#when it died it took my like four days to get over to my grandma’s to bury it

[raeathnos]

.

[isabel3710]

I've dived headfirst back into my old Trolls hyper fixation with the release of the third movie. So I decided to write a little something for the idea of Branch being adopted by the Country Trolls.

I was inspired by some fan art by crunchy_coookies_ on insta and @rocksibblingsau's AU and a post they've made on this idea.

I would love to turn this into a full fledged fic one day but I'm already working on another trolls fanfic plus I got some (very loose) plans for another for when I'm done. But if I every have the time to write more I'll be sure to let you all know!

-----------

A little gray trolling sat on the edge of a dusty road, a worn looking bag sitting beside him. Branch held his ankle with both hands, it throbbed with pain and he was struggling not to cry. 

A few weeks ago Branch had decided to leave his tribe once and for all, he was tired of being bounced around from foster home to foster home. Full of people who either hated him or tried to turn him into something he wasn’t. So he packed a bag full of his prized possessions and any supplies he might need and snuck out in the middle of the night. 

At first things were great! And then he left the forest and made it to this desert of a wasteland, Branch did okay at first. He was careful to ration his food and slept with a knife in his hand.

Then today Branch had gotten his foot caught in some kind of hole and now his ankle really hurt. He had tried to stand up and power through but couldn’t without pain getting to an overwhelming degree.

He sniffed and whipped at his eyes, Branch didn’t know what he was going to do. He was stuck here with a hurt leg and he had run out of food last night. 

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by some strange clip-clop sound. Branch reached into his bag and pulled out his little knife. He was alone out here and who knew how many things out in this strange land liked to eat trolls. 

Dust had suddenly risen up into the air and got into Branch’s eyes, he tried to blink it away as the strange sound got closer and closer. When his vision had cleared he saw the figure that matched the clopping sound.

And….

It was a troll?

The troll looked like one he had never seen before, she had orange skin and red hair which did remind him of the trolls back home. But that was where the similarities ended, for she had four legs with hooves and a fluffy looking teal tail. Her clothes weren't neon or pastel colored or covered in glitter, but fairly plain looking; with a few dirt stains and patches.

The woman seemed to notice him too for she started to walk over to him, the clopping sound following her. “Hey sugar” she said, her voice sounded strange. Nothing like Branch had ever heard before. “Why’re you out here all alone?”

Branch sniffled and tried to scoot away on his bottom, dragging his injured leg along the ground. The hand holding his knife shook a bit. 

“Hey, hey” the woman said, her voice gentle. “I’m not going ta’ hurt you.” She knelt in front of him “what happened ta’ your leg?”

Something about this woman felt calming, Branch hadn’t met anyone who made him feel this way since his Grandma died. “I tripped,” he said, tears running down his cheeks. “It hurts really bad.”

“I’m sure it does” the woman said “mind if I take a look?”

Branch hesitated before nodding, the woman carefully took his ankle in her hands. He winced a bit in pain but stayed still. The woman tutted softly “looks like you sprained it honey.” 

“Oh…”

She pulled out a piece of dark green cloth and tied it around his ankle. “We'll have to put some ice on it.”

“I don’t have any ice,” Branch said.

“Not to worry,” she smiled at him, “town’s not too far from here.” 

There was a town out here… “how?” He asked, “it hurts to walk.”

“Climb on my back” she said “and I’ll carry ya.” 

“Won’t that hurt you?”

She chuckled “you’re sweet, sugar, but not to worry. I’ll be fine.” The women helped Branch sit on her back before slowly standing “hold on darlin’.” 

Branch held his bag in one hand and to the women’s shirt with the other. And she began to walk, the clopping sound following them. It was then Branch realized he had no idea what this lady’s name was.

“Ms” he said “I’m sorry but… What’s your name?”

She chuckled “no need to apologize hon. I’m Ms Delta Dawn. What’s your name?”

“Branch.” He said “my name is Branch."

[nogreatillusion]

Three months! How can so many things happen in three months?

I said to my therapist “I know it’s self-pitying, but I feel like bad things just keep happening to me?” And she said “No, that’s objectively true,” and I laughed through my tears.

Our car was stolen on Arlo’s fifth birthday. When the police found it three days later, it was filled with bullet holes.

A few weeks later, for reasons I can’t bear to name, the depression I’d been battling since age 12 hit an all time low. I was incapable of doing anything other than contemplate and plan my suicide. I was voluntarily committed to the psychiatric ward for four days. It was the single most traumatic experience of my life and also utterly necessary.

The hospital referred me to a doctor to manage the medication I was prescribed. Days before my first appointment, I received a call that my appointment was canceled. The doctor had died, unexpectedly. I was never able to get someone from the practice to return my calls.

A few weeks after I returned home, my grandma died. It was not particularly sudden, but I took it harder than I expected to.

A few weeks later, while I was on vacation in Cape Cod with my family, my mom got up in the night and thinking she was entering the bathroom, stepped into thin air down the basement steps. She suffered a traumatic brain injury, a broken vertebra, a fractured knee, and a sprained ankle. I spent much of the rest of my vacation in the hospital, worrying she would die.

After I returned home, I found out the nannying job I’d been clinging to with a hopefulness I didn’t realize I had left in me, had fallen through. I felt unsurprised in a way that broke my heart.

Arlo didn’t qualify for his IEP for kindergarten. The occupational therapist informs me that I’m going to have to fight to get him what he needs. The pharmacy is texting me that I’m about to run out of medication and I still don’t have a doctor. Thora flares up with hives all over her face and body and we rush her to urgent care. Ben’s mom asks if we’re still thinking about another baby. I cry in the bathroom at a family function. Arlo’s gymnastics coach leaves me a voicemail, asking how they can help him get through the days at camp. I don’t know. I don’t know! Everything keeps happening and I’m barely here!

No tidy endings to this list. It feels more appropriate to end with an ellipsis. A foreboding “to be continued…” Is that bad luck?

Seconds after I wrote the paragraph above, there was honking, a shot fired directly outside our house and a scream. Ben and I fell to our knees, away from the windows and called 911. Later, more shots, further off in the distance.

It felt like a warning, an echo. A reply.

[slasher-key]

Stay With Me (Charlie Walker)

Pairing: Charlie Walker x Fem!! Reader 

Warnings: The usual curse word here and there

This is a lil enemies to lover for you. I hope you enjoy thanks for reading ❤️❤️I really appreciate it.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I never really liked Charlie Walker. When I first moved to Woodsboro he would tease and taunt me until I broke, all so he could impress his friends. He spread a rumor about how I gave it up to him at some party once, and everyone would call me these horrible names. That was my breaking point, that was the first time I stood up for myself for once, and the first time I ever punched someone in the face. Since that day we have been at each other’s throats.

Our hatred for each other was so bad I couldn’t even go to Cinema Club, and I fucking love movies. But I already have to see him in two of my classes and lunch, so why would I want to be around him after school as well. Kirby tried to convince me to come but I couldn’t stand it. So now I just go home and watch TV alone. Since my grandma is working at the hospital all the time. I’m home alone a lot.

I am sitting in my last class of the day impatiently waiting for the bell to ring. I zone out looking at the clock when I feel a tap on my arm. I already knew who it was because he does it every day. “You coming to Cinema Club today? you know it’s the anniversary.” He says “First off why are you talking to me like we are friends? And second why would I want to celebrate a bunch of teenagers getting murdered?” I reply, a disgusted look plastered on my face “You’re so fucking weird, you know that.” I continue, packing up my things and walking out of the room as the bell rings. But as you walk out of the room you can’t help but notice the slight frown on Charlie’s face. 

On my way to the cemetery I pick up some flowers to put on my mom’s grave it is the anniversary of her death after all. My grandma was gonna come but she got called into work at the last minute so It’s just me. My mom was apart of the original Woodsboro murders. She was killed in our house alone, while my grandma took me to my doctors appointment I was only four when she died. She had me her freshman year after a ‘drunken mistake’ (as my grandma calls it) at her first high school party. She didn’t really know how to raise a child so my grandma did most of it for her, but I don’t love her any less. My grandma tells me lots of stories about her, and how she tried her best for me. I never knew my dad, so I would try to get my grandma to talk about him. But she wouldn’t let up, so after a while I gave up.  

I made it to the cemetery, and found her grave. I sat and talked to her for a little, and cleaned up her grave as well. In the middle of my sentence I pause, as I hear someone walking toward me. I look back and it’s Sidney, I stand up quick and face her. We stand in silence for a while, just staring at each other. “You look just like her.” She says breaking the silence “Yeah I get that a lot.” I reply. I sit in the spot that I was in before, and she walks over and sits next to me. I met Sidney a couple time as a kid, her and my mom were friends all through high school until you know what. I didn’t see her much after my grandma moved us out of Woodsboro, she also moved as well, so it’s been a couple years. 

“I just wish I got more time with her.” I whisper, my voice breaks, and I break down in Sid’s arms. “I know, it’s going to be okay.” She replies holding me tightly in her arms. Sid and I stay at the cemetery and just talk. Everything is going well with our conversation until I bring up my dad. “Hey Sid, do you know who my dad is? My grandma has never told me, and my mom doesn’t seem to have any pictures or anything of him or with him.” I ask, maybe this was the only way I could finally know about my dad, so I was going to try. “I don’t think that’s my place to tell you, but I will say they kept him away from you for a reason sweetheart.” she replies. After she answers she quickly changes the subject to something else. we talk for about another 15 minutes then go our separate ways. The whole drive home I can’t stop thinking about what Sid said about my dad. 

I make it back to the house and walk up to the front door. “Hey y/n, wait.” I hear from across the street I look back to see Charlie getting out of his car, and start to jog towards me. “What do you want now, Charlie?” I ask, not in the mood for his shit at the moment. “I didn’t know she was your mom y/n I’m so sorry for today, Kirby told me after I told her what you said during our last class.” He says, and for once I actually believed him and wasn’t annoyed to be around him. “It’s fine Charlie, but how didn’t you know, we have the same last name? and don’t you know everything about these murders?” I ask “I mean yeah most of it, doesn’t everyone?” He asks “Nope, not me, my grandma kept me away from this town and my mom’s murder for as long as she could.” I reply “But, you could help me with learning about it. you wanna come in?” I ask. if Charlie was going to pity me for the rest of the week why not use it to my advantage. 

“Okay so you’re grandma has never mentioned anything that can give you hints about your dad?” Charlie asks, trying to help me find out what happened to my mom and dad. “Nope she did everything in her will power to keep me away from knowing the truth, but I’m sick of her hiding things from me.” I reply “Do you guys have anything that could hold lot’s of old storage? You know an attic, a little room in the basement, a separate bedroom that no one uses, anything like that?” he asks “Yeah why?” I ask furrowing my eyebrows in confusion. “So we can see if she has any picture or anything that can give us some hints, duh idiot.” he replies “Oh fuck off, but yeah we have an attic.” I say “Have you ever been up there?” he asks “No, I didn’t know about it until recently, and I got to scared to go up there.” I reply “scaredy cat” he coughs out “Anyway, what the hell are we waiting for let’s do this fucker you want my help or not.”

We grab some flashlights from the closet and make our way up the ladder to the attic. “Well it isn’t as dusty and scary as I thought.” I saw shining my flash light around. There is a lot up here, but Charlie and I start to dig our way through. About an hour later Charlie finds a box with my mom’s name on it. We take it and go back to my room. 

I am too nervous to open it, so I make Charlie do it for me. He starts to look through the box, most of it is picture of my mom with grandma, my mom and I, and her with her friends from school. Charlie keeps digging and finds a diary with my mom’s initials written on it. He flips through the diary, and abruptly stops, a large gasp escapes him, and he quickly closes the book. “Charlie what’s wrong?” I ask, he looks at me with sympathy in his eyes. “I don’t think you should be doing this y/n.” He says, he is frozen still. I snatch the book away and start to flip through the pages. I see his name ‘Stu Macher’ I froze, the book falls out of my hand. I don’t know what to do I don’t know what to think. My body goes weak all I can do is fall to the ground and cry. Charlie runs over to me and hugs me tightly. Whispering you’re okay, and it’s going to be okay, over and over again.

