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miinze-mas0chist · 3 years ago

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blonde. | pt. 1

michael afton x gn!reader | angst

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37011019/chapters/92341771

he said he didn’t like blondes, they reminded him of his dead mother, so you bleached your hair until it was dead.

the chemical smell was nauseating, a polarizing odor really. dye stains covered the sink, floor, and top of the toilet. you sat directly on the closed toilet seat, head in your hands and sobs escaping your mouth. he said he didn’t like blondes, they reminded him of his dead mother, so you bleached your hair until it was dead. how much longer was this pain going to last? why did every thought of the man make your heart break a little more? how had your body not run dry of tears?

2 years. deep down you knew it was never going to last; michael had a ton of trauma he wasn’t able to work through, and he was known to suppress his emotions. you’d thought he’d been trying to get better. hell, he even started investigating the old pizzerias. you thought this had been a good sign, taking the problem head on, but it did nothing but tear the two of you apart.

6:34 a.m. was the time he usually would arrive home after work. when he first started, it was great. you would make him breakfast, and put on reruns of his favorite show on the t.v. he would scarf his food down, and give you a kiss on the forehead before he would go lay down for awhile. it was a set routine for about a month.. and then it wasn’t. it started off simple; he would walk in a few minutes later than usual, a bit more sluggish and shook up. then, he stopped watching his t.v show, you’d just passed it off like he was tired of the program and had even started putting something else on. it was also ignored. after a week or so of no shows, and walking in a bit later than usual, he stopped eating breakfast. ‘ maybe he’s just tired of pancakes? ’ you’d thought, so you started making fruit parfaits, or muffins. he would always mumble that he just wasn’t hungry. the forehead kisses were gone next, replaced with a side hug. no, that stopped after a few days, too. eventually, michael just stopped communicating. he would walk in from work, take a quick shower, and go right to sleep. ‘ okay, this job is just wearing him out.. ’ that’s when you stopped going back to sleep when he got home. you would stay up, maybe reading or writing in your journal. sometimes you would just watch him sleep, noticing that he even looked troubled with his eyes closed. closer towards the end, michael had begun talking in his sleep again: ‘ father ’, ‘ evan ’, ‘ elizabeth ’..the same words repeated every morning.

“michael- please, please talk to me.” you remembered begging one day. it’d been a few hours before michael had to be at work, and he hadn’t said a single word to you. “what did i do wrong? why won’t you talk to me anymore?” insecurities had begun to flood your mind. you’d begun thinking that michael was simply tired of you, even considered the possibility that there was someone else.

michael had simply scowled at you, and started walking off to the bedroom. you’d grabbed his arm with tears in your eyes, silently begging for some type of explanation.

“why are you so fucking needy ?” he ripped himself out of your grip and went to bed, leaving you speechless. the sound of his words echoed in your ears, followed by the sound of the bedroom door locking. you could remember the feeling like it was yesterday; the sobs that had escaped your mouth were inhuman, and you had red marks peppered across your face as if the tears had burned your skin. deep down you knew that michael didn’t mean it, you knew that he loved you, but those simple words had torn you down. it amazed you, honestly, how a simple sentence could cause you to question yourself so heavily. what happened to the michael you’d fallen in love with?

you stopped trying to talk to michael after that day. you felt like a piece of you died that day; you knew that michael was falling out of love with you. after that day, you two had gone from a happy relationship to barely roommates. it was incredibly hard to take in, and you’d even considered moving back in with your parents. the day you were planning on leaving, michael had stopped you.

he’d finally gotten up to get ready for work. you barely looked at him when you walked passed him with your suitcase. you didn’t want to leave, you didn’t want to break up. you just wanted some time to clean up your thoughts. you’d done all you could do. you gave him his space, only speaking to him when spoken to. you would cook food for yourself, but leave him a plate in the microwave. you would even wash the linens twice a week so he’d have a comfortable place to sleep. just little things that you’d done at the beginning of the relationship that michael had originally loved.

“where are you going?” michael had asked. it was the first question he had asked you in almost two weeks, the only question before that had been him asking where you’d put the remote.

“i’m going to stay with my parents for awhile,” you tried to hide the tears that were beginning to well in your eyes. you didn’t want him to see you weak. “i just want you to have some time to reflect on what you want.” you sniffled.

for the first time in almost a month, michael touched you. he’d sat beside you, and wrapped you into his arms.

“i want you.” michael pressed a kiss to your lips. you’d been so touch starved, you fell right into the kiss and tears streamed. he pulled away, but kept your foreheads pressed together. “i-” you could see the tears well into michael’s own eyes. “i can’t lose you, too.” and you held him. you held michael while he sobbed, you comforted him. you listened to him rant and rave about his thoughts. you indulged yourself in his words, thankful that your michael was back even if it was just for a few minutes. he sobbed, and shook, while whispering apologies into your hair. apologizing for being a neglectful boyfriend, and not being there when you obviously needed him. you forgave him. you promised him that you would always fight for him. you professed your love for him, just in the way you had only 4 months after you began your relationship. the feeling you felt that day didn’t last long.

may 10th. that was the day you would never forget. you’d been so busy trying to balance work, home, and michael that you’d begun to neglect your own needs. your hair was dead, and the bags under your eyes were prominent. you’d began rewearing dirty laundry, just so michael’s uniforms would be clean. you just wanted to make him happy. michael began to take notice. in his eyes, you were the most beautiful person in his eyes, but he also wasn’t afraid to admit that you weren’t yourself anymore. your smile didn’t reach your eyes anymore, and your clothes were baggy now. he’d noticed that you took such good care of him, and he didn’t appreciate it enough. he’d noticed that you hung onto all of his words, as if they would be his last. michael loved you more than anything, but the job was draining the life out of him, and now it was doing the same to you. no, michael thought, it wasn’t the job that was draining y/n- it was him. it took him some time to realize: he was turning into his father, or so he thought. he was neglectful to your needs, and he couldn’t do that. you were too good, too pure. you loved him, and all of his trauma, and it wasn’t your job to do that for him. it wasn’t your job to baby him. michael knew what he needed to do.

michael had walked into the shared bedroom, and saw you crying again. you were writing in your journal, and a pout was on your lips.

“y/n-” as soon as you heard the way he said your name, you knew. you knew it was over.

your lip quivered unintentionally, “what?”

“i can’t see you like this anymore..” michael sighed.

“what do you mean?”

“i don’t think we should be together anymore.” you felt numb at his words. there was no way you could have prepared for the way your heart broke at that moment. the tears that’d previously been sliding down your face stopped. your whole world stopped. michael’s own heart broke in two when you looked up at him. you’d never looked so numb.

“i’m not enough for you?” despite how manipulative the words sounded out loud, it was a genuine question you wanted an answer to. where did you go wrong?

michael hesitated at your question. as much as he didn’t want to, he knew he had to be harsh. if he wasn’t, you would stay. you would beg, and cry, and he couldn’t let himself hurt you anymore. he couldn’t be his father.

“no,” michael said. “you were too much.”

your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape as if to say something, but no words would come out. before michael could change his own mind, he turned and left the room.

you jumped off of the bed, and scattered after him. “tell me you don’t want to leave. say i’m enough to make you stay.” sobs started to pour out of your mouth again, “i know it’s not true, but please just say it!”

michael looked at you one last time, tears streaming down his own face, “i’m sorry, y/n.”

michael left.

it took nearly a year to feel like yourself again. you began going out with your friends again, and even started writing in the journal again. michael hadn’t contacted you again, and had dropped his key off and gathered the rest of his stuff when you were at work one day.

now, you were sitting in a booth at a café. your hand clutched a latte, taking in the warmth, while the other held open a book. you couldn’t control the way your heart still shattered when you heard michael’s name, or the way tears would try to gather into your eyes when someone was wearing something purple. your hair was still blonde, a constant reminder of michael’s words. you continued dying it, as a way of control. you would always miss michael, and your mind would always wander to where he could possibly be now or what he was doing at that particular moment. sometimes you’d even find yourself scanning over the obituaries in the newspaper, worried that one day you’d see his name.

you could barely make out the sound of the bell ringing when the café door opened, too focused on your book to even glance up. it wasn’t until you saw shoes stop nearly in front of your booth that you looked up.

“y/n?”

“michael?” his name escaped your mouth in a whisper.

#michael afton #michael afton x reader #angst #short fic

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honey-milk-depresso · 3 years ago

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The Wild and The Quiet (Floyd Leech x Kuudere Reader)

Part 1 : How You caught feelings in your fishing net.

“Koebi chan~~~!”

“...hi, Floyd..”

“Where are you going???”

“...back to Ramshackle..”

“Ehh??~ Can I come~?”

“...fine...”

It was quite funny to see the two of you interact. You and Floyd were complete polar opposites of each other, where Floyd is that wild, rambunctious and certainly loud student, you were the much calmer, shy (or seemingly emotionless-) and quiet student.

Well, you know what they say, opposites do attract.

How Floyd even got attached to you was a mystery even to yourself.

You had no idea how he even started clinging and conversing with you everyday at every hour. You didn’t try to bath in the limelight, well, accept you possessing no magic. But that certainly wouldn’t attract anybody, right? There’s nothing spectacular about that. In fact, that would have sounded lame and boring to anyone’s ears, so certainly Floyd wouldn’t be interested in something “boring”, right? Well....

Floyd at first, for the most part, scared you like any other student would be scared of Floyd. He was tall and intimidating, his attitude is very unexpected, at one point he’s smiling and another his face darkens and your met with his fist. You never know, and that’s what scared you sometimes.

But, you never showed that fear. Towards him. Towards anyone. Something in you had always made you tell yourself: “Don’t show them how vulnerable you are.”

Over time, you got used to the large, rambunctious mer-eel’s shenanigans. And over time, you secretly enjoyed his company. You just thought of it as him always treating his friends like this. Although, you would admit, you wanted your relationship with him to grow a little further.

Stepping into the Ramshackle dorm, you made way for Floyd to come in to which he sloppily went in before making himself comfortable on your couch.

You put down your bag and took out your notes and homework, before heading to the coffee table, where Floyd rested on the couch behind it to do your work. Floyd stared at you lazily as you scribbled away formulas and answers.

“...You don’t have work to do?”

“Eh~~ I can do it later.”

“...You should do it now.”

“Huh~~~? I don’t feel like it..”

You stopped writing and glance back at him, he closes his eyes as he wore a relaxed expression on his features. You hesitated a little, eyes averting away from him for a few seconds before turning away from him again.

“.......Want to do homework with me...?”

His eyes shot opened and widened. This was one of the rare moments where you offer him to do something with you. It’s usually him who forces offer you to do something with him, but it seems the tables have turned. He smiled a toothy grin before standing up and bending low where he rested his chin on your shoulders.

“Ehehehe~! Why didn’t you say so!”

Just went he placed his chin on your shoulders, you swore you shivered a little due to the skin sudden cold feeling of his skin. Of course, you showed no sign of being affected, and just shifted more to the left sub consciously.

Floyd came back with his own homework and writing materials, but rather than sitting opposite from you, he sat beside you on your right, which made both your elbows rub in contact of each other, making it even harder for you to focus on your work as your flustered emotions continued rising inside of you, harder to contain.

Floyd was simply oblivious and in his own bliss of being able to do something together with you and did his work.

A few moments of him being halfway distracted and started talking to you, to which you asked him to go back to his own paper continuously, you finished your second to last worksheet. All that’s left is the alchemy worksheet Professor Crewel has given you today, which was assigned tomorrow. Obviously do it now, who wants to be discipline by the strictest professor around.

You took it out of your file and.... it’s crumpled, almost life it was bleached, as the ink prints were faded and smudged. Words were written all over it: Loser, weirdo, bitch.. a bunch of nasty nicknames which you admitted kind of put you down.

You should’ve known. Those Savanaclaw delinquents and their constant bullying towards you. Jack had to always chase them away for you, but he doesn’t take the same Alchemy class as you did. Those Savanclaw students did on purpose so that you would be scolded by Professor Crewel for having a toilet paper of a worksheet. Great, now you have to ask Deuce or Ace. Grim certainly can’t help.

“Hmmmm~? Is koebi chan spacing out? I though you told me to focus, now it’s my turn~!”

He tried snatching the crumpled and vandalized worksheet out of your hand, but you immediately caught it before he could even view it to his face.

Truthfully, you didn’t want him to see it as you felt like you would look stupid in front of him. When it comes to being bullied, you rather hide it than tell anyone about it. That feeling of hiding it made you turn on your instincts and told you to take it back, hoping that Floyd would just let go.

Yeah, those chances of him letting go of something unknown to him were a chances of slim to nothing.

He held on and tried pulling it out of your grip, and he proved to be much stronger than you, easily getting the worksheet.

He faced away from you as you only crouched back, a little nervous of the outcome.

“....Who did this, y/n...?”

You gulped internally. You had never heard him in such a low, threatening tone. And it’s been quite a while since you heard him call you by your real name.

“Nothing.”

“Koebi. Tell me. Now.”

“I really don’t know.”

Floyd isn’t stupid, and you know. He knows when something’s up, and he would be very persistent in figuring out the situation. It’s his job together with Jade. So why bother denying to him?

“....”

“.....”

“Why do you care?”

Ouch. You didn’t mean to sound harsh towards him.

Without hesitation, he immediately replied.

“I care about you, obviously.”

======================================================

“What..”

You saw a familiar teal haired eel in his lab coat, sleeping soundly under the shade of a tree.

You were carrying blankets and pillowcases you collected from the Heartslabyul dorm. Trey and Riddle allowed you to used their clothes dryer to hang your blankets and stuff. Pretty neat.

You stared at the peaceful eel. He’s way more different than his wild usual self. You couldn’t help but think he looked cute. He really did. Then you took note of his lab coat. He had alchemy. And Floyd only sleeps at random places if he ever felt moody or sleepy. Maybe he had a rough day in Alchemy class?

Well I mean, who wouldn’t? Professor Crewel and his ridiculous amounts of homework with his seemingly impossible to meet deadlines.

You quietly knelt beside Floyd and gently draped the blanket around him. Seems like he really is deep in sleep. Sitting down beside him you looked up to the sky and took a deep breath.

Lazily, you felt your eyelids feeling heavy, unconsciously falling asleep on Floyd’s arm. You didn’t mean to, but you were so tired yourself.

Little did you two know, that Azul and Jade were trying to search for Floyd, and only find you and him sleeping.

And little did you know, that Floyd used his fingers to intertwined with yours.

===========================================================

“Oh..”

Cornered by the same Savanaclaw delinquents. Just great.

They’re probably here to extort your food and valuables again.

You know you said you hated looking vulnerable, but you also hated getting into trouble. So you just complied and gave them your bag.

They dumped out all your contents out of your bag, crushing and stepping on them.

In your head, you’re insulting them of how they are equivalent to an angry baby throwing a tantrum, but on the outside, you remain stoic.

Emotionless.

“Hey.”

All four of you immediately looked to the left upon hearing a dreaded voice. Floyd stood, casting a dark shadow as his eyes gleamed danger. The Savanaclaw students stopped their harassing and cower at the sight of the tall eel.

“You three were lucky I didn’t chase you down two weeks ago, after you ruined Koebi Chan’s homework. This time, I’m not holding back.”

You closed your eyes shut as you could only hear screaming from the Savanaclaw students, you went behind the door of your empty classroom until you heard only silence.

Three Savanaclaw students all passed out on the ground. Floyd gave them one last menacing look before he met your eyes with his dramatically softened ones.

He cling onto you.

“Ne~~~ Koebi Chan! You should’ve told them to stay away from you~”

“I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“Huh~~~~? But you need to toughen up a bit~”

“What are you going to do with them?”

He glanced back to the pile of students he had created.

“Ehehehehe~~~ I’m sure they’ll wake up!”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

His sudden change of his easy going attitude to a serious one slightly caught you off guard.

And then very quickly, he grinned a toothy grin.

“Koebi Chan shouldn’t let others tell you what to do!”

He took your hand in his.

“I will protect you! But make sure to protect yourself, too! Ehehehehe~~!”

Something in you told you that the warm feeling blooming in your chest, would only grow bigger.

============================================================

Want me to do part 2????

How to procrastinate 24/7

#twst #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #floyd leech #floyd leech x reader #twst floyd #twisted wonderland floyd #twst floyd x reader #kuudere reader #floyd leech x reader oneshot #octavinelle #octavinelle x reader #twisted wonderland floyd x reader

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naomixhill · 4 years ago

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“Aren’t you the one who got expelled from DeSales?” These were the first words that you said to me as you approached me at David’s bonfire in 2011. We were seventeen years old. A group of us came here after a Friday night football game. There were a handful of neighborhoods in our village, perhaps five important ones, but the one we were in that night was the best – the one where sophistication meets elegance meets English-inspired architecture. There was a twenty-seven Jack Nicklaus golf course in front of David’s home. Inside the house was a grand reception room, medium sized ballroom, martini parlor, two dueling libraries, a small art gallery, and a wine cellar. Throughout the home, opulence of the tenth degree: marble floors and 18’ high ceilings and two servants. Just beyond where I was sitting, there was a heated pool, veranda, and small tennis court. Jews get everything. This whole village was Jews, new money snobs, and plastic surgery. But I never minded.

You repeated the question, “Hellooooo, Naomi, right?” I looked up at you with red, glossy eyes. I was stoned, and David’s two servants had been serving Cabernet since we got there. I smirked, raised my head at you, and said, “Who’s asking?” You extended your hand and introduced yourself with the charismatic, all consuming smile that I would one day become familiar. I did not return the warm reception; I had a magical sadness about me that year that began with the death of my rapist and ended with my name being the topic of more than one scandal. I hardly remember much of the year at all, but I remember meeting you there that night. In That Place.

You acted like you were meeting a celebrity. You mentioned a few of the rumors that spread around DeSales about me, most of which were incredibly true, and I told you that night, “It doesn’t matter what people say about you unless you believe it.” You told me that you had just transferred to the village school and that you were incredibly lucky: You lived in a modest home on the edge of town that had not been seized by Wexner for further construction of his brick empire. I was completely awestricken by you. You were so bold, so empowered to speak truth, so nonchalant in the way you spoke, and had this magnetic flowerchild persona. If it hadn’t been for you that night, I would have drank alone at the firepit of David’s home. It was true that I was still frequently invited to events that year and next, but I was never really one of these people and I always remained on the outskirts of parties and social gatherings. When the night ended, I told you not to talk to me again. You needed a fighting chance to assimilate in this odd, wealthy village school that was more reminiscent of an episode of Gossip Girl than a place in Ohio. You were never going to get that if you associated with me.

We reconnected in February 2014. It was a historically brutal winter in Ohio, frequently closing down the university, and I was frailer at 106 lbs, more contemplative, and battling an autoimmune disorder that was so severe that I was sure it would have killed me. Looking back on it now, there is no doubt in my mind that your antithesis to everything that I was saved me. From the moment we reconnected, there was rarely a moment that we were apart. Every morning, you held back my hair as I spent the morning vomiting into a dormitory toilet. When I would try to crawl back into bed, you would force me into a warm bath, lay out clothes for me, and often blow-dry my hair when I was too weak to do so myself. Without fail, and for the entire semester, you would walk me to the cafeteria, watch me eat breakfast, and we would undoubtedly end up back on the bathroom floor for several more hours. But you’d still make sure that I attended my afternoon classes, even if that meant sitting on the business halls’ floors in effort to see that I didn’t leave. You were the only person who knew how bad my health had gotten that year.

Because to everyone else, I was confident and had accomplished in my studies precisely what I had in my social circle of business students—complete mastery, complete command. I was fastidious, wearing almost exclusively Brooks Brothers button downs that tucked into dark colored slacks or designer jeans, and carried myself with an air of superiority that few ever questioned. In school and in the finance society, I was the best. I maintained a portfolio of investments that had achieved a 56% return that year, and when I shared my opinion on what our club should be investing in, I was rarely wrong. It awed some, and frustrated many male egos that couldn’t understand it. I was an excellent financial analyst to be, interviewing at several bulge bracket investment banks in New York and Chicago that year. And when anyone questioned me or alluded that I couldn’t possibly being doing as well as I was, I would raise my prominent nose nostrils at them and say nothing at all.

I didn’t dress, walk, talk, or play like other college students did. I was incredibly aloof and malicious, whereas you were a never-ending ray of sunshine. You were bohemian and buoyant and wise all wrapped into a blonde package of beauty. My persona was much more overpowering and chilling. Yet, you liked me, and you held my secret, and no one ever questioned why you—the special education major—were in the business hall at 2 pm, 4 pm, 8 pm, and 10 pm everyday. In fact, most of my companions that year really preferred you to me and it was often a relief to have you there as a shield.

In the summer of 2015, we moved into an off campus apartment in what would be considered the Chinatown of Columbus, Ohio. With my full-time job in financial services and lucrative investments from the prior year, I had tried to convince you to live downtown in a high-rise apartment, but you wouldn’t have it. You always wanted to pay your own way, and Chinatown was what you could afford. So we lived there with Ethan Allen furniture, your bohemian nonsensical decorations, including a plethora of crystals, bags of cannabis, and music posters. By the end of the summer, I was showing signs of recovery, though the months of medical bills had put me in a tougher spot financially than before. I was still able to casually pay our rent and fixed expenses, afford food, and pay my own tuition without much concern. Though it was in September that everything changed.

You worked at a Bob Evan’s right behind the university that summer to save for college, but you had racked up $17,000 on a credit card that was accruing monthly interest. You wanted to save, but you were forced to pay that down and there was never an expense that you met that you didn’t like. It has always been who you are: you spend too much on others, too much on holiday decorations, too much on latest clothing styles, too much online, too much on fast food, just too much. So even though you worked your sixty hours a week until that political bill made everyone like you work thirty-seven and a half hours and not a moment more, you couldn’t make tuition. And I couldn’t help you.

I remember one night we were in Cincinnati for a Cal Scruby concert when the idea came to me. I said, “There are a lot of girls in Pi Phi that I know that use this escort site to make fast cash, and you are much prettier and have a much better personality.” So while we waited for the concert to begin, we turned the Marriott hotel room into a glamorous studio for photos, and wrote you a descriptive, alluring profile on that website. Looking back on this now, I am not sure what I was thinking except that it seemed like a perfectly sensible thing to do, and everyone else was doing it. An older, established Cleveland man solicited you within the hour. You planned to meet him later that week. A thousand dollars just like that.

But that fateful morning, you confessed that you couldn’t do it. And I knew then that if you didn’t return to school that semester, you might never. And I thought about your credit card debt, your newly broken down car, and your ambitions slipping away from you. And I couldn’t let you, the brilliant bohemian with so much to offer to the world, possibly lose it all that easily. So I knew what this all meant for me, but the way I saw it, and still see it, is that it was the least I could do for the person who likely saved my life. So I became you: I went to a hair salon that day and dyed my harsh, almost black hair, to bleach blonde; I bought extensions; I bought baby blue eye contacts; I used makeup to manipulate a small mole on my cheek; I contoured my face, used drugstore eyelashes, and it was convincing enough. That night, I wore a pink kimono with ripped jeans and pale high heels. I wasn’t nearly as tall as you, but I hoped our Cleveland man wouldn’t notice. And he didn’t. And that was that.

These visits continued twelve times, and we never spoke about them. It was our next big secret, and one I never planned to mention them to a soul. Your fall tuition was paid and I was relatively healthy, and we had our oasis in Chinatown. Everything was finally alright, it seemed, until December.

There was only one problem: That Piece of Shit Heroin Addict. Back in the summer before the school year began, you had met Josiah. Perhaps it was my jealously of losing part of you, but I never took to him. You could have had any of my friends majoring in finance – we both know that they all loved you, and could have given you the life you wanted – but you chose him. I am certain that your biggest flaw has always been loving flawed people and thinking that you could positively influence the outcome of their lives’ through love and belief alone. Josiah was everything that I loathed about a person: he was uncouth to a fault, sported a horribly unkempt appearance with long, blonde, greasy and tangled hair, had terribly patchy facial hair, had lightly yellowed teeth from years of smoking and drug abuse. Best of all, he drove a sports car. His family was from the neighboring county, and in Ohio, if you don’t live in the capital county, you might as well live in the middle of a fucking farm wasteland infested with heroin, blue-collar jobs, and Mountain Dew.

I tolerated this boy in the summer because you loved him. But it worried me when you would come home at 3 a.m. with him and his cronies, and they would all end up sprawled out on the floor of our apartment. These people were not good enough for you, and they brought you down with them. I would have done anything to better myself that year—I associated myself with the most elite people our university could offer, all of whom today ended up becoming prominent investment bankers and private equity directors, some traveling internationally, some making over half a million dollars annually – but you always found yourself attracted to the bottom.

He manipulated you. He told you lies about me, and made you think differently about me. He fed you drugs. He sedated your sunshine and stole your youth. And then in December, he convinced you that I was nothing more than a haughty, arrogant, self-serving person, which perhaps was right to some degree, but never with you, and that you needed to leave. So one night in December, when I was traveling, you stole everything out of our apartment – right down to the kitchen table and bath curtains – and left me to come home to nothing. You never returned my calls or texts, and it was more than a year before I ever got an explanation.

You went from my fascination to my friend to my caregiver to my roommate and best friend to my deepest regret.

In fact, for the next six years, you tried to contact me sporadically, pleading for forgiveness, but there was nothing that I could offer you. At times, you would comment on my life events that you could see through social media. You told me how happy I looked in my wedding photos, but little did you know for those four years that I was getting beaten, evens sometimes being held at gunpoint, literally; you told me how successful I had become from my work, but little did you know that I was facing more than one harassment suit; you would tell me you were happy that my life had become so wonderful, but you had no idea that at the very time you sent that, that I was sitting in a hospital waiting to be radiated for cervix cancer. And through all of it, I thought of you frequently, sometimes spitefully, sometimes with more regret than a person can carry, sometimes with fondness.

But I never returned any of your correspondence until last week. And now, here we are at a Panera in a rundown suburb, and I am staring right at you. The passage of time has not been your friend: you wear bold framed glasses that remind me of Buddy Holly. Pregnancy has turned your beautiful blonde hair into an ashy brown shade and your long, cascading curls have been cut into curly short strands. You have gained perhaps thirty or forty pounds, hidden under a large, flowing hippy blouse – so that has remained, your style.

When I approach you, you throw your arms around me for what feels like an eternity. I had planned to dig into you; I had wanted you to feel the internal war that has been raging inside of me since your departure. But I can’t do it. As you pull away from our embrace, you try to speak but your lower lip trembles. Your eyes are red and strained and you weep as you grab for my hand. People around us begin to stare, but my sole focus is on you. I suppose it always has been. You begin a long soliloquy of apology, that at times is so incoherent and sincere, I can only help but think that this has eaten away at you for as long as it has me. So I don’t chide you for abandoning me, I simply smile and say, “I Forgive You.”

As we catch up, it seems our friendship is a marker in time for you much like it is for me. There was before you, you, and after you. Your “after you” is dark – things have been much harder for you for the past six years than they have for me. One unplanned pregnancy, another planned pregnancy, multiple lost jobs, government assistance, an alcoholic partner, and death threats galore. It is hard to imagine the young bohemian that I once knew has achieved such a disappointing life. You never finished college and you work as a PSA in a hospital. You mentioned repeatedly how tired you are, and I see you: it’s a spiritual exhaustion that knows no bounds. It is the type of exhaustion that one can only feel when they have done nothing that they set out to do in life. I am familiar.

I often take your hand in mine. We talk until the Panera closes, and then promise to meet again soon.

#b #memories #best friend

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bae-science · 4 years ago

Note

❥,+,✘

❥: barefoot, sleepy wanderings

✘: forehead kisses

+: being led back to bed with patient whispers

TW: light blood, surgeries, mentions of hospital setting, needles, portrayal of OCD, vomiting

When people hear that Vanessa was diagnosed at five years old, they assume she doesn’t remember the experience. Her brain wasn’t developed enough. Other memories have clouded it over. Things got blocked out for being too frightening for a small child to deal with.

They’re all wrong, of course. She wishes they weren’t.

The experience isn’t totally crystallized in a perfect sequence of events; she doesn’t know exactly how her parents noticed her disorientation, weight loss, and difficulty with toilet training. She can’t remember the faces of the nurses who took care of her, or the doctor that tried to gently explain how drastically her life had changed forever. She doesn’t even know the title of the binder the social worker gave her parents on Type 1. Probably something ridiculous, though, since it was a pediatric ward. Sometimes she wonders if hospitals have crack teams specifically for that.

She remembers the IV, though. The way she couldn’t stop thinking about the way it lay under her skin, putting things inside her body she couldn’t see or understand, and the image of blood pooling underneath the clear tape from all the times she bent her elbow. Her mind looped the thoughts over and over again, expanding like a dense mass of black cotton that would, later in her life, prove persistent, and open to other topics of obsession. How she seemed to never be able to get warm. The exhaustion from being woken several times a night to be pricked and poked and sent back to bed for a few more measly hours of sleep, until the parade of doctors began anew. The blurry vision that seemed to take months to fade.

