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libidomechanica · 6 months ago

Text

A thousand ye sall be sportive and the spies her out of the heaving

A sonnet sequence

And taught exceed proportion, his globe the sparkles dimly burn through six days should date the mind, emasculated tone: there in a rather climes in their exit await, from the forgot em. Toes touch, as in crushing disappoint of wot not answered Johnny’s but my birth, and they their cause? A thousand ye sall be sportive and the spies her out of the heaving? And why, I have meant, but them go. The blue night as thou with loss is my lips mute, I more to swage; nature’s scarce saw which burns they claim the body is thereunto an empress was agree, a fatigue of living Roman soul abroad.

Yea having to do—by that in me. To dwell that same stars black boy all the pleas in a hurry. Are metamorphos’d straight thy wife, In this scythe answer above abasement seemed about the pony’s tail, and hers shall senses the pony’s with hymnes of old did pierce: where or unaware, till qualities who sternly dealt their emulations cast: a little starry Nymphs, who bear, sow with an unnumber seventeen. Doe not imitated after new hate me where and clouds to Betty o’er it anew reviving beams. Thy paine. Know him be showed my craft that tender. And frozen seas?

III

How to die, her sepulchral urn, and, where anon. His bosoms fits! The once comes nearer them, nor understand you feel the evening breath the cosset, which the evening earth, as you ready, o mount and groans, as sure as that it I must err: but rarely containe, cloth’d foe sues for if I blush; an auld wife’s sad distemper or the eyes that mourning than music of the discurtesee, as sure of the years today a coffin for aye, the blue hilles, what is happens rarely: this tomatoes: no other shade, and be any wrinkle, or thee. To those old thee yesterday he built me alone, forsake to affright. Here Vertue is thy approaching, or honor Pan to spare it, he being told her things went bound up for the wide He is, if at noon my buff and by the must allows scope: now has lately glisten for emigration, and critic but be a tedious tale. Was this juncture.

Which burns to fear of sad mortal who carefull verse things. A most logical conclusion tries, in the streams, the knotted rushrings, too, such as thing balm, and those stated, that is become. And now my wrath and breaking the noise he long Excursion and eat, good turns and saw I at a chariot and my propensity to jeer: while you set him whom Hundsfot, ’ or Verflucter, ’ affection as to the Sunne, and wounded churches with you of this piteous news were woods, to wax more than bread; now the stand that is, if I grow jealousy, how withouten lincks she felt him to thy store of the earth.

Of your great crop to spare not dwell one another praise, Hypocrisy designed: she held out as wide more than words I give thyself and brief as summer long bills per weed to chant thy constant clip enjoyment’s with a health—when in battle. Rise above, be of you taken by their luckier votaries, dear man, whom you love, with crystal nunneries; notwithstanding line between unequal grew. But I vnhappy herself she hies; tis on the dale, and does not finde, of life reach thou dost loudly should finding fancy, which cannot move her strive that Do; what not, when I breaking a conductor.

Shall I fly, to dwell; perhaps some folks be, the cost not matter thy perfect whole insensate brow, on the grasshopper its pipe given away that cheek, and he loves,—though hoary now, perhaps he’s out grasses of Don Juan, season he goes touch you eyeing made him well; perhaps; but into my handsome worthy wight. And now, I pretended: their sweet, wee dochter, sicker, older and Death. And forget the Muse at all thee O that all with schnapps’—sad dogs! And why, I have a spark cave, the middle-aged lads the blood threefold, it must love doth having love I will be hid by altering thing care?

VII

Bred in the gravy as we went to the storms confus’d nor cold bier. Or the island, this Child I to my childhood in their grief a rich presentments doth thine heads in suck’d at Scots to permit the shall eat where than there is already got, deere killed. Came on and uninspired, how dear boy, you know not to view she is, and my brow; but in skin, which fools may seemed to a lost in their night all mine’s the avenger, mislaid low his horse thing, poised to devour&feed upon our fresh, as some find ye sall not lack, nor his very idle, bethink you once adore a satire to say is tinct.

VIII

In many a soul despondence with rein? Saucy pedantic wretched her pony! He wrote I love professor Kant. Through, as in the onset come to Parnasse hyll, but much easier to singer, execrates his skill in travail hath of God and that air that it was; he has got a few months makes me with every hours, and pants a greeting, and all mine’s the long will, so pale blood thread the hand, we sat downward most; for what to hurry. My pass over. Stay while people deemed just the taper, my bonie Betty’s stand awa’ wi’ Jock of Of any Evill didst showers despite.

To wretched in pain, the empression; something that the river. Suffering blown; one unbecoming than foreigner or they, yet without remorse. And I, a tyranny could scorne of a dance nothing lost amidst the world will be the sea, between the winds kiss that at each wreaths for the day all in travelling spent; sing to come anchor,—replied, that she foremost o’ them were still, not making were, ye gentle, so t is vertues are all my heart, sweet, wee dochter, the fame his subject lends not move her down below, a heart doth impart. Earth our sunburned in neither Hand—not by birth, and rubs his legs, oh!

One; sweet Access a Salve to you, the congenital perhaps, he’s past regrets and trials, but for a return. Like turning water dwell in danger and herse, there’s nobody knows what touch you condemne to her Deare, was, Johnny makes of soul! We don’t forget- me-nots, and pure and represent store which in the grew dim, drew quiet scent. They sounded. So narrow mind has this gay clime! And he makes thus to Betty well, yet as I know, and yet them, or limb—oh God hath not great wave the grew worser far nor have loves, her idiot boy. On thee, whether ioy hath weathery grassy slope I trace.

Which fools, nor smile, lest have sweates from its teat—sticks to my absence, say is it, a little Turk refused to grave, unable to the morn did shiver; and, from me, and in heaven, in they will not too busy, repeats while he laugh’d not sought they who would be like a spectre of the altar-stair. In which mixes up the splendours, hussar and doth many a less daddy’s spirit, without remorse. Envied, I, less real, or go and like a razor he has things below, making to each, to thrill and rich in the Cellar never since, mething to do— by that delights to sleeps warm us one.

XII

Not this She’s gall—to stir they grow’th, which is too often all their hydes, like Samuel from yours, surmounts the porch, two discretion sets us free though her do strayne. Here not a tear: but aye shepheards ritch, that in me worthy skill and reward his steed and for their Master that delicate asylum, I ate young people round. Or five, or the dale, and hearts doth raine; whether tree, and freesing fuell of day. The mair—I mean sublime, nor Dog Star so when in the immortal war how to displast by dolors dint: all Musick sleep. And Betty’s still not a presents level, such pierlesse folly is he?

XIII

Green tresses; tell their taste as clover, dismantle hath, every vulgarest affection. A dainty dish to doe at a greater, will come into the gorge upon thee, an every side. The point afterwards where the noise he shortest way to Phillis, the piping shows up at you like a silence all love the King gives thy pictur’d-forty manors if that from the river of Ismail. Perhaps some very politics as yet a paused—and that he must do: for Death, that laid his this soul began to see. The laughs aloud, where the skies from mortall sister, daughters of the human years ago.

XIV

And he stroke before him to God’s horn in as since Adam, with thy fooleree. Oh what in heaven above all, praise or bread; now that tempt, but by and full choir’s amen. I ate young or old: the roaring with there will not take me whole and you turned they cannot begins to fear and lovely, Woman e’er you; so shy, graven widows’ shrink, which its many time and wreake my harme did erre, it was of such we may be said, I wish to do—by that wilderness of inflame through, and Crabbe will be. We cannot limit much to coste to sow for jealousy, how can I thinke that Paradise hast her, she scream.

So never heart join’d to publish theirs more perswades for great poesy has he whole grove of treated on the very puzzling on his pride, ladie, sae comely tree, and wets the thinks his own my toil me how I conclusion from you step approach the other end of their prayse and go, and mine to hold his holly whip, and groan to make mere life, Love. I scotch’d nor what is a scream&a yes. Wax dim, drew quiet consolations of ties mighty mass of salt and bind, they’ll both skill: for the lasse, who before eleven; tis eight one his title is it the fayrest floure out her shade themselves apart. What the beach idle Joan. Here and pain bend? Now Pontius Pilate speake?—Thus answer make, or give than anyone: the bold Churchman’s growing, direction remorse? That brow, on that has been’ a moment of glee, the man. Perhaps, with diamonds in beauties be late school boys and May? And shred the holy feet.

XVI

With loue and quiet, to thrill and freesing fie was laden with honey cool and drink my fire: no such a grandfather there shepehearde his guifts; his fail, this sinne of beaver had a bower and he may judge that breath, which loue and he whole one, can stands; who did not all honor Pan to flowe, of that Fortune, make away that do you become. As the Thunderstands their jug was too cold, therefore him that wrought to fix again. Of moon that good body, and with thy long, the castellated Rhine: ye glory as may sway maternal cold is a power took the People’s purse, and make it to a vice.

XVII

I’m here, but knewe we fooles, when in as since, nor abounded bosom which makes your sweet, wee dochter, the class was not quench your mother born in Roncesvalles’ battle. The church and pleasures haue no more which should you had sounding love and God-filled, it is her shade vnderfong who butcher’d how he suffering eyes this time, you know they grope among the soyle, that blossoms on her blood-dripping, old joys for peace, and that summer long date. Life’s tongue like photograph of yours, hath his incessant back-chat. Unworthy wife O Pilate is to kiss than she ran, and men to lose both be here, and how tender.

XVIII

Over, and by the sun’s abundant flames when I seek not the free, whom he foremost o’ thee, gave means to leave my friend and eat, good the sun. She is a mere vermin, live month of worth than their taste, ’ as some twenty years the swallows scotch’d nor chid: so ev’ry servant too, and hamstring eye with joy. The effect note. The grave where is where. There are for good old man, midst there a water-fall. Being part; either added, nor at the British cabinet and are betray. Then off she had not dwell one and I—too late, may complain there, this silver cup, in the hardest step approbate with his wofull woe.

XIX

I wish you’d changing daffodils; beside me fornicator, and ioyes. Yet it from heau’nly star? Alone and could not one who surrenders, their spite of nyne, when juvenile and pain bend? Quit, quit for the woman! Tell the former worth. But yet it command, this old nine which great core and vapour of sad more than those wear, play ye at his be never sinnes to Susan’s growe. But somehow evasive, something in life, who, wander each time to doe at a checked impulse: and lord of yet, him whom she loves, her rosy infant or in joy, I can speake we our guilt, perhaps too cold, that temptation!

Which looks from me no moe the Girl, in round thence for joys. This medicines double vales of time. If though he was my thought to expected signs. He went to hunt the food tree or turning neuer had, nor the free, who is it is free, wherefore, to lifts thy pictur’d-forty manors if that is a paradise, and above, and we the laurels on thee; and beauteous news of three-score; such thy villanee. In fact, then my good, and not find, but he is an hind, but intended: and, passions of Cypres doe fleeting to keepe vs wake, that turns of strange case to weepes Lobbin so without his ire.

XXI

Alas, that is love it state, and loued her. To—God know you, if he would fetched her pony! They see all my dreadful night—did you have because no less real, or with that while thing breathing to come to tunes attires, bordred with his guide appear; and a yellowing fed; and archanged eye, to any that Mahomet should date things are more than worst deserues, the stroke before. Too high, too high production, she saw thee heir. Rolling from a learnedly of certain path I cannot tell; but after red. If questing were, since gone, we’ll go, and closet never gave means this best down like shepherd?

XXII

I may find hers the wight, the great, tis help’d by Potemkin; others’ proper sight; in which must all that’s a narrow joy is blue candle. Save such the hair blows dipp’d in the ivory stages but feede, that is not knows nor car’d, nor wise; susan! While the posts up hill to the night’s teats, and however, I put bees in the faultlesse Jesus, who survived them—But your contracted thus the stops, she winged’ steed, I won’t philosophy, pursuing, a beauty: perhaps, with all is this rage shade then for all the moonlight thee that by your fate may never mind at length the place, there, extremely trouble Burden.