After a while of me crying in his arms. Charlie and I are sitting on my bed in silence. “It’s getting pretty late maybe you should go.” I say, my voice horse from all the crying “I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying at least until your grandma get’s home.” he says, moving my face so I can look at him. “Thanks for staying with me Charlie.” I say hugging him once again. Charlie stayed with me that whole night, even when I confronted my grandma about not telling me who my dad was. 

Out of all the people I could’ve had there with me tonight, I never thought I would want it to be Charlie, but her I am cuddled up with him in sweet soothing silence.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading 💕💕💕 Love You All

[porcelainbirdss]

those summer nights ⋆·˚ ༘ * kuroo tetsurou

kuroo tetsurou x f!reader

content warning: health issues, alcohol consumption (by adults and in reasonable amounts), chapter’s kinda long but dynamic

ch. four - "look back." ↓

sixth of july, 1991

"no, you don’t understand, kenma! it was absolutely… crazy? i mean—"

right now, kuroo was talking to his friend kenma. mainly because he missed the younger man, but also he was simply bored out of his mind.

"uh-huh. wanna put anymore emphasis on how "insane" sneaking out at night was? and how you almost "died” multiple times?" kenma’s static voice rang on the other side, and kuroo swore that he sounded almost uninterested.

"cause it was! i swear to god, she dragged me through the forest, and we still hadn’t found her cat, so obviously she was panicking, i was panicking, like, you know, and then it suddenly got so light outside, and we’re still searching-"

at this point, the younger one already spaced out. at first the story seemed somewhat captivating, but when his friend started to repeat himself for the third time, it got boring rather quickly. he held back a yawn, his fingers playing with the phone’s cord. suddenly, kuroo stopped his yapping and a second, distant voice could be heard. a beat of silence passed.

"uhh… sorry kenma, my grandma’s here and she wants something from me." the man explained, noticeably upset that his logorrhea got interrupted, "i’ll call you back later, okay?"

"fine, fine," kenma’s soft tone resonated in the receiver, "have fun there.”

with that, he put down the phone, turning to face his grandma. the woman held a basket filled with various things, smiling at him from the kitchen.

"talking with your friend?" she inquired, calmly scanning the man who began approaching her.

"yeah, yeah," he answered shortly, his intrigued gaze flickering over to the basket the older woman was holding. there was some soup in one of the jars, along with a multitude of herbs and vegetables. "what’s this for?"

she pushed the thing into his arms, sending him a knowing look. "this is for y/n. give it to her aunt” she explained, "the poor girl will need it. i’m so worried about her…"

right. y/n turned out to be sick the same day they returned from their nightly escapade. it’s been almost three days and she still failed to step outside. whatever got her, it must’ve been a nasty cold.

considering everything given, kuroo’s days were awfully monotone.

having an excuse to visit her was great, so he took the basket without any complaints. he quickly walked over to the neighboring house and knocked thrice, careful not to drop the things. if he did, jars with soup would surely shatter. a prolonged moment passed before a woman opened the door.

he already had the chance of talking with her. she was y/n’s aunt. she always seemed to move with so much grace in her step, it was somewhat mesmerizing to look at. he was the first one to politely smile, for whatever reason trying to appear as best as he could.

"good day, miss. we heard that y/n is sick,” he breathed, staying mindful of what he was saying, "so my grandmother prepared some essentials for you."

her aunt momentarily reciprocated his cordial expression, stepping aside to let the man in.

"that is such a pleasant surprise, kuroo," she chimed, taking the basket from his hands with a grateful nod, "would you like to go see y/n? she’s upstairs in her room." the woman offered, placing the gift on the table.

hearing that, kuroo’s confident posture faltered a little bit. he didn’t have anything against seeing with the girl, no. however, she was in the bed now, probably sleeping or struggling with her high fever. she hated being caught off guard, so won’t she get mad at him if he barges into her room without notice?

even so, it wouldn’t hurt to try. pushing all his doubts back, he nodded his head. "yeah, sure. i can pay her a quick visit,” he replied nonchalantly while taking off his shoes, "i hope she won’t mind."

her aunt send an encouraging smile towards the man, explaining which room belong to y/n. with that, he swiftly climbed upstairs and reached for the door on his left. once again, he knocked three times before a muffled "come in" could be heard.

he walked into the space, absorbing everything with his wide eyes. wow, he surely didn’t expect… whatever this was. first thing that caught his utmost attention was a pile of canvases, adorned with landscapes and other things his non-artistic mind failed to grasp. they all stood in one corner, varying in size.

the longer he stood there, the more lost he felt. trinkets, photos, paintings. his mind spun at the overwhelming amount of colorful stuff, unable to focus on only one thing. finally, a sound of familiar voice snapped him out of his reverie.

"hey, are you here to see me or gawk like an idiot?" y/n’s hoarse tone tore kuroo’s gaze from the decorations her room held, making him look at the bed she was currently chained to.

he cleared his throat, feeling dumb that he got so lost in admiring the inside. truth was, his rooms never looked like that. no matter if he was in college or childhood house, they always seemed rather bland. same goes to all his friends - neat, but nothing extraordinary. this space however? it was absolutely cluttered, but not in a bad way.

if he could, he’d stare at the paintings and pictures forever, studying how they were made, and when y/n took them. it was so captivating, and for what?

"gosh, i’m sorry, y/n," he chuckled, walking up closer to her bed, "your room is just so messy, i couldn’t see where you are." a smirk grew on his face with a tinge of mischief.

the girl furrowed her brows, sending him a faked look of offense. she pulled up the covers over herself, only her head peeking out. the man wondered - how is she not cooking alive? it was humid in the room, and she was hiding under her sheets.

"well, if you don’t like it here, you’re free to go." she huffed, tossing on the other side.

kuroo grabbed the nearest chair and sat by her bed, observing her form for a short second. the woman seemed indeed sick, even though she still had the strength to bicker with him.

"no, i actually love it," he assured, gently tugging at her duvet, "don’t be mad?" he pleaded, feigning a whiny tone.

at that, y/n turned back in his direction, snickering weakly. their gazes locked and both of them remained still for a while before the girl began to speak.

"i know i already told you that, but i’m grateful for your help." she smiled at him, lying on her side as she called out to bee. the small cat was hiding under the desk the whole time. it emerged from the shade, jumping up on her bed. the animal’s tail was high up, but it measured the man with intense disdain in its eyes.

y/n held bee close to her chest, gently petting her orange fur. "bee’s grateful too, right?" she cooed towards her pet, which seemed to react with indifference.

"i’m just glad your cat’s safe," kuroo spoke, reaching his hand towards it, but it scurried back under the desk. he sighed, rolling his eyes. "even though she doesn’t seem to like me. just like her mistress."

at that, y/n let out a laugh. it was heartfelt.

"sorry, sorry," she breathed, calming down her sounds of joy, "ah… anyway, once i get better, i’ll treat you to something. deal?" she offered, her eyebrows lifting upwards.

seeing the woman won’t let go of the topic unless kuroo agrees to do something about it, he simply nodded. "alright, deal."

well, it was… kind of her to pay him back, even if only with a small onigiri. he searched with her, expecting nothing out of the whole ordeal, since y/n didn’t seem to like him that much.

right now, a clear shift in the air happened. the girl was much more amiable to him, and to his surprise, she didn’t chase him out of her room. was he unsatisfied with the change? no.

when she opened her mouth to say something more, suddenly her aunt entered the room with a plate. kuroo took notice of all the medicine lying on it, along with a bowl of soup. the man quickly stood up from his seat, placing the chair back where it belonged.

"are you two having fun?” the older woman asked with a chime in her tone, placing everything on the bedside table, "y/n, i brought you some meds and soup. try to finish it all, okay?" she measured her niece with a strict, yet at the same time careworn look.

the younger one murmured a meek "mkay", pulling herself up in order to reach for the colorful pills. the black-haired man glanced between both women, finally deciding it would be better if he returned home. he went for a quick visit, not to stay there forever and converse about silly things with an already tired girl.

"i’ll be going now," the corners of his lips curled up in a polite way, "i don’t want to bother you anymore." he took a wide step towards the door, ready to leave and get busy with his rather boring day.

"wait, kuroo!” y/n’s weak call stopped him in his tracks. he sent her a questioning look. "your hoodie is on my desk."

oh. right. he forgot that he lended it to her, worried that the night’s air would be chilly. the man cleared his throat, grabbing the familiar clothing. for whatever reason, he felt oddly embarrassed.

with a short goodbye, he left.

july thirteenth, 1991.

the day kuroo visited y/n, it turned out that she needed to go to a hospital. home remedies weren’t working, and during the night her fever reached a worrisome degree. so, her uncle along with aunt drove all the way over to town, checking the girl into one of the local hospitals. it was better than risking her health.

at least that’s what his grandmother told him.

in all honesty, the man was slightly concerned for her. not to the point of any anxieties, but he still sometimes thought about whether she was doing better or not. it’s not everyday someone has to go through such a severe illness.

she wasn’t occupying his mind too much. surely not.

his sleep wasn’t too good either, and he felt tired most of the time. days stretched on, and even though he tried to keep his hands busy, they still seemed repetitive. wake up around 5 am, help his grandmother, read some magazines, stare mindlessly into the tv. take a walk, sit on the patio and wave the fan at his face. phone kenma, receive an occasional call from his parents. go to sleep. repeat.

life without somebody his age to accompany him was dull, that much was true. fortunately, y/n finally got checked out from the hospital today. when he heard the news, a wave of relief washed over him. his torturous boredom finally came to an end.

“really, grandma? that’s great," kuroo perked up from his slouched position, "is she home? i haven’t seen her yet."

seeing his sudden enthusiasm, the older woman chuckled, “no, she’s not. y/n’s aunt told me that she immediately stormed off to the fields. she tried to stop her, but…" his grandmother sighed, shaking her head with an amused smile, "y/n was just too eager. she got sick of being bedridden."

that sounded just right. from what kuroo deduced, the girl was free-spirited alright. with her stubbornness and enormous amounts of energy, of course she’d do something like that instead of recovering for a few more days.

"okay, uhh… i’ll try to go look for her." he stated, pulling himself up and starting to head towards the door.

"you missed her?"

kuroo stopped putting on his shoes, his breath hitching. no, no he didn’t miss her. not at all. he just - he wants to see her is all. it didn’t mean anything. was he not allowed to get bored?

"nah, i wanted to take a stroll anyway." he replied briefly, as he finished tying up the lace of his shoes. he stood up and reached for the handle. "i’ll be back soon."

his grandmother replied with an acknowledging hum, dropping the topic.

the man stepped outside, and to his surprise the weather was actually bearable today. the sky wasn’t exactly overcast, but the clouds travelled across the firmament rather quickly. it was a pleasant change. he enjoyed the wind, especially during summer when it cooled down his body.

starting to stroll through the streets in a rushed manner, kuroo sorted through the options of where y/n could possibly be. suddenly his mind got struck with an obvious realization, recalling the easel standing on one of the hills. the woman seemed to be a big fan of painting, so it could have belonged to her.

he rendered the distance between him and the 'wilder' side of the village, basking in the breeze and chill it provided him. alas, the man’s brain began throwing uncertainties at him. what if y/n didn’t wish to see him? it was a possibility, since she just got out of the hospital, and perhaps wanted a while of solitude. it would be embarrassing to show up, and the first thing she tells him is to "go away" with that frigid look in her eyes.

on the other hand, their bickering now took a more playful approach and it would seem y/n finally warmed up to him. yes, that’s right. he mustn’t worry.

after about twenty minutes passed, he lifted up his head from the gravel patch and recognized a familiar looking environment. kuroo looked around, noticing a silhouette atop the hill.

there she was.

the man waved towards the girl, as her gaze trailed over to him as well. she waved back, a bright grin growing on her face (which blew away all of his lingering doubts). there was a palette placed in her hand, and a brush in her other one. his wild guess was right - y/n was painting.

suddenly, a strong gust of wind took the girl’s hat, making it fly away with its course. she failed to grasp it in time, and it went straight in kuroo’s direction. he waited for a second before jumping up and catching the hat with his hands. y/n cheered at that, and the black-haired man walked over to the hill, starting to climb up.

"here you go." he handed her the thing, a proud smile blooming on his features.

"why, thank you so much." she chimed, putting the hat back on her head. it’s white lace tied up in a neat ribbon complimented her current attire. it was, well… putting it simply, nice to look at.