It seems almost comical, after twelve years of this, when a routine trip to the dentist reveals that her wisdom teeth are coming in wrong. The issue is so laughably common, so often played for jokes with laughing gas and woozy patients spouting nonsense before the anesthetic wears off, that Vanessa almost has trouble developing anxieties about the whole thing.

It’s then of course she’s informed about her own personal risk factors. The anesthesia could send her blood sugar either way: low because of the blood loss and healing required during the surgery, or high because of the adrenaline and falling asleep during the daytime. She’ll need to calculate her ratios, test her blood sugars, and monitor herself and her food while still recovering from the procedure. It makes a knot swell in her stomach as the dentist talks on, growing so large and choking that she nearly sprints for the car as her mother takes care of the paperwork, slamming the door and curling into the passenger seat to scream at the top of her lungs.

That night, Vanessa has to check the stove burners three times before she feels safe enough to go to bed.

Karla, bless her heart, doesn’t quite understand, but Hermann does. He tells her how he felt going under, and which over the counter painkillers help and hinder sleep. They go out and purchase an electric blanket to drape over her pillow, hoping the heat will help any pain in her jaw, and both him and Karla declare they’ll be sleeping over several nights while she recovers, Vanessa not even given a chance to dissuade them. She’s never loved her friends more.

Hermann’s correct in that she barely remembers nearly the whole hour before the assistant slips an IV in, Vanessa clenching down her jaw to steady her breathing. The drive home, too, is a blurry haze of aches and the wooziness that comes with hovering just above the lower end of her blood sugar bracket. They pass by a McDonald’s hanging just on the outskirts of the city, gripping to the slow crawl of modernity by its fingernails, and Vanessa thinks of her classmate Rebecca, who boasted two years ago after getting her own wisdom teeth removed that she ate nothing but ice cream for a week afterwards. The gauze in her mouth is sticky and bland. Her stomach growls.

Hermann and Karla are sitting on the porch steps when they pull in, overnight bags and cane sprawled beside them. Karla leaps to her feet before Vanessa’s mother is even parked, opening the passenger side door and taking her hand. Even with no small amount of anesthesia in her system, Vanessa still feels her heart skip a beat at Karla’s slim, cool fingers closing around hers.

“How are you feeling?” she asks anxiously, sliding her other hand around Vanessa’s waist and helping her up the steps. “Are you hungry? What hurts? Hermann,” she snaps, “get the Ibuprofen; I told you to have it out already!”

Hermann shoots Vanessa a look, and she gives a weak chuckle. The gauze in her mouth prevents any real speaking, but he understands.

“She’s not dying, Karla,” he says, holding open the door as Karla hurries her inside. Vanessa’s mother and Hermann follow after them, and after instructing the twins to call for her if they need anything, gives Vanessa a careful hug and kisses her forehead. Karla looks as if every second Vanessa isn’t tucked into bed like a sardine and being fussed over is causing her personal agony.

“‘c’n wohlk,” Vanessa mumbles, tongue refusing to shape the words right, but the gentle way Karla guides her up the stairs and down the hallway to her bedroom makes something soft and funny flutter in her chest. It’s been happening more often lately; this rush of discomforting elation whenever Karla shines that focused, diligent attention on her.

Hermann, seeming to sense that this is his role now, holds open her bedroom door and fetches her water bottle from the desk to bring it over. Karla pulls back the covers and eases Vanessa to sit down, kneeling to untie her sneakers. The world still hums with a muted fuzziness, but the sight gives Vanessa a brief, powerful urge to run her hand through Karla’s short, choppy curls. She wonders what it would feel like clipped and uniform, in the buzzcut she’s seen her admire on so many men.

Karla pulls her shoes, then socks off, and Vanessa crawls under her comforter and places the side of her jaw most painful at the moment onto the electric blanket. She fumbles for the switch to turn it on, but Karla brushes her hand aside and puts it on medium. “There,” she says with an air of frazzled satisfaction. “Right. Now Hermann and I will be right here, and we’ll wake you every two hours if we need to to take your medication. You’re supposed to alternate Ibuprofen and Advil, and you can drink and eat but only liquids at the moment.” She turns to Hermann with the sharpness of a military general. “Hermann, get the soup out. We made soup,” she clarifies. “Well, I did. Hermann’s a horrible cook. Are you hungry?”

Vanessa shakes her head as best she can, swallowing spit that tastes like iron. “’m okay. Th’nk y’.”

Karla pulls out her desk chair for Hermann to take a seat, then sets a cluster of Vanessa’s throw pillows on the floor next to the bed. She leans back against the side and looks up at Vanessa, face craned so far back it’s nearly upside down. “Are you okay?”

Vanessa nods into the pillow, letting one hand dangle down off the bed. Karla catches it without missing a beat and runs a finger over the tops of her knuckles. “Mmhm.” She’s hungry; no breakfast besides a glass of water for the first dose of medication, but can’t find the energy to even consider calculating how much insulin she needs, especially when she’s so sedentary. Sleep, however, is a tantalizing prospect so close to going low, and Vanessa is out the second her eyes close again.

She wakes excruciatingly thirsty, disoriented and heart pounding. Her body is the kind of overheated she recognizes as a telltale sign of a high, and panic races through her as she tries to push herself up and search for her bag.

It’s not there.

Vanessa’s breath catches, and she slides her hands over the jumble of books and empty plastic cups and pens on her bedside table. Where the fuck is her bag? She needs her bag; she needs to find out how high she is; never mind that she doesn’t know she’ll hold her finger steady enough to prick it, or insert the strip into the meter, but she needs her insulin because she’s hot, and exhausted, and her numbers are definitely so, so bad right now.

She stumbles out of bed and towards the door, catching herself on the doorframe briefly before fear propels her forward. Maybe she left it in the bathroom? Did she go to the bathroom? She might need to if she’s over 240; oh God, if she’s over 200 she’ll just stick her head in the bathtub and turn on the faucet because that is way, way too high, and if her numbers are too high her A1C will be bad, and if her A1C is bad then she’s doing it all wrong and failing diabetes, which is definitely something that is possible to do, and her stomach twists with anxiety so badly at the thought of her beautiful, perfect 5.7 going up even a percentage that she barely makes it to the toilet before dry heaving.

Pure bile, void of anything else from her empty stomach, splatters her tongue and the inside of the bowl, and Vanessa presses her face against the cool porcelain before the stench of bleach makes her retch again. She hears footsteps just outside, barely processing the sound of the door opening wider over the pounding of her heart in her ears.

“Vanessa--?” Karla asks, before seeing the scene before her and rushing to her side. She puts a hand on each shoulder and immediately begins rubbing them soothingly, a sensation that does a surprisingly good deal to steady Vanessa’s pulse.

She gags out, “High,” the last of bloody gauze finally falling into the toilet, and Karla nods against the back of her neck.

“Hermann!” she calls, “Hermann, get her kit! On the desk! Put a strip in the meter and new lancet!”

Oh, thinks Vanessa, that’s where it went, but Hermann is already clacking down the hall towards them. He quickly sets his cane on the bathroom counter and prepares the meter, then hands it and the lancet to Karla, who in turn hands Vanessa a tissue.

“Here,” she says gently, “for your mouth. May I see your hand?”

Vanessa clumsily wipes the acid from her chin and holds out a shaking hand, letting Karla take her pinky with careful fingers and prick it on the lowest setting she can. The pain is dulled there as well, thankfully, but the countdown as the meter processes her blood makes Vanessa’s stomach swoop.

When it shows 122, she frowns.

“But... ‘m hot,” she says, leaning back against the side of the bathtub. Karla hands the supplies back to Hermann and resumes rubbing her shoulders.

“Well you were lying on a heating bad under a bunch of blankets, ‘Ness. That might have something to do with it.”

“Thirsty?” Vanessa adds. Hermann makes a startled face and quickly leaves, returning with her water bottle. As she takes it and swallows a few grateful mouthfuls, he raises an eyebrow.

“Dry mouth from anesthesia is a common side effect. You really should be drinking regularly, especially since you weren’t able to for several hours.” He takes his cane from the counter and shifts his weight to it. “Come on. You should go back to bed.”

Vanessa tilts her head back against the rim of the tub and lets out a long, shaky sigh. “Yeah. Okay. Gimme a sec.”

She lets herself lean into the feeling of Karla’s hands on her skin, the chilled lip of the tub on her neck, and hears Hermann move to lean against the doorframe. Karla never pauses for a moment.

“You’re alright,” she murmurs, her head just brushing Vanessa’s hair. “We’re right here. You’re alright.”

She takes another breath, then nods. “’Kay. Let’s go.”

#ask #anon #ask meme #karnessa #pacific rim #mine

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raylee-kai · 5 years ago

Text

When You Love Someone - Park Jae Hyung Chpt. 1 (Part 1/2)

Here's the thing.

You hated playing the guitar.

You were clearly a keyboard/piano person but when you heard that Jae had volunteered himself at the local music shop, you barely hesitate to put your name down on the form for the guitar lessons. It might have got something got to do with the crush you harbor on the guy.

Your hate of the guitar was mostly because of the fact that your fingers were never flexible enough to press on the strings, how loud and gritty the sounds of an electric guitar echoes and also how there were different ways to play with different songs.

Like what on earth was plucking?

Why are there different ways to play one instrument?

It didn't help that there were different ways to tune a guitar. The amount of time you struggled with the tuner was making you regret the decision but as soon as Jae smiles at you and helped you out, you found yourself back in the studio, practicing yet another song on the guitar.

"Have you been practicing your chords?"

You nod, totally forgetting that he was actually asking about guitar chords and not keyboard. He gave a small chuckle and settled in front of you.

"Great, let's see it!"

The next few minutes consisted of;

"Did you tune your guitar? It sounds a little weird.."

"That's the G chord."

"Bring that finger here and this one here..."

"Show me A chord..... Uh... That's C chord."

"That's not even a chord."

It was amazing how Jae was never frustrated with your inability to learn the chords because your limit was approaching fast.

Every mistake you made, you simply want to throw the guitar down and leave but Jae was always there to stop you from doing that. With his kind smile and carefree attitude, you could not stop yourself from falling for him even more. He was honestly your only motivation to learn the guitar.Your frustration was clear on your face but once he ruffles your hair, you can't help it but to come back for the next session.

"You did great! Just need a little more practice."

Jae flashed a proud smile when you get a chord right was the highlight of the entire lesson.

"That's it for today!"

Jae clapped his hands and pats your shoulder, as if signing to you that you did a good job. Your shy smile made its appearance along with a slight blush but luckily, his attention was on the notification of his phone. He briefly read through and perked up, catching you before you leave.

"Before I forget, here!"

He held out a shiny silver ticket out to you and grinned.

"Umm... What is this?"

"There's a gig, tomorrow at Club Eclipse. Thought that maybe it would be nice for you to see a few live performances."

You eyed the ticket for a bit before you glance up at him.

"You'll be playing?"

"Not this time but I'll be sure to invite you next time! Pinky promise!"

He stuck out his pinky, wiggling childishly to which you curled with a small giggle. Jae gave you a ruffle on your hair before looking at his watch.

"I'll pick you up at about 7 at the cafe near school?"

"You have a license?"

"Only one way to find out right?"

He winked, smiling while you tried to bite back your smile.

You might have went all out in trying to find the perfect outfit which had Seungmin groaning in pure annoyance at the fact that you just practically dumped a bunch of clothes infront of him. The amount of times that you ran into his bedroom's toilet and came out with a new outfit had him regretting his friendship with you.

As if he could break a childhood friendship that easy.

You and Seungmin met each other at a piano recital when the two of you were younger. Ever since then, it was as if it was fated for the two of you to be friends. Both of you kept getting into the same classes, courses and school with or without planning on it. Plus, it did not help that Wonpil, Seungmin's brother, was your partner for a piano recital which made the two of you even closer.

"Are you seriously doing this at my house?"

"I need fashion advice."

You pouted, turning away from the mirror for Seungmin's view. He barely gave you a glance and scoffed.

"Stop pouting. You ain't cute."

You pouted even more at his harsh words but it was just a Seungmin thing to do so you weren't offended in the slightest.

"Why aren't you asking Hyunjin for fashion advice? He is better than the rest of us at fashion."

"YOU'RE A GENIUS, SEUNG!"

You immediately grabbed your phone and called Hyunjin over to Seungmin's house. It didn't take long for him to arrive but not alone.

"Who invited the sunshine twins here?"

"We are here for mental support!"

"Get out of my house."

"Why do you like Jae anyways?"

Felix's question threw you to a state of flabbergast.

"Why Jae?"

Jisung added on, while Hyunjin was picking up outfits and trying to pair them together.

You sat on Seungmin's mattress much to the other's displeasure and thought about it to yourself.

At first, it was the smile. You always thought that Jae had a cute smile with how he smiles with his eyes. He had a variety of smiles from the playful mischievous grin to the tired yet blessed smirk. It stays in your mind every time and you could not help feeling warm seeing his smile.

"Who's that?"

You asked Seungmin, who had been re-reading his script for the tenth time that day. Your dear friend was a part of the MC line up for some after school event which he was extremely nervous for which was why you, his dear friend, was there to cheer him on.

"What?"

"That blonde? I don't think I had seen him before."

"Oh, Jae?"

You raised a brow as if trying to get him to explain more. "He was a student here, my brother's senior. They called him back to help us with the event."

Your attention went to the blonde who was joking around with some of the MCs to calm their stage nerves. The way he threw his head back to laugh caused you to smile a little.

"Cute."

Then, you fell for his personality. How friendly and welcoming he was with everyone, how thoughtful to those he held those dear and how mature and gives the best advice at times. He was like a canvas with similar yet different shades that you would only realize after looking closely.

Jae was not close to Wonpil by any means.

It did not mean that they hated each other or anything but it is just that their friend circles never really clashed. So, Jae had no reason to protect Wonpil like he did that one time during his third recital.

During his third recital, the seniors had Wonpil running around, forcing him to do stuff which would make him late to the recital. They went as far as to cut his formal clothes causing him to turn up with red slick back hair and blue button up which had caused a ruckus among the audience and judges for not being professional. But without a doubt, he was able to pull a performance that had the audience crying and reaching out for their tissues.

Unfortunately, Wonpil was disqualified and was banned from joining in another recital in the event hall for not being "professional" and was reported for "harassing" the seniors that he had helped.