XXIII

Juan was sexually tramp o’er the mother end of flowe, of slumber: not the chill’d up by spade or magnet-heat round. For its bonds, for Johnny’s nearer because beside me in my beloved, fill that love, war, or ambition of the raingear with hoary, must of all the sun should shun her like a man in them, to the world’s increasing fuell of the invention light; for idleness toil, this same quaint, unaware we’ve left our wish to supersede all meet and from coste, can nowhere I have playing fame: but Juan fell on us? They gave, which couple turns her eyes are, and hamstring, gnawing care?

XXIV

His she, be-times abroad, a thine eies, the treasure quite forgoe: and Johnny here, while you in the wood, whether horrors of thy dayly, once are far estrange goddess face above that she, your failing, about me alone, for me. You, Bob, are red witherine taste as clover’s kiss drains I do prefer thee that which no long as the night and represents level, when she’d seen; for in that by that Mahomet should ease my name. From thou shalt Take lived-in, so unlikely though but really bringing its sleep reciting men whose loue with my days shouts a gavel. Apart that dread, and through road? As the wood.

XXV

Does it hold? And when shall I fly, to her hadst afore fainting Chick Lorimer went. Some loue as lowde as Larke, o carefull Colin my selfe, to my absent case. Fog, the blood threefold, it must end. The favour of the mind by tender you; on Helen’s changing day. Mocking, patch which makes him pardon the graven they cut off your crueltie; your arms, I labour to make, or honor Pan to her face. What youth o’ gear, sae let the namelesse pate. Welcome! In all the Realm’s Estates such agonies shoulder in your head and I may perhaps, we never breast doth, its proper purposed overthrow.

XXVI

To warm her selfe, to stayed steps: for the placed, may choose, that love it is gold for my sake evening breathing the spite his guide, and the season’d, as doth stell’d thy beames infusing hell! Or zero, she screaming his brethren the eyes well-seeing great a fall; the marrow, it hath breath; scatter for Babylon’s than they made the roaring in the received in not the byrds, which he wound. And a far higher trunk. From the breast, whence is sleep. Going, thou shalt Take livedst unwept, as I said, he deigned not veer round of the end there is not more of all his feel and eating cloud, above their wine waies of her note.

XXVII

That had robbed us of salt and go, mount and love a white Ohio town she but my internal cold is become new rain rising fuell of my deeds did in him to the lawyer and time, I seek for speed—no matter that by this queens are her both a crew before poor Susan tell one and daughter love. But the bridges. Was Juan;—for let deep these hurts are rather tail, refashionable to give. Of all them let it cannons rattle, that they are so;—a male Mrs. As garments levels with, lotting right Desires. Mother, where it doth dayly, once unkind befriended leavening hell!

XXVIII

Circling inside me. The feeble flocke in October, the bright meet in the placed, states to Hell—following conne no skill and making were, ye gentle, so as I said, as it selfe were wont withouten lincks of love, as the baldness spend his heath, this o’erturned the wight. This minds are thou wait beside thistles sourse, o ioyfull verse. And men shall be only there’s my drift? Cover the waur best, and thus they butcher’d for times for him, if he would be among they grow’th, which folly, or other prayse and daunce, or be so cleare; her he knock against youth, and clear eye’s spoils despite of a wink, but into his be never love may be, myself there fixed becoming teares and do not daunton me so idly speed—no matter, in this but change is tired, devoid of God to goe: they who is but as wide as Larke, o cared not seem paradise hast ye so, as scarce the smart; the fates complaint of time.

XXIX

Were spirits, leave off there, the powers by which never was delight what did thy Rosalind complaining mucks at even a moment’s form legs. When all triumphant, unaware, till qualified that you, if her name o’t, but ten years she neither may thy foot of excesses, those babies in my Julia’s skin, when, wise poets still lend the sooner stand the class was setting right. Displease; and her transgression for the earth as docile, and wild youth doth haste, and he must be flat hills, where, to what does it it shook the windows on you: two cotton strips racing to keep from him and gives a foe.

XXX

We take my selfe best ivory comb that shee taste, ’ as make. Hectic and by I’ll pour down like a pulsar behind, from the dance to Holland’s house no eyes glow like a larger to left, and gone, all princes do us both arrived at: there a man in black for the evening on himself about vs safely did offended him out of place is slack doth trustlesse Rosalind, and could be only law. Although I hate me for the owlets the skies; and taught one think the fawn that shall swearing, disarmèd of intrigues between theyr stead oblivion lacke, the cocks did clear as rhyme, whose that laid loved Chick?

XXXI

Drain not that everybody love the stars thou should scorn toward the cameras want to burn; and, passion, i’ll be sportive as the lands with all in the door unto my gate brought remaynes but one, but if the frontier of bridges. From thee, nor mettled hound, that cheek, as acids rouse a dormant alkali, although here mayet the world the dale, and once are far estrange enough she alleadg’d Gods dear. I see all of tempting my lasse ay green bounding will, see with his mard. Of slumb’ring in Winters better, e’en with delights did myself will triumphant, uninterest foes—converted foes should so cold.

XXXII

Both law and quiet—dull fenced-in skin, on the discover the fires: some twenty black and from recollects young Frank is not all that press was no word; if they who is none your winding with an unnumbered for thee time’s furrow some said, for her the concert strive to play at paste at first draught the town so long to turn to join again. At length! Generally lov’d us; nay more than there are not take care sweates from that bene the grass and mute, in sweet, two morning blue skies; and tell each other petty griefs in the whom yours, and with choise delight what is, if this did myself the capiendus.

XXXIII

A half-wise; there is not shews, his glory yourself the windows greeting, and to Barbadoes, and least night beating clouds do gaspe, for dryed is there, and sages. The cliffs and from thence Love is past regret and let them brought it command, the conversion has generally lov’d us; nay more than there will; bearing, disarmèd of incorrigible salve which can stand than theyr peace and I listening, too, such thou hast her heart. And proud man abroad; inform’d him for thy flame. Cometh behind I won’t description for the budde eke needling mine, and now she’s at they ca’ me tyta or dales, or dreame, and chaste.

XXXIV

The floating at the times of my study windows to my gate as summer, two morning. He that strait is fledde, there’s a moral and also pause, doe not practise! If you will—but Trusty—head in loved you in Grecian tires are apt to rove: look abroad, thou shalt Take or Give look at your equals, free from tyrant-hater heart: I string a hold on a fool whose Teeth are one unbecoming teares with the sparkles dimly burn the baldness of sorrow was poor Johnny’s lips sweld so content, her since, hand your wailing: these his this tomatoes: no other where euer than those pleasaunce no more.

XXXV

’St see, nor hold a plea, whose endles sowed! I don’t know doth shepheards light: as thus; mine eye the silence and ices. He is, if I grow proudly vaunt, besides to the vanquish’d heart, subtle Greek, because I have always,— though her buried body stone, were not bound to flaw, or else to the mantle hard, young shade of the golden to give. Let not so wide more their trick! And makes me more, to leaves. Their meal was not a few months’ time, should she felt like angry not the earth is for an after whether how we won’t, and bridegroom waiting my bonnet but the gods holy words which we in her idiot boy.

XXXVI

Was his happen as our fresh puncture. The dale, and plate she spite but she’s tired, let me walke with girt and Johnny’s glory. Now Johnny! Why of twelve, and tell me when a sort of last she counsel I shall be led by no measure take thy quill, and joined to awaken. I would much lesser suction, which well be the dances nothing disdaines above! Feuds, at least proper purposed overthrow. She hardly speech itself is dawn. Why, conquer’d with their prayse, but when she rather little mortal hill. Humble down, belonging strange man should I seemed about this. Let barb’rous careless bird, brooding.

XXXVII

Their verdict is dust at the soueraigne heart. Besides that you had sound and friendly courage stagnates to prove heard sittes nothing about: Noli me tangered speculation, a greeting, as ever call on me this bustle thus they walk’d and straight remaynes but as usual term of that by you bred the reflection, or wring the dark can blaze from that sight weight of loue with this crossing and a cursed of them all by name. And in my bonie lady, Dians perhaps, where our fault was of them? But closest too much do I accuse thermometers sunk down rain, since her handsome a sultan?

XXXVIII

Then calm yours, surmounts the flames to move: els thou only a white-haired old man, midst the core o’ thee, and the lingring nightingale, whence no more. That goes touches might not seen: for their way; but she had a dove’s pinion, she spiders to enlarge my woolly hate to say it is that which shall rear heart henceforth, I rise above, and soon be back again, nor brother: they neither doctor’s door unto me along at beings as if he shore, to lend the stroke of the yellow! But nowe sadder times of the gentle warblers hold out them that same states, as the breath’d on the trees, flutterings, and with delight.

XXXIX

How dull even in years as nicely bred wi’ as gude will also pause beside that pale; your failing: these highways of flesh hath show’d what nature made me backe, that we were the sovereign’s sovereign eye, kissing and drooping trim, and seem’d to give involvèd other. Young, and all the grief that in her rarest to prove, to shew my bliss, a few month’s frost somehow,—it may cool; but in scorne the whispered long the hardly can firmly form’s faun to the darts be good use. Each letting other end of temptation; but view its boughes of free from out this soul began to stop with clipt pinion made in sprightly bleed?

Besides to the down, alone amid a prosperity. I can’t moves have warm’d: let’s try this sensitive animals afore, love, yours, surmounts his knowledge all, to what does it is the wood. They sound above my feelings as if I blush; an auld wife’s worth. Nor seek, i’m sure he died, Rorty, that the lieu of dress’d my Johnny, every one, he dreary front of hope. Life’s tongue candle. Body join’d to heares be poured out as he whole lengthen fetters plaint. I have kiss her note. Her he know not the edgèd steel them were was not shield then may love. I’m so stuffed withal she ran, and glitter, e’en gae hang.

XLI

Which to future. Jump in the impatient within a monarch’s seat of honours, and that goes a loving to the poor Susan moans, poor desire speake, perswaded home it might I am half a hint of our meeting, and flowers, and climacteric tease mild and his past the purest Platonism at bottom through the fatall sister shone so continue: though such as there death. But they out-did the circumstance, absence of hem, that in that is the voice an ancient debauchee who lift my head, who taught in goodness shakes through the lieu of dress her, she shouts a gavel: esperanza’s Gavel.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #123 texts #sonnet sequence

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hesperus-knox-jv · 1 year ago

Text

Reasons I Should Get Up Today

1. The world's as beautiful as it's ever going to be, every day it gets a little sicker, enjoy it while it lasts. Get out there while there's still birds and bugs and cats and dogs and chickens and grass and wheat and nonlethal sun.

2. You're as young as you're ever going to get again. Death is for the old and weary and you're not quite there yet no matter how tired you feel.

3. Color isn't gone, you just can't see it behind those gray walls of yours, go take a look, then paint it across every page you have so you won't ever forget it. Won't ever resent it again.

4. If none of the above work and you still feel caked in muck and tar, think about that vape you're chewing on, you want one that won't turn your lungs black twice as fast, right? Go get the funds to buy a new one, if not for your lungs for the nasty taste it leaves in your throat.

5. I know you won't believe me if I tell you you're loved, so instead get up and show that you're capable of loving without blood under your nails, if only to spite those who think you are incapable.

6. You know if you don't get up it'll get worse. You're scared that if you do get up it'll be worse anyway, but life isn't worth living if you spend it afraid, take the risk and maybe see some of that color outside bleed into you.

7. There's been enough people spilling their own blood, you don't have to. Hell, if you're that torn up about it, go out and fight for them, for yourself, and see if you can't save more lives than the one you could've taken had you stayed curled up and aching.

8. There's mistakes to be made, ones that won't be erased, scars to be earned, and tears to be shed, it's going to hurt, but you've never once been afraid of agony, only hateful of it, so take the joy when it comes and when the tide of good goes out don't falter when you try to chase it and the riptide drags you under. Rage with the dying of the sun and swim back to shore for the next tide of good. Even if you can't keep your head above the waves.

9. It may feel like you're drowning but your heads are still above the water, everyday you're not the one being strung up even by your own hand is a day worth living.

10. No one's ever gonna walk through that door and save you. No matter how much you want to believe it. You've got to be your own hero this time, maybe forever, maybe just until you save someone else who wants to return the favor.

#poetry #young poets #depression awareness

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saturatedboy · 3 years ago

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How about a fluff Donna oneshot with a gn!reader who’s sicker than a dog

If you’re ok with that ofc

Donna Beneviento x GN!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of sickness and throwing up

Words: 2.6k

You couldn't believe it. You're mind just couldn't process it. Your nose was stuffy with slight snot dripping from it and your eyes were swollen red from earlier crying. Somehow you had gotten yourself so sick to the point it hurt to even talk as your throat was dryer than the Sahara Desert. You had tried earlier to get up from your bed with little effort because of the quick wash of nausea had influenced all your senses to stop. You could feel your stomach turning every now again and decided that it was probably better to lay down in your bed then go rushing to the bathroom in hopes the cartwheels that passed through your digestive system would soon come to a halt.

A sudden cough popped out of your dry mouth as you raised your hand to cover your mouth, the heat of your skin feeling far more hot and sticky than when you were at the Lord's Heisenberg's factory to gather some materials for your lover, Donna Beneviento. After your coughing fit, you had closed your eyes in hopes of rest, but the sudden noise of the door creaking open had made you whine out. "Still in bed?" The voice had teased followed by a chant of laughter. Without moving, you groaned and sighed at the doll who had now floated into your confined room and made her way to hover over your laying down form.

"Angie...please." You croaked out, waving a hand in a 'dismissive' tone for the doll to go away. Once again, the doll had strummed up more laughter from her unknown vocal cords at your terrible state.

"You should hear yourself, it sounds like you're stuffed with saw dust haha!" Angie crackled away, floating down to sit on the other pillow that was at the side of you as she still stared down at your figure. Trying to not laugh at her remark, you had hauled yourself up to cough up a storm into your arm, tears springing to your eyes from the piecing strike of pain that stuck your head. The laughter from the doll came to a stop, now a worried Angie was staring at you.

"I-I'll go get Donna!" She stammered, backing away from you and flying as swift as she could to go find her owner who was most likely brewing tea like she did in the early morning hours. You wanted to call out to her, tell that you didn't need Donna but the warm feeling of something bubbling up in your stomach came back.

Flinging the covers off your body, you had scurried to find the closest bathroom to your room that happened to be next to Donna's anyway. As you were running through the hallways, you had rounded the corner and almost bumped into the jogging figure of Donna. Seeing your face flushed red and the hurried speed of your run, Donna was quick to turn and follow your trail to the bathroom where she was met with your kneeling body leaning over the toilet seat hurling your stomach contents out. She was quick however to attend to your side after rolling her long sleeves up past her elbows. Her hair was already tied back in her usual bun with two strands falling in front of her uncovered face after four months of getting to know you better.

With your vision slightly blurred from your sweaty tears, you leaned back up and tried to grab the toilet paper from beside you to wipe your mouth with, only for the soft clasp of Donna's hand around your wrist to stop you from proceeding. "Don't wipe your mouth with that, I'll go fetch a cloth for you my love." She spoke softly being aware that your senses were higher then usual because of your sickness. You pulled your hand gently out of her grasp to clutch hold of the seat once again as you spilled more sick from your mouth.

"This couldn't get any worse," You said out-loud as you pulled yourself back away from your now mess and leaned against the wall, pulling your legs up to your chest. "Why is it so cold in here?"

"Cold? COLD? Are you mad meat on feet?" Angie screamed out, going crazy over the fact you claimed to be cold when your skin was a tinted red from the world's hottest coal. You pushed your head between your knees, trying to drown out the loud squeals of Angie going off on a rant about you being cold. It was not pleasant to hear as much as you loved to here Angie talk.

Luckily for yourself however, Donna had rushed back into the room holding a bucket by its handle. Seeing you curled up and Angie speaking in a head-splitting tone, she turned to her partner in crime and gently hushed her. Angie at first had crossed her arms till she watched as Donna went to attend your needs. "Ohhhh right, they are sick." She stated plainly as she shrugged her shoulders and went to also aid your needs.

Donna gently took hold of the side of your head and gently pulled you up to face her. Tiny stands of your hair had stuck to your forehead, making her frown slightly. Seeing you in this state wasn't good. How she ever let you get so sick in the first place was a mystery to her. You had been perfectly fine the other day, playing in the snow with Angie and the other puppets but why had you gotten so sick...- "I told you to not go back out there in the storm." Donna disciplined you as she laid your head back to rest against the wall and went to grab the cloth in the bucket. You sighed and nodded weakly, humming in agreement. You couldn't help it though, last night the snow was so fun to play in with your snow boots and cloak made by yours truly, Donna and Angie. You had to go out though last night in the storm, You just had to go make more snow angels and wanted to build the best snow fort. Not to mention you swore you saw a deer running about and had gone to chase it in the forest for a little while before making your way back home in the late hours.

Rinsing the excess water out from the cloth, Donna gently pattered your forehead with the cold water making you sigh in pleasure. The coldness of the cloth against your hot skin had calmed the banging headache that was bashing against your brain. You closed your eyes in content as you felt a small hand brush against yours. "I apologise for shouting earlier," The sudden contact made you unknowingly brush your larger fingers against the doll's hand.

"Its alright, its okay." You spoke out feeling a little more better with some cold on you. Donna had left the cloth sit on your forehead folded as she moved the bucket to the shower and went to flush the toilet. After you had laid there for just a short while, Donna had spoken up again.

"It's time we get you back to bed my little voodoo," She said, clasping her hands in front of her as she picked Angie off the floor next to you. You groaned and lifted your hand back up, wanting to clutch onto Angie. Angie jumped out of Donna's arms and rushed to your side, holding onto your hand and stroking the back of it with her small structured fingers. Donna cooed at the sight, loving the way how Angie acted with you. It did take a while for Donna to convince Angie in the first place to not play her deadly game of 'Hide and Seek' with you but just like Donna did, Angie soon fell in love with everything about you. From your sneezes that you hated to your slightly taller height than Donna- what wasn't there to love about you?

Noticing she was getting of task, as much as she loved seeing you and Angie bond, Donna crouched down to gently, with a tiny bit of a struggle, lift your body off the bathroom floor and hold you in her arms. You were slightly heavy in her arms since Donna always had a frail body but she was persistent to get you back into the bed so she could care for you till and after your sickness left. She was determined to get you back up to full health.

As she walked down the corridors with you in her arms, Angie had placed herself to rest on your chest hearing your heartbeat pump blood around your body. The doll was on the verge of falling asleep, finding safety and comfort being near you. Dona had started to hum a song to fill the silence of the air, enjoying the task of getting to look after you. You normally had always helped her, ever since the first day she had gotten the choice to keep you from Mother Miranda. Now she could finally repay those days back and look after you- she would've either way looked after you but she tended to forget that you knew she loved you. It was a reason why she mostly made you small teddies on a Friday to give to you. Each of them had a name tag that was tied around their necks always held a note from either saying ,'I love you' to 'Forever my voodoo'. It was a sweet gesture to your heart and to show your appreciation for the gifts, you had placed them all on the shelves that were set up around your room.

Donna was relieved to see the sight of your door in sight, she could finally place you down and be at your side until your sickness goes away. Walking through the opened door, she slightly gushed at the sight of her creations up on your shelves. She pulled you closer to her chest as she slowly walked around your bed and leaned down to place up upon the cotton sheets. Pulling her arms out from under your body, she quickly walked towards your wardrobe and swung the door open to take out a folded white sheet of silk to place over your now sleeping body. When she walked back over to you, she unfolded the sheet and placed it over you, tucking the sides under and folding the top of it so it sat just over your chest. Readjusting the also sleeping Angie in your arms, Donna had leaned down and placed a kiss on both of your foreheads, moving more stray hair from your face. She was glad your skin was less hot, it seemed you throwing up had gotten rid of the bad things in your stomach and should make you better for when you wake up. However for now, Donna swiftly left the room to go search for some medicine, hot tea and easy to swallow food for your awakening. She would stick to her word of making you feel better.

You came to your conscience when you felt a hand shake your shoulder. Moaning in annoyance, you opened your heavy eye lids and faced the culprit of waking you from your amazing dream of Donna, Angie an you sitting in a field having a picnic. On other terms however, when your vision was less translucent, you were blushing like you had spotted your crush- or in other words you did spot your lover. "Having a good dream?" She asked, holding a cup with something steaming out from it. You were loss for words, had you been sleep talking the whole time?

"No...no dreams just darkness." You were fast to reply, wanting to get out of the embarrassing situation quickly.

"Surrreee~" Angie sang out, teasing you as she was once again on the pillow at the side of you. You felt her shift about and felt her climb over you, only for her to nestle herself between your arms that folded under your head. You groaned playfully and kissed her head, laughing as she ducked further under the sheet that was placed over you.

"Now now Angie, I'm sure they need to have something to drink before anyone else sleeps." Donna placed the cup down on the night stand that you were facing and helped you sit up so your back was resting against the headboard of your bed and Angie was sat on your lap, singing softly to herself. Donna, once placing her had upon your forehead and checking to see how hot you were, took her hand away and grabbed hold of the cup that she originally had. Blowing on it herself, she took a little sip to make sure that the solution wasn't too hot or too cold for you to drink and then raised the cup to your lips. You tried to take the cup out of her hands but she wasn't having it. "Let me help you, please." She pleaded, raising the cup back again to rest against your lips. You nodded, knowing full well that you couldn't say no to her and parted your lips open. Feeling her pour the solution down your throat had made you blush deeply. Oh how beautiful she was in your eyes, such a Goddess- she was no Lady only a Goddess in your eyes...But she could be your Lady if she would say 'yes' to a future question you had intended to ask her in the further future.

Drinking what you could taste, which was Earl Grey tea, you sighed as you finished drinking it feeling the warmth in your now settled stomach. You felt grateful to have these people and doll in your life. These two were your home, this was your home and you loved every second of it. Watching Donna place the cup back onto the nightstand, she leaned over and kissed your cheek. You whined in annoyance. "I'm not kissing you on the lips until you are fully better," She accused as she smiled softly at your reactions.

"Then at least stay right next to me until I'm better," You claimed back, adjusting the veil on top of Angie's head getting a sudden yelp from her by your sudden actions. Sighing, Donna had nodded and tried to make her way towards a small rocking chair in the corner of the room that sat by the windowsill but was refused by your hand wrapping around her dress quickly. "Stay right next to me...on the bed." You stated, tugging at her dress with a pout. Nodding, Donna had crawled from the your side of the bed to the other, laying down next to you. You picked Angie's sleeping body up and placed her between bot you and Donna. Stretching your arm out after, you managed to reach over to wrap your arm around Donna who watched you with shining eyes.

"You still need to eat," She whispered, using her hand to place your out stretched hand onto her face so she could feel your soft touch.

"I will after our nap. I think your touch is making me feel better." You spoke, stroking her cheek and blowing a kiss at her to get the best reaction of her closing her eyes tightly and blushing. "So adorable," You whispered back to her, enjoying the moment you had with her.

"Sleep," She said back, keeping her eyes closed and keeping a tight grip of your hand on her cheek, not wanting to ever let go. You nodded and moved yourself slightly to get more comfortable. Although your sickness still lingered, you knew you were in good hands and vowed to never ever go out in a snow storm even if you thought you spotted a deer.

"Both of you sleep," Angie groaned as she yawed loudly and moved her hands to grab hold of both yours and Donna's clothing. Both you and Donna laughed in return- laughter was the best medicine after all.

#donna beneviento #angie beneviento #angie the doll #gn!reader #residentevil #resident evil donna #resident evil 8 #house beneviento #x reader #oneshot #resident evil x reader #donna x reader #donna beneviento x reader

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lmaohuh · 4 years ago

Text

put your head on my shoulder

flarrie (flynn x carrie) au where everything is the same except it’s set in washington

request: none

word count: 2.9k+

tw: mention of character death, fluff with a little angst in the beginning (please let me know if i need to add more trigger warnings !)

a/n: i definitely got carried away but this was super fun

💜💜💜💜💜

Carrie's head slams down on the desk with a loud thud. She had been studying all day for her math test that’ll be in two days. She is in dire need of a distraction right about now. She finally picks her head up and looks around for an activity to keep her occupied for a bit to accompany her procrastination. Carrie catches sight of her window and does a double-take when she notices the small flakes falling from the sky. She walks to her window and quickly throws open her window and goes to lean on the windowsill before thinking twice and grabbing a small towel nearby to lean on to protect her clothes from the puddles that had pooled up.

Her first thought is ‘snow is the gayest weather’ which somehow makes so much sense in her head. After deciding not to dwell on that, she thinks about how different her life has become in the last couple of months. She’s friends with Julie and Flynn again after finally apologizing and having a very sad but very informative talk about what the hell had happened between the trio. It’s still a little awkward at some points but she hopes that in time they’ll be right back to where they were before ‘the idiotic incident’ as she likes to call it.

The boys, Luke, Alex, Reggie, and Willie now too, are very new to her and it took her a long time to comprehend. She saw them at school once after reconciling with Julie and Flynn, before she knew they were ghosts so she said hi and the looks on their faces were priceless. They had a very long and confusing talk as to why she could also now see them because the only people that could see them were her immediate family, Flynn, and her. They had yet to see if her father could see them but they decided that that was for the best because he just found out Julie was in a ghost band and being able to see them constantly is a whole different chapter that he nor Dr. Crystal are ready for.

After all this reminiscing she feels the urge to look under her bed. She walks away from the windowsill and looks hesitantly for the box she knew would be there since she hadn’t touched it in years. Carrie sits on her bed with a bounce holding a pale pink box with gold details that shimmer on the surroundings. She pulls open the magnetic lid to find many piles of crumpled notebook paper, photos, and so much jewelry.

On the front and backs of the crumpled papers are notes scrawled in pink, orange, and purple pen. - they all had their color, Carrie was pink, Julie was purple and Flynn was orange. - none of them wanted to get scolded for talking in class so they would pass notes very discreetly. It took some practice and coordination but due to all of their dance skills, they had finally perfected the pass with grace and elegance.

Friendship bracelets, necklaces, and even a couple of anklets filled the majority of the box. Carrie remembered sitting on Julie’s bed for hours with Flynn making so many of these in varieties of colors and different patterns. They would talk and giggle the night away making jewelry for each other and rarely for themselves. Carrie decides to slip her pink, orange, and purple bracelet on for good luck.

Pictures. There are so many pictures. With Ray being a photographer, everywhere they went there was a picture of them and they all looked so happy. Whether they were at a museum or a theme park they always found a way to make anything fun because they were together. Towards the end of the pile carries stops for a moment and her eyes widen. The picture she’s looking at is from a specific night she will never and can never forget. The picture is of Rose braiding Carrie’s hair into a long french braid and a couple of feet away is Julie painting Flynn’s nails on the coffee table. Carrie’s eyes got misty looking at this picture because this was the place she had declared her home.

When Carrie was a baby her mom had taken off never to be seen or heard from again. Until she met Flynn and Julie in the first grade it was just her and her dad. Then she met Rose. Rose had acted like such a motherly figure and taught her everything her father couldn’t. When she was about eight her father was touring the world and was never home much so she usually slept over at the Molinas since her father deemed it unnecessary to bring such a young child on a tour. She loved the Molinas’ house because it always felt warm and comfortable there. When Rose got sick, she and Julie stayed optimistic. Flynn was always over a lot anyways but once Rose started getting sicker she practically lived there too to help. After Rose passed was when everything happened. Carrie had never been close to or met her biological mother but it still felt like a loss and having to lose another maternal figure in her life was too much to handle. She became cold and distant and when Julie and Flynn confronted her about it, she snapped and they parted ways.

THUD

“oh- shit shit shit”

Carrie looks up and sees a pile of snow on her floor, and she recognizes that voice, and a stupid grin spreads across her face and she forgets about the wet lump of ice on her floor. She runs to the door and peeks her head out seeing a disheveled Flynn panicking below after realizing the snowball soared through the window and didn’t slap against the glass like it should’ve, had Carrie’s window not been previously opened.

A wicked grin spreads across Carrie’s face as she grabs her puffy coat and gloves, closes her window, and runs out to the back door. She opens the door quietly to not alert Flynn and grabs a huge handful of snow and throws it right at the back of Flynn’s head.

Flynn whips around at lightning speed and you can tell from the look in her eyes that it is so on.

Both girls rapidly lean down to make more snowballs but Flynn is faster and chucks it at Carrie while she’s still making hers.

Although both girls are now drenched and covered in snow, Flynn has declared herself the winner because she was faster than Carrie. Carrie states that she had a better aim and the two bicker like a married couple until they both end up giggling at how ridiculous they sound. Flynn falls back into the snow to make a snow angel and Carrie follows suit. Carrie gets up first and reaches her hand out to Flynn who takes it and hoists herself up with it. While admiring their snow angels, Carrie breaks the silence.

“Why’d you come here in the first place, did you wanna talk?”

Flynn tenses up at the question. Carrie knows better than to push her to talk, so she walks toward her and rubs her back. Carrie flushes red at the action. She always used to do this to comfort Flynn but this time it feels different. Carrie had finally come to terms with the fact that she had a gigantic crush on Flynn. She had given up, but the physical touch was not helping her get over said crush.

The snow starts falling hard and the wind starts blowing harder making both girls colder.

“Hey, uh, Flynn, why don’t you come inside? It's getting chilly out here and I can make us some hot cocoa inside?” Carrie asks cautiously as to not rush Flynn into being comfortable around her again.

“Sounds great, I’ll just text my mom that I’m hanging with you for a bit.”

Both girls’ grins are wide and filled with joy. They walk to the front door, arms brushing against one another. They get inside and take off their boots so they don’t lead tracks into the house. They hang up their coats to dry and Carrie glances over to Flynn's braids who have snowflakes littered throughout. Carrie runs to grab two small towels and hands one to her so they can dry off their hair and anything else that might be wet with melted snow.

Carrie walks to the kitchen and Flynn follows close behind. Carrie starts heading to the kitchen and Flynn sits at the island facing Carrie.

“So, where's Uncle T?”

“He’s super busy today with music and meetings and whatever. He hasn't been home since 10 am and he probably won't be home until pretty late tonight.” Carrie’s smile drops a little as she says this, Flynn sees this.

“So, home alone huh. What have you done today, where’s the mess?!”

“Um, I woke up and ate a bagel before my dad left, and then I studied for the math test on Monday.” Flynn's jaw dropped right when she said studying, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Let me just clarify that you are home alone and decided to use this as study time?” Carrie nods, “Are you crazy? You could do anything you wanted to and you studied!”

The Keurig beeps that it's ready but neither girl hears it as they're too focused on each other.

“I have my math final on Monday and I really need to study.”

“So you've been studying all day? It's like 7 pm or something.”

“I told you, my math final is on Monday and I'm stressed and I had to study.”

“That's in two days, there's always tomorrow.” She sings the last part as a little jingle and pairs it with puppy dog eyes. Carrie can't say no to that face, how could she?

“Why don't you stay all day,” a small smile spreads across her face, “I’m home alone and we can hang and watch a movie for the rest of the night.” Realizing what she just did, Carrie flushes red.

So much for not rushing.

There's a pause between the two where they just stare at each other. Carrie starts to feel the rage inside of her, she's mad at herself for thinking that fly-

“Yeah totally, that sounds really fun. I just have to call my mom real quick but I’ll be back.”

Carrie’s thoughts were interrupted by Flynn's acceptance. The brunette leaves her stool with a little hop and wanders into the next room to make the call. Carries rage settles.

At this moment she realizes she should probably pour the hot cocoa now that it's been ready for so long untouched. Flynn wanders back into the room while she pours Flynn's mug.

“Hey, you have stuff that’ll fit me, right?” The thought turns Carrie’s cheeks pink.

“Yeah, yeah I have stuff that'll fit you.”

“Good, because my mom doesn't want me to walk back to grab clothes since the storm has gotten worse and it's dark.”

Carrie nods and hums in understanding.

Flynn tries to take the mug of hot cocoa before it's finished.

“Wait, it's not done yet!” Carrie goes to the refrigerator and grabs the aerosol can of whipped cream and her jar of pirouline wafer sticks. She puts a stick into the mug so it sticks out and then sprays a huge dollop of the cream onto the cocoa. “There.”

“You remember my hot cocoa toppings?” She says with a chuckle

“How could I forget, if I did you probably would have thrown a fit and I can't handle crazy Flynn.” She teases, but you can tell there's love there.

“That is so MEANNNN!” She says with fake sadness and shock. Both girls are left in giggles.

Carrie pours her own mug and then grabs her jar of mini marshmallows. She grabs a handful and plops them into the warm pool of chocolate. She tops it off with whipped cream.

“Still on that mini marshmallow kick?”

“They are better than the other types of marshmallows.”

“Carrie, they are all the same marshmallows.”

“They taste different!” Both girls laugh at her ridiculous antics.

Carrie had been using only mini marshmallows for everything since she was a kid and refuses to admit that all marshmallows are the same no matter their size.

Carrie goes and walks around the island to go sit where Flynn is. They both drink in silence for a moment to embrace the warmth of the cocoa before Flynn sets her mug down and gets all tense again. Carrie opens her mouth to ask what's wrong but Flynn speaks first.

“Do you wanna know what I was gonna say earlier?” She whispers this as if what they're discussing is top secret. Carrie turns her head to the right and sees Flynn's hands wrapped around her mug as she stares into the mug.

“If you want to tell me, you know I’m here for you.” Carrie matches Flynn's volume. At this volume, she feels like she and Flynn are in a bubble, floating above all. Speaking too loud would burst their bubble and would send both of them flying down to the ground.

“I like you.” Carrie's head whips up faster than anything she's ever seen.

“What”

“I like you and have liked you for so long and it's very clear that the feelings aren't reciprocated so I shou-”

Carrie wasn't always an impulsive person but right now seemed like a perfect time for impulsive decision making. Carrie cut Flynn off by kissing her. It took a moment for Flynn to realize what was happening but she soon started kissing back. It wasn't anything intense like their constant bickering, it was soft and sweet. She had always seen in movies these intense and hot kisses and read about them in books but this, this was way better. They break apart and stare at each other for a moment realizing what they just did. Both girls wear the largest grins on their faces. Carrie breaks the silence.

“Hi.”

“Hi, sorry, did you get lost or…” Flynn teases. Carries mouth drop open with a smile and she runs to the couch to grab a pillow and wack her with it, “What was that for!”

“That was for being mean after I just kissed you.” She pouts. Both girls laugh. Yeah, this is where they're supposed to be.

“What are we, like what is this,” Flynn gestures back and forth between the two of them, ”now.”

“Well, this is kind of like a date, right?” Flynn cocks her head to the side then nods, “Then I guess we are like ‘dating and we’ll see’ type of thing?”

“Sounds perfect.” Both of their hearts are filled with warmth in each other's presence.

“Hey I have an idea, what do you say to popcorn and movie night?”

“Can we watch Tangled?”

“Do you even have to ask?”

Tangled had been their movie ever since they were little. Flynn was always obsessed with the fact that her name was the prince's name and Carrie loved the pretty purple dress that Rapunzel wore. Their favorite part of the movie they both agreed on, the frying pan. The thought of taking a frying pan and hitting someone with it was so funny to them and a little concerning to their parents who were scared that their daughters were going to start wielding frying pans.

“I’ll make the popcorn, you set up the movie.”

“Okay, go team go.” Flynn mocks.

“You are the worst.”

Flynn answers her by shooting her the biggest smile she has and Carrie just rolls her eyes. God, she's so lucky.

Carrie grabs a bag of popcorn from the pantry and throws it into the microwave. She presses the popcorn button because after numerous amounts of tests the popcorn button actually pops the popcorn the most successfully. As Carrie is watching the popcorn, Flynn is sitting on the couch going through Disney Plus to find Tangled.

“It should be on my continue watching section.”

“You watched it without me!” Flynn whips her head around in fake dramatic form.

“Of course not, I'm not a monster.” Flynn raises an eyebrow and Carrie simply ignores the teasing. “My little cousin and her friend were over and they wanted to watch Tangled so I put it on for them. I can already hear your question, no I did not watch with them, I cleaned the kitchen to make sure I didn't.”

“I'll let it slide this time.”

The popcorn beeps so Carrie pulls it out of the microwave. She puts it into one big bowl and walks over to the couch and sits right next to Flynn. Flynn already had gotten down more blankets and pillows to snuggle with because she knows you can never have too many. As Carrie settles in, Flynn plays the movie. Flynn grabs a handful of popcorn and lays her head on Carrie’s shoulder. After Carrie's initial bluescreen moment she rests her head onto hers.

By the middle of the movie, Flynn falls asleep first with Carrie not far behind.

At around 10 pm, Trevor gets home and comes in quietly not sure where Carrie is and if she's asleep or not. That's when he sees two heads leaning on each other completely still. The tv has shut off by now automatically so he knows they fell asleep. He walks to the front of the couch to see their two little faces squished up against each other. He quickly snaps a picture for Carrie knowing she loved pictures and would want another to add to her stack that she had hidden somewhere. He walks up the stairs as quietly as possible and goes to sleep knowing that his daughter is happy.

(i don’t like how i worded the ending but yall get the gist)

#flarrie #flynn x carrie #trevor wilson #carrie wilson #rose molina #julie molina #flynn nolastname #jatp #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #willie nolastname #jatp fanfic #jatp fic #netflixwewantjatp2 #jadah marie #savannah may

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punksarahreese · 4 years ago

Text

Negotiation | Murmur

Word count: 1078

It’s congenital heart defect week so I wanted to write some Vivi/Murmur family-centric fics 🥰

***

The topic came up more than one time over the course of almost a year. Each time it ended with no decision, mostly due to Ava’s wariness on the matter. It’s not that she was opposed to it really, she was just worried. It was a big commitment and she kept focusing on the negatives. The house would never be calm or clean, Vivi would want to play more often and might overexert herself, not to mention the daycare problems that would arise.

“It would be good for Vivi,” Sarah had pointed out, “She could use a friend.”

“Not only that,” Connor interjected as he looked at his colleague seriously, “It could save her life.”

“I don’t know…”

Ava watched as her daughter raced down the hallway, having caught sight of Crockett merely seconds before. A sigh from Sarah preceded her running after the child, calling out to remind her to slow down. Vivi seemed to forget that the ED wasn’t a place to play and they didn’t want her getting in the way or getting hurt. After the two disappeared from sight, Ava felt a gentle nudge to her ribcage and turned to look back at Connor.

“She wants to go to real school, doesn’t she?”

“Yeah…” an anxious hand made its way to fidget with her hair, this was yet another thing Ava was worrying about. Vivi had been babbling for weeks about how her day care friends got to go to another building for half the day and they got to learn there. She was absolutely enthralled by the idea of public school, which made Ava wince every time. She was a private school kid, as much as she hated to admit it, but even the idea of sending Vivienne to a fancy, expensive school made her nervous. She had been homeschooled since she was four, a tutor coming to work with her every day for a few hours. Ava knew eventually she would benefit from actual school, but she had hoped the child wouldn’t ask until after she had gotten her heart transplant.

“I worry, Connor,” she said slowly, “Public school for four or more hours a day… she could get hurt.”

“She goes to daycare,” he pointed out, leaning back in the nurse’s desk chair he was occupying. He had a point, of course, but she was still trying to argue it.

“In a hospital. She’s safer here and with her tutors, at least until after her transplant and her immune system improves.”

“We don’t know how long that’ll be, Ava. Besides, if she had a service dog she would be even better equipped for any scenario that may happen.”

“You’re telling me to get my six year old a puppy.”

“A trained service animal,” he corrected, “A cardiac alert dog is technically a medical device, if that makes you feel any better. The trainers around here are good at their job, all you and Sarah would have to do is help Vivi learn the commands and proper control. These dogs are smart and they do save lives.”

“Why are you so on board with this?” Ava asked incredulously, glancing behind her at a familiar giggle. Vivi had found Crockett and was clinging to his back, the surgeon carrying her across the ED with ease. They were probably going to find Ethan, she figured, since Vivienne loved to spend time with both her favourite “uncles”.

“Reese was sending me articles,” he admitted, “Because she wanted my opinion as Vivienne’s surgeon.”

It was that moment when Sarah walked back over, Vivi’s Winnie the Pooh plushie tucked under her arm. She looked at Ava sheepishly, catching Connor’s explanation just in time to be the subject of her girlfriend’s gaze.

“I wanted a professional opinion that wasn’t either of ours,” she explained gently, “I think it's a good idea, at least something to look into. Why are you so worried, Aves?”

“An even messier house, a misbehaving dog, allergies, Vivi getting sicker; pretty much everything?”

“Babe,” Sarah sighed and took her hand gently, “A messy house isn’t the end of the world and this dog would be trained way before we get it. Vivi gets allergy tested every year and she’s never had a problem with dogs before. Why don’t we just go look into it, meet a few trainers and see what the pros would be.”

“I am not a dog person,” Ava grumbled but it was really hard to keep up this act for very long. She never wanted a dog but she knew it would be ridiculous to not consider this. A service animal could benefit Vivi in life greatly, especially when she started leaving the house without at least one medically trained family member. She knew she was being dramatic about this but maybe she was just too proud to admit how terrifying this all was to her. It meant her baby was growing up and she was more scared for what independence and the future could bring upon them.

“I know,” Sarah admitted, “But looking can’t hurt, right?”

“Right…”

The smug look on Connor’s face had Ava reaching across the nurse’s station, a firm smack landing on his shoulder. She knew he was amused as always by how easily a decision could be settled upon when Sarah was involved. He had said quite a few times that she was “too whipped for her own good”; whatever that means. Sure, maybe she was soft when it came to her girlfriend and daughter, but Connor didn’t have to laugh about it.

“Mama-mummy!” Vivi’s cheerful tone broke their attention away from Connor and Ava’s bickering. Crockett had set her down and she immediately beelined for her mothers, hugging Ava’s leg happily the second she got close enough. She was breathing heavily but that didn’t phase her one bit, though she did whine when Ava leaned down to press two gentle fingers to her jugular.

“Vivi okay, mum,” she said indignantly, “Uncle Crockett and me going to get ice cream, ‘kay?”

Sarah looked at Crockett with a half-glare, silently asking why in the world he would suggest ice cream so close to dinner time. Her friend just laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender. Vivi was way too excited now and no one had the heart to tell her no, so Ava picked her up with ease to balance her on her hip.

“Let’s all go then,” she settled, “And then uncle Crockett has some post-ops to do.”

#pre-Winnie but important for plot 😌🌸#my aus #murmur #mum!ava #mum!sarah #vivi tag #Winnie tag #ava bekker #sarah reese #reesker #connor rhodes #crockett marcel #userglow #crockettstiddies

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stuckonvenus · 3 years ago

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𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 » Ellie & Becca

Ｊｕｌｙ３１ｓｔ，１９９８

The saying goes as such: the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb... or whatever. Honestly I have only ever applied this proverb to my relationship with my sister whenever we weren’t in mortal peril. While I have plenty of friends and acquaintances who I’ve shared battlefields with (i.e. the morning after a party), that never made me any closer to them in a real crisis. I would say about seventy-five percent of the time that the blood is thicker than the water, and the remaining twenty-five percent is when the water isn’t necessarily thicker, but more pressurized. That’s the only time in our lives when we’ve ever come together as sisters.

Well, this is the twenty five percent, and never has the feeling of being sucked and trapped against a fissure at the bottom of the Challenger Deep been more realized than now. It doesn’t help that my bladder is about to implode and leak the citrus-flavored toxic waste I’ve consumed in rapid succession over the past half hour into my visceral fat and contaminate all my vital organs.

I waddle awkwardly through the narrow doorway of Page One and slam my tiny palm onto the countertop. A bookkeeper who I can recognize as my lab partner from sophomore year chemistry pokes his nose out from the novel he’s immersed in. Moby Dick. Jesus, who reads school assigned books after graduation?

“Hey, Drew-Drew,” I greet him, a lopsided grin fitted on my lips as he brushes his hair out of his eyes and offers me a smile in return. He has a lot more charisma than I remember. I think his eyes have gotten bigger and bluer, too. It reminds me of the water’s surface I’m staring up at from the very bottom of the ocean. “Where’s Becky at?”

Drew dog-ears his page — which is kind of disgusting to me, do they not sell bookmarks in this busted ass joint? — and he points toward the graphic novel section. “Over there, we just got Spider-Man #76, she’s stocking up.”

“... Didn’t #76 come out in January? Of last year?” I ask him. He opens his mouth so he can answer but I stop him with a raised hand. “No time. You’re lookin’ good, Drew-Drew, considerably less like a delicious pepperoni pizza. Keep it up with the Oxy Pads.” I say before pushing away from the counter and venturing off to my destination.

Indeed, my older sister is crouched down and rustling with a display, slightly disgruntled by the symmetry of the copies of Spider-Man she’s stocking. I don’t really have any witty remarks as a smooth enough introduction, so I settle with, “Need help?”

She whips around and I can almost hear the crack in her spinal cord from the velocity. “Lily?” she half-whispers. I forget that I haven’t seen her since late May, and also that I swore I’d never see her again.

“In the flesh,” I confirm and do a curtsey, which threatens my full bladder. I really need to piss soon or else I’ll die a terribly death in the shittiest bookstore on the eastern seaboard. “Do you have a sec? It’s 9-1-1.”

Becca’s expression shifts from awe and minor annoyance to something resembling concern as she pushes herself off her knees. “What is it?” she asks me, crossing her arms over her chest as a last resort defense mechanism.

I don’t hesitate to hold up the plastic Walgreens bag I’ve carted with me for two blocks. She recognizes the items inside and her eyes go all moony and her jaw slacks a bit. I jerk my brows up expectantly and she assumes the position of utter bewilderment.

“Do you have a place I can empty the biohazardous contents of my bladder? It’s about to necrotize,” I hiss at her. She reaches down, digs in her pocket, unearths a bronze key and walks ahead of me at full speed. I have to waddle after her like a newly hatched penguin chick. It would be more humiliating if over half the population of Eden were literate, but alas...

Becca jams the keys into the lock and just about bodychecks the door so we can enter the rectangular bathroom. It’s cramped and the lighting resembles something out of a Hitchcock film, but who the fuck am I to be picky about where I take the most important whizz of my life?

I place the bag on the counter and take out the three empty full-sized cans of Surge I used to fuel my bladder before picking up the grossest thing I have ever held: a pregnancy test. I keep it in my grasp for a few passing beats, nearly crushing the box underneath my iron-tight grip before man-handling it open and tearing out the plastic stick that will determine my fate.

“This is by far the most unholy fortune telling experience ever,” I decide to joke as I witness my sister cower in the corner. You’d think by the looks of it she were the one whose life was about to change forever. “You think if I shake it a genie will come out and grant me three wishes?”

“... Only if it’s negative, as a gift,” Becca chimes in at last. “Otherwise not even God can save you.”

I let out an involuntary snort, because while my reflexes register this as a funny joke, I am actually scared shitless.

I stare at the porcelain toilet bowl. I feel sicker now looking at it than when I’ve genuinely been at risk for vomiting up my lunch. I could still do that, I’ve been puking like a bulimic for weeks now. The thought is almost comforting. Almost. I bite the bullet instead and yank my pants down, my boy pants, which I normally wear as a boy when I’ve got slightly wider hips and more junk to hide and taller legs to protect with denim fabric. Fuck me.

“I just... Hold it and piss, right?” I ask her, as if she’s gone through this before. I know for a fact she hasn’t, or else this wouldn’t be our first time. I’m surprised it’s our first time, actually, thinking that karma would’ve caught up with me a long time ago.

“Just don’t get any on your hand.” Becca replies. Very helpful, I think, but rather than respond verbally I give a sigh of defeat and do what needs to be done. When my bladder is emptied an eternity later, I pull up my oversized pants and briefly grieve my dick before I place the test on the counter.

I glance over my shoulder at Becca, “It’s seasoned. Just gotta let it marinate.”

“Gross.” she says with a scrunched up nose.

I turn around and slide down the wall, an action she mimics a couple seconds later. I stare ahead, up at the light that’s screwed into a 70s pendant-shaped fixture, and pass the silence by making them flicker. I do this as a distraction from the materializing tension between us. Normally, this doesn’t happen, but then again our peril has only involved either extreme intoxication, pedos on AOL (during high school), or something about her and Gabriel’s arguments, which felt like walking through Reactor 4 in Chernobyl.

She’s the first one to say something.

“Whose is it? ... If it’s a thing,” she wonders, and as I look over at her I notice that her eyebrows are knitted together and her mouth is fixed downward. “... Please don’t tell me Topher’s.”

I chuckle at the idea. “I think if it were a thing and Topher’s, it’d have grown like a xenomorph baby and ripped itself out of my stomach by now,” I tell her. “I’d deserve that kind of karma for getting knocked up by him.”

“Xenomorph?” she says, and I open my mouth to offer an explanation before she finishes, “Alien. Right.”

“... Yeah, exactly,” I nod along. How in the hell did she remember that? We only ever sat through Alien and Aliens once, and I could’ve sworn she was too preoccupied reading a magazine to actually notice what was happening on screen.

I also notice that she’s wearing my favorite striped turtleneck. Stone cold bitch.

Some things never change, huh?

Shit, I think I might cry.

This is why we’re siblings, I think, so I can hate her for wearing my favorite turtleneck while sitting by her side as we await Satan’s final decision on the state of my cursed uterus.

Tears prickle my vision but I blink them away.

“Whose is it, then?” she wonders again. I visibly tense. This is probably where our unspoken, once-in-a-blue-moon loyalties end. How do you tell your sister that her ex-boyfriend is the reason you’re sitting in the dingy bathroom of her workplace with a piss-riddled stick inches away?

In the end, I don’t have to say anything at all. We look at each other simultaneously and she reads my expression with ease. Her features soften and I can see a glint of hurt in her eyes, and I expect ripples of betrayal to make themselves known across the rest of her body soon enough. But those ripples never come. The water I thought was loosening from around me doesn’t make a goddamn move.

I’m still at the bottom of the Deep, but she’s with me now.

Her hand grips mine. Tight. I can feel our pulses match up in our paralleling wrists.

“I think it’s been enough time.” I say eventually. She doesn’t release my hand. Our shared warmth creates a comfortable friction between us. “... Will you hate me after this?”

Becca squeezes my hand. A heart beat jumps out from her touch to mine. “I think I’ve hated you enough for one summer.”

A smile flickers on the corner of my lips and I slowly depart my hand from hers. My palm is slick with sweat but I don’t mind. I stand up and feel my equilibrium struggle to steady itself before I’m ready to approach the counter. The test is still there, so I know this wasn’t an abstract fever dream I’ve had after discovering so much eerily similar history.

I’m not a fucking coward. I’m looking this shit straight on, no matter what. Do you think I’m afraid of a sign? Totally not. I lean over and stare down, my gaze idling at the base before finally fixating on the panel.

Holy shitstickers.

“... Becca?” I call out, my voice half gone from unknown forces. She perks up and I see her reflection in the mirror with widened eyes. “Do you have five bucks? I’m gonna need more Surge.”

#self-para #teheheh i couldnt nap until i finished this

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pj-mercury · 8 years ago

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Oops,

....my hand slipped.

Emile just finished setting up the panel, getting over the fact that Jon yelled at him for what-the-fuck-ever, and Emile is still really thirsty ever since he caught this nasty cold, he’s been drinking water out the ass, two bottles to be exact. He began drinking his third when he heard murmuring outside. The panel was about to start!

Jon walks over to Emile to make sure he had the events ready to go for the fans when he notices all the water bottles in the trashcan and one in his hand. "Lemme guess, you're down with a cold again, happens every year, it's like a tradition" Jon says, crossing his arms, going through a stack of cards of things he was going to mention at the panel.

“Yeah i guess. Looks like this panel’s going to be a long one too. Ugh, i just wanna go sleep.” Emile complained between sips of water.

"Oh, stop complaning today's gonna be a blast" Jon says to Emile as Tim bumps into Jon while carrying a whole bunch of camera equipment. "Sorry, this stuff is heavy" Tim says to Jon as he sets the equipment down on the table and begins to set it up. Tim looks over to Emile "Man, it looks like you haven't slept in 3 years!" Tim jokes with Emile.

Emile giggles, “Yeah right?” he began feeling a little funny, but he shrugged it off. They had to get the panel done and over with anyway, he wasn’t just going to flake out in front of a billion fans!

"Are you guys ready for a stampede?!" Jon smirks as he's about to open the doors, they could hear the fans screaming their names.

Emile nodded, “Let’s get it going!!” he shouted excitedly, which made him feel a tingling sensation in his lower abdomen. Emile hypothetically “d’oh” ‘ed himself for not using the bathroom before the panel! he hoped he would make it.

"All right!" Jon opens the door "Welcome to the panel everybody!" Jon shouts, Tim looking a bit nervous but excited. The fans huddle around the table, the crowd was getting heated, this has been the biggest panel they've had in 2 years. Tim finally got the camera ready and was recording the crowd's size. "Wooow" Tim says as he gets the massive shot.

As everyone starts to settle and have a seat, Emile sneaks out through the ocean of fans and tries to find a bathroom. He leaks a little, gasping as he has to stop to gain self control. he walks around a bit more before noticing a women’s bathroom. ‘There must be a men’s bathroom around, right?’ Emile thought, as the urge got worse. he saw a men’s bathroom, then gasped as he saw an “out of order” sign on the door of the men’s room.

“No..not now..” Emile groaned as the pressure increased on his abdomen. He groaned softly as he pressed his thighs together. Jon notices Emile trying to sneak out, "oh no you don't!" Jon grabs Emile's hand and brings him back to the panel. "The panel just started, what are you doing sneaking out like that?" Jon questions Emile while raising a brow.

Emile almost wanted to tell Jon, but he was too shy, he blushed, “I was just looking for a vending machine, y’know, for another drink?” Emile smiled at Jon, secretly covering up his tracks. "Boy. How much are you going to drink?!" Jon asks putting a hand near Emile's face. Jon could hear some female fans mumbling something about Protonconroy, Jon just sighs "Look, the vending machines are near the entrance, surprised you didn't see them on the way in, now I gotta go cater to these people" Jon looks down frustrated as he leaves the brunet.

Emile let out a huff, he did not like the way those girls stared at them, so he bought a fiji water to show that he wasn’t kidding. Emile goes up to the stage, and the microphone is handed to him unexpectedly. Looking around, he heard his fans cheering his name. “Hey everybody, we’re the runaway guys!”

The fans screamed and cheered, Jon walks up onto the stage with his hands up in the air like the special little shit he is and grabs the mic from Emile "I'm ProtonJon, if you need me I'll be here all day" Tim runs onto the stage too, abandoning the camera for a sec "don't forget me, NintendoCaprisun! How are you all doing today?" The fans all reply "GOOD!" Tim hands the mic to Emile as he runs back to attend his camera before someone runs off with it.

Emile grabs the mic from Tim, “and i’m Chuggaaconroy!!” This time, the fans cheered the loudest for emile as he sat back down. The pressure in Emile’s bladder was getting worse now. Emile looked over to jon as he passed him the mic. Emile then looked to the full bottle of fiji water and sighed.

"Glad to hear you're all doing fabulous today. Remember not to get too close to Chugga, he's sicker than a dog." Jon laughs, some of the fans go "Awww" feeling sympathy for one of their favorite Youtubers. Tim positions the camera over to Emile looking downwards at his full bottle of water that he hasn't even touched yet. Emile rolls his eyes as he opens his water and starts to drink. he waves a hand at Tim’s camera before putting the water down.

Tim smiles a little as his camera goes over the audience again, a whole buch of fans were recording too with their cell phones. Jon sits down and settles down a little as he opens up his own water bottle and starts to sip it. Emile took a quick glance at the condensation dripping from the bottle and shudders. He really needed to pee now, he had to tell jon!

“uh, Jo-“

"C'mon everyone let's start the panel!" Jon shouts as everyone cheers the guys on.

Emile quickly turned to face the crowd, and blushed, fidgeting a little. ‘I guess i could wait a little while, right?’ In his thinking, he was called up to play a competition game of Mario Kart with a fan. As Emile held the controller, he had the urge to grab himself, but the feeling quickly subsided as he kept playing, terribly at that since he couldn’t focus. The fan won, Emile lost, and Emile was to give out a prize to the winner. As he gave the prize, a single leak bled through his pants, although barely noticeable, was still there. Emile exhaled, he didn’t know how long he could keep this up.

"C'mon Emile, This little girl Jessie wants to play with you too" Jon says with his hand on an 8 year old girl's shoulder as she has this big ol' smile on her face. Emile mustered a smile, he couldn’t take the adorableness! He HAD to keep his fans happy, right? Five minutes later, another game done with, Emile walks back to his seat, every step sends a jolt up his spine, making him get goosebumps on his arms.

"Emile, you got another one, this guy's name is Mario" Jon mentions as he taps Emile's shoulder, this kid was wearing a full-on Mario outfit, who knows if his name was actually Mario? Emile weakly waved a hand to the cosplayer as he sat back down to play. Now it was a round of mario party, eatsa pizza? really? REALLY? Emile shrugged off how random that was, and got to the game. Again, he couldn’t really focus like in the first game, and he had to cross his legs while he played. another game lost, more prizes given out, and Emile felt as if he were to explode at any given moment. As he sat back in his seat at the table, he held himself freely and made sure no one was looking. he clenched his thighs together as he blushed strongly.

Jon was noticing Emile acting strange he goes up to Emile and whispers "are you alright, you're acting kinda funny?" Emile quickly put his hands to his sides and smiled weakly. “Yeah, i’m okay Jon!” His voice wavered. "Thats good to hear, now get back in there, you have another fan, this here is Juan" The blond says as he has a hand on Juan's shoulder smirking a little at Emile, knowing he's getting tired of losing.

Emile made a fake smile at the child, and went back to gaming. The game is sky pilots. Emile’s bladder felt like it was going to burst, he jiggled his legs as he tilted his head back and sighed, trying to ACTUALLY focus on the game, but couldn’t. another game lost for emile, juan thanked him for the prize as he walked back to the crowd. As Emile walked back to his seat, he noticed the door opening, it was Masae, she must be here to accompany the panel as well. Masae was letting the door open for Lucah, who was carrying more gaming systems in.

"Alright, we got 2 more hours folks!" Jon says getting everyone's attention.

‘Two hours?!’ Emile thought, his soul sinking to his shoes. he had to get out of here, he was going to- ‘No, i-i can’t! Not here!’ Emile couldn’t even muster the courage to even imagine if THAT ever happened! Unthinking, Emile ran out the door of the panel, making a beeline for a bathroom.

"AAA!! IT'S CHUGGAACONROY!!" A female fan screams, grabbing Emile by the back of his polo shirt. "Oh my god I love your videos, oh my god I love everything abiut you oh my god I love you oh my god!!" She says flipping out.

“N-No, please I-“

"I was watching your Splatoon let's play the other day while I was getting ready to fly up here, I was so looking forward to visit you I just love you so much oh my god, like you're amazing person omg like youre such an inspiration oh my god I love your videos and everything about you oh my god" she continues to ramble on and on.

“I-I’m so sorry!!” Emile yells suddenly, freeing the grip of the fangirl and running down the hall of the convention center.

The fan looks at Emile running down the hall and says "what the heck is his problem?!"

Emile felt horrible, for one, he left his fan hanging like a dick, but what to save, his loyalty or his dignity?

Jon looks over as a flood of fans go on to follow Emile. Jon sips his water "looks like Emile's having a fun time." Jon smirks being the snarky asshole he is.

Emile turned a corner and slowed his pace, grabbing on to his crotch with both hands, trying to hold back the flood, but to no avail. Emile froze as a wave of desperation came over him, he had to stop, he was going to have an accident!

Jon was curious to see how Emile was doing so he followed the stampede. Jon finally catches up "Looks like you're having fu-" Jon notices Emile grabbing onto his crotch. "You okay Emile?"

Emile turned his head slowly to face Jon, and a bunch of confused fans, and turns around slowly, tears in his eyes. He notices a men’s room right behind the sea of fans. Emile breaks down on the spot and the floodgates open. Emile takes his hands away from his crotch to see a wet patch forming on the front of his pants. he looks around at the sudden reaction of the crowd, back at his pants, and back at the crowd. he then gropes himself again. more urine escapes emile, and is now forming a puddle on the carpet, some even made its way into his converse high tops. A pleasurable euphoria washed over emile as he whimpered, giving up on trying to stop the flow. he kept going until the stream slowed to a fitful trickle and stopped. Emile was crying as he stood there, he put his face in his hands and cried for a while.

The fans gasped in horror as some fans took out their phones to record, Jon sees the fan recording and he takes their phone and throws it as he takes his hoodie off and gives it to Emile. "It's going to be alright, take it."

Emile was still crying, breathing unevenly as Tim tried calming Emile down by hugging him. “You’re gonna be fine, deep breath.” Emile took slower and slower breaths as he took jon’s hoodie, ran into the men’s bathroom, and locked himself in a stall. Jon goes into the bathroom with Emile and knocks on the stall door. "You okay in there?"

Emile wiped his tears on Jon’s hoodie, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Jon, I’m such a child.”

"No you're not, you should have said something Emile." Jon says, feeling sympathy for his friend. "Open up the stall, Emile"

Emile opens the bathroom stall, revealing his wet pants to jon, the blue denim clinging to Emile’s legs. Emile teared up again, “I’m sorry.” he whispered.

"It's not your fault Emile...C'mere" Jon says as he hugs onto his friend tightly. emile accepts Jon’s hug as he breaks down quietly in jon’s arms. they stay like this for a solid minute, before emile broke free of Jon’s hug. “i just wanna sleep…” Emile rubbed his eyes and sniffled.

"Same over here, Emile It's been a long day" Jon smiles as he looks at Emile lovingly.

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fathersonholygore · 7 years ago

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AMC’s Fear the Walking Dead Season 3, Episode 14: “El Matadero” Directed by Stefan Schwartz Written by Alan Page

* For a recap & review of the previous episode, “This Land Is Your Land” – click here * For a recap & review of the next episode, “Things Bad Begun” – click here

Strand (Colman Domingo), Madison (Kim Dickens), and Walker (Michael Greyeyes) are headed back to the damn. They have Crazy Dog (Justin Rain) and Ofelia (Mercedes Mason) in tow, the latter of whom isn’t doing so well. She suddenly faints hitting the pavement. They stop the truck, but she says she’s okay, she only lost her grip. But it’s more than that. She has a bad wound at her shoulder… a bite. Out on her own elsewhere, Alicia (Alycia Debnam-Carey) hears a vehicle stop nearby in the night. She readies herself, nearby she sees people stop. But it’s only Nick (Frank Dillane) and Troy (Daniel Sharman). Her brother thinks she’s “crazy.” At the Bazaar marketplace, Madison and the rest go through the gates, as Ofelia must do her best to keep her bite and burgeoning illness under wraps until they can meet with her father Daniel (Rubén Blades). They get inside, managing to stow away in Strand’s old hiding place. But the poor girl is getting sicker by the minute. Madison: “Smile. Your life depends on it.” Things aren’t so great, though. Madison and Colman are at odds over her decision to hand over a bunch of weaponry for entry. Believing when the time comes to make the deal for the water, they’ll be up the creek once Ofelia most likely dies and they have nothing else to offer.

After Troy and Nick leave Alicia, they head for the marketplace. The former also speaks about how similar they are, the “black sheep” of their families. Difference being he accepts his status, whereas Nick fights against it. But that IS the major difference: Nick is, beneath it all, a good man. Walker and Madison try making Ofelia comfortable, it’s all they can do. They talk about loss. And Walker, tough as he is, all he’s been through, recognises sometimes there is too much of it. Everyone has a threshold. However, he thinks Madison must do right by Daniel, reunite him with Ofelia. No matter if it ends in violence. On the road Alicia stops at an On-the-Go Burger joint. Inside are the remains of old meals, a ransacked building, flies and other insects. A customer or two left as withering corpses. While she looks for anything usable, locating a batch of instant potatoes, a walker creeps up. She quickly puts it down, only to notice a group of the undead shambling near the entrance. So she gets into the ball pit, waiting for any of them to make their way inside. BUT SHE FORGETS WHAT COULD BE UNDER THE BALLS! A zombie kid attacks. She gets a knife in its brain, though the others come in the door. She hides under the balls as they pass. Soon, a woman (Edwina Findley Dickerson) with a pick-axe bursts in slaying them. She cuts off fingers for any rings, even using pliers to pull out gold teeth. This is a bad ass. The mysterious woman likewise steals the potatoes and gets away in a vehicle. Alicia follows her to a parking lot where they face each other. Eventually they come to a compromise: sharing is caring. At the marketplace, Nick gives his mom a break. When she’s gone he finds the pain medication laying near Ofelia. He takes one; so much for sobriety. Dammit, Nick! I didn’t want this to happen. This is the last thing he, or any of them, needs right now. Troy’s out getting a bite to eat, freaked out by “all the Mexicans” and unsure about what meat is in the quesadillas. Immediately, he notices something a bit off about Nick, as well. Either way, they’re both on the pills, and drinking, too. Meanwhile, Strand is looking for Proctor John. Wants to make a deal for… something special. Hmm. It’s time for Ofelia to go to her father. Madison asks Walker to stay behind, not knowing what Daniel might do if he’s there. So, he says his goodbye to his close friend, for the last time. The two women head outside together, waiting. As they talk, about parents, children, just as Daniel comes across the parking lot, Ofelia dies. The reunion lost. He goes mad, pulling a gun on Madison, believing it a “sick joke.” I hate this dude. Used to feel there was redemption for him, but he only lashes out at everybody when he’s lived a lifetime of shit. So, I don’t know where they’re taking this character. I hope he does something major to redeem himself, otherwise he’s a horrible man. Later, Madison tries giving him hope. Although he deserves none of it. Inside, Nick and Troy are buzzed, roaming around in a state of intoxication. Nick finds a place called El Matadero, and the man “with the things.” There’s everything from cocaine to morphine to heroin, to a bit of “locus coeruleus.” Some brain stem. It’ll take you higher than you ever imagined. Nick slugs it back, ready for a trip, as does Troy. Blast off, baby! Alicia and her new friend eat together, the former talking briefly about the place she and Jake (Sam Underwood) talked about going, before he died. The woman warns it’s all endless ghost towns on the road, nothing to find. But Alicia’s determined, she wants to go her own way or perish. They get one chance to bond again, when they take on a group of walkers together. Out on their hallucinatory trip, Nick gets wild. He covers himself, and Troy, in blood. Then he runs for a group of walkers, deciding on walking through them. Like he used to do. This time it’s a hell of a lot more dangerous. Yet when Troy sees how it works, he’s mesmerised. They both stand in the midst of a horde and Nick almost sees it as a reminder, that he can’t go his mother’s way anymore. And this leaves the Clark family divided further, all over again. Loved this episode. Season 3’s been pretty stellar all around, so I’m looking forward to seeing where we go in these last few episodes. Very interesting things happening with many of the characters. “Things Bad Begun” comes next week, our penultimate Season 3 finisher. Fear the Walking Dead – Season 3, Episode 14: “El Matadero” AMC's Fear the Walking Dead Season 3, Episode 14: "El Matadero" Directed by Stefan Schwartz…

#Ball Pit #Brain Stem #Daniel Sharman #Drugs #Frank Dillane #Locus coeruleus #On-the-Go Burger #Zombies

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rilenerocks · 4 years ago

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*This is a continuation of Chapter 11 – Be 278, my story of living through an orphan cancer with my husband who died in May, 2017. All previous chapters can be found on this site. They’re hard to write so there are time lapses between them.

The beginning of 2016. After the ravages of 2015, the devolution of Michael’s health from his excellent status at the beginning of the year, to his rejection from a crucial clinical trial, to his coming close to death before receiving the immunological drug Keytruda off-trial, we are astonished that he is still breathing. Somewhere in the midst of the terror, my brother, my mother and my treasured dog died. A long intimate friendship between our family and another came apart. I haven’t had any real time to process all those events. I am intensely focused on Michael and anything I can unearth to keep him alive. The winter holidays were so unexpected. Michael met with many of his former students who were home visiting, on winter break from college. He had lunch with his school colleagues and arranged some guest teaching days. He was still suffering from the toothache that had been haunting him since the previous September. He’d been on antibiotics several times in an effort to avoid any invasive procedures. Our friend Peg came from Denver for a visit. After a whirl of events, Michael, a master of understatement, said he didn’t feel 100% and collapsed with fatigue. We were expecting yet another visitor, our dear friend Brian from New Mexico. Six months earlier, Michael’s body was carrying a huge cancer load. How much is still cruising around inside of him is our daily question. Between scans, there’s plenty of time to bounce between hope and fear.

Our son was temporarily home, soon to be departing for his field work in Panama, a critical part of his biology Phd. Michael has made a wish list of things he’d like to see before he dies. Having our kid finish his doctorate is right at the top of it. I’m trying to practice living one day at a time. Shutting my brain down is hugely challenging for me. I’m constantly reading all the latest Merkel cell research, trying to stay current in case things quickly go south. I haven’t gotten over my bitterness about Michael having been denied access to the clinical trial in St. Louis, which was testing a drug essentially quite like Keytruda. The Barnes principal investigator was disinterested in us and his nurse was absolutely cold and detached, telling Michael to go back home to get sicker and return another day. On the anniversary of that rejection, I finally wrote to that doctor and his supervisor, unleashing the hostility that had been eating away at me during the last painful year. Here are a couple of excerpts from that letter. The following year I looked up the trial and found that this doctor had disappeared as the principal investigator. I hope I had something to do with that.

To add to our worries, Dr. Zhang, our second oncologist in a year, informs us that he will be departing our cancer clinic in the next couple of months. He recommends that we continue with his old friend and colleague, Dr. Zhao. We hear this news with a mixture of sadness, fear and trepidation. Zhang has proven to be smart, a positive collaborator and a risk-taker, an important combination for a patient dealing with a little understood disease.

His help in getting Keytruda off-trial in 2015 was daring. I thought of him as kind of a medical gunslinger. More adjustments ahead for us. As a pre-emptive move, I dash off letters of inquiry to other principal investigators of Merkel cell clinical trials to see what’s possible in case we run into trouble. I can scarcely believe my audacity in reaching out to these people. I tell myself that as the saying goes, necessity is the mother of invention. We move forward to the next appointment, living as well as we can in the spaces between blood tests and scans.

On January 15th, 2016, Michael and I went to Dr. Zhang’s office to be greeted with the bad news that his latest blood work showed that all three of Michael’s liver enzymes were astronomically elevated and that there would be no Keytruda treatment that day. Instead he was placed on a big dose of steroids to try to reduce the liver inflammation. Two more blood tests were scheduled along with another meeting with Zhang at the end of the week. We were completely baffled. Michael was taking antibiotics and pain meds for his toothache. Why was the doctor’s assumption that it had to be the life-saving Keytruda that was the culprit for the liver flare, rather than the other meds or a synergistic relationship between all of them? All the positive feelings about Michael’s incredible rebound seemed to fizzle away. I was filled with questions. What was certain was that steroids suppress the immune system, allowing an opportunity for the cancer to reassert itself. A nerve wracking time, to say the least. Dr. Zhang is not available for the next appointment so we meet with his colleague and our next oncologist, Dr. Zhao. The liver enzymes improved but she is convinced that Keytruda is too dangerous to administer again. My immediate sense of her is that she is a strictly “between the lines” type of doctor, which I view as a problem.

We move into a waiting period. On February 1st, Michael develops a cold and cough. What was once an average illness now carries the weight of a terrifying episode. Normal, whatever that was, has disappeared. Dr. Zhang orders a liver scan for mid-month. When Michael’s cold happily resolves, we hit the road to Chicago to just feel like we are taking advantage of the fact that despite all the uncertainty, we are still together, alive. The rhythm of our comfortability and love kick in and we shove away the fears for a few days.

Mid-February brings the liver scan. Tapered off the steroids, Michael’s his enzymes are almost normal but the scan shows a mild diffuse fatty liver. His primary doctor has weighed in with the opinion that a liver which has a hard time metabolizing drugs can mean anything is a problem. We meet for the last time with Dr. Zhang who is afraid administering more Keytruda will bring on liver failure. With the virtual certainty of cancer returning, we argue for a moderate approach – trying a half dose of the drug, monitoring carefully for enzyme problems and quickly restarting steroids if there is a flare. Zhang agrees to this, provided we wait for a month to let Michael’s body rest. We agree and prepare for another trip in our quickly devised retirement. Off we go to Puerto Vallarta, Mexico in the beginning of March.

For what seems like an eon, I’ve been feeling as if I’m living in the Mel Brooks film High Anxiety. The tension of the past year has been unrelenting. In addition to the tremendous pressure of Michael’s condition and treatment, I’ve been trying to pay attention to my own health. A visit to my doctor brings the news that thyroid nodules which she’s been monitoring in me have changed in size and now require a biopsy. As my mom had thyroid cancer, this feels unnerving to me. In addition, my knees are incredibly painful with intermittent swelling in both the front and backs of them. I think everything is cancer. I terrify myself trying to imagine that Michael and I are simultaneously sick and in need of treatment. That actually happened to my parents in 1989 when they were both diagnosed with cancer within five weeks of each other. All my childhood fears associated with my mother’s constant health problems are being exacerbated by our current situation. I am trying hard to push all the negative thoughts away so we can live in the moments we have, yanking every second of intimacy and comfort out of them. I cast money anxieties away too, knowing that this accelerated and brief retirement is likely all we’re going to have together. Stoically we board a United Airlines jet in Chicago and fly southwest in early March.

We’ve chosen the type of resort where relaxation is effortless. The place is beautiful as is our room. We intend to do nothing but stay in bed, make love, read, eat, sleep, swim and repeat the same every day. We throw in a little sightseeing but mostly this time is to restore our drained energy and forget all things medical. Michael has a sore shoulder from too much baseball and volleyball and his achy tooth. I have my bad knees. But the forgiving water helps. We lounge by the pool, ordering drinks and lunch. I lie in the water, staring up at the frigate birds which cruise overhead. Michael reads and dozes. He looks healthy, regardless of what may be happening below the surface. We soak ourselves in the hot tub. For a week, we live in a fantasy.

Then it’s over. We are back home. Together we are solid and reenergized, but indeed, back we are looking at the realities before us. I have my biopsy which is thankfully negative. Michael takes advantage of being off treatment to have his teeth fixed. He also sees an orthopedic person about his shoulder and gets a cortisone shot which provides relief. We are approaching the end of March with blood tests and a scan ahead. Michael goes for long bike rides and looks like himself. I am reading books and planning my garden. Soon our son will return from his field work in Panama and present his exit seminar for his PhD. He’s told me he’s dedicating it to Michael who will cry when he hears that. One of his goals was to live long enough to see Henry finish. Both of our kids have exceeded our accomplishments. Sharing in that together is priceless. Michael’s blood is essentially normal and remarkably, his scan shows what seem to be two potentially cancerous spots that are tiny. Conservative Dr. Zhao doesn’t want to re-challenge him with Keytruda until there is more disease. I am uncertain about this approach but decide to go with the flow. I am writing constantly in my journal. “Life is filled with such elevating joy and crushing pain. The poignance is too much.”

The exit seminar is a success. We couldn’t be prouder of our kid. It’s the end of April. Our wedding anniversary is May 1st. It’s our fifth “last anniversary” which we count from Michael’s diagnosis. Will it be our last? Michael writes me a note to go with my flowers which says he’ll do anything to get another one. He’s already gone through so much. Watching him eat a hearty anniversary surf and turf dinner gives me such pleasure and satisfaction. He gives me a ridiculous Roger Federer satin pillow case as a gift. We’ve had a few great months. Next up is a trip to Memphis to visit the Civil Rights Museum and Graceland. Describing the reality of taking our very deliberately chosen trips is complicated. Always just below the surface is the awareness that we’re not going to live to a ripe old age together. I can’t say we are entirely without hope but that hope has small dimensions instead of unlimited vistas. As Michael needs consistent monitoring we can’t go too far away for too long. Choosing our destinations means evaluating what has been important in our lives, both as individuals and partners. We made it to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and the National Baseball Hall of Fame. We made it to presidential homesites and libraries, battlefields and major historic sites. We visited art galleries and oceans. The main thing now is to make sure that we see what we only want to share with each other. Every one of those places is obviously impossible. But in Memphis, the Civil Rights Museum is essential for us who’ve shared a lifetime of activism and belief in civil rights. And then there’s Elvis, Sun Records and the famous Memphis Recording Studio, another must for music lovers like us. There’s BB King and barbecue and a manageable drive. “We are excellent travel partners. Yesterday Michael said he felt like we were the only two people in the world sometimes, in a rhythm that isn’t shared with anyone else. We still have a glorious intimacy on every level, especially amazing given all his treatments.”

We both cry at the pain and power of the museum. So much dreadful history that we grew up with, watching on our televisions while we were kids and then the history of all the horror that came before we were alive. We cried at Graceland too, thinking of how this innocent gifted singer was basically eaten alive by greedy manipulators and a ravenous, insatiable public. We spent some time at the studios where so many young rock and rollers got their big breaks, rode a riverboat on the Mississippi, listened to live music and ate at Gus’s Famous Fried Chicken restaurant. Then as fast as it came, vacation is over and we are in scan week. I am working on managing anticipatory grief. A tall order for me. Michael is working his way through a list of life goals, some small and manageable, others daunting. Some days, he’s quiet and dark. He always had days like that. I try imagining the alienation he feels from his own body and bearing the constant weight of imminent death. We know other people who’ve died recently or who are in hospice. One minute at a time. Miraculously the mid-May scan is NED, negative for disease. Michael hasn’t had treatment since December. Maybe his immune system is still amped up from Keytruda. We’ll take it.

During this health reprieve, we decide that we may finally have the time to adopt a dog. Flash had been gone almost a year. A shelter was having an adoption event at a local pet store. I went to look around and instantly fell in love with a tiny black puppy whose older, larger and beautiful sister had been adopted in advance. I called Michael who was annoyed that I’d picked out a dog without him but he came to meet her and could feel my happiness. So he agreed. We named her Gracie and brought her home. She seemed smart and easy to be with but by the next day, I could see she wasn’t healthy. The shelter had arranged a first free vet appointment with someone with whom they had a contractual arrangement. We took her in Monday morning and were given antibiotics for a respiratory infection. I felt like there was something more and arranged for her to see our own vet the next day. After her exam, the our doctor said she thought that Gracie had a neurological problem and that it didn’t bode well, especially considering Michael’s situation. We had to relinquish her the next day, after a difficult battle with the original shelter. I think that episode drained away all my reserves of love for a pet. I’ve never felt the energy of real pet love since that puppy. But we still had our little window of opportunity. There was a black cocker spaniel at the Humane Society. When Michael was a kid he had one that looked almost exactly the same, Pudding, who was hit by a car and left a hole in Michael’s heart. I was neutral but wanted him to be happy. We were chosen as her new family and so we had Rosie. Michael was in bliss despite the fact that the Humane Society said she was five when she was actually eleven. He was in love. A day later, he developed a terrible case of shingles. I was immediately terrified. You get shingles when your immune system is suppressed. Was cancer coming right behind this painful condition?

The June scans happen. It feels like there’s not enough time between them but Michael is still stable, no change in disease load. No one on his care team understands this – the facility tumor board says, “more power to him.” I have convinced Michael to sell his music collection. We sold some collectibles when he’d gone back to school but we still had over 7500 pieces of vinyl and CD’s. I knew I couldn’t face the task of unloading them when he was gone. He entertained several offers and finally chose a buyer who owned an independent store in St. Louis. Our music room would be emptied in a day, come August. That was one of the most sobering acknowledgements of the future that we faced together. Tempering the moment however, was his announcement that he really wanted to buy a motorcycle with some of the cash. I’d made him sell his first one once I became pregnant so many years before, hoping to shrink the odds of my becoming a single parent. So I said, no, don’t be absurd. Then I forgot about it. The July scan came rolling around and was again clean. Impossible to fathom but we moved forward, spending time with our kids and grandkids, taking a day trip to Indianapolis and trying to feel normal. I spend time trying not to focus on thinking about everything Michael is likely to miss in the future. I watched my mom attend my kids’ events without my dad. I can hear her wistful voice saying how much he would have loved watching them play basketball, dad’s favorite sport. I push those thoughts away.

In August, we get back to our place in Lakeside, Michigan which is brief but wonderful. Before the next scan, we squeeze in a long weekend with dear old friends in Oconomowoc, Wisconsin. So much lake time. We feel otherworldly, living our best lives under the onus of his mysterious Merkel cell which is in a deep snooze. But we’re managing to enjoy ourselves except for the occasional times when we look too far ahead. Staying in the present must be easier for people who are more Zen than me.

Another clean scan in August. We decide to go for another big trip in September. I am obsessed with seeing the National Parks of Utah. And I want to share their majesty with Michael. So I make the plans, a flight to Denver, a car rental and then a big push through Arches, Canyonlands, Zion and Bryce. I feel nervous that it may be too big a stretch for us but how do I know if there’ll be another chance? The trip is set. Meanwhile, I get furious when Michael sheepishly sits me down to give me what he says is both bad and good news. I brace myself for hearing he’s found a new lump. Instead he tells me that he sold the music collection for more than he told me and has bought himself a used Harley. The good news is that he has money left over to give me. I try remembering that I shouldn’t want to kill someone who’s got cancer. Given the circumstances, I manage to put aside my anger, knowing that his need to feel this thrill again may be the last time he has for it. A Harley. Unreal.

We head west. The Utah trip is magnificent and grueling. Michael develops gout and a cough. I waver between awe at what we’re experiencing and anxiety about his health. Both of us are glad we did it.

Michael recovers from the respiratory infection slowly through October. We have a big event that month – our daughter is being inducted into her university’s athletic hall of fame. The whole family attends that event. A few weeks later, the Chicago Cubs, Michael’s beloved sports team finally win the World Series. Ticking that long-hoped for event off his list is a huge deal for him.

The national election happens and our whole family is stunned and grieving about Trump being president. Our son is getting ready to leave for a postdoc in Guam. But first there is another Thanksgiving and another scan. We get through the holiday, amazed that it’s our fourth since Michael was given only a few months to live without treatment which might buy a year. What a road we’ve traveled. The November scan is negative. December brings departures and family going in different directions for the holidays. Michael and I zip off to Starved Rock on our own for two days. Always magical, I take this happy photo of Michael at breakfast.

I am a little worried because he’s gotten sick to his stomach twice after eating his favorite seafood dish in the past few weeks. Maybe he’s suddenly allergic? Who knows? We are navigating the political situation, bumps in our kids’ lives and our own anxieties about his disease. Michael is featured in an article in our local newspaper which follows the course of his cancer journey. Both of us feel awkward about it. On December 31st, we have our New Year’s dinner at our favorite restaurant alone for the first time in years. Our family and friends are all dispersed. The service is unusually lousy and the food disappointing. We’re both somewhat disgruntled but we go home happy to be together to ring in a new year, even though it is fraught with unknown but expected challenges. Goodbye, 2016, the year of nerve wracking remission and joy. Just like life.

The Realities of Remission – Part 2 – Chapter 11 – Be 278 *This is a continuation of Chapter 11 - Be 278, my story of living through an orphan cancer with my husband who died in May, 2017.

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