"are you not scared of catching another cold?" kuroo inquired, quirking up his eyebrow, "it’s windy today."

"i mean…," the woman started, her eyes trailing back to the canvas standing before them, "i’d rather be here than in my room." she shrugged, mindlessly dipping the brush in some paint.

kuroo scanned whatever she was creating right now. it didn’t look like anything yet. just some base colors and shapes, barely outlining the concept y/n carried in her mind. it was hard to make out what the final product would look like. the man hummed, observing as she began to place more smooth lines.

"anyway, uh, how was your stay at the hospital?" he asked, his amber irises fluttering between y/n and the canvas.

she let out a breathy laugh at his question, focusing on keeping her hand steady. "not that fun, as you can imagine. i almost thought of escaping, but the nurses along with my aunt would probably kill me."

kuroo shifted on his feet, giving her an acknowledging nod. for an unknown reason, his usually good social skills weren’t doing anything good in his favor today, and his mind was pretty much blank. it was either the fault of his (kind of) tired mind, or the hypnotizing hand movements y/n did whenever she placed another stroke.

"yeah, escaping hospitals is always a bad idea, you know," he muttered without putting too much thought to his words, "anyway, what’re you painting?" he swiftly changed the topic, thinking that maybe now his words won’t fail him.

the girl’s head turned in his direction, a secretive smile tugging at her lips. she clicked her tongue, putting the brush down.

"i won’t tell you." y/n teased, "plus, i don’t like when someone’s gawking at me while i’m painting."

that made kuroo recoil slightly, as only now he realized that he was leaning into her and measuring every movement without an ounce of shame in his eyes. he cleared his throat, mustering up a nervous chuckle.

"my bad." he brushed his fingers through his unruly bangs that got messed up by the wind, “should i go now?"

“hmm, maybe?” the woman shrugged, "but come out on the balcony at night, okay? i’ve got a gift for you." she offered him a small smirk with a lighthearted tone in her voice.

the man sent her a quizzical look, getting momentarily lost. a gift? y/n was very vague about it, so he didn’t really know what to expect. still, he decided against questioning her about it.

"as you wish," he reciprocated her smile, taking a step backwards, "see you soon then."

with that, kuroo walked down the hill, pondering about what the surprise could be. one thing was for sure - he wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

july thirteenth, 11:12 pm

the man just finished getting changed into some more comfortable clothes when his gaze flickered to the clock hanging above his desk. it was already pretty late, and yet he stayed up, eager to see whatever y/n conjured up. even if he tried to get some shuteye earlier, the thoughts would keep him up anyway.

finally deciding to step out on the balcony, he opened the glass door and got hit with a wave of humid air, wind blowing straight at his face. a storm was coming, and the first rain drops started to dance on his skin. as he predicted, the girl was nowhere to be seen. however, her doors were slightly ajar, so he decided to call out to her.

"heey, y/n!" he leaned over the barrier as much as he could, "you there?" his voice carried all the way to her room, and the girl arrived in the doorframe almost instantly.

"took you long enough," she send him a snicker, walking up to the edge of balcony as well, "c’mon, you’ll need to jump over to this side, so prepare." she waved at him with encouragement, her eyes glimmering with tangible mischief.

"what? wouldn’t using the door be easier?" his eyes widened as he measured the distance between him and the ground. it’s not like he was scared, he just- well, the idea was kind of absurd.

y/n rolled her eyes, "but where’s the fun in that?" she chuckled, reaching her hand out to kuroo. "if you’re scared you’ll fall, you can hold onto my hand."

ah, those words seemed familiar. was he getting déjà vu?

never mind. y/n did that before; speaking more precisely - when she practically broke into his house in the middle of the night, so it’s probably safe. in the worst case, he’ll simply slip and break a few limbs.

kuroo tilted his head, thinking of the best way he could execute his leap. it was kind of tricky, nevertheless didn’t seem too hard nor far away. he grabbed the barrier, hooking one of his legs over to the edge’s other side. he did so with another one, finally turning back to be met with y/n’s expectant expression. even though she seemed to be laid back about the whole ordeal of jumping between balconies (unsettlingly so), her vigilant eyes still trailed over his every movement.

the man searched for the most optimal angle, stretching his joint to reach the other edge where the woman was standing. somehow he managed to grasp the railing and steady himself, swiftly taking the last step. damn, he got to y/n’s side by doing a weird split. how graceful.

seeing him success, she clasped her hands together. "impressive. you actually didn’t chicken out," her cheerful voice resonated right beside kuroo’s ear, "c’mon, i’ll help you out."

"i’m not some old grandpa, you don’t need to help me," he protested, even though the woman’s hands were already supporting his kind of unsteady grip. without thinking too much, he quickly put his legs over the barrier, now safely standing in front of y/n. he sighed, realizing he was holding in his breath the whole time.

"see? it’s easy!" she chimed, starting to walk into her room. kuroo followed after her, looking around. it seemed familiar, yet at the same time not. perhaps it was because darkness dominated the space, only minor lights being turned on. he closed the door, shaking his head in order to get rid of the rain’s droplets dripping from his hair.

“anyway", the girl started, "when i was checking out from the hospital, my uncle had to buy some things from the town, and i got this!" she exclaimed, reaching for an expensive-looking sake. she dangled the bottle before kuroo’s eyes, practically forcing him to examine it with utmost care, as if buying it was her biggest life accomplishment.

"so is this the gift you were talking about earlier?" he asked, a teasing smile stretching his lips. "wow, i didn’t expect you to be so big on alcohol."

"i’m not! i just… kinda didn’t know what to get you— i mean, as my thanks for helping me with the whole bee situation, so i thought some sake could be good." y/n stumbled over her own words, a small ounce of embarrassment blooming on her face.

the man let out a sigh, hearing that the rain outside was getting stronger by the second. honestly, he didn’t have anything against occasional drinking with good company. he plopped down by the table, happy to see that she previously prepared the shot glasses.

"i hardly attend any parties, but that’s nice of you," he snickered, cracking his knuckles, "though, can you drink, y/n? you barely got out of the hospital." he offered her a slightly concerned look, resting his chin on his hand.

the woman sat down too, already opening the bottle. "i’ll be drinking in moderate amounts today," she winked, a smirk growing on her face as she popped the sake open. the woman poured the liquor into their glasses, and they quickly clinked them together before flushing the fiery water down their throats.

kuroo nodded approvingly at the taste, putting his glass down. "what about your uncle and aunt? are they not home right now?" he inquired, glueing his gaze straight onto the girl’s face.

"nope, they’re visiting their friends tonight." y/n briefly explained, "so it’s just the two of us."

the man smiled at the agreeable revelation.

and with that, the two began to drink. about one and a half hour later, they were already five shots in. alcohol started to take course in their veins, making their bodies along with minds sluggish, and slower than they usually were. they managed to talk about many things in the meantime - from heated discussions to peaceful conversations about their favorite childhood food.

right now they were sitting close to each other, kuroo pointing at the photos hanging on y/n’s wall and asking about them.

"what about this one?" he slurred, his index finger fixated on one of the pictures. he squinted his eyes at it, trying to decipher what it was showing.

y/n hummed out loud, fingertips grazing her jaw as she pondered over the contents of the photo. “i guess i took that one, when uhh," she coughed, furrowing her eyebrows, "when i was in art club during high school. honestly, i had so much fun there."

kuroo turned his head in the woman’s direction, his eyebrows lifting up. for whatever reason, her being a part of an art club surprised him, when it obviously shouldn’t.

"damn, that’s so cool," he declared, straightening out a little, "so, what do you even do in an art club? is it, like, hard?" he bombarded y/n with questions, as the topic was pretty much alien to him.

"i mean, it was hard sometimes, yeah. but we mostly enjoyed it." she responded, her eyes remaining pinned to the photography. kuroo couldn’t put his finger on it, but something on her face betrayed yearning.

hearing her vague answer, he stopped for a second to study the woman’s expression. "so… did you go to academy of fine arts? or something in that direction?"

y/n’s jovial mood faltered just a bit, as she finally tore her gaze away from the picture, instead focusing on kuroo’s eyes. he doubled like some kind of a mirage, making it hard to actually look into his honeyed irises.

"no. no, i did not." she shook her head, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "i actually managed to get into one of the academies, but i was forced to reject it."

the man’s eyes shot wide as he had to physically stop his jaw from falling to the ground. "what? your art is so beautiful i could bet my whole arm you did attend some academy!" he exclaimed, knitting his eyebrows together, "why did you reject, though?"

seeing a mixture of disappointment and shock painting itself across kuroo’s features made y/n giggle weakly. "ah, you know. some shit happened and i had to move to the countryside. mainly because of my poor health, and some other factors…" she mumbled, supporting her suddenly heavy head on her palm. "so i’m just freelancing now."

he nodded in acknowledgment, finally taking notice of her somewhat saddened energy. it would be awful to ruin the whole mood, so he kept his mouth shut.

a beat of silence passed before the woman started to talk again, "and what about you? what did you do in the past?"

kuroo blinked twice, taken aback by her question. "oh, me?" he mused, as if trying to remember what was a mere few years ago, "i played volleyball. i was the team’s captain." a proud expression turned his lips upwards.

now it was the time for y/n to be surprised. she gasped, excitement blossoming on her face anew. "really?" she chimed happily, "are you, uhh… some professional player that i’ve never heard of? oh my god, was i talking to a celebrity the whole time and had no idea?" the girl clasped her head in astonishment. her feelings didn’t seem to be feigned.

at that, the man let out a cackle, the sound resembling a caw. he patted y/n’s back in a heartfelt manner, wondering where did she even get that idea from.

"no," he began with a prolonged breath, "i went to a college completely unrelated to sport."

"did you get an injury that made you resign from volleyball?" the woman asked disheartened, because kuroo was, in fact, not popular.

"nah, none of that," he chuckled, his shoulders shaking with the sound of joy, "i guess i just needed to do something different," the man turned his head to look straight into y/n’s hazy eyes, fogged by the alcohol, "or be someone else too."

the girl gave him an understanding nod, slightly leaning into him with a somber smile stretching her lips. "to think we both lived for so long, and yet hardly at all."

yeah. that much was true. the two of them shared a common characteristic - their life turned out simply wrong, and nothing like planned. sometimes fate likes to give you false hope, and then tear it away from your arms, leaving you wounded and lost. it’s nothing special.

kuroo probably had no right to grieve over his lost dreams, when others had to deal with it too.

the woman finally rested her forehead on the table, showing her body was at the brink of what it could endure. "i wanna go to sleep", she slurred, her voice fuzzy, "kuroo, you can lay in my bed if you’d like… i can just rest on the floor."

hearing y/n’s nonsense, he stood up, gently grabbing her arm and pulling the girl up. "don’t say stupid things." he muttered, sitting her on the bed. "lie on your side. yell if something happens." he sent her a small smile before turning back on his heel.

something within y/n told her to pull the man’s dark red shirt and stop him. she didn’t like being by herself while drunk, as it made her feel completely alone. alas, he was already too far, and she didn’t have the courage to protest. the woman let out a disdained sigh, listening to the sounds of thunder outside. she closed her eyes, deeming her trail of thought as unreasonable.

meanwhile kuroo already reached his destination. the bathroom. he felt like sleeping in the tub would be better than being sprawled out on the floor in the most uncomfortable position one could imagine. he stepped inside, lying down after making sure it’s not too wet.

when he stared at the ceiling, it spun around before his eyes. the man felt as if he was sitting on the carousel, mounting a dignified horse. he growled, cursing at himself.

"fuck, i’ll never drink again." he mumbled, shutting his eyelids, regret already filling him up.

that night, kuroo slept for one hour.

🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚🎐 🫧𓇼𓏲*ੈ✩‧₊˚

notes: there’s a lot of time skips in this chapter, i know i know. but i decided to take a more dynamic approach, otherwise the fanfic would turn out to be like 200k words lmfaoaoao

also i struggled with writing this so muuuch. there’s a lot of digression from the previous chapters, everyone REFUSES to stay in character, the dialogues arent flowing, and i was constantly tired or uninspired. i practically forced myself to finish ts 💀🙏 anyway i hope y’all liked it ^__^

just to be sure: i quoted charles bukowski

[seresinsbabe]

Singing Again

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x fem!reader

Synopsis: Bob notices the first big change after you start fighting your depression.

Warnings: depression, mentions of suicide and passive suicidal ideation, therapy, treatment of depression, angst, fluff. basically if anything in the realm of depression is triggering for you don't read this.

I do not consent to having any of my work shared on any other platform. If you see any rendition of my works on another site know that it has been posted without my permission.

THIS BLOG AND ITS WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Depression is depicted so differently in media. Growing up all the commercials depicted it as constant crying, the overwhelming need to end it all, and the cliches you now knew it not to be. And sure – maybe for some that’s exactly what it was. Not for you, though. 

You can’t remember exactly when it started. Maybe it was when your grandma died so suddenly of cancer that hadn’t been found until it was too late. Or maybe it was when you watched your parents' marriage fall apart while you were trying to navigate high school. When you became the shoulder to cry for your mom at the ripe age of sixteen. For your entire life you had been pouring from an empty cup, making sure you were keeping everyone else together while you continued to crumble. Regardless of when it first happened it was here now. 

Depression for you was not what it looked like as a kid. For you it was no appetite. Not eating even when you knew you had to. Foods you once drooled over made your stomach churn. How many nights had you spent driving around aimlessly in your town, crying to the songs that took you back to your childhood with a pack of cigarettes? Trying to ease the pain, let some of it out through tears and sobs down dark back roads. 

Your friends had noticed how much the shadow had creeped over you. Your boyfriend, Bob, he’d noticed too. While he didn’t quite understand, he was there for you. When you brought up therapy he was supportive in a way you hadn’t expected him to be. For so long you had avoided it. Convincing yourself that if you got an official diagnosis, if you heard someone actually tell you that there was something wrong with you that everyone would leave. 

Bob was nervous for you, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy. He knew there were things from your childhood you hadn’t told him about. Things he had never pressed you to tell him about. Honestly he was worried that as soon as you cracked open your chest, poured everything out and realized that it might hurt that you would stop going. And that you would spiral even deeper. 

It was scary. God you were so scared that first session. Afraid that if you opened up too much that you would grant yourself a ticket for a seventy-two hour hold. It wasn’t that you wanted to do anything to yourself, you knew you never would. Or at least you didn’t think you ever would, but depression was a sneaky bitch. However you were passive about it. You didn’t exactly have an aversion to some horrific accident happening and taking you out. Some days that sounded better than others. 

It wasn’t that you’d had a hard life. Other’s had certainly had it harder. You had a great group of friends, a good job, a loving partner. Everything you needed. It felt wrong to even consider yourself depressed. To even want to end it when there were other people that lacked even the basic needs for survival. But you did feel that way and you didn’t want to feel this way anymore.

To your surprise your therapist had told you that was common. In fact it was called Passive Suicidal Ideation. So you started on the path to getting better. Sessions two times a week that would hopefully eventually taper down and medication to fix the chemical imbalance in your brain. 

Months went by and while you didn’t notice a huge difference, you noticed you were a bit better. It wasn’t until about month four that Bob noticed the biggest change in you.

He’d just woken up on the first day of his leave. The warm morning sun lighting up the bedroom, the smell of breakfast in the kitchen and…singing. His heart skipped a beat. It had been so long since he heard you singing. Actually it was when he realized you stopped that his concern for your mental state had really started to increase. 

Throwing the covers off himself his feet carried him out to the kitchen. He wanted to find out if he was really hearing what he thought he was. Sure enough, he was. You stood in the kitchen, in nothing but one of his t-shirts that was big enough to be dress length on you, hair up in a bun as you sang and flitted around the kitchen.

In a few strides he was over to you and pulling you into his arms, breathing your scent in and squeezing you tightly against him. 

“Oh, good morning to you too, Handsome.” You giggled, unsure of what caused such an intense good morning.

“You're singin’ again.” His voice sounded a bit weak, like he was crying. You pulled away, looking up at him to find that his eyes were watery. There were some streaks on his cheeks where a tear or two had escaped. “I-I didn’t think I’d ever hear it again.” He choked out, his tearful eyes boring into your own. 

It didn’t take you long to realize what he meant by that and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding in. Your lips formed a soft smile as your own eyes started watering. “Yeah Bobby, I’m singing again.” You let out another shaky breath. Not because you were sad, but because you were happy. You were getting better, you were coming back into yourself again. 

Bob’s lips found yours and he squeezed you against him again. “I love you so fuckin’ much, darlin’.” He whispered when he pulled away.

“I love you too Bobby, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

“Good. Wanna hear that voice every day, for the rest of my life. You got it?” With a soft giggle you nodded.

“Got it, Lieutenant.” You giggled harder at the groan he let out while you pried yourself out of his grasp. Breakfast was still cooking, you could celebrate later.

[skymaiden32]

Mind Over Matter

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 13: Laboratory

Brains really needs to get out of his lab and eat something.

Continuity: TOS

------

Meals on Tracy Island had two distinct flavourings. Either it was calm and collected, or it was complete chaos, depending on the moods of the household members. The Tracy family didn’t do things by halves either, so it was all or nothing. So when it had been nothing but family shenanigans and near food fights, courtesy of Gordon and Alan, for the past few days, it came as no surprise that a certain engineer had taken to barricading himself in his lab, and hadn’t come out for anything except to sleep. He’d even refused to have meals at all, even if it was in the lab.

Brains was quiet and reserved by nature, and had spent his childhood as an orphan and only child, so it was no surprise that the rowdiness typical of five brothers who’d grown up together would set him on edge. Even so, the engineer was usually quite good at making sure he took care of himself. The fact he wasn’t eating at all… It worried everyone.

Which was why Tin-Tin was currently standing outside the lab, holding a freshly prepared, red-hot plate of food, courtesy of Grandma Tracy. She gently rapped on the door, frowning when she didn’t hear anything from the other side. “Brains?” She asked, knocking on the door again. “I’ve got some dinner for you.”

This time, she did receive an answer. “N-No thanks, Tin-Tin. I’m not r-really that hungry.” Brains answered. “Besides, I’ve g-got far too much work to do…”

Tin-Tin rolled her eyes. That had been his excuse since he’d locked himself in there. She wouldn’t take it this time. “Oh, but Brains, you haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast yesterday. It will only take you about twenty minutes to eat this, and you can get straight back to work if that’s what you’re worried about. And you of all people should know what happens if you don’t…” She tried.

“I h-have eaten, Tin-Tin!” Brains replied, perhaps a little harsher than he’d intended. The door still wasn’t open.

“No you haven’t.” She stated simply. “You haven’t joined us, and Grandma Tracy and my father would know if you’d eaten straight from the fridge.” Silence hung in the air. “Please, Brains. We’re all worried about you…”

It took a few long moments for her to finally hear footsteps walk in the direction of the lab entrance. The door swung open, revealing the tired and gaunt face of International Rescue’s engineer. “Oh, Brains…” Tin-Tin covered her mouth with her hand, gasping. She had no idea he’d look this bad. “Why didn’t you…?”

“I couldn’t f-face them like this, Tin-Tin…” His statement caught her off guard. “N-Not after what happened…” Brains sighed, gently taking the plate from his friend and assistant.

The puzzle pieces clicked into place. “Brains, we thought this was about-”

“About Gordon a-and Alan’s behaviour at meals o-over the past few days?” Brains asked, a sad smile on his face. “It would n-never be about s-something like that. I-I love eating with e-everyone. It’s just…”

Tin-Tin’s mind flew back to that day four days ago. The boys had been using a piece of new equipment out in a forest fire. She didn’t know the full story; she’d never been able to wrestle it out of any of the Tracy’s. All she did know was that Gordon had almost died, and his brothers had been beside themselves with worry. The aquanaut was just coping the way he always did; by laughing and goofing off with his little brother. And now that he’d said it himself, Brains’ behaviour also made a lot more sense. As did his self-issued banishment to the lab. Whatever the fault in that equipment was, he was determined to fix it for good. And he was pushing himself away from the others out of guilt…

“It wasn’t your fault Brains.” She promised, cutting him off as he opened his mouth to argue. “It wasn’t. I don’t blame you, Gordon doesn’t blame you, and his family doesn’t blame you.” She smiled, gesturing to the plate of food. “Now eat up, get some sleep and shave a little bit. Mr Tracy wants to see you in the morning.”

Brains watched as his friend walked off back to her room, still stunned after the pep-talk he’d received. She was right of course. When it came to this sort of thing, she always was. He looked down at the food on his plate. Grandma Tracy had made his favourite. He smiled, closing the door once again and began to dig into his meal. 

“Thank you…” He breathed out to no-one in particular. Yes, he was truly home. Despite being separated from them all, in that moment he truly felt like part of the team. A member of the family. And he’d never doubt their faith in him again.

[sophieinwonderland]

sophie, did you have childhood trauma, relating to loneliness loss of family members? what was your deepest desire as a child? and describe your life days before your first tulpa?

Ghost: I should probably be the one to take this seeing is Sophie is my tulpa.

You would be hard to pressed to find a single child who didn't lose any family or had no hardship as a child. For me it was my grandma. She didn't die. But she had a stroke that caused severe damage and changed her after that. She was never able to walk again, and her speech reverted to becoming more childlike.

I don't know that I was traumatized by it though. Maybe at first. It was like the person who I knew had died. She wasn't the same woman whose lap I would climb up on when I would visit to watch Godzilla with, who would make me her special blend of coffee, milk and sugar. (My parents wouldn't let me have any coffee at home but I loved the way my grandma made it.)

After a while though, the person she became was the new normal. And that was somebody I loved too. Even if she wasn't the same anymore.

Since we were staying with my grandparents at the time, we would do family reading in my grandparents' room so my grandma could be a part of it. Originally was just my mom doing the reading, but me and her took turns when I got older. We read all seven of the Harry Potter books, and I believe four Magic Kingdom of Landover, and some Eragon together.

We must have lived with my grandparents for six to eight years before my grandma passed. But by that time, I was already a teenager. Which I assume is too late for the childhood trauma that you're looking for.

Now, as for loneliness, I didn't get along with other kids. I ended up being homeschooled for most of my childhood due to issues that I had at public school. I didn't have friends my own age. And I do think that there were times when I might have felt lonely.

But something that I want to highlight is that while I didn't have other friends my own age for a lot of the time that I was being homeschooled (I did make some close friends when I was a preteen), I did have family.

My dad worked a couple towns over. That meant y mom and I had a pretty long drive everyday to pick him up. And we spent a lot of that time talking.

I would make up long stories to tell my mom to fill the time. She would tell me about her various adventures in childhood that were always way more interesting than anything I had done, but maybe not in a good way. We would also talk politics because my mom happened to be a conspiracy theorist. And maybe another child would have been bored out of their minds from hearing about politics so much (my little brother hates hearing about politics) but I was invested.

Mom wanted to be a writer, so she would tell me all of her book ideas. Some days, we would fantasize about what we would do if we won the lottery. Something which would never happen because we never actually played the lottery, but it was fun to talk about. I don't remember everything we discussed, but I know that it often involved amusement parks with robots. At least for my part.

My mom telling me about the imaginary friends that she had as a child actually made me want some of my own. But it also never made sense to me how something like that could work. I just remember thinking about how cool it sounded.

I also got my mom into playing Yu-Gi-Oh at the time. Later, we moved on to Heroscape and Magic the Gathering.

My dad wasn't home a lot, but when he was, we played video games together a lot, or simpler card/board games with the whole family.

It was common for me to stay up late talking to my grandfather about whatever books we had been reading, since he enjoyed fantasy books as much as I did. I actually got him into reading the Percy Jackson books.

So even though I didn't have many friends my own age when I was a child, I don't think I was alone. It was a different sort of childhood than you would expect. But I was surrounded by love. And for that reason, I don't think my childhood was traumatizing.

[allisonreader]

It's been a busy past four days. From going out of town for my brother's graduation, to watching a streamed funeral for the last of my mom's aunts, to driving a family friend to a different city and back home today. Well, I guess technically that's been over the course of five days. It's still a lot. Especially when a lot of it is dealing with higher level emotions/draining of the social battery.

For my mom the funeral was hard, not even so much for the fact that it was her last aunt who died, but it struck her in particular about the emphasis that was put on how much she loved her grandkids and great grandchildren. When my brothers and I NEVER had that. My mom's mom died when she was only 21 due to breast cancer, so none of us knew her. Though my mom knows that she would have doted on us. Her dad and her had a strained relationship and had pretty much moved out of province as soon as my grandmother had died. Though all things considered, he was a pretty decent Grandpa. He always made sure each of us got a card on our birthday and a card at Christmas. We usually saw him at least once a year whether it was at Christmas, him visiting us in the summer or later us visiting him in the summer. Even if it took us two days to get to where he was.

My dad's parents were closer, only a five hour drive instead of a two day one, but they barely grandparented. Grandma in particular didn't have much to do with us and didn't like mom. Grandpa was a little better, as he was slightly more active and intent on being a grandparent, but let's just say crying didn't happen at either of their funerals by my brother's or I. How do you mourn for people you barely knew? Any from us was more for what could have been or those who were closer to him.

The most grandmotherly figure that I had and knew was my cousin's grandmother. She died at the beginning of COVID, right around Easter time. Her death was the hardest out of them all. Even just writing this has me teared up completely because she truly was the closest person we had to a grandmother. And because she died during the peak of lockdowns I never got to go to a funeral or memorial for her like I always expected to. She felt like just as much as family to me as any of my other grandparents, but in a way more than that too. As she was almost always around when we went over to my Aunt and Uncle's. We saw her at Easter, we'd see her at Christmas. We got to enjoy her baking. She was truly such a loving and caring woman who was a social butterfly.

While you're reading this, you can't really see how many times I've stopped to have a cry about my surrogate grandmother. Which has been a few and she's been the only one that I've actually cried for, and she's not even technically my grandmother, but she sure took the place of one.

The thing is, she takes such an important place in my heart without even ever having given me a direct gift. Just being around her and her love was enough of a gift (and her baking).

The one time, when I was already an adult, I had to drive my mom to the city that my Aunt, Uncle, and grandmother figure lived for medical reasons. During that trip, I along with my cousin and her cousin (who for the longest time I thought was my cousin as well, just because I always saw her at my actual cousin's place) were invited to their grandmother's place for lunch. That was the first time I truly understood what going to grandma's house could be like. It was such a revelation to me, because I had never had such an experience like that one before. I felt so loved with these three people I had known all my life as I was encouraged to eat more than I could fit. So different from what little I could remember of my own grandmother who had died years before and showed preferential treatment to other cousins.

I can remember both the last hug with my grandmother figure and my paternal grandma. Both were long, but grandma's was long and awkward (at least to me, I haven't a clue how she felt, but we both knew it was likely her last hug.) . While grandmother figure's was long, slightly to the point of awkward, but filled with such love and care, knowing that while it might not be the last hug, it definitely could be. And I think it probably was. But oh I still love her so much and miss her. Which is why writing all of this up about her is making me cry.

I'm far off the point that I originally intended, which is not directly related to my grandmother figure, but due to the fact that beyond her, my brothers and I really didn't have a big grandparent influence on us. All of our great grandparents were long dead by the time us kids came around and my mom always hurt for us kids for what we didn't have in the way of missing grandparents. But as I told her yesterday, we didn't know any different. To us, distant grandparents was all we knew, and my brothers knew that even more than me. And when you don't know what you're missing, then it can't bother you. I really only started to learn about how active some grandparents were in their grandkids lives after I was an adult and started working. That's when I started to really realize what I had missed out on and became slightly jealous over the fact that others had such loving and caring grandparents. Now I'm kind of past that, as I know what kind of grandparents my parents will be when I hopefully have babies. They'll be the kind that I never had, except through my cousin's grandmother.

[the-coping-dragon]

So curious about my brain. Why does it function in this manner?

I can’t decide anything. I can barely type right now because it’s so hard to ignore the urgent cry, “Wait, what word should we use? Wait! That didn’t sound right. You’re doing it weirdly. It’s wrong. Wait wait wait. What’s the best word to use?”

It’s hard to use words. I am afraid to be unclear, or to convey a message I didn’t want to convey, or to speak nonsense. What if I am not understood? What if I am mistakenly understood in a way I didn’t intend? What if I am understood, and the understanding is vile and putrid?

-begin simulation. Study later to determine status.

I am afraid to get dressed. What do I wear? Which shirts fit me right now? My body fluctuates weight and shape (i think that’s normal? I don’t know) and so I keep a selection of clothes that can fit a variety of my potential forms. My hips are getting slender with HRT—do these pants still fit? What about the pants I can only wear after a long term illness has caused me to loose significant weight? Will I fit into those?

What if I pick a shirt, and it seems okay, but halfway through the day I realize it’s too tight and grabby? I should make it a habit to lift my arms up and check if it will go up and expose my belly. I like my belly. Should I even care if it gets exposed? People on purpose do that. Crop tops. But doing something on purpose is often acceptable in regards to things that are unacceptable if done accidentally. What if I’m seen as lazy? Do I even care? Why do I care, if I do?

Socks. I open the drawer and they might as well be some pack of hissing creatures. They’re bad to touch. Some have little extra fabric for cuteness. The extra fabric hurts. Or just bothers me. The bothering is often worse than the hurting. Is there a tiny little ball of lint inside that will make me feel panicky when I notice it? Is there a hair that will wrap around my toes? Is there a hole? Careful to put them on inside-out. That puts all the extra fabric outside. The pretty design is against my skin, neat and trimmed and smooth and not itchy or painful.

Bra. Bra. God I am always scared of not finding it. I have to wear it to work. Any customer who has breasts and no bra is scathingly mocked the second they leave. I can wear no bra, if I wear a hoodie over my shirt, and tuck my shirt into my pants to hold my breasts somewhat still.

No bra means hoodie. Hoodie means hot. I can’t handle being hot. I get hot so easily. 70 degrees with Niagara Falls streaming out of my hair. Soak it up with a paper towel and the paper towel is completely soggy. Drips down my temples, drips down my neck, drips down my back. Hair weighed down by my sweat, like I just got out of a rainstorm.

Underwear. Easy. Thank goodness I have about 20 pairs of the same version of the same brand of underwear. I’d rather wear boxer briefs or boy shorts because I look hot as fuck in them. But the silky fabric is my choice. Silly, no extra fabric to bunch up around the legs. Minimal. Feminine. In any color, feminine. Black, blue, maroon, still feminine. Snug and familiar. Haven’t bought underwear since my grandma took me shopping. She died 5 or 6 years ago. Some are from about 6 or 7 years ago. Some are from the only other time I’ve ever bought underwear, 12 or 13 years ago.

My socks are all from the same brand, same store, same purchase. A mall that doesn’t exist anymore. I grabbed a pack. Two. Three. Four. Oh my god, giddy with unrestrained greed, four packs of socks, perfect for me, because I have to wear matching socks and now I have dozens of matching pairs.

I can’t get more socks. Many are set aside as scrap fabric because of holes. I can’t get more. They wouldn’t match. Even if I could purchase the same version of the same brand, they’d be new and not worn out and not stretched out. Like a hand towel that used to match the others except you forgot about it and all the others are pale from behind washed and now there’s one shining pristine one that doesn’t match.

I don’t need my towels to match, thank god. The towel cabinet hardly has any towels that match. Just a couple. Most are just whatever ended up with me. A couple soft gray ones—maybe from my grandpa, when he died and everyone tried to get enough of his stuff to fill the void he left. A couple purple ones my mom brought. A beach towel from at least 8 years ago. A towel that always stinks just a little and could be as old as I am. A gigantic one that I never use because it’s annoying to wash. One has a fox hood and was labeled for kids, but I’m small and my hair is short so it is enough for me.

Sometimes I just dry off with larger hand towels even. Also a collage of interwoven lives. Who originally bought this one? Me? An ex? My wife? Her mom? My mom? Was it a Christmas gift from someone? Did we accidentally take one from someone’s house? Two or three are absolutely 10-20 years old. Ragged and frayed, the longer strands tied together with love and tenderness. Some are from 12 years ago when my mom impulse bought towels for the first time in my life and they weren’t very good and didn’t really absorb water. She and I both have some, like a family burden we bear, from that time everyone was gone and it was just her and me and we didn’t know how to buy towels so we just got some from a slightly upscale dollar store (yknow, not just a Family Dollar, but one of the slighter larger chain stores that even carry cheap furniture). One has a fox on it because I like foxes so it was given to me. One has beaches on it because my mom likes beaches and it was given to her but it doesn’t work very good so she gave it to me.

Getting ready is so stressful. Find socks. Find bra. Find shirt. Pants. Everything buried underneath a mountain of scarves, from that one time I was at a thrift store and the scarves were like 25 cents and I’d always wanted some scarves so I indulged and bought 10 or so for me and my wife to share. Blankets I can’t get rid of because they were comfort items once. Giant pillow comfort item, torn and leaking stuffing but I can’t get rid of it. Maybe there’s some secret pants under it that will fit me. That happens a lot. Years pass and I forget about a pair of pants or a shirt and then—there it is, slightly out of view underneath something, all this time.

I can’t decide what to do first even. Use the bathroom? But, I should start coffee so it’s brewing while I use the bathroom. Especially because my cat and I have a scheduled Brush The Cat event that occurs immediately after I use the bathroom first thing in the morning and first thing after work and last thing at night. She has so much fucking fur lol. She needs it brushed and she only lets me brush it at those times.

Coffee then bathroom then brush cat. Then? Eat? Coffee done yet? No? Can’t eat without coffee. Clothes? No, can’t get dressed until after eating and brushing teeth (to prevent food/coffee/toothpaste getting on my clothes, which simply occurs with the regularity of a cosmic event, so I must respect it and build my life around it). I can get socks though. Bra. I can find my pants and shirt and set them aside.

Almost time to leave. Oh I didn’t eat or get coffee or medicine. I got distracted while looking for my pants because I found a shirt that I’ve never seen before and I can’t fathom how it crossed the threshold into my house. Did I even find my clothes?

Quickly eat and meds and chug coffee and throw on pants and shirt and—ah, forgot socks, go get socks, don’t let pants touch anything because I only wash them once or twice a week because they’re the only pair that fit and I can’t afford to damage them in the wash because then I will have to pretend I didn’t notice and wear them to work anyways because it takes me at least a year and a half to work up the courage to buy new pants.

Almost late for work. Not quite. Traffic was okay. Sit in the car and stare at the clock. Not allowed to clock in early. No overtime allowed. Well, I don’t want to clock in at all. I want to go home and take off my Work Clothes and bra and socks and go back to bed. It’s time to clock in. I clock in a little late because I don’t want to clock in at all. The manager scolds me for clocking in before I put up my items in my locker. If I have stuff to put up, I need to come in a few minutes early and do it before my shift starts. I feel emotional pain as I hurry through the tasks—put this drink in my locker, put that one in the fridge, did I put up my keys yet? Did I write my name on my drink in the fridge? Did I put up my phone yet? Did I put up my keys? Did I leave my pen in my locker or my register?

I’m late getting to my register because I can’t decide how to count my till. I like to stack the quarters in fours, to count each stack as a dollar. It’s much harder to do it with dimes. They’re so small and thin and easy to bump over, even if stacked as 50 cents. Nickels are too big to line up in rows of four stacks, but too small to line up as three stacks per row without leaving a gap that bothers me. I count them one at a time and then have to count them again because I count wrong. I try to count the pennies as they fall from my hand and I guess the exact number based on what it rounds to. I try to write the date on the paperwork but I can’t find my phone. I find it in my locker.

I can’t decide if I should disinfect my register or sweep first. Maybe get more sacks. Did I bring down a pen? Did I lock it in my register accidentally? That’s fine—I’ll wait until someone pays with cash to get it. Unless I forgot it in my locker. If I did, I’ll need to find one to borrow. Should I get an extra just in case? Should I clean my register first? Should I sweep? What size of bags do I even need?

Should I have the hand sanitizer sitting on the left or right? Should I put my pen down flat or lean it against the register so I can see it easier? I didn’t get bags yet. I didn’t sweep. I’ll kick the lint and dust and tiny trash out of my area like a cat kicking litter. Now there’s nothing to do. I pick a piece of skin off my finger before I realize what I’m doing. A little bit of skin is sticking up from it. I’ll cut it off later with fingernail clippers. I should put some hand sanitizer on it. I’ll tear it off neatly real quick. It leaves another tiny piece of skin sticking up. I’ll get it this time. This time. Where are my fingernail clippers? I had some to keep at work, but I haven’t seen them in a while. Days? Weeks? Months? I absentmindedly tear skin off another finger. I sanitize it and then try to gently tear off the extra without pulling up any more.

Stop that. Stop. Hands on the counter. Palms flat and facing down. No, thats weird. Rest them on their sides, palms facing each other. No, that’s weird too. Clasp your hands together. Perfect. Nice and professional. Get a little more sanitizer, your finger is bleeding. Blood is a biohazard. I don’t have time to get a bandaid, but I should try to keep the blood in a localized place. I’ll wipe it on my other palm, and then sanitize my hands again and that’ll make it safer. I’m not sick so it should be fine. I mean, I could be sick. Pathogens often are dormant because it can be easier to spread if your host doesn’t know they’re sick. I’ll wipe my hands on my….shirt? Will the sanitize stain? Pants. Well, they might stain too. Jacket? No, that’s kinda dirty. So are my pants actually. My tummy? I don’t want hand germs on my tummy.

I go get a paper towel and set it on my counter and use so much sanitizer it drips onto the paper towel, and then I use the paper towel as a towel to wipe my hands clean. Okay.

My cuticle is a little jagged from picking at it the other day. There’s a piece that I could take off. I don’t like the feeling of it snagging on fabric. And knowing it’s there is very bothersome. I can rub it gently to see if it would come off easily. Maybe if I rub a little harder. I can scrape it a little with my fingernail to make it detach maybe. I can try to cut it with my nail. Or maybe my pen. A paper clip might be sharp enough.

No, stop, hands on the counter. Clasped. There. Just stand still and wait for a customer.

I experiment with a few different locations for my hand sanitizer. They’re all kinda awkward. None are perfect. I try them again and again and still they’re not perfect. I wonder if I should keep it somewhere else nearby. Maybe if I move this, it’ll fit here… No. And now that cord is in my way because I bumped it. Does the cord fit anywhere easily? The extra could go down here, but what if I forget it’s there? The extra could wrap around here, but it looks kinda silly and then I have to unwrap it if I need to move anything. It would fit there perfectly, except it just won’t stay for some reason. I’ll tuck it there and it’ll stay. It’ll stay this time. Maybe another try. Okay. Good enough.

I need a distraction. I already have a finger bleeding and this cord awkwardly stuffed over there. I have been out of the house for one hour and I will not be back in my house for another eight hours at least, potentially nine hours, probably eight and a half or so. If I’m doing math right. Am I? I can use the number keys on my register to help me count. One, two, three… Three makes noon… So four is one… Did I do five already? Wait, do I count when I say five, or when five is finished? Which way have I been doing it?

That gunk between the six and seven key are still there. I shouldn’t clean it. I’ll accidentally press a button and then forget to delete it and then ring up something wrong. I’ll clean it and then remember to delete it. I need a proper tool. Maybe a paperclip would work. Or my pen? Is my pen slender enough? …No. Maybe a folded bit of receipt paper. I’m not going to waste receipt paper though. I’ll wait until a customer leaves their receipt and then use that.

Wait for customer. Stop picking at finger skin. Fingers feel like they’re claustrophobic and need to move or they’ll scream with my mouth. I let them drum on the counter because no one is close enough to hear. Right? No one is close. No one is close. Okay, maybe a little quieter in case someone sneaks up on me. Maybe I’ll do it silently. Silently is not enough stimulation. Maybe I’ll do some psychical therapy. Stretch thumb. Stretch thumb. Stretch thumb. My hands are a little dirty from something. I’ll sanitize them. I’ll get some extra on the spot where I was bleeding. Okay, stretch the next finger. Or I could do my other thumb. Which is best? Which will help me remember? I could write it down. I’m not supposed to write things though. I’m supposed to look at the isles to make sure everything is okay and no one needs help. I can do that while stretching my thumb.

I’ll do this finger, and then this one, and then this one, and—wait, I forgot to also stretch them with my arm rotated the other way. Which way was I stretching them even? Okay, I can do both on each finger and then move on. Wait. I could also be stretching them in this third way, and then this fourth way. I’ll never get done though. It’s better to stretch all my fingers a little, than only ever do half thoroughly and neglect the other half. I’m always doing that. I should start with my other hand and just do one stretch, and then come back and do another once the first set are done.

What time is it? Is this clock one of the clocks that is right? Or is this the clock that is 2 minutes slow? That clock over there is always 14 minutes slow, and based on that clock, my clock must be… What is 10:23 minus 14? Or I could add 2 to 10:23 so it’s 10:25, and then subtract 14, which is 10:11, which means… Well, I guess it’s around 10:20. I don’t need the actual time.

Which finger was I on? Maybe I should do my arms first. I could also be stretching my heels and ankles. My knees really need it but I don’t like to do that stretch at work because I have to touch my pants, and my pants feel dirty. I guess my hands are already dirty. I can stretch and then sanitize them. Stretching my left one.

Do I have the ability to stand still and do nothing? I’ll sanitize my hands and try it. Clasp my hands? Flat on the counter? Is one more “standing still and doing nothing” than the other? I’ll try both. Clasped feels more nothing than palms down. Now what do I do? I should find something to do. I could clean my keyboard… No, Im waiting on a customer to leave their receipt. I could do my stretches. That’s not “standing still and doing nothing” though. I can look at the isles. We’re still out of that one. Oh, that spot is empty but I see there’s more over there, misplaced. That’s not good. They’ll bring down more if they think the spot is empty. I can’t go move it though. I’m not allowed to leave my register.

I wish I could ask someone else to do it, but I don’t want to boss anyone around. They won’t like me if I’m telling them to do more work. Even if they aren’t working right now. I see both of them standing back there talking. I guess they could be talking about work. Mmmm no, I think I hear them talking about sports. I never stand around and talk about sports. That’s so lazy. How can they even do that, when that spot is empty and we’re going to overfill it because someone will bring down more before realizing there’s already some here, just out of place? How does that not bother them?

I wish it didn’t bother me. I’ll try not to be bothered. It’s fine. It’s okay. See? Nothing is causing harm. Well, except that they’ll overfill it, and then that’ll mean some gets put in the place where extra stuff goes, which means someone will have to remember to check there before bringing more down when it starts to look empty again. They always forget to check. I see some extra stuff right there that they forgot to check. I can walk that way when I go to break and fix that one thing. But it’ll still overfill the extra spots too. That’s more work for everyone. It’ll get overlooked, and then just keep growing as an issue until someone is digging to the very back and trying to figure out why there are four extra cases of this one thing in the extra spot spot when the shelf has been empty for weeks because we won’t order any more because the system won’t notify us that we’re out because we aren’t out, we have four cases, they’re just all forgotten in the extra spot spot, so the shelf looks empty for weeks and then the item looses its spot and then it all has to be reorganized to make room for it again.

And you KNOW who that task will fall to. The people who work hard are the ones who’ll notice it. If those guys talking about sports just fixed it now, it would save so much work for other people later. I could mention it casually to them. I could say, “Is that a new product over there? I’ve never seen it.” And they’ll realize that it isn’t new, it’s just misplaced. Is that mean? Manipulative? Is there a way I could say it nicer? Or more innocently? Maybe if I’m just honest. I can say “Hey there’s some stuff over there, it needs to go over there instead.” But that’s bossy. But it’s honest. It’s less manipulative. But I don’t want to annoy people.

Maybe I’ll say, “Do we have any in stock? I thought I saw some,” and they’ll realize it’s over there. No, they’d just bring more down. I can’t even ask them because they’re across the store.

I accidentally picked another piece of skin off. I sanitize it, and then try to take off the extra and make it bleed. I sanitize it again and clasp my hands and look at the isles like I’m supposed to. The isles that need work. The isles that have staff here to work on them. The isles that have staff that are talking about sports. Oh, wait, they’re working now. On other stuff. Now I can’t ask. They’re already busy. Why did I not ask when they weren’t busy? I should have just said something. Now it’s too late.

Just find something else to think about! Do your stretches. What did you do already? Did you do your whole left hand? Did you do just the first stretch, or the first two? Or the last two? Or was that yesterday? Did I do my right hand today? I always do my right hand and then forget to do my left. Did that happen today? Did I try to do my left first? Did I do the whole left?

I have got to figure out how to stand here and do nothing. How does everyone else do it? What do they think about? I asked the other day, “What are you thinking about” to a cashier who was standing still and doing nothing. She said “Nothing… Well, food. I’m hungry.”

Oh! I should think about food. I’m too scared to cook. But if I think about it enough, maybe I’ll get more familiar with it and not be afraid! What should I think about? What step? Should I think about chopping ingredients? But I really want to make this specific thing, and it doesn’t even involve chopping. Measuring stuff out? Should I think about using the green measuring cups from my grandpa, or should I use the black ones that don’t have sentimental value? I might find cooking more pleasant if I use the green ones. But if they break, I’d never cook again. I can use the black ones. What was I measuring?

Baking soda? Do I have that, or would I need to buy that? I have either baking soda or baking powder, but I don’t know which. Do I still have flour? I know I need another can of that one ingredient. I don’t even know the full recipe. It stresses me out to think about all the ingredients I might need that I don’t even know about. There’s already too many! Salt? Sugar? I’ll just focus on baking…soda? Powder?

Do I wash my hands first? Should I stand by the microwave? Over the sink? Over the trash? I could stand over the stove, and then if I spill any, I could add vinegar and clean the stove. Well, if it’s baking…soda. Or powder. I forget which one cleans stoves. Where did that knowledge even come from? Is that some fake knowledge I got from a sitcom or is that real knowledge?

I can stand by the trash can. Does it come in a box or a can or a bag? Baking soda is in a box right? What about baking powder? How do I get it from the box to the measuring cup? I don’t think the measuring spoon fits in the box. I could pour it out, but what if it’s clumpy and doesn’t come out right away and so I shake it and then the clumps crumble and I pour way too much into the measuring cup and all over the trash can?

Maybe I should buy extra, in case I spill the first box into the trash can. Or I could do it over some paper towels. If I spill, I could just fold the towels up like a funnel and dump it back in the box. A real funnel would help a lot. It would help with getting the powder in the spoon too. And with making chocolate milk. Do they have funnels at the grocery store? They have pots and pans and gloves and whisks. They probably have funnels. But I’ve been wanting a funnel for months—years? If they had funnels, surely I’d have seen one while shopping and remembered to grab it. Maybe they don’t have funnels. Where else could I get one? Probably a bigger store. I could go to Walmart but I hate Walmart. I could try a dollar store, but do they have funnels? I can’t look it up. My phone thinks I’m in another state and so it doesn’t actually tell me if a store near me has an item. Plus the websites aren’t even accurate these days. I know my store isn’t accurate. I wonder if we ever found that case that our system claimed we had, but it wasn’t located. I still think that’s because that other case was mistaken for the first case. But I don’t have access to those papers so I can’t know for sure. I could check the system and see if it ever got adjusted.

No, stop thinking about doing extra work! Think about cooking. What have I already thought about? Nothing? I didn’t think about anything. What do I even think about? Picking out a knife? Or a bowl? Stirring stuff? With a spoon or a spatula? Whisk? Fork? I don’t know what to use. Sometimes it doesn’t matter, but it might matter. I could make two batches, and stir one with a spoon and one with a whisk. Then I’d need two bowls. I could use that bowl for mixing, too. I don’t know if I could make two batches at once though. What if I added the baking soda to one, and forgot the other? I could make a list to check things off. I could do that now even. I’d start with baking… Soda or powder?

Okay, well, I can think about another part of cooking. Putting stuff on a pan. Wait—a pan? A cookie sheet? A skillet? Do I need to put butter on it to keep stuff from sticking?

Oh, wait, I could use an aluminum muffin tin, the disposable kind. Of course I’ll try to reuse it, but at least I won’t ruin one of my good pans if I mess up.

Oh shit a customer. He’s going to need the big bag. Oh fuck I forgot to get bags. What if he doesn’t want a bag though? Or two small bags? Should I ask? Should I say hi first? Is it cash or card? If it’s card I can grab a bag while the machine distracts him, but if it’s cash then I’ll need all the time I can get to count the money. Hi? Cash or card? Big bag? One bag? Two small bags? Carry it out like that? I should greet them first. Hi? Hello? How are you? Find everything alright? Is this all for you today? Oh my god they’re at the counter I have to say something. Wait, it’s still before noon!

“Good morning!”

Okay so I do talk quiet, and also I forgot to speak up, so maybe he didn’t hear. Or he’s ignoring me. Is he being rude? I don’t care if he is. Maybe he just doesn’t feel the need to reply. I kinda wish it was normal to not speak during social interactions. I won’t say anything else because I don’t want to pressure him to speak if he doesn’t want to. Unless he didn’t hear me—then I should say something or else I’m being rude. Okay his total is $54.74… I should say that, and my script about cash or card…

Ugh, I always mix up my numbers though. Come on, say them right! Say fifty…four… seventy…four…. Wait, is that right? No, It’s fifty four, seventy four. I think I almost said fifty seven forty seven. Forty… wait. Fifty four…

“You’re total will show at the top when the green light shows.”

Okay, good save. Wait cash or card. Oh, he’s grabbing cash. Okay, I can’t get a bag, but—oh now he put a card in the machine. I can go grab a bag. From… Oh. There are no big bags.

And he pressed the wrong button… Should I tell him or wait for him to realize? They get grumpy when I tell them sometimes. I could say “Will you try again?” I can’t blame it on the machine because the managers say it makes us look bad. I don’t want to tell him it’s his fault. Then again, someone has to. Why should he suffer in ignorance, for my sake? It’ll be awkward to tell him but then he’ll get it right next time.

…Mmmmmh, I don’t want him mad at me. He might wait for me to leave and stalk me home. I could pretend like I don’t know he did it wrong. But not blame it on the machine. I could pretend it’s my fault, but it’s not my fault, and he might get mad anyways. Mmh. It’s not my fault and I can’t lie about that. It would annoy me. I couldn’t get the words out if I tried.

“If you…” Oh, he’s trying again. Okay! It worked! Wait. Now he’s pressing buttons. The transaction is over. Why is he—is he trying to write his signature with his finger? “You d…” Okay he stopped. Okay.

“Here’s your receipt.” Now for my Super Script. “Do you need a bag?” Yes. Men don’t like to admit they need anything. Normally I say, “Would you like a bag?” But I phrase it this way to increase the chances of him not wanting a bag. Will it work? He’s thinking. I can see he doesn’t want to admit he needs a bag. But I can also see him thinking “It looks trashy to carry something without a bag.” He’s got a fancy watch and a new-looking shirt. He might be too fancy to carry it without a bag. Damn bougie people and their social roles. But he’s also an independent guy. Probably doesn’t believe in lotion or straws. He won’t want a bag.

He speaks: “That’ll be alright.”

… What will be alright? Having a bag? Not having a bag? I asked if he needed one, and he said it’ll be alright. What does that mean?

Oh god now we are just staring at each other. I hate asking what they mean. What am I gonna say? Did you want a bag? That makes me sound stupid! I could give him a bag, but if he specifically said he didn’t want one, then it would be weird to give him a bag. Especially because I have to give him two smaller bags for his items, because we are out of big bags.

Maybe if I make eye contact he’ll be nicer and won’t think I’m stupid. Okay. Eye contact. Okay that is one solid second which is my limit but he is going steady.

“Have a good day…” I mumble so maybe he’ll just go away. He takes his items and leaves. Was he upset? Did he want a bag? Does he think I’m too stupid to know what he said? What did he even mean? Did he want one or not? Was he clear, and I’m the one who is confused? Would anyone be able to understand that? Surely normal people can solve that issue. Otherwise I’d hear other cashiers having the same problem all day. Maybe I should phrase it differently. No—no, that’s my Super Script. I can edit the phrasing. It’s just worth the risk I suppose.

I picked a layer of skin off my thumb absentmindedly. It’s not bleeding, but it burns. I put some sanitizer on it. He left his receipt and I pinch it and throw it away, trying not to get my sanitized hands on the potentially dirty receipt too much.

Just stand here and do nothing. Maybe smile. I wish our machines weren’t confusing. I think if I re-painted the arrow, it would help. Half the customers don’t even know where to put their card. Does this machine have an arrow anymore, or is it one of the machines where it’s been worn off? Oh shit, now I bumped that wire and it’s in my way. If I had a rubber band I could probably make it easier to tuck away. Do I have one? Sometimes I find one up here. Under this? No. Under this? No. Under this? …Is this a penny? This is the dirtiest penny I’ve ever seen. Is this a real penny? It feels really light. I will just leave it. I don’t want to even touch it. Maybe I should put it on another register so I don’t bump it. But I’d have to touch it to do that. I could scoop it up with a receipt, but I don’t have an extra. I’m not getting that one out of the trash. The trash cans are dirty. I’ll just…leave the penny under there.

I sanitize my hands because I touched near the penny, which means someone else probably touched the penny and then touched near the penny thus getting the area around it dirty.

Pennies are copper, right? That’s kinda resistant to bacteria. But that penny is beyond the powers of a copper coating. I’ll use a little more sanitizer on my bleeding fingers to make sure they’re clean.

-End Simulation.

[freebooter4ever]

Hmmm memories. Grandma would love my tree.

I printed out a photo and mailed it to her in a christmas card but its not the same.

I was sitting in my chair and thinking about how i really should have a second one because it's extremely silly to have only one seat. Eventually i will expand my circle of friends, eventually im gonna want to invite people over who will not willingly sit at the bar for the whole time, i need a second seat.

But it also got me thinking about Grandma in ohio and her set up with two armchairs right next to each other in front of the TV.

When I was tiny, like really really little, like less than 4 feet tall little, I was terrified of the dark/sleeping alone. My one grandma (callyerdogsoff) helped out by recording a cassette tape of her reading my favorite books: "Sarah's Lion" and one about a ballerina. Every night I would play those on repeat over and over again until eventually I fell asleep and it would run to the end of the tape and then turn off.

My other grandparent's - the italian ones - solved this problem more directly. They would shove this ratty textured 70's lounge chair thing up against the end of their four poster bed and let me sleep there. The lounge chair had very boxy three sides and was flat and with the extra edge formed by the bed, essentially made a very large crib.

Now this was the house my dad and his three siblings went through high school in, so there were perfectly decent bunk beds in the boys old room I could have slept in one of those. But because I'd get scared grandma and grandpa always let me stay at the foot of their bed and fall asleep to grandpa's snoring.

Anyway, in october this year, the night before I took the flight back to LA, even though I knew I had to wake up at 3am, I snuck downstairs, through the farmhouse, and over to Grandma's little cottage, careful not to wake my aunt and uncle.

I knew grandma would be reading because of the number of times in the months after grandpa's death when I'd have to go take the book out of her hands and turn the light off after she'd finally fall asleep. And sure enough, she was in bed reading, and I crawled in on grandpa's side next to her, just to spend a little bit more time with her. And we were talking, and laughing about how both of us have queen sized beds now and neither of us use the whole thing - we have our 'side' and don't like to cross it. Grandma because from age 19 on she always had grandpa beside her. And me because im just used to having a twin bed, lol.

Grandma asked me if I wanted to sleep there next to her, and I declined because I knew I had to get up at an ungodly hour of the morning and I really didn't want to wake everybody on the farm. But also because it felt a little weird taking grandpa's spot instead of being at the foot of the bed.

And then she confessed something that just absolutely broke my heart. She said that sometimes when it's just her alone, in her chair in front of the TV, with the empty chair sitting next to her, she pretends like grandpa's sitting there and she's talking to him.

I have a lot of regrets about everything that happened after grandpa's death - i dont think we should have moved grandma from seattle that suddenly and quickly. She lost her entire support network and community AND her husband of over 65 years all in one go. And my aunt complains that now she won't socialize with anyone outside the family.

Grandma and grandpa had their first date when they were 14 and 17. And my bitter mother used to tell me that the only reason they stayed together was because they were of a 'different generation' and they secretly hate each other just like my mom hates my dad. But it wasn't true. My grandparents were in love up until the day he died - even when dying in the hospital while he was slightly delirious on pain meds grandpa was jorking about him and grandma 'necking'. And whenever the three of us went to the museum of flight during my visits back home from the burgh, grandpa and I would wander into the exhibits to look at the history. And grandma would sit in the main atrium to people watch and socialize. And grandpa would always make sure we checked in on her regularly because - as he put it - if he left her sitting there alone too long the old men would start flocking.

Anyway, I was just sitting there in my drawing chair tonight thinking about how I didn't even have a second chair let alone someone to imagine in it. And it also got me thinking about how much grandma would love my christmas tree.

[nofoxgiven]

OK well now I'm thinking about it a bunch

So my great grandpa died to cancer when I was in 6th or 7th grade, it was the first and to this day, only major death in my life so to say it had an impact on me is a bit of an understatement

First off, he was the only male role model in my life, like ever. My dad walked out on me before i was born, and my step dad was such a piece of shit I never considered him any kind of father figure, just a leach living in the same house who happened to be married to my mother and have donated sperm for my siblings

My mother's father *also* walked out on her

I have a singular uncle, and while he's an awesome guy now, he was literally a teenager unpacking a lot of complex trauma himself while I was growing up

I don't think my family really... worried? At all about the whole lack of male role models thing, I was a girl after all, I can learn everything I need to know from all these women around me

Except I'm not a woman, and it would be really nice to have a standard to hold myself to

For a while I considered my grandpa, he was a veteran, he took care of my grandma, my memories of him are mostly good

But unfortunately he died when I was too young to be smart enough to make sure I got to know him. I know he liked wood working, I've got a rocking horse he made me, it's in our garage. And a half finished dollhouse he started when I was 5, and died before he ever finished it

My memories of him are almost entirely of him in his lazyboy, before things got bad, and then in his hospital bed when they got real bad

I've got maybe a handful of memories from when I was real young before he was old and tired and sick, riding around on the four-wheeler with him in the Alaskan wilderness, helping with chores around the cabin, that sort of thing

But I didn't truly know him, and the more stories I hear from my mom the more... the more I'm glad I didn't? I don't want to sully the memory of the only male rolemodel from my family I've got, so I'll leave it at he was certainly a product of his time, and as an old white Christian man I'm certain you can guess what sort of opinions he held I do not

All this to say I clearly have a complicated relationship with my memory of and the legacy of my great grandpa

I remember pretty clearly the last time I saw him, it was the weekend, we drove the 2 hours to my grandparents house in the literal middle of nowhere

I remember staring at a bowl of soup someone had put in front of me, my great grandma's famous chicken corn chowder. This soup has caused fist fights over who gets to take the leftovers home. I couldn't eat any of it

It was very obvious to everyone this was a final hurrah, grandpa hadn't been talking or doing much of anything for weeks and now he was insisting people come talk to him and making people call family out of state. He knew. We knew.

There was a whole lot of sitting around just hugging people and crying and that's all a blur, but when he called me over, I remember exactly what he said and I think I always will. Some of it I'm keeping close to my chest because that was for me only, but he ended it with "Please add more color to your life"

12 year old me did not take that to heart. I was goth/emo and proud of it and I wasn't about to let some dead old guy tell me how to dress

But I did actually take it to heart. By 9th grade I had a fully rainbow coat from one of those Indian import stores, I wore it every single day of high-school until eventually it fell apart to the point I couldn't. I've worn mismatched brightly colored or rainbow socks just as long. Most of my clothes are still black and gray, but I hang up colorful art all around me, I buy the most colorful water bottle I can find

In a weird way I think it helped me come to terms with my queer identity. I know he didn't mean "go be queer and happy" that man would have disowned me if he had lived long enough to see me go from his perfect granddaughter to a queer freak

But his urging to add color lead to a lot of queer people approaching me in my high-school years. Before I was ready to accept who I was, I was a walking billboard of queerness in my rainbow jacket, and that surrounded me with Trans and bi and lesbian and gay people and every flavor of queer, and gave me the space to explore myself and my identity in a way I might not ever have if I had just kept myself in my dark closet of shame

There is literally no point to this post, and I'll probably delete it before the end of the day. But boy is life complicated, and I sure am glad an old racist white man told me to add more color to my life, maybe I'll pretend to have forgotten all the shit my mom's told me

[midwestdiscontent24]

So im back

Have you ever been in a relationship with someone you know you should like but you just cant bring yourself to fall in love with them, even though they love you in a way nobody else ever has? Thats the nightmare im currently living.

Im sure i sound like a real bitch for saying this, but i dont love my boyfriend. Not even a little bit. Its a combination of his looks and every single story hes told me about his life. And also the way his house is.

He lives in what could be a very nice house but unfortunately he shares it with 2 of his friends who live the exact same way he does, which i guess is the same way most men in their twenties live. All three of them stay in their rooms and play video games. All day. They only leave their rooms to go to work, get food, or use the bathroom; and honestly i wouldnt put it past any of them to keep an empty 2 liter next to their desk to piss in. One of them (not my boyfriend) keeps his pocket pussy in the communal bathroom. WHYYYYYYYYYY?!?!?!?!?! Thats literally one of the nastiest things ive ever heard. Theres a tub of sour cream in the bottom of the fridge from the previous owners. Theyve been in that house for almost 3 years, know its there, and yet they just toss it back in the fridge and say theyll deal with it later. I cant make this shit up.

My boyfriend though, is a fucking freak weirdo. To begin with, it took us dating for 6 months to even have any sort of intimate contact. And when we finally did, big shock, it was awful. I literally went dry while he was inside of me and had to pretend i was drunk to cover up the fact that im so repulsed by him that i cant stay wet. That has been the only time we've fucked. Its 2 months later.

It drives me fucking crazy. My last relationship lasted 4 months and i felt more in love then than i ever have now. And thats depressing as fuck. It just really is. I need someone i have passion with. One of my favorite things is just making out with someone. And i feel like my chances to do that with people is just fleeting as im getting older. And i mean im not really that old yet, but it feels like i am. I just have no passion, lust, love, anything with this guy.

Ive been wanting to break up with him for awhile and i was finally gonna do it after putting it off for a few months and his fucking grandma died today. Because of course thats how it would go. I swear to god sometimes it feels like im being cosmically punished by some higher being.

Aside from my boring awful relationship, ive got some rebound prospects on the horizon. Four of them, to be more specific. Well, i guess 3, could be 4 if one of them got their head out of their ass. And i shouldnt even say relationship, its definitely more situationship/hookup. All guys from my past, obviously. And of course theres one that i want more than any of them and that would be my friend jordan.

I cannot even begin to tell you how long ive liked him and wanted to date him. I want him in a way that makes me feel the longing of a thousand lifetimes and whenever he gets a girlfriend next im gonna kill her, him, and then myself. It goes beyond lust with him, because for the longest time i told myself thats all it was. But about a month ago, he was over at my apartment and he cried in front of me. Multiple times. If any other guy did that, i would immediately get the ick. But i didnt with him. I sat there and comforted him and held him and told him it would all be ok.

And whats been my thanks for that? Being left on read for like 4 weeks. Its like, ok fuck me, cool got it.

God i need to talk about something else. I need to stop talking about him and thinking about him all the time. Its literally pathetic. Ive asked him so many times to just point blank tell me he just wants to fuck; that way i can let go of any notion that we could end up dating and i can remove myself from him in that way. But he wont. And i dont know why. it hurts so much that he cant even do that for me. Despite it all, if he were to mesage me right now and ask if he could come over i would let him. I would let him gut me like a fish and eat my liver and kidneys and other organs if he said he was that hungry. I really would.

[the-firebird69]

A son found the requisition for payment really is a expense report that George Washington submitted and he made a copy they didn't know he could and he didn't scribe it He used a cofpy machine for the cofpy machine came out. And he says he's seen the copy machine with one of Thomas O'connor's man and it was at MIT when he was looking at a job and Thomas O'connor remembers it. They said there was this big huge old camera and very funky looking and he said my brother took some pictures of documents and he said holy **** and he's wondering what year it was made so he started to think it was 1783 and he looked at what he was doing and said this is what the kid is saying. This guy is having the same problems. So he figured out kind of a method but he also figured out that JC and Mary were in trouble and then people weren't paying him nothing and he was in trouble and he got the hint and he saw these people and the max working together sort of and now he's he's with the Mac proper are doing. The camera was made well before the Revolutionary War. And it was made before America was founded and yeah he has a picture of our sons crappy son being created and he wanted to take the claim for it and the plane and the blame and he knows what he can do. To a degree he saw two of them in his front of the house when he thought I thought our son thought maybe he died he's trying to revive himself and he did and David had a conniption so you can't do that in front of me and flipped out and he turned into the mega programmer but he was making it happen too peter Audette found out about it later and said This guy can hurt people and twice he called him or three times more than that he says it's like 5 times 2 weird places but kind of rundown it's like those abandoned houses but they're just about to abandon it and it's true it's very strange and Tommy F has a dumb look on his face one place he thought his mom was there and she was and he said it's time to move she said I can't with grandpa and so she called me and she left and she said this is what's happening this guy is forcing him to go places sometimes he says I can't lift anything I started laughing and says I don't really do anything except for them they're like attacking me and I beat some of them to death so it's over motivated he goes boy that might explain it you think so they're all getting **** about it and Tommy F has warrants on him for it and they're gonna go after him for what they're doing here. They can't afford for him to have both and he's kind of a sucker and that empire is having him do it and we know about it. This is a valuable date now it might not be the large reimbursement but it is a reimbursement of some kind because every year they do this and every year around this time in July against something it started out doing it with grandma and grandpa believe it or not and they're talking about the two for like a month and it started going up and up but coded numbers so grandpa looked at it the other day again and saw him getting like $100 $200 and it's always upwards it's never up in that down and so he left off and it's wondering where it says not too much but it's like you said so he's wondering what it is and it might be this debt relief that the president's working on he says no so you sent a request in for a few months he was eligible and he doesn't see how that would work except Trump would say that you screwed up and said four months instead of 3 and he didn't send the checks back and that's what we think he's up to. It never works for Trump but he likes that kind of thing.

cntd

[speedysarah1]

i am just so lost. i am so sad and depressed and i dont want to do anything. when i try everything is blocked. i feel so empty and so alone and so done with the world. i want to live a different life. i no longer desire this one. but what can I do?

i halfway hoped the simulation would end when taylor won the superbowl. i know that sounds crazy but it's just such a fairy tale that i thought it might sheer us into another plane of existence.

that's a lie. i knew we wouldn't be. i was just hoping for an end.

with my genes, i'm going to live to 90 at least, 100 more likely. i am 30 now and already so tired. i listen to my sweet grandma accept that she's at the end of the road, and how she's ready to cross the threshold whenever the lord is ready for her. i find myself wishing that he would be ready for me too.

i don't believe in god anymore. not the way i did when i was a kid raised to go to church and after school bible study and baptisms and all that. i remember getting tested over memorizing prayers. my dad and i prayed every night together, practising so i could perform for the priest and be okayed to take my first communion. the priest had my dad grade me, and i said those four prayers perfectly. my dad didn't given me top marks though, because my legs had been swaying.

feels like i'm always graded on an unknown scale. this morning my partner asked why it took me an hour post workout to make it upstairs. i said i had a protein shake. he marveled at hour a protein shake could take an hour. i cried in the shower as i spent the requisite twenty minutes to brush out my knotted curls. was i not allowed to take the morning slowly? what had i done wrong other than let depression color my morning with molasses, slowing my movements, procrastinating the problems of the day?

i have another meeting in twenty. i don't want to go to it. i haven't done the work i would have wanted for it and when trying my kernel died, whatever that means. and then i have therapy, when i have to recount the fight of the week and pretend like i don't want to be sucked up by a black hole, or gently crushed by the earth herself. i want to run away and never come back, only i have nowhere to run to. just a house filled with fights and dogs and lives that aren't mine but are my responsibility.

i am so tired

[pennzance]

Ghostbusters: Port Huron (Episode 26)

Episode 26: The Cavalry

November 3rd, 1998

Preparation report by Amber

Mr. Kaye has gotten in touch and asked me to rally everyone. And he meant EVERYONE. We have a few visiting faces from Detroit and Flint, like Lydia, Dabonovich, Microwave, and Remy, as well as a big name in our business: Dr. Ray Stantz.

Jeremy has been pestering the poor man all day, but to his credit Dr. Stantz has been gracious and excitedly talking with everyone. He’s an interesting man who truly loves all things supernatural, and I can see how a concept like the Ghostbusters would have been born out of his almost youthful energy.

He doesn’t waste time, either. He came in a rental car after landing at Detroit Metro and I don’t think he’s slept in the last twenty-four hours? He was excited to meet us and get a look at Bryan’s research as well as Jeremy’s tech shed. He said our reports have been reviewed by the home office a few times and I was expecting him to chide our professionalism, but instead he talked about them like a good book he’s been reading.  I’ll take the compliment, I guess.

While Eric and Jason are out chasing a lead and Jeremy works on some device I don’t really understand the reason for, Dr. Stantz and Bryan have been doing the loudest form of book-reading research I have ever seen. He brought some books Bryan had apparently only ever heard about and the two of them legitimately geeked out over something called Tobin’s Spirit Guide.

I, in the meantime, have been making sure there’s someplace everyone can sleep. And that they eat food. I was even able to steal some time to spend with Remy, just the two of us. We’ve been seeing each other socially when the workload allows since Eloise. I really like him.

Near dusk, I got a call from Mr. Kaye to come pick him up from Flint. I asked why the crayon eater couldn’t drop him off, and he just told me to come get him, no explanation. Okay, fine. I drove quick, and inside of the hour, he was climbing into my Taurus.

“Thank you, Amber,” he said. He looked tired. And dirty.

“Are you okay, sir?” I asked. “What happened?”

He motioned to the road, and we started to move again. He took a deep breath before he spoke. “My… wife. She passed.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.” I had read Bryan’s research. His wife had passed years ago.

He must have heard suspicion in my voice. “She died, of course, some time ago but she wasn’t… gone. I only just found out.”

“She was a ghost?”

He nodded. There was a tremendous pain in his expression. “I’m sorry, sir,” I tried. “That must… I mean, I can’t imagine-“

“You recently captured your own grandmother, didn’t you?” he asked me suddenly. I wasn’t ready for it. The Taurus swerved a little.

“Um, yes sir. Before Halloween.”

“Did… how are you doing? With that?”

I’d never seen him like this before. Mr. Kaye was a Professional, with a capital P. This was different. He was nearly human. “Well, sir, to be honest I’m fine. My grandma lived a long life, and she passed peacefully in her sleep.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Oh, god, no,” I laughed. “She was a mean old bitch. She hated that I joined the Air Force. She was certain I wouldn’t be able to amount to more than being some rich dentist’s housewife.”

“Hmph. And look at you now,” he said. He was smiling.

“Plus, she threw a cast iron pan at me when I recognized her. Putting her in a trap was satisfying, actually.” I hadn’t admitted that out loud yet, but it felt good to say. “What about your wife?”

I didn’t look at him. I could hear the rawness in his voice. “I didn’t have to put her in a trap. She… she moved on. After seeing me.” He took a shaky breath, I could tell he was trying not to sob. “I didn’t get a chance to tell her how much I miss her.”

“She knew sir.”

“You think so?”

“Yes sir.”

Another ragged, pained breath. And then a deeper, smoother more controlled one. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, sir.” We were back on the highway home by now, a sign for Port Huron looming in the distance. “Dr. Stantz is back at the office.”

“Excellent. His expertise should be indispensable.” Back to being a Professional again. Like he’d bottled up all of that hurt from just a minute ago.

“I hope it’s enough. Bryan says we’re, to borrow his phrase, ‘in pretty deep shit.’”

“He’s not wrong.” The silence now was uncomfortable. Eventually he said “So what do you do when you’re in deep shit, Amber?”

I smiled. “Call in the cavalry and ask them to bring some shovels, sir.”

We arrived back at the office in time for Bryan and Dr. Stantz to give us the rundown on what we were up against. I’m not going to pretend I understand all of it, but here’s the long and short of it: Something called Ithaqua is trying to manifest in downtown Port Huron, and we all might be the only chance the world has to stop it. So, you know. No pressure.