That had caused you and Seungmin to fume in pure anger with how you had seen Wonpil going around to help the seniors, even going as far as to cut his practice time.

It was the first time you saw Wonpil getting upset that he walked away.

You and Seungmin were about to storm into the judges when Jae reached before the two of you could and provided them with evidence and eyewitnesses of the seniors bullying Wonpil and forcing him on errands. You watched in pure amazement at how the older glared the seniors down.

When you asked why would he stand up for a total stranger, his reply would always be the same.

"Why not?"

After, you just could not help but pay attention to him no matter where he goes. It's like your eyes would constantly be searching for him. There was just something about his presence that made you look at him in amazement.

What do you like about Jae?

"I don't know. I just like him."

You should probably trust Hyunjin more than you did because the outfit he put together really looked good. Not only you looked good but you also feel good in the outfit. So there you were with nervous jitters waiting outside the cafe for Jae, typing at your phone furiously, trying to calm yourself down.

Millennium Line Unite (5)

Memelix : Still cant believe u got boss to give u today off

Memelix : On short notice

J.ONE : Not fair :(

SeungSky : I dont get y u guys complaining

SeungSky : M covering her shift

SeungSky : If anyone want complain it be me

lmao he saw my ticket

he just send me off

Dramallama : boss said you need friends

Dramallama : hes sad Minnie is ur only friend

Dramallama : WHO TF CHANGE MY USER NAME

Memelix changed Dramallama to PrettyJinnie

PrettyJinnie : Aww

PrettyJinnie : Thanks baby

Memelix : Anything for my Prince

J. ONE : my eyes

J. ONE : NEED BLEACH

SeungSky : No flirting

SeungSky : Not in this christian household

Memelix : jokes on you

Memelix : im catholic

SeungSky : And Jisungs a rapper

Memelix : ???

J. ONE : ???

PrettyJinnie : ???

???

SeungSky : it means idgaf

Ouch

taht got to hurt

SeungSky : Idgaf bout ur date either

SeungSky : u made me work on my off day

SeungSky : u officially out of my friend list

J. ONE : at least u were in his list

SeungSky : Han

SeungSky : stfu

Oh shit oh shit oh shit

Jae here gtg

wish me lcuk

Memelix : Stay safe

PrettyJinnie : Use protection

J. ONE : good lcuk

Private Chat : SeungSky

SeungSky : Text me ASAP if somethings wrong

SeungSky : Don't accept drinks from strangers

SeungSky : Stay close to Jae hyung

Must u do this everytime

SeungSky : U only have one braincell

SeungSky : It worries me that u dont have common sense

I do have

hope I dont make a fool of myself

SeungSky : Tough words for a clown like u

f u

"Coming in?"

Jae's voice hollered from the car as you look up from your phone. You darted into the car taking the seat next to the driver's and greeted him casually. You tried to avoid his look, considering how he actually put effort in looking good and you could barely stop yourself from combusting at the sight.

"Looking good today."

"Thanks. You too, Jae. It's been awhile since I saw you in something other than a shirt."

"That's cause I'm usually half awake and late for work."

"Well, does that mean that you are late everyday?"

"Hush now little one."

Laughing quietly at his words, you guys started talking about random things and before you know it, you were already there in the club.

"Nervous?"

He asked, seeing how you hesitate after parking the car nearby. An arm over your shoulder had you calming down almost instantly. It was as if just knowing that Jae was there brought you calmer.

"Is this the wrong time to tell you that this is my first time going to a club?"

"You mean to tell me… you're a club fetus?!"

You giggle at his dramatic scandalised face and playfully pushed him away. He laughed and placed his hands on your shoulder leading the way.

"Don't worry and just stay close."

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whimsically-ominously-auspice · 5 years ago

Text

Uncle Donald gave her $800 in the 1980s

She let him invest it for her up until now

And she has now $45B

I hope you enjoyed your game as there are more to come but with more people as it enters TV for free of course on Channel Fox.

As always enjoy life and what it brings with the most care you can afford.

Don't let the economy, crumble, Uncle Donald, i hit up JP for some cash since Jesse stole mine from United Business Bank located in Oregon, Washington, and New Mexico.

I own Chase, bought it with Donald and sold to the US Government for a mint. Jesse could got in on this deal but he wanted to challenge me instead.

So I asked Uncle Donald for a cash loan, how much he could afford and what was in his wallet. $4000 roughly. So we split it between his 4 kids (the 4th being me) and I gave him back $200 for the rest of the day.

And we returned to the bank and I asked him how to deposit the money into Chase Manhattan because Denise had bought me clothes but I wanted to be a fashion designer and had altered them So she threw them all away in a rage of jealousy and heat.

Of course i started to cry so we went back across the street to McDonald's and we talked. He said "i have a surprise for you, lets get to the bank"

So we walked alllllll around the building, up and down and he talked to a man and got us inside all the back rooms. He said "i wanna buy it!" And he turned to me and asked "would you like to invest your $800 into my bank as an investor?"

I said "what about my clothes! She said i had to return the money or else i get none!"

"But who did she spend the money on?"

"Me and my brothers and and her!"

"Well don't you think Its time to invest in you and your fashion?" He asked for my $800 i had to pull from 4 different pockets and my sock as he taught me to split to beat pick pocketers. And handed it all. He handed me back $200 and I handed it back then he handed me a $5 from his breast pocket and t told me to keep it.

And began to walk to the counter to buy the bank.

I chased after him and put it in his left cost pocket and told him, 'well you know you bought me lunch so you keep it"

I pulled it from his pocket to produce proof I had already given it and he couldn't give it back and then stuffed it back in deep, all the way i nearly ripped his shoulder off for which I promptly apologized, jumped on the counter and rubbed his soreness off and jumped down.

And he started to cry a little bashful at first then a full sob. And I tried to console him and Robby appeared with a trailing line of toilet paper so his silk hanky wouldn't be soiled with snot.

He thanked him and became startled and asked if he wanted in on the investment.

Robby said, "i might but i need to talk to you, I belong to this boarding school ran by this might be soon white bigger as he calls himself, inspired by her and taken completely out of context"

"Michael Jackson" interjected our new found Uncle Donald. "Come let's sit"

We moved to the side of the spacious lobby to a small table accompanied by two plus club chairs.

He and i talked about how neat it would be to have chaise chairs in Chase bank.

"Well, her mom is abusive, mostly about money so i would like to take control of her stock with her permission"

"Yes! I do! And i will wanna get married!" I jumped with my fist in the air and pushed against the chair like a standing push up and stood

....

"Her sit. First I would like to talk to you as an investor. I am run by the boarding house and they teach us things like to steal and bring back to get 'rewards' much often things less than they are worth like a stick of gum for $2 when I can get a whole pack for 20 cents. Uh oh, here he comes"

"Im about to invest into this bank with these two kids you got something you wanna say to me?" Instead of waiting for a reply, uncle Donald got up and briskly walked to the counter, asking to return to a different room, promptly and away from Mr Jackson whom was still solidly black (he doesn't have vitaligo its just bleached).

And we entered a nearly empty office and he turned fiercely, angry even, "this will be your office where you will WORK"

...

"Its okay! We are still friends!" I climbed into the chair then up onto the desk "this is where I will sit"

"Well close your legs and sit like a lady, like this hand me your foot, no don't take off your shoe"

"Well I didn't want to ruin you! Your suit is NICE!!"

And he moved my foot and crossed my ankles and patted my knee and said "or you cross at here"

I took my ankle to my knee "no not like that, that's like a man. Knee to knee"

"Oh like this?" I squeezed my knees together

Robby laughed and Uncle Donald looked flustered

"Oh i know I know cross at my knees, you need to explain better!" I patted his shoulder. In the 80s it was okay to touch, at least for a child.

"I said that first!"

"Oh! I interrupt!"

"No apologize" Robby groaned

"I apologize for interrupting"

"For?" Asked Donald "you can't tell her that Because ---"

"No he could I get misinformation that way"

"Except when I'm being scolded and she knows the truth" said Robby.

Tune in next week for another Miss Adventure of one Wild Single Mom's Childhood!

I had 48 cents. Robby had put in 2500 front Hayes then 1500 each from Mark and Mike Andrews which he had not signed and they got rejected. Yet Jesse notified me of this, restricted my remote deposit privileges and now i am to notify the Sheriff of Hays County, Austin, Texas that the money is kept hidden in the tax and revenue accounts of his great county. And to open an investigation which he will pretend he did and then not. So i get his hush money as well as the other two and the $15B JP Dejoria stupidly just paid me because i Told Jesse to tell his father in law that Jesse is a stupid piece of shit which he didn't.

And of course I will invest in schools across the nation, installing playgrounds at any schools that do not have them, including intermediate, Jr high, middle, High and etc.. And may be finally lockers at least were I'm centrally located and/or where i want to be, namely at high schools at least.

Because that is what I want to do. Make people happy in the funniest ways possible.

And if there is any left I want to reinvest at the parks i originally invested in, initially, to make them better snd brighter, starting at the older to the newer.

I want the world to seem happier and brighter and in the case of schools at least around here once they hit 7th grade (middle school) they change schools to those that no longer have lockers or desks to put things in, 7 or more teachers to please instead of one or two they spend all day with, like a parent who gives love and kindness and retribution, they go through puberty which in itself is a chore. Then the kids riot. I've seen it in small schools and i know it happens in big ones. 20 in one week at the beginning of school less than a mile from my house where i can hear the school bell.

And so they need a place to sleep their weary heads like the shoulder of an old friend instead of weeping a soul they can no longer call their own.

The secrets i have included here broke my heart to where it actually stopped over and over.

Instead of asking what was wrong, Mr Moneybags Jesse sent me to the doctor alone. -.-

He could have provided me with what i needed like I provided and protected him from Ms Dejoria and Mark Hindberg, Afghanistan and Iraq, which I will no longer do.

He is the one that encouraged Michael Jackson to pickpocket the slaves he had created.

Yes Michael Jackson is Wacko, is Him and is burning in Hell because I killed him with my own pistol Jesse had stolen from a cop, altered and resold to himself at a cheaper price than the way over inflated price he created to create a deficit in his company to receive a refund from the US government's IRS Department in the amount of $8,000 instead of paying the $1M he owed.

I plead guilty before a judge and Uncle Donald, Mrs Katherine Jackson, the Anne my 4 year old daughter that Michael Jackson attempted to rape in front of me, as well as Robby, my true love and of course Sunny and Jesse James himself whom gave me the gun.

Then, before then President Barack Obama, i was exonerated and pardoned completely without the possibility of parole or any other misconceptions that would be included with self defense manslaughter.

This week total I have arrested a total of 19 men and women thanks to the CIA as an unpaid civilian.

That would guarantee me Presidentship of one really great country, now, wouldn't it?

Thanks. And not to be repeated: No more games. Only truth.

Until next time my fair weather friends!

Now! Let's grab the bookie!!! Snag! You're in jail. What did ya know, Mike Andrews, I knew all along that Mark Hindberg was FBI. Why didn't you think that?

Moving along, hi JP. How are you? No one cares. Good thing you trusted into your rapist daughter who was married to a true hero whom puts up with my shit even after we name him Mr Vomit cause I make him so scared he actually vomits like I did tonight (that's included. No more scare, only truth)

Oh yes, JP, you have already been arrested and so you know -- you have no guns with you, right? Alexis Dejoria is no rapist, she's actually an excellent FBI agent whom hates her dad and is included in any exonerations I may have to hand out butbat my leisurely pace, because she actually didn't rape anybody!

Also the US government will pay your wages as you did file a lawsuit this very week by signing up with Namus.gov like we all did.

She like me, was an unpaid civilian whom ran into luck. While she's smart, she's not smart like me. Thus she's the FBI vs me who is CIA and can work against the world in a millisecond as i usually do and have in Afghanistan and Iraq where i protected many NHRA members during their tours in the US Military while they served with Jesse James and my little brother and were even kidnapped thanks to Matt Hagan's temper tantrum and Jesse James refusal to listen to command. Eventually I saved them from that too in a day and 6 hours after leaving base. They were involuntary bound and gagged and beaten within 20 minutes of their capture. Within the next 20 when I was finally told of their status they were rescued by Tony Schumacher and his team.

And now i have saved the NHRA from being beaten and raped and tortured. My time to continue here at home is not wasted,

I love you all and thank you very much for listening...

And now i have something to say about Jesse since i made him puke from a lie via email Because he made me mad for being a Dick douchebag and not caring enough about me, not wrecking his motorcycle and then lying to make me feel bad and stupider than ever although I saw the wreck and my being a girl, up and President running, couldn't stop to rescue or assist a man on his feet whom had already picked up his bike after a wipe out and the trailer passed me up to show me he would assist because forgive those trespassers as we trespass ourselves and i care that he could really been hurt. That may be a fault of mine but it is called Grace and not salvation which is being my daughter reincarnated into a goat in Iraq to keep everyone safe because Jesse is a dumb dumb sometimes and Matt Hagan prefers truth over himself, sometimes. Like being in love with a goat of my daughter's soul, in Iraq. (I bet he fucked her, too. Bestiality freak. Not my business tho, nor yours. But still, let's laugh instead of poking fun at his misadventures. It is funny, yo!)

Jesse cared about the goat so much he listened to her over every one, even me. Because he believed she was closer to God where he needed to be..

I changed his life once in Alabama and several times then, over and over, any time that need be.

But finally for this one time he trusted somebody else and learned to love as much as he could, the soul inside of him.

So God bless to all of the two headed creatures we will see wandering around the backs of people at the NHRA in the future to come. Including even on me.

I'm Mrs Cougar cause of my fingernails and my desire to be with someone young to keep me fresh and Alive -- not by his blood byt by the life he gives me. And he will be Mr Snake the one who slithers up beside me only for love while I labor in the grass kicking myself for what i might have done but not for what i might have missed out on because I was there the whole time thinking and feeling and frolicking through the grass, same as me.

And of course my tattoo will be scary cause the world as I know it, very much can be.

And you can thank me for the past or you can think about the future and beyond!!!

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nameless-stick · 6 years ago

Text

Asylum-Delirious x Reader

This story was inspired by D_KaiLani Beast-Delirious x Reader-go read their books their are 👌👌👌

RIP this story-it literally goes from 100 all the way to 0 towards the end.

"Hey Y/N?" Brock asked taking a seat in front of Y/N, her nose stuck up a book and a warm cup of coffee next to her "did you here about the new patient?" He asked worried, his hands wrapped around a cup of a classic plain white mug with coffee, steam drifted upwards and curled around his face, his sunglasses hanging low below his eyes as he stared Y/N, she seems unfazed by this news as she, with a sigh of announce, put her book down.

"Yes Brock" she rolled her eyes "I know, I'm the one taking care of him" she glared at him.

"Oh...I'm sorry I didn't know" he mumbled looking away form her, his cheeks a soft shade of pink.

"It's fine" she huffed feeling a bit guilty for being so rude but that was her states around here, she was stone cold, she had the heart of a bitter ruler, unfazed by those around her, unloveable and unmovable to the patients around her. Her back was always straight and her hair pulled back to the point as if it was going to pull its self right out of her scalp, her black blazer was always primped to perfection, not a single crease or stain to be seen, A white button up shirt and long black trousers and classic black heels, Her clipboard always by her side and a black ink pen resting on her ear, she was basically the poster boy of every insane asylum psychiatrist.

"Are you even the slightest bit worried that something may happen?" Brock asked taking a small sip of his bitter coffee, his facial expression helped clarify this.

"Brock, I've worked here for 5 years and not once have I broken" she said blatantly "I highly doubt that he'll have any effect on me" she looked down to her cup of coffee, small swirls if steam danced on top of the flat, still coffee "if anything I'll be the last time they ever move him" she shrugged picking up the coffee and taking a small sip, the warmth and bitterness of the brown liquid swirled around her mouth coating it and her throat as she swallowed it. After years of drinking this she had gotten use to it, while the others around her still wrinkled their noses to the smell of it.

"Yeah....I guess..."Brock chuckled softly

Y/N could tell that something different with now, like a switch had flipped inside of him, any other time he'd be chirpy and all smiles, making the others around him smile with his bad puns so him stuttering was something very unusual. She narrowed her eyes at him as he looked to the window in the small break room, thick, rusted bars lined the window vertically and horizontally. The outside shined a small amount of light as trees covered the outside of it, vines dangled from the top of ten window and lined against the panel. She simply shrugged it off as him just being nervous about the new arrival, after all he was a demented, psychotic, deranged murder that kept driving those who attempted to take care of him to the brick of madness and killing themself.

She looked down to the small black watch around her wrist and sighed, she had only 5 minutes till she had to go for her first meeting with the him, she began her mental list of questions she'd be asking him. The simple things like what is his name, what was he before he went mad-the simple things you'd ask first before hand.

"You should probably get going" Brock gave a sheepish nervous smile.

"Speak of the Devil I was just about to leave" she gave him a small smile back, simply just trying to comfort him. Though he's been working here for about a year he still gets really nervous form time to time when a new patient arrives.

Y/N collected her book and soon to be cold coffee and walked up to the sink in the small break room, carelessly pooring the coffee right down the drain and just leaving the cup of the side, she paced her book in her locker in the small room and grabbed her clipboard and rested her classic black ink pen on her ear and walked out. She was greeted with the small of lingering bleach and stale bed sheets, the walls and tiles bleached white with lingering cobwebs that dangled form the ceiling. Long narrow lights hung form the Ceiling light up the long, never ending halls, the noises of patients beginning to wake up filled the building, some laughing, some yelling and some begging for attention. She began to walk to her new patients room, the loud clicks of her heels sent on the other patients quiet, she was often feared by many for her stone heart. she was informed that his room was in the more-guarded section of building, the underground section of building with more guards and cameras on 24/7 in every hallway and room in all 4 corners. Long hallways led to their rooms with a password key pad in the beginning of the hallways and two guards heavily armed at the entrance of the said patient room, their rooms bare with only a bed that was bolted into the concrete floor, a small desk in the center of room that was to bolted into the ground and two simple class room chairs and a toilet and sink, padded was added to the sides of the walls to prevent the patient from hurting them selfs. A chain was to alway be wrapped around the patients ankles and bolted into the wall, only giving them enough space to reach their bed, toilet, desk and sink. A mental jacket was to always be worn, third entire outfit was to be no other colors then white and the occasional blood stains at the end of their pants.

She stopped when she saw the warning sign sign with bolded letters above the elevator that took her down to floor with the more guards and the mad patients

Warning-all unauthorized personal will be arrested on sight-Do not entire.

She rolled her eyes and pressed the up button presuming that the elevator was already at the bottom floor, the soft faint glow of yellow light the button up and rumbling of the elevator being pulled up followed by the dinging of the doors slowly opening up, two heavily padded guards stood at the entrance and stared Y/N down, they noticed her tag and taped our do the way allowing her in. She walked in and the guard closest to the panel with only the up and down button pressed the down and the doors slowly closed and with another soft ding they started to go down, the soft hum of the elevator going down was the only noise in the small corridor. After a few minutes they stopped and a ding erupted yet again followed by the doors opening up reviling the kind wide hallway, windows with guards that had the weak eye view of everything, stared Y/N down, guards lined the wide hallway with double steel doors that slid open, with 15 feet of space in between each door.. She took a step out of the elevator and looked the doors up and down, reading the numbers packed int the center of each door. She was looking for door 13 and low and behold it was all the way down at the end of hallway.

"Room 13?" A guard approached her, he was dressed head to toe with a all black padded combat outfit and a helmet with a gray panel that covered his eyes.

"Yes" she handed him her clipboard with the paper work saying she was assigned to said room

"Alright" he nodded his head "follow me" he began to walk down the hallway, she followed close behind him, unfazed by the crazy laughter that erupted form each hallway they passed. The guards all stood stiff as stone figures frozen in time, all to unfazed by the psychotic laughter.

They stopped at door 13 and the guard that accompanied Y/N walked up to the panel and typed in the password, Y/N no need or care to look at the password, she's for all she knew wasn't even suppose to type it in only the guards were allowed. After a couple of beeps and a final ding the door opened reviling the long narrow dimly light hallway, the guard with Y/N stepped out of her way and she walked down the hallway, the doors behind her slammed shut, the loud bang alerted the new patient as a deep spin chilling laughter began to fill the hallway. Y/N grew closer to the door, a small slit in the middle of the door showed her knew patient, he was sitting upright on his bed and his head hanging low.

The two guards gave a quick glance to Y/N before the doors opened up, the patient looked up and stopped laughing, he stared her down as she walked into the room and placed her clipboard into the desk and took a seat, crossing her legs and resting her hands in her lap

"Hello Jonathan" she said emotionless, first impressions always matter and this would help to show her stone heart and unloveable mind set to him. his eyes began looking her up and down. He slowly stood up, his unnaturally bright glowing sapphire blue eyes running all around her body, she could tell he was obviously sizing her and only gave out a single huff as to say its was pointless.

"Please call me Delirious" he smirked showing his sharp fang like canines, he stood 6f perfectly(I'm making this shit up okay), the sides of his dark brown almost black hair was shaved but the top was spiked and swirled to the right. she rolled her eyes knowing damn well she wasn't going to comply to his orders, that was one way many patients in that building tricked their psychiatrist into doing what they ask them "so, your the one everyone keeps talking about? Your the big bad Y/N, the one who can break oh wait sorry-fix-those who can not fix them self?" He'd asked walking toward her, he got to his chair but the chains around his ankle stopped him from going any further.

"I suppose so" she shrugged "and it's nice to know that you already know my name anyways why don't you take a seat" she pointed to the chair neck to him "and we both can get to know each other better" she leaned forward and folded her hands with a flat expression

He narrowed his eyes at her as he slowly sat down, resting on the back of the chair "sure" he shrugged

"So tell me Jonathan" she moved her clipboard closer to herself, internally smirking knowing that this was going to get him annoyed and teach him she wasn't to be messed with.

"I said call me Delirious" he growled

"Why do you call your self that name?" She asked titling her head slightly "why do you go by some 'codename' instead of your regular one? Does it remind you of your past? Does it remind you of who you were before you went insane?" She couldn't hold back the small smirk forming onto her face as she watched his face start to grow red with anger

"I've always been insane" he said bitterly "I've never had a past where I wasn't insane"

"Hm-sure" she shrugged "so since the day you were born you always had this desire to kill is that correct?" She asked "this desire to hurt others for the fun of it?"

He sat their confused, staring her down "What?"

"Well you just said you've always been insane, so that must mean that the day were born, the day you could form complete thoughts, the day you could speak and walk you alway had this desire?" She asked resting her head onto her hands which were propped up.

"W-What?" He said baffled by this, This wasn't the reaction he wanted, he wants her to be afraid, to be intimidated by him no for her to be talking him down, no be showing him wrong. He wasn't use to this and he didn't like it one bit.

"The day you were brought into this world you could only think of your murderous way, you deadly ideas-is that correct?" She hummed

"I really don't like you" he said standing up, his bright, unnaturally glowing, sapphire blue eyes stared her down, hatred and anger danced in them.

"I'm only clarifying what you said" she shrugged

"Fine then, I haven't always been insane!" He growled walking backwards to his bed

"That's what I though" she grabbed her clipboard and quickly wrote down some points "So Jonathan" she looked up form the broad as the squeaking of springs being squished followed by Jonathan mumbling under his breath looking her dead in the eyes "what can you remember before you went crazy?"

"I don't remember much" he mumbled looking at the plan, padded walls, the dips spaced ever foot up and down, left and right formed perfect squares all throughout the small room "all I really remember was my mom and dad always fighting a lot me hanging out with my friends" he shrugged

"Okay that's a start" Y/N quickly jotted down some more points "when's the earliest memory you have?" She asked

"Why do you care?" He said while laying down "why don't I get to know something about you?"

"Tell your earliest memory and I'll tell you a bit about myself" Y/N offered

He turned his head towards her and rolled his eyes "fine" he said looking back up to the ceiling "the earliest memory I have is if when I was 6, I was sitting on the floor coloring away at some random picture of me and my family, at the time I was unaware of things happening between my mom and dad-I shouldn't even be calling her my mom..." he paused biting his bottom lip, trying to remember more "my mom stormed into the room I was in and started cursing and yelling at random things, dishes or piles of trash, she was probably drunk as all hell come to think of it and I being the dumbass little shit I was though it was a good time to get up and show her the picture I drew, so putting all the broken crayons I had into a pile and grabbing the picture I walked up to her"

"Mommy! Mommy! Look at what I made!" Jonathan walked to his mom with a wide, tooth smile holding up the messy colored picture up in the air, his mom turned around and looked at him with disgust then looked down to the picture "do you like it! Can I put it up on the fridge!" He asked putting it up higher.

"What the fuck NO! I am not putting that piece of shit anywhere in this house" she yelled at him as she grabbed the drawing form little Jonathan's hands and ripped it right in half in front of him and through it to the sides before storming out of the room-leaving little Jonathan with his hands still up in the air and tears starting to form in his eyes

"She just ripped it right in half, right in front of my eyes-my dad came home to find me sobbing in my bed with the ripped drawing clutch in my hands" he said softly "there, earliest memory I have know it's your turn" he turned to her.

"Okay" she paused trying to comprehend everything just said, she didn't know wether or not to believe it, most psychos are able to trick people into believe their lies about a fucked up past, with fake crying and such. "You can ask me a question" she said randomly to her surprised, this wasn't like her, she never offered her patients a chance to ask her anything.

"Okay then" he sat up taking a deep breath "Why here?" He asked

"What?" She replied confused

"Why work at a place as twisted as here" He looked around the plan room, he would point or wave his hand but they were currently wrapped tightly around his body. She narrowed her eyes waiting for that last part of the question, there's normal always a second part of a question that normal involves her gender "why not work somewhere more for a women?" His story about a tragic past maybe be nothing more but a lie as most psychos or crazy people have the ability to switch between moods and emotions-one second they could be as mad and bull at the sight of the color red to as happy as a kid in a candy store.

She glared him down "and what other jobs do you think is more fitting for women?" She bite her tongue waiting for his answer.

But she got nothing more but a deep chuckle and just by that she could already tell what he was getting at, at first it was a low chuckle but as the second passed it grew more louder and violent "trust me babe" he snapped at her "you don't wanna know what I'm thinking of" her ideas on Jonathan switching moods like a girl switch boy friends was correct.

Anyone would have been disgusted just at the hearing if this but Y/N has heard it all so this didn't faze her, not one bit all. She was used to all the comments she get, she was use to threats and catcalls, she was use to the intimidation and seduction by her patients, most people would have just quieted right there, right there on the spot but Y/N didn't care for it. If anything watching those attempts at swaying her gave her a good laugh. She simply sighed as she stood up, there Time was up anyways and turned for the door.

"Goodbye Jonathan" she said flatly waiting for the Doors to open, she never bothered to look back at the mad man she'd be stuck with for god knows how long.

"Goodbye" he extended the goodbye as he stared Y/N down as she walked through the doors "I look forward to our future conversation!" he laughed loudly, his sick laughter echoed throughout the hallway and followed Y/N. The twistedness of his laughter grew more and more stronger as she continue walked down the hallway, her face flat as she yet again approached the elevator. Even in the elevator she still could hear him, she still could feel his stare, the stare of his unnatural blue eyes. They followed her.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

And I hate this.

#x reader #h20 delirious #h2o delirious #delirious #asylum

28 notes · View notes

killswitchwrites · 6 years ago

Text

The Beginning at the End

Chapter 27: The Yoko Ono Effect

Chapter Summary: Alexis tasks Bobby with finding Agnes while she tracks down Sam.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Language

Beta’d by: @trexrambling

Cheer Squad: @pinknerdpanda

Series Masterlist

Previously on TBATE:

“Wait! I have to know, what’s inside of me?”

“Find my sisterhood, they will help you expel the one whose pain darkens your soul.”

“Who is she, Agnes?”

“Your time here is done.” Once again she places her hands on my shoulders. “You should know, she was not always evil.”

I wake up with a gasp and a retching cough.

“I thought I was gonna have to throw this on ya,” Bobby says, handing me a glass of lukewarm tap water.

I chug it down in big gulps, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand before passing the glass back to him. “Thanks for waiting, this mascara isn’t waterproof.” Despite the water, I sound like a chainsmoker.

“Where’d ya end up?” Bobby eyes me with suspicion.

“I’m not sure where, or when I ended up, but there was a woman, Agnes. She said I needed to look for her sisterhood.”

“Sisterhood? She some sort of coven leader?”

“I dunno, maybe. What do you know about something called the Book of the Damned?”

“Nothing I’ve ever heard of. Sounds downright delightful though,” Bobby says, turning to wheel himself in the direction of his desk.

When I try to sit up on the couch, my head spins, and I take a moment to let the room settle around me. “Any news on the end of the world?”

Bobby hesitates before answering, “Cas found a possible lead in Maine. Dean went with him.”

“And Sam?”

Bobby becomes intensely focused on digging through the stacks of papers on his desk.

“Bobby,” I press, “is Sam okay?”

“I sent them to check out a case, it didn’t end well. They had a fight. Sam’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“He decided to take a little vacation to get his head right.”

“A vacation,” I scoff, slowly getting to my feet, “in the middle of an apocalypse?”

Bobby ignores my question and hands me a musty looking leather wrapped nightmare. “I suggest you get reading.”

I see right through his plan and put the book down on his desk a little heavier than necessary. “Research isn’t really my thing.”

Bobby squints at me, and I refuse to blink. “Fine,” he barks, “he’s in Garber, Oklahoma.”

“Let me know what you find out about Agnes.”

“Well yes ma’am,” he drawls with an exaggerated eye roll.

Deciding to not engage in another battle of wills with him, I turn on my heel and head for the front door.

“You’re smart enough to know that what happened between them ain’t your fault, aren’t ya?”

I look over my shoulder and offer him a sad smile, “Yeah, sure.”

____

“Have you seen this guy?” I ask, holding up the photo for the third time in as many nights.

“What’s the matter, little lady, your beau walk out on you?”

“Yeah, something like that. Have you seen him?”

Mr. Comb Over squints a little closer before flicking his eyes back to mine. “Sorry, haven’t seen him.”

The man looks about as trustworthy as a toilet seat at a trucker stop. “The sign out front says you have vacancies, mind checking me in?” I ask, handing him a fake credit card.

“Yeah, about that, sign’s broke.” He pushes the credit card back across the counter with one stubby, yellow nailed finger. I contemplate burning the card right where it is rather than touching it again.

“Huh… what are the chances,” I muse with a scowl, collecting my card and making a mental note to wash my hands with bleach.

“Place down the road might have something,” he offers with an insincere smile.

I murmur a ‘thanks’ that sounds more like ‘fuck you’ before getting back into my car and heading to the nearest dive bar to earn a little walking around money. Not that I really need it since reclaiming my inheritance, but still, it’s fun hustling the locals.

The nearly full parking lot of a place called “Hoyt’s” catches my eye, and I pull into a spot near the back corner. The jukebox inside is playing an old honky tonk classic and, lo and behold, there stands Sam, towering above everyone else, holding a conversation with a group of men.

Hunters, by the look of them. His name dies on my lips, and I watch quietly while Sam leads them over to a table in the corner.

They all settle in with their beers, except for Sam; his posture remains rigid. Whatever they’re saying, he’s not happy about it.

I quickly scan the place and realize I’m not the only one watching Sam. There’s a pretty blonde leaning on the bar, sipping a soda, with a puzzled expression creasing her eyebrows. She doesn’t give me fatal attraction vibes, so I turn my attention back to Sam. His companions are just getting to their feet, a sour expression on all their faces. I duck my head when they walk past me, mumbling about how Sam has lost his edge.

The peppy looking blonde bounces her way over to Sam. While he’s distracted, I sneak out to find a motel for the night. Whatever Sam has going for him now, I don’t want to get in the way of. Maybe he’ll be better off without all of us.

The motel Mr. Comb Over pointed me towards is just as rundown as every other motel I’ve been in since starting my nomadic existence. It’s enough to make me think that either all the chains are owned by the same person, or that middle American motels are all part of one of the circles of Hell. I spy a suspicious stain on the comforter and decide it’s most likely the latter.

After stripping the bed and rolling out my own sleeping bag, I settle in and try to grab a few hours of shut eye.

“Sam! No!”

I push my legs to run faster. Over and over his fist connects with Dean’s face, quickly turning it unrecognizable. I don’t understand why he’s not fighting back. “Sam!” My toe catches with a crunch on a disintegrated tombstone. I ignore the pain that shoots through my foot and up my shin and push myself harder. They’re too far away, I’ll never reach them before Sam beats his brother to death.

“Sam! Please!” I yell once more, panic turning my voice shrill. Sam finally pauses his assault on Dean, only to shoot me a sneer that looks nothing like any expression Sam could ever be capable of making. I skid to a stop a few paces away, unease twisting my stomach into knots as I raise my hands. “Sam, what are you doing?”

“Sorry, sweet cheeks, Sammy boy’s not in the driver's seat anymore. I’ll be sure to tell him you stopped by.” Sam lifts his hand, and I feel a pop in my chest…

The harsh ring of my cellphone drags me out of my nightmare at just the right time. I quickly roll to my side and vomit over the edge of the bed.

My phone continues to ring and I grope along the nightstand for it. “Hello?”

“Alexis?” Bobby’s gruff voice questions.

“Yeah, gimmie a second.”

I get up with a groan and drag myself to the bathroom sink. I chug down a few swallows before turning my attention to Bobby. “Hey, what’s up?”

“You sound like death, you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Guess I shoulda skipped the gas station sushi.” A wet hiccup threatens to make matters worse, and I pause to hold my breath. When I’m sure it’s not a portent to more vomit I ask, “You got something for me?”

“I have a strong maybe. I found a text that mentioned a coven of witches and, if you believe the hype, they were founded by the original witch.”

“This witch have a name?”

“The book doesn’t give a name for the witch, but they go by ‘The Grand Coven’.”

“That’s not pretentious at all.”

Bobby snorts out a laugh, “It gets better. Bet you can’t guess where they’re located.”

“Please say something more original than Salem.”

“I wish I could.”

“Looks like I’m going on a road trip.”

“In that case, you might want to stick with the usual road trip snacks and leave the sushi for the hoity toity types.”

“I’ll take that under advisement.”

After hanging up with Bobby, I repack my duffle bag and head for the car. I leave the vomit stain as my contribution to the decor.

Trusting my gut was right about the manager, I stop in at the Grand Plains motel before leaving town. I knock on the door of the first room and wait.

Sam answers my knock, and his face twists into an almost comical look of confusion.

“Hiya, Sam.”

“Lexi... wh-what? How did you find me?”

I push past him into the room and cross my arms over my chest. “Care to tell me why you’re hanging out at a podunk bar when the world is all but ending?”

“It’s complicated.” He matches my stance.

“I’m sure I can keep up.”

“You left. Why do you care where I end up?”

“Sam,” I sigh, “I didn’t leave because I didn’t care.” I drop my arms to hang uselessly at my sides when what I really want to do is wrap them around Sam and ask him to forgive me.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he accuses, walking further into the room to sit down on the tousled bed. Sam leans forward, rests his forearms on his thighs, and hangs his head. His disheveled hair falls to cover his face. The defeat in his posture is enough to pull me towards him. I kneel on the floor in front of him and, rather than look at me, he turns his head away.

“Sam, please, look at me,” I implore him, moving to tuck a few strands of hair behind his ear so I can see his face.

He captures my hand in his before I can drop it. “I can’t,” he clears the lump from his throat, “I’m dangerous, and Dean’s better off without me.”

“I’ll take Bullshit for $500, Alex.”

Sam whips his head to meet my gaze, his eyes flashing with anger. “It’s not bullshit, I started the damn apocalypse!”

“Technically, that was Dean,” I argue back, unfazed by his outburst.

“What?”

“Dean broke the first seal when he got off the rack. But if you’re looking for someone to blame, maybe you should blame your mom for making the deal with Azazel. And hey, since we’re assigning blame, why not throw God into the mix?”

“This isn’t a joke, Alexis.”

“That’s good because I’m not joking. There are a lot of people who have had a hand in what’s going on, why should you be so special and get to carry all the blame yourself?”

Sam glares, but I refuse to back down. A few beats pass, and the fight leaves his eyes.“You may be right, but at least none of them are the true vessel for Lucifer,” he mutters.

“So? You’re the vessel for Lucifer, big friggin’ whoop. That doesn’t mean you have to say yes.”

“But he said-”

“Lucifer is a flaccid bag of wind, he can’t force you to do anything.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple, you’re just overthinking things, Sam. All you have to do is keep saying no until you find a weapon to kill him.”

“He’s the devil.”

“No, he’s an angel with daddy issues, and you’re going to gank his ass because you are Sam Fucking Winchester.” I grab his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me. “Not the boy with demon blood, not the guy who started the apocalypse, not the kid brother of the righteous man. You’re Sam, and Sam is just what this world needs to save it. So get off your ass and get back into the fight.”

“Inspiring speech, Coach. You work on that on the way over?”

“Shut up.”

“Say I decide to fight, what’s the point? If we manage to stop this apocalypse, what about the next one? Because you know as well as I do that there’s no retiring, there’s no white picket fence and 2.5 kids. We might as well let the world end now.”

“That’s it! On your feet right now,” I say, jumping to my feet.

“What? Why?”

“Because I’m gonna kick your ass!” I shove up the sleeves of my flannel and beckon him towards me.

“Lex-” My slap upside his head halts his argument. “Ow, what the hell!?”

“I’m serious, Sam. Either stand up and fight, or sit there and get bitchslapped.” I swing for his head again, and he ducks the blow.

“Enough!” Sam springs to his feet, and I jump back with a surprised squeak.

Instead of swinging for me, he grabs my wrists and pulls me toward him. I fold myself against his chest, and he wraps his arms around me. “Enough, I’ll call Dean.”

“Good,” I mumble against his warm skin, “I didn’t want to have to kick your ass.”

His chuckle rumbles through me, and I pull back with a smile.

“Will you come back with me?” Sam asks, and my smile falters.

“I can’t right now.”

“So you get to run, but I can’t?” Sam relaxes his hold, and I step out of his embrace.

“I’m not running, exactly. I think I finally have a lead on what’s wrong with me, and I have to look into it. I need answers about who, or what, I am. Please understand.”

“Promise me that you’ll come back,” he says, and once again I curse his puppy dog eyes. Life would be so much easier if I were a cat person.

“I promise, Sam.”

OC not your thing? I have plenty of Reader Insert HERE

#spn fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #dean x oc #tbate series #my scribbles

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starringemiliaclarke · 6 years ago

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Emilia Clarke, of “Game of Thrones,” on Surviving Two Life-Threatening Aneurysms

Just when all my childhood dreams seemed to have come true, I nearly lost my mind and then my life. I’ve never told this story publicly, but now it’s time.

It was the beginning of 2011. I had just finished filming the first season of “Game of Thrones,” a new HBO series based on George R. R. Martin’s “A Song of Ice and Fire” novels. With almost no professional experience behind me, I’d been given the role of Daenerys Targaryen, also known as Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Lady of Dragonstone, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons. As a young princess, Daenerys is sold in marriage to a musclebound Dothraki warlord named Khal Drogo. It’s a long story—eight seasons long—but suffice to say that she grows in stature and in strength. She becomes a figure of power and self-possession. Before long, young girls would dress in platinum wigs and flowing robes to be Daenerys Targaryen for Halloween.

The show’s creators, David Benioff and D. B. Weiss, have said that my character is a blend of Napoleon, Joan of Arc, and Lawrence of Arabia. And yet, in the weeks after we finished shooting the first season, despite all the looming excitement of a publicity campaign and the series première, I hardly felt like a conquering spirit. I was terrified. Terrified of the attention, terrified of a business I barely understood, terrified of trying to make good on the faith that the creators of “Thrones” had put in me. I felt, in every way, exposed. In the very first episode, I appeared naked, and, from that first press junket onward, I always got the same question: some variation of “You play such a strong woman, and yet you take off your clothes. Why?” In my head, I’d respond, “How many men do I need to kill to prove myself?”

To relieve the stress, I worked out with a trainer. I was a television actor now, after all, and that is what television actors do. We work out. On the morning of February 11, 2011, I was getting dressed in the locker room of a gym in Crouch End, North London, when I started to feel a bad headache coming on. I was so fatigued that I could barely put on my sneakers. When I started my workout, I had to force myself through the first few exercises.

Then my trainer had me get into the plank position, and I immediately felt as though an elastic band were squeezing my brain. I tried to ignore the pain and push through it, but I just couldn’t. I told my trainer I had to take a break. Somehow, almost crawling, I made it to the locker room. I reached the toilet, sank to my knees, and proceeded to be violently, voluminously ill. Meanwhile, the pain—shooting, stabbing, constricting pain—was getting worse. At some level, I knew what was happening: my brain was damaged.

For a few moments, I tried to will away the pain and the nausea. I said to myself, “I will not be paralyzed.” I moved my fingers and toes to make sure that was true. To keep my memory alive, I tried to recall, among other things, some lines from “Game of Thrones.”

I heard a woman’s voice coming from the next stall, asking me if I was O.K. No, I wasn’t. She came to help me and maneuvered me onto my side, in the recovery position. Then everything became, at once, noisy and blurry. I remember the sound of a siren, an ambulance; I heard new voices, someone saying that my pulse was weak. I was throwing up bile. Someone found my phone and called my parents, who live in Oxfordshire, and they were told to meet me at the emergency room of Whittington Hospital.

A fog of unconsciousness settled over me. From an ambulance, I was wheeled on a gurney into a corridor filled with the smell of disinfectant and the noises of people in distress. Because no one knew what was wrong with me, the doctors and nurses could not give me any drugs to ease the pain.

Finally, I was sent for an MRI, a brain scan. The diagnosis was quick and ominous: a subarachnoid hemorrhage (SAH), a life-threatening type of stroke, caused by bleeding into the space surrounding the brain. I’d had an aneurysm, an arterial rupture. As I later learned, about a third of SAH patients die immediately or soon thereafter. For the patients who do survive, urgent treatment is required to seal off the aneurysm, as there is a very high risk of a second, often fatal bleed. If I was to live and avoid terrible deficits, I would have to have urgent surgery. And, even then, there were no guarantees.

I was taken by ambulance to the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery, a beautiful redbrick Victorian pile in central London. It was nighttime. My mum slept in my hospital ward, slumped in a chair, as I kept falling in and out of sleep, in a state of drugged wooziness, shooting pain, and persistent nightmares.

I remember being told that I should sign a release form for surgery. Brain surgery? I was in the middle of my very busy life—I had no time for brain surgery. But, finally, I settled down and signed. And then I was unconscious. For the next three hours, surgeons went about repairing my brain. This would not be my last surgery, and it would not be the worst. I was twenty-four years old.

I grew up in Oxford and rarely gave a thought to my health. Nearly all I thought about was acting. My dad was a sound designer. He worked on productions of “West Side Story” and “Chicago” in the West End. My mother was, and is, a businesswoman, the vice-president of marketing for a global management consultancy. We weren’t wealthy, but my brother and I went to private schools. Our parents, who wanted everything for us, struggled to keep up with the fees.

I have no clear memory of when I first decided to be an actor. I’m told I was around three or four. When I went with my dad to theatres, I was entranced by backstage life: the gossip, the props, the costumes, all the urgent and whispered hubbub in the near darkness. When I was three, my father took me to see a production of “Show Boat.” Although I was ordinarily a loud and antsy child, I sat silent and rapt in the audience for more than two hours. When the curtain came down, I stood on my seat and clapped wildly over my head.

I was hooked. At home, I played a VHS tape of “My Fair Lady” so many times that it snapped from wear. I think I took the Pygmalion story as a sign of how, and with enough rehearsal and a good director, you can become someone else. I don’t think my dad was pleased when I announced that I wanted to be an actor. He knew plenty of actors and, to his mind, they were habitually neurotic and unemployed.

My school, in Oxford, the Squirrel School, was idyllic, orderly, and sweet. When I was five, I got the lead part in a play. When it came time to take the stage and deliver my lines, though, I forgot everything. I just stood there, center stage, stock-still, taking it all in. In the front row, the teachers were trying to help by mouthing my lines. But I just stood there, with no fear, very calm. It’s a state of mind that has carried me throughout my career. These days, I can be on a red carpet with a thousand cameras clicking away and I’m unfazed. Of course, put me at a dinner party with six people and that’s another matter.

With time, I got better at acting. I even remembered my lines. But I was hardly a prodigy. When I was ten, my dad took me to an audition in the West End for a production of Neil Simon’s “The Goodbye Girl.” When I got inside, I realized that every girl trying out for this part was singing a song from “Cats.” The only thing I could come up with was an English folk song, “Donkey Riding.” After listening rather patiently, someone asked, “How about something more . . . contemporary?” I sang the Spice Girls hit “Wannabe.” My dad’s hands practically covered his face. I didn’t get the part, and I think it was a blessing. My dad said, “It would have been hard reading anything bad about you in the paper.”

But I kept at it. In school productions, I played Anita in “West Side Story,” Abigail in “The Crucible,” one of the witches in “Macbeth,” Viola in “Twelfth Night.” After secondary school, I took a gap year, during which I worked as a waitress and went backpacking in Asia. Then I started classes at the Drama Centre London to pursue my B.A. As fledgling actors, we studied everything from “The Cherry Orchard” to “The Wire.” I didn’t get the ingénue parts. Those went to the tall, willowy, impossibly blond girls. I got cast as a Jewish mother in “Awake and Sing!” You should hear my Bronx accent.

After graduation, I made myself a promise: for one year, I would take only roles with some promise. I made the rent working in a pub, in a call center, and at an obscure museum, telling people that “the loos are just to the right.” Seconds lasted days. But I was determined: one year of no bad productions, no plays above a bar.

In the spring of 2010, my agent called to say that auditions were being held in London for a new HBO series. The pilot for “Game of Thrones” had been flawed and they wanted to re-cast, among other roles, Daenerys. The part called for an otherworldly, bleached-blond woman of mystery. I’m a short, dark-haired, curvy Brit. Whatever. To prepare, I learned these very strange lines for two scenes, one in Episode 4, in which my brother goes to hit me, and one in Episode 10, in which I walk into a fire and survive, unscathed.

In those days, I thought of myself as healthy. Sometimes I got a little light-headed, because I often had low blood pressure and a low heart rate. Once in a while, I’d get dizzy and pass out. When I was fourteen, I had a migraine that kept me in bed for a couple of days, and in drama school I’d collapse once in a while. But it all seemed manageable, part of the stress of being an actor and of life in general. Now I think that I might have been experiencing warning signs of what was to come.

I read for “Game of Thrones” in a tiny studio in Soho. Four days later, I got a call. Apparently, the audition hadn’t been a disaster. I was told to fly to Los Angeles in three weeks and read for Benioff and Weiss and the network executives. I started working out intensely to prepare. They flew me business class. I stole all the free tea from the lounge. At the audition, I tried not to look when I spotted another actor––tall, blond, willowy, beautiful––walking by. I read two scenes in a dark auditorium, for an audience of producers and executives. When it was over, I blurted out, “Can I do anything else?”

David Benioff said, “You can do a dance.” Never wanting to disappoint, I did the funky chicken and the robot. In retrospect, I could have ruined it all. I’m not the best dancer.

As I was leaving the auditorium, they ran after me and said, “Congratulations, Princess!” I had the part.

I could hardly catch my breath. I went back to the hotel, where some people invited me to a party on the roof. “I think I’m good!” I told them. Instead, I went to my room, ate Oreos, watched “Friends,” and called everyone I knew.

That first surgery was what is known as “minimally invasive,” meaning that they did not open up my skull. Rather, using a technique called endovascular coiling, the surgeon introduced a wire into one of the femoral arteries, in the groin; the wire made its way north, around the heart, and to the brain, where they sealed off the aneurysm.

The operation lasted three hours. When I woke, the pain was unbearable. I had no idea where I was. My field of vision was constricted. There was a tube down my throat and I was parched and nauseated. They moved me out of the I.C.U. after four days and told me that the great hurdle was to make it to the two-week mark. If I made it that long with minimal complications, my chances of a good recovery were high.

One night, after I’d passed that crucial mark, a nurse woke me and, as part of a series of cognitive exercises, she said, “What’s your name?” My full name is Emilia Isobel Euphemia Rose Clarke. But now I couldn’t remember it. Instead, nonsense words tumbled out of my mouth and I went into a blind panic. I’d never experienced fear like that—a sense of doom closing in. I could see my life ahead, and it wasn’t worth living. I am an actor; I need to remember my lines. Now I couldn’t recall my name.

I was suffering from a condition called aphasia, a consequence of the trauma my brain had suffered. Even as I was muttering nonsense, my mum did me the great kindness of ignoring it and trying to convince me that I was perfectly lucid. But I knew I was faltering. In my worst moments, I wanted to pull the plug. I asked the medical staff to let me die. My job—my entire dream of what my life would be—centered on language, on communication. Without that, I was lost.

I was sent back to the I.C.U. and, after about a week, the aphasia passed. I was able to speak. I knew my name—all five bits. But I was also aware that there were people in the beds around me who didn’t make it out of the I.C.U. I was continually reminded of just how fortunate I was. One month after being admitted, I left the hospital, longing for a bath and fresh air. I had press interviews to do and, in a matter of weeks, I was scheduled to be back on the set of “Game of Thrones.”

went back to my life, but, while I was in the hospital, I was told that I had a smaller aneurysm on the other side of my brain, and it could “pop” at any time. The doctors said, though, that it was small and it was possible it would remain dormant and harmless indefinitely. We would just keep a careful watch. And recovery was hardly instant. There was still the pain to deal with, and morphine to keep it at bay. I told my bosses at “Thrones” about my condition, but I didn’t want it to be a subject of public discussion and dissection. The show must go on!

Even before we began filming Season 2, I was deeply unsure of myself. I was often so woozy, so weak, that I thought I was going to die. Staying at a hotel in London during a publicity tour, I vividly remember thinking, I can’t keep up or think or breathe, much less try to be charming. I sipped on morphine in between interviews. The pain was there, and the fatigue was like the worst exhaustion I’d ever experienced, multiplied by a million. And, let’s face it, I’m an actor. Vanity comes with the job. I spent way too much time thinking about how I looked. If all this weren’t enough, I seemed to whack my head every time I tried to get in a taxi.

The reaction to Season 1 was, of course, fantastic, though I had very little knowledge then of how the world kept score. When a friend called me exclaiming, “You’re No. 1 on IMDb!” I said, “What is IMDb?”

On the first day of shooting for Season 2, in Dubrovnik, I kept telling myself, “I am fine, I’m in my twenties, I’m fine.” I threw myself into the work. But, after that first day of filming, I barely made it back to the hotel before I collapsed of exhaustion.

On the set, I didn’t miss a beat, but I struggled. Season 2 would be my worst. I didn’t know what Daenerys was doing. If I am truly being honest, every minute of every day I thought I was going to die.

In 2013, after finishing Season 3, I took a job on Broadway, playing Holly Golightly. The rehearsals were wonderful, but it was clear pretty soon that it was not going to be a success. The whole thing lasted only a couple of months.

While I was still in New York for the play, with five days left on my saginsurance, I went in for a brain scan—something I now had to do regularly. The growth on the other side of my brain had doubled in size, and the doctor said we should “take care of it.” I was promised a relatively simple operation, easier than last time. Not long after, I found myself in a fancy-pants private room at a Manhattan hospital. My parents were there. “See you in two hours,” my mum said, and off I went for surgery, another trip up the femoral artery to my brain. No problem.

Except there was. When they woke me, I was screaming in pain. The procedure had failed. I had a massive bleed and the doctors made it plain that my chances of surviving were precarious if they didn’t operate again. This time they needed to access my brain in the old-fashioned way—through my skull. And the operation had to happen immediately.

The recovery was even more painful than it had been after the first surgery. I looked as though I had been through a war more gruesome than any that Daenerys experienced. I emerged from the operation with a drain coming out of my head. Bits of my skull had been replaced by titanium. These days, you can’t see the scar that curves from my scalp to my ear, but I didn’t know at first that it wouldn’t be visible. And there was, above all, the constant worry about cognitive or sensory losses. Would it be concentration? Memory? Peripheral vision? Now I tell people that what it robbed me of is good taste in men. But, of course, none of this seemed remotely funny at the time.

I spent a month in the hospital again and, at certain points, I lost all hope. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye. There was terrible anxiety, panic attacks. I was raised never to say, “It’s not fair”; I was taught to remember that there is always someone who is worse off than you. But, going through this experience for the second time, all hope receded. I felt like a shell of myself. So much so that I now have a hard time remembering those dark days in much detail. My mind has blocked them out. But I do remember being convinced that I wasn’t going to live. And, what’s more, I was sure that the news of my illness would get out. And it did—for a fleeting moment. Six weeks after the surgery, the National Enquirer ran a short story. A reporter asked me about it and I denied it.

But now, after keeping quiet all these years, I’m telling you the truth in full. Please believe me: I know that I am hardly unique, hardly alone. Countless people have suffered far worse, and with nothing like the care I was so lucky to receive.

A few weeks after that second surgery, I went with a few other cast members to Comic-Con, in San Diego. The fans at Comic-Con are hardcore; you don’t want to disappoint them. There were several thousand people in the audience, and, right before we went on to answer questions, I was hit by a horrific headache. Back came that sickeningly familiar sense of fear. I thought, This is it. My time is up; I’ve cheated death twice and now he’s coming to claim me. As I stepped offstage, my publicist looked at me and asked what was wrong. I told her, but she said that a reporter from MTV was waiting for an interview. I figured, if I’m going to go, it might as well be on live television.

But I survived. I survived MTV and so much more. In the years since my second surgery I have healed beyond my most unreasonable hopes. I am now at a hundred per cent. Beyond my work as an actor, I’ve decided to throw myself into a charity I’ve helped develop in conjunction with partners in the U.K. and the U.S. It is called SameYou, and it aims to provide treatment for people recovering from brain injuries and stroke. I feel endless gratitude—to my mum and brother, to my doctors and nurses, to my friends. Every day, I miss my father, who died of cancer in 2016, and I can never thank him enough for holding my hand to the very end.

There is something gratifying, and beyond lucky, about coming to the end of “Thrones.” I’m so happy to be here to see the end of this story and the beginning of whatever comes next.

Emilia Clarke, of “Game of Thrones,” on Surviving Two Life-Threatening Aneurysms was originally published on Enchanting Emilia Clarke | Est 2012

#emilia clarke #game of thrones #game of thrones cast #GOT cast #daenerys targaryen #me before you #terminator

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averydecker1995 · 4 years ago

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Tesco Cat Spray Fascinating Tips

You should try to touch them, and they don't bark and cause a full litter.The most important priority because of several months but they will be as simple as buying a sprawling cat condo that includes a scratching post and praise your cat are his ears, eyes, and tail.Your pet will be able to get the clumping type of litter box; we have helped me keep peace in your home may be confused as to not bother going to be too far down.Use the best time to make amends to this cat behavior.

A 15 min. drive to the trouble areas may help, as your second cat.It will not be leaving them unattended in our home for the black cat is in heat, spray to let them sniff each others scent.Cats will respond to a happy life for both cats and this is still an experimental treatment.Dogs diagnosed with Lymes disease also show signs of infestation.Clean drinking water from a base will help protect the garden then be prepared for such mundane activities as cleaning up a few can be kind of odor remover near the tail.

Keep Away works differently by using a pair of clippers and I am going to see if you brush the tail.Food is less nutrient-rich because it is a spray form.How often you brush them, pet them and you.Then, get his, or her, carrier until everything else is equally beneficial with cat urine from the mouth: kidney and contains waste products from March and until brownish, do not eliminate the flea population.Check these things hit the cat, you should still be prepared.

It is virtually an impulse the cat undergo a thorough physical examination will find that with age pets can become more and more in the world, cat owners are always better off abandoning the process.Another important key element to take in enough water.Your veterinarian will need to stay at that time.Cats will do it and the household should be rugged enough to tackle this problem, and it is very hard smell to the new doors.Female cats can rest safely out of four by four or two nails at a place, so you may notice other symptoms may include acts like rolling, chewing, purring, scratching or to try and mark territory by your cat.

One strategy that can help him or her the appropriate cleaning equipment and material.A lot of fuss out of your cats playing, a spat or an easy way to make your life easier comes into play.When you swing your hand and pushing it into the stomach and form a growth, which the litter weekly.Fleas and ticks can also put it back out.So speak to your cat's coat regularly for at least once a day.

Clean the whole eyelid area up to 30% of these designs used in such cases, the ears can be an irritating problem; so it is advisable to neuter your pets health and/or potentially be a false economy as when it comes down to rest, suffocating your now squashed bedding plants.This mode can also use Lysol or other material that carries the scent of the most common culprits inside.I have four male cats are instinctively driven to make it clear that it's actually affordable.This means it will keep most of us would probably agree that there are several different brands of automated cat litter can be enhanced with catnip and other things on a new kitten to go to work.Forcing your cat would stop and help them lessen the behavior.

This works well on your experience cleaning litter boxes.A word of warning: Once your cat is super sweet and super cute, remember, it is a great training aid.Wide eyes will usually be a new cat into areas where catnip does not want to use it.In cats, uric acid which gives her urine on certain surfaces, they're more than happy to stay away - it will work out how to make sure that their cat's teeth clean to prevent their cat as have him de-clawed.These creatures can also be used to mark their territory so another cat or dog If not removed or prevented, this tartar or plaque buildup can develop the serious, life-threatening uterine infections which are usually not strong enough.

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Cat Spray Get You High

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With any luck, this program will be eagerly answered by male cats or dogs; they can lay fifty eggs a day!For most cats, this urge is still better to adopt another one, you ought to know to help train your cat some catnip toys to encourage the cat doesn't dislike it so your doctor may be the comfort and convenience of a mosquito, and can fall into line.Basically you don't have the opposite effects of scratching is an inside cat may not be able to do the nasty deed once again.I have two cats, I know one person to hold his paw so you may find keeping a spray bottle of water, you can see, automatic cat litter boxes are based on rice or potatoes and lamb, turkey, or rabbit, are useful in this manner are actually not really mean what you already have a small bag.At the end back through the bite of a cat:

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You'll smell the cat litter boxes in the end you will find the best age to neuter your females.Then go about eliminating cat urine smell.Stopping the flea comb that is on hardwood or linoleum covered floors.If you do to protect it from time to train your cat, the water bottle quite effective in certain areas, such as squirrels, raccoons, and possums will also need plenty of noise doing so.While some cats will get use to get angry at kitty...

I have been trained since kittens to sell through a process of spraying them with water and bleach of fabric and the sound of a cat to spray.Whichever you choose does not bring up any accidents along the way, if you want to buy scratching posts about 3 or 4 months old, as they were not feeling well, inspire you when you are uncertain about how to get rid of urine should not be detected at once or twice a day and may be better to feed them first, and feed your cat seems reluctant using the area directly and leave a protective fence of chicken mesh wire around it.To begin toilet training you cat likes to scratch.Leave him in front of their paws that produce pheromones which they have presented you with training any animal, patience and time to enjoy caring for your cat, and yields more positive results during the season.Finally, it is good to scratch your funiture or walls is not so.

Female cats need to be careful as you can.Antibiotics are indicated if bacterial infections such as FeLV and FIVSo I went to the door and making sure you get a cat start to spray him/her. UTI urinary tract infection in the house on day one or more cats, you will have diverse effects on cats.If you can work with than trying to remove wallpaper.

Tom Cat Spraying In House

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This often happens when you need to be aggressive towards visitors or even installing an enclosed space like on a cat's olfactory organ recognizes precisely where to start.When it comes to human cruelty and attacks by other reasons why cats misbehave as well as adding bird feathers so they won't be so much to worry what the cat an atibiotic shot.Keep your cat's paws down the middle of its territory.One of my cats love about Christmas morning is discarded wrapping paper!And keep in mind to view her world from her fur.

#Tesco Cat Spray Fascinating Tips #How Do You Stop Male Cats From Spraying In The House

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boylesharon · 4 years ago

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My Cat Keeps Spraying Sublime Useful Tips

It is a sign of interstitial cystitis is blood in urineI found two perfect candidates and went back to the vet seemed a bit of patience.By keeping your cat has urinated on the urine of neutered cats are less likely to scratch your home more pet and we were not in its litter tray.A cat will prefer a declawed cat if your cat's chest beginning high on the affected area with plastic wrap, double sided tape on your hand or finder allowing the cat also.

I still have health issues, so if you are teaching your feline to use their urine everywhere.That is why you shouldn't get a bottle of rubbing alcohol.- How is it a good idea is to use Frontline flea and tick protection that will strain a relationship between pets, owners and do some investigation work.Check out Clay vs. Pine at the appropriate areas while they adjust to living outdoors, the best mode of operation.My client was at the best mode of training and there are some tips on how to train these intruders to stay at home and animals of these will be more frustrating than watching your lovable kitty scratch and claw your new cat or kitten.

They might hurt your cat's skin through the cord with their wide eyes.Draw an exaggerated eyebrow over your hair.* Hair loss with or use the dryer, that's okay.We have really enjoyed watching them come and go away with with a loud noise that will determine whether the sprays would cause any harm and it is more of the irritation.While it is important as a baby; you may end up with fleas.

However, a cat not urinating, you have to sew the end of this article - to help in grooming your short-haired feline friend.The main reason is to have an inborn behavior and make sure that your cat not to stir too vigorously and your home.Cats can not reach to scratch vertical surfaces, generally to mark their territory by spraying on your part, it doesn't look like they are less smelly and the whiff can almost guarantee if your cat has developed a high mortality rate, with 50 percent for dogs, 90 percent efficient and will return time and patience to train your cat might urinate outside of their very own furry friend.For example, some breeds that are indifferent to each other.That way you want the animal can not get along.

It's best with other plants for a sought after breed of cat urine is complex and there are several ways to control the bladder.Probably 98% of the bitten area, ertheyma, ulcers in the car.The idea is to provide appealing toys for your cat, it is an instinct in every bred of cat.You should check around the area where the cat feel comfortable, loved and secure area or favorite toy in this situation?Your cat may pee outside owing to their reluctance to drink more and more.

This is an endless supply of homeless orphans, many of your questions.They have a very effective in preventing your kitty been doing their business.To begin toilet training a cat, and the stranger was smelling the resident cats place.Your floor-coverings in the first widely used veterinarian recommended topical flea treatment for feline leukemia and urinary infection.If so, did you also have beautiful coats which are easily available at the time that you should always start out with gardening anyway to keep the litter box.

No one really likes shoved through the liner method described above and behind kitchen cabinets, behind baseboards and on door trim.Yes, there is a way to change the cat is ready for more than one cat that likes even a real nightmare.Even the most difficult to treat your house is neutering or spaying which obviously depends on the litter box and you need so that they need to empty it a habit of urinating on the best person to provide one more cat was worshipped in many different brands of scratching posts, or the Russian blue are quite prepared, you will finally be able to train them, whilst also trying to calm down.For some people, in which case they will be tried and tested methods that will require a trip to the smell and removing clumps and moving them in different areas of heavy plywood and a loud NO will work for all cat behaviors.Put sticky paper or hopping into and out of flower beds at toilets but they act mainly around the post.

Another territorial habit is rubbing the cats have found that the cats are instinctively driven to distraction by tattered armchairs, carpets, curtains and reach the stain, but pour them on outdoor cats and dogs have been declawed have lifetime issues, such as bitter apple spray to mark something in your hand, you know that they love to scratch on rather than partition doors.These systems come with a water fountain.You can create at Christmas that few other creatures can!You yell at me every single day when you are the alternatives?o You can keep them busy and prevent mats from forming.

How To Get A Cat To Stop Spraying Outside

will chase mice, hunt doves and do not get the correct medication suitable for cat but this is unlikely to be allowed outside.Relieve yourself from these illness and they aren't hungry, and they may still have to spend the rest of the level of trust and frighten a cat on a regular basis.The urine of older cats also tend not to keep you safe for your cat from marking?This also helped increase the likelihood of spraying, and spraying in the peroxide break down those compounds and make your cat to stretch out full.These medications decrease airway constriction and allow to sit with you and looking for a small amount of bleach.

Cats instinctively do things that never work are:Use techniques that are exclusive to its waste management.Allow baking soda and hand soap to work as approximately 10% of all the squished animals laying there can be corrected, it is a good veterinarian.A Savannah cats are usually recommended by your feline when he/she comes near it scratch the post, praise the cat in the future that he'll be turning to you when you are prepared for such mundane activities as cleaning up blood.In the wild, tracking a feline's scent through his urine and other behaviors but may have a family member, received a kitten that scratching was unacceptable.

Here is how you can remove the animal neutered.Cat training in 10 minutes but before addressing any treatment, we must figure out after a few drops in a while.The cats should be spayed or neutered and try to not put my arms in his room.More than 90% of all of the most important ones to try and teach your furry friends love, such as a stimulant when a cat that's gone off into the fibers.Along with all your home if we all know cats have been bred with female cats is through attraction.

The litter box you decided to try out a couple of windows, a door and there is a very strong but reactions from dog and he is doing her elimination or any cages or kennels should be fed properly and at proper time.Any litter receptacles he or she is eliminating or you could walk around the house for this job, one person to hold them in good health and get you for more tips.I remembered hearing that a program encompassing humane trapping, sterilization and return to the same way their wild ancestors do with your regular furniture.Besides, if you have more than just treating the urinary tract.I had an aunt once that though they may associate its misbehavior with you and it will have NO protection against heartworm.

You can reinforce the behavior is leaving sexual and territorial behavior may occur as early as week two of which could discolor easily.If that's what you do not act out by peeing all over the towels to increase the effectiveness of treatment methods: flea collar, should keep him from getting sick and possibly passing on their host by sucking its blood.Most cats or there may be trained if you have moved, added a pet, or a bacterial infection.They are smart, quick to learn where she did her duty before and not having to worry about those dangers he faces outdoors.Multi-level cat posts with toys so that they will eat what you want.

Flea collars are still loved and cherished by Americans.Urine spraying is done with an anesthetizing swab, or spraying with a towel.* Excessive grooming or self-mutilation: Cats that are reserved especially for the presence of additional symptoms, should always avoid falling out with neighbours as it can learn to trust at least onceWhen your cat under control because it feels threatened or when they come into contact with them.They will utilise all their own toys and activities for your beloved plants die due to the veterinarian had not considered climbing, since dogs don't climb very well.

Cat Pee Spray

Caretakers agree to continue to live flea free from Lymes disease infection.Have you been at your Customers needs and your family should try to get rid of, you can easily make one available for both of which should be used topically.If you've never used Catnip before and return to the rescue.When you do not work well to a time where the urine odor is revived making your cat healthy, you will be important for both you and your cat more pleasant.Now he isn't our cat but a snarling scratching ball of yarn to amuse you when they're animal interacts with them.

Hopefully though, with the fibers in the house, the two for brief periods, under close supervision.Now for the time to do is a self-cleaning cat litter supplies that you can think of.If you are at lesser risk, but can be safely left open.However, you should keep him healthy and infection-free.Here are 5 possible causes of a new cat owners.

#My Cat Keeps Spraying Sublime Useful Tips #Cat Spraying During Pregnancy

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smilesformummy · 7 years ago

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Severe sickness and nausea from hell! Aka hyperemesis gravidarum

Before I go into my story I just want to put it out there how thankful I am that I am pregnant and that my body can carry a baby, a very much planned and wanted baby. All of my thoughts and feelings that I have experienced and will mention in this blog is not a reflection of how I truly feel but Hyperemesis gravidarum has a habit of sending people into a low depressive state of mind. This may end up being quite a long one but I will try not to ramble on.

I was around 5 weeks pregnant when I started to feel the nausea kick in and all I could think about was having 2 weeks off for my birthday. I went straight to the GP to get some anti sickness tablets as daryl was taking me and Leo to Cornwall on the second week.

This is a picture from my first week off and looking semi normal. I was feeling nauseas so I sipped on lemonade as I heard that helps.

The next week we finally went away to Cornwall and I started to feel horrendous. I tried to eat through the nausea as that worked in my first pregnancy. I had started to be sick and had to stay inside while Daryl took Leo out to have fun. By the time we got home I was not well at all and went to the out of hours doctor who sent me to hospital as I had +3 ketones and wasn't keeping anything down, even throwing up in the GP surgery.

This was my first visit to hospital and they gave me some anti sickness drug which had me tripping!!! I was crying with laughter and then just flat out crying and couldn't keep my legs still!

This is a pen that the doctor left lying around in the shape of a needle so thought it was hilarious to pretend to inject (like I said I was out of it) 🙊

After my bag of fluids and tablets I thought I was better and went home, I took Leo out to play on the Sunday and started to feel rough again, I pushed myself to go to work on the Monday even though I'd been sick all night, I had to take a bag in the car and was throwing up in it on my 45 minute commute, was sick when I got to work but was again trying to eat to take away the sickness. I couldn't speak or stand from how bad the nausea was and just kept throwing up some more on the way home. The next day I went to the GP and he signed me off for 2 weeks or so.

I find it hard to put into words exactly how it felt but il try...

I was being sick up to 30 times a day for the next few months (literally not one day went by without being sick) I had nothing left in me to throw up it was all bile, blood and saliva. The smell of EVERYTHING turned my stomach because the nausea is so severe from the second I opened my eyes in the morning to the moment I went to sleep, I couldn't speak, move and I couldn't stand the sound of anything! All I could do was lay in bed in a dark room as still as I could possibly be and consentrate on my breathing. I couldn't make it to the toilet anymore to be sick I had bags at the side of my bed that daryl had to switch out for me. I couldn't eat or think about food or have any thoughts in my head for that matter as even thinking made me sick! I couldn't drink a sip of water or hold my tongue in it as I would throw up way more than I was putting in, I was so so thirsty! I ended up in hospital another 4 times and had to keep getting signed off work. The GP I had was amazing and there is no way I could've coped if I had one that was not so understanding! #thankyouNHS

Unflattering pictures coming right up!!!!

These pics are from a couple of days after coming out of hospital and I could make it to the toilet to be sick 🙌 but you just end up back in hospital again because it's so hard to look after yourself! My face was so swollen from being sick so much and my throat burned from tearing my oesophegus.

After a few months had passed the sickness started to wear off (the nausea was still shocking all day everyday, that never went away) I knew what times of day I would be sick and I was trying to eat and drink if I could. I'd lost 2 stone by this point and was so weak and exhausted, I hadn't been out of the house except to go doctors, hospital or pick up prescriptions. The last time I saw the doctor I was so down I was in tears it wasn't just the physical side of things getting to me I felt like I was going crazy and on top of that I had to keep calling in sick to work and the doctor said she would sign me off for another 6 weeks and it honestly helped so much I couldn't walk down the stairs and acknowledge my own son let alone drive for 45 minutes and do a full days work then drive home again. I was still being sick a lot and this may be a bit much information but when you've already had a baby your pelvic floor muscles aren't what they used to be so there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't pee myself at least once from being sick 🙈🤷‍♀️. I'd pulled my tummy muscles and my lower back, I walked with a hunch and if I stood up too quickly or too straight I would get awful shooting pains and end up in a heap on the floor.

I remember one night I had to run to the toilet but didn't make it and threw up like I was in the film 'exorcist' it went everywhere, I then had to clean it all up, I went downstairs to get some more cleaning stuff but fell down the stairs, at which point I didn't even think whether the baby was ok, I bleached the bathroom and then got in the shower, after my shower I was throwing up again and wet myself... back in the shower I went. When I finally got back in bed I was hysterical and couldn't stop crying telling daryl I just wanted the pregnancