puffing as she attempted to regain herself. And then there was a sound of porcelain dragging against the floor.

With a gasp, (y/n) whirled around. He was a distance away, though still as clear as day. Standing beneath one of the fluorescent light fixtures from above.

Suho.

His expression was unchanged, as was his pose. He just… stood there. Staring at her. Yet even with his painted, stoic face, (y/n) could feel… contempt. Disdain. Like he meant her harm, and would do so at all costs.

She whimpered beneath his glower and quickly staggered to her feet, turning around to keep running down the corridor, though the moment she had stopped looking at him, the sound returned. And when she looked back at him, he was in the ray of darkness between the light he had just stood in and that of the next.

He was approaching her.

A sense of dread washed over her as the realization struck, and hot tears began pouring down her face in endless streams. With one last ditch effort, (y/n) turned and dashed down the corridor, arms swinging rapidly back and forth as her numb legs carried her as quickly as they could, purely fueled off the adrenaline which coursed through her feeble body. Blood pumped through her ears, and the sound of her pulse and her labored breathing masked whatever sounds may have transpired behind her.

She couldn't turn back. She knew turning back was certain death. And at this point, she realized that something was wrong with her surroundings. Something was wrong with the corridor. But there was no time to dwell. There was no time to rest. The moment she stopped running would be her final moment alive.

As if a miracle, the door to the outside finally came into her vision, right at the end of the corridor as it usually is. A smile twitched at the corner of her lips as she booked it for the exit, slamming her body into the dense slab of metal, though screaming in agony as she was met with resistance. She pushed again, pressing at the release, yet it didn't budge.

A screech tore at her throat, fear and rage broiling within her as she repeatedly slammed her fists at the door, begging for anyone to perhaps hear her desperation—her final moments. Yet as the sounds of her yells fizzled into that of sobs, she knew there was nothing more to be done.

In the suffocating silence of the dimly lit corridor, she found herself weakly sliding down the door, trembling breaths and quiet tears coming out shallow and broken. She had hit a deadend, and there was no way of escape. No hope left in her to even believe in any righteous intervention of the sort.

The scraping sound of porcelain drew nearer, and she finally looked up at what was coming for her.

He dragged himself forward, gliding across the cement in a smooth and unhindered manner. His lifeless eyes and unnerving smile continued to penetrate forward, straight ahead at the door, and somehow the lack of attention directly on her struck more terror into her. Inch by inch, he drew closer and closer, fading in and out of the beams of light until he had finally reached the patch of light directly before he'd be where she stood.

And then he stopped. He stood there. Unmoving.

(y/n) felt her hands scrambling for something, reaching out as far as she could from where she lay, hoping to find something she could as a weapon. Though she came up empty with only her set of keys trembling in her hands. She clutched them between her fingers, each key protruding forth like a set of claws, and she cradled her only defense to her chest, waiting for his next move.

It had grown deathly silent for moment, her breath hitched at her throat, and she quaked upon herself in whole body tremors.

Then his finger twitched. A sickening crack like breaking bones, yet he remained perfectly intact. Merely his finger was in a different position. And then his hand. And then his arm. Each followed by that resounding snap as he shifted in a broken and robotic manner. She watched with bated breath and trembling gasps as Suho began ambling forward once more in this terrifyingly decrepit manner, limbs contorting all while those cracks continued to resonate in the atmosphere surrounding her.

Her heart pounded hopelessly against her chest, utter fear squeezing at her throat with a vice like grip. There was no way of escaping. No way to evade the sinister presence creeping towards her with this impenetrable persistence.

As Suho drew nearer, this unsettling sensation washed over, as if the air around her had grown thick with pure malevolence all but emanating off him, suffocating her with endless dread and despair. She felt a presence unlike anything she'd felt before. Something more than just the lifeless form that stood before her.

Suho stood where her feet lay, limbs still jerking sporadically. And in the midst of these jolts, his head finally snapped down to where she lay, prompting her to press even further into the door. A loud and fearful gasp ripped out of (y/n) as Suho collapsed onto his knees, crawling up her body on all fours as she all but begged for mercy—desperate and incomprehensible mumbles while her trembling hands which gripped her keys fell limply to her side.

The cold, icy touch of his porcelain fingers grazed her hot skin, stretching along the planes of her neck, light as they encircled her throat before suddenly clenching with a furious might. Panic suddenly encompassed her as her airways became obstructed, her hands flailing up and grasping at his arms, nails scraping against him, though sliding off with no effect whatsoever. Meanwhile, his fingers constricted against her throat, their stone-like surface burrowing into her skin and drawing warm blood which trickled down her body as black spots began blurring her vision.

His force was unrelenting, all the while staring down at her with those soft brown painted eyes and that charming smiling, the last sight she saw before she finally faded away.

[paradoxgavel]

hey. shout out to everyone working retail right now and especially cashiers. this time of year is absolute hell on earth for retail folks, and if you're surviving it, i want you to know that i am so damn proud of you. we'll get through this.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

✨Unsolicited Lore Dump✨

I was tagged by dear @herdarkestnightelegance —you asked, you shall receive. Here's some Emi Lore Dump.

Do you make your bed? No. I sleep with a million blankets, two of them weighed, and I'm not wrestling with that shit every morning for the illusion of having my life together.

Favorite number? None in particular, but I can't stand even numbers.

What’s your job? I'm a BA student but I'm also having every joy and happiness squeezed from my body working in retail hell and doing boring website writing gigs on the side.

If you could go back to school would you? School like HS? Yes and no. It were easier times then and I miss seeing my friends daily, but I don't want to be 16 again. Higher education like university? Also yes and no. I can't wait to finish my BA but I am considering doing my MA because you kinda need three thousand and one degrees in this kinda economy. So, yes, I could and probably will.

Can you parallel park? Yes. I'm living in a big city and the first free parking spot you see is the parking spot you wanna have. My car looks accordingly, though.

Do you think aliens are real? Like life outside of planet Earth? Absolutely, yes.

Can you drive a manual car? Yes, they're quite common where I live and it forces me to stay focused while driving.

What’s your guilty pleasure? I'm trying to not feel guilty about any of my pleasures, as I let shame hold me back for way too long.

Tattoos? No. I never really felt the need to have one and I wouldn't know/couldn't decide what to get in the first place. Also my dream is to go to Japan and soak in onsen for a week straight and tattoos are kinda taboo there, especially in the more traditional ones.

Favorite color? Jade/sage green and sapphire blue.

Favorite types of music? Anything that makes the brain go brrr.

Do you like puzzles? No, and I never have. I just don't have the patience for them.

Any phobias? My biggest fear in life is being stuck in unhappy/toxic relationships and being dependent on other people.

Favorite childhood sport? I've never been a huge fan of sports because I detest sweating, so I found myself enjoying swimming. Though I was always better at diving than actual swimming lol

Do you talk to yourself? Yes.

What movies do you adore? I really like epic/adventure movies like LOTR, Pirates of the Caribbean, Labyrinth etc.

Coffee or tea? Tea all the way. Don't enjoy the taste of coffee and it makes me sleepy, so what's the point. I get my caffeine kicks from strong çay and one brand of Northern German black tea and that's it. I also enjoy good matcha, green tea infused with osmanthus or jasmine and fancy oolong tea.

First thing you wanted to be growing up? A writer. And a witch.

[dollarbin]

Mitchell Mondays #2:

Eastern Rain

My famous brother spent much of the last week bragging about how he'd taken in all 27 hours of Bob Dylan's latest archival release. I'd love to follow in his audio footsteps and listen to all of Bobby's 74 live recordings but I'm afraid there'd be some serious repercussions:

To begin, my work computer would give up the ghost. The machine is over a dozen years old and already on its last legs, laboring under the weight of some 30,000 MP3 files and 20 years of work documents. Every time I download another Neil Young bootleg compliments of my brother's fantastic blog the thing shudders, buckles and wavers somewhere between life and death. If that box could talk it would have nothing but curse words to hurl in my direction.

My trusty old IPod would beg for mercy. Forever addled with 22,000+ songs, it no longer holds a charge for more than 10 seconds and crashes every time I transfer antique docking stations. I'm so practiced at resuscitating it that it's a shame I wasn't on hand when Steven Jobs croaked. Plus the thing often insists boy genius is playing when I'm listening to Miles Davis. There are currently just 23 MBTs or GPTs or whatever of space left on it. Attempting to sneak 27 more hours of Dylan into its guts would be like entering me and my bald spot mid-school year and in-between shaves in a beauty pageant: things would get real ugly real fast.

Plus I'd be broke! The thing is retailing for $130 and I don't have 130 cents. Frankly, I find it incomprehensible that, given my track record of getting drunk and blogging while listening to Dylan's 70's live albums, Dylan's people have yet to send me a complimentary copy. Get to work all you Dylan-people: supply the Dollar Bin with free stuff already!

Finally, if I started in on 27 hours of Dylan and the Band in our kitchen my family would all rise up, don war-shirts and take to the streets against me. I once attempted to listen to every pass Dylan took on Idiot Wind in a row on a family car trip. In my defense I thought they'd all fall asleep or not notice what I was doing. But after just two and half glacial versions I was forced to abandon my attempt. It was either that or abandon my marriage.

Happily, my famous brother shouldered these risks for me and you and emerged unscathed, though one wonders whether his big deal wife made like a desperate farmer in a Dylan song and fingered the familial hatchet with menace once Bob and the Boys struck up their 64th rip roaring version of Hollis Brown.

Good bananas, this version, in which my brother astutely hears the rhythmic foundations of Shakey's Revolution Blues, truly cooks. Seven new people were probably born right there in the theater while Bob, Richard and everybody else pounded the hell outta this thing. Robbie Robertson: wow.

But the new Dylan collection's crown jewel, again according to the only human being on earth who has actually listened to the whole thing, is a song Dylan apparently couldn't find any room for on any of his 70's records. Apparently he thought New Pony was better than this greatness.

Imagine shrugging off and then forgetting altogether a song this dense and fruitful. Dylan, of course, built up a good deal of his cult following on equally stupid decisions: Union Sundown instead of Blind Willie McTell? Sure. Joey over Abandoned Love? Why not! Disease of Conceit when he had Series of Dreams? Definitely. Stupid apparently leads to genius if you're Bob Dylan.

But dare we say the same thing about Joni Mitchell? Once RBG died, Brandi Carlile forcefully placed Joni on our throne of liberal untouchability: criticize her and you'll suffer the progressive culture's wrath.

I'm as thrilled as you are to see Mitchell alive and well, but I think treating her like a Ming vase sucks. This is the Dollar Bin, not the Louvre, and we like our artists brilliant and flawed.

Consider: Mitchell routinely showed up to parties in the late 70's in blackface, then she memorialized the whole act on an album cover. Plus she once hired Billy Idol to accompany her on a song called Dancing Clown. Joni's not precious nor perfect; she's flawed, and she's awesome.

And she too was capable of Dylan-level dumbness.

Which brings us to Eastern Rain. When her Archives project was announced a few years back I couldn't wait to finally hear a studio take of her complex and rich song which was made famous by Fairport Convention.

But apparently Mitchell never even attempted the song for an album. All we've got after three archive collections are two live versions. They're both great, even if they include a twice repeated bridge which Fairport were wise to jettison.

Just imagine if she'd cut this song for Hissing of Summer Lawns. Lyrically it would interfere - I get that - but can't you just imagine the record's swooping bass laid over lush vibes and rich vocals? Eastern Rain could have served as yet another cornerstone of that incomparable record.

Then again, maybe the song is just cursed in some way; after all even Fairport Convention were dumb with it. Just listen to how much better everything sounds on this outtake version when Ian Matthews gets outta Sandy's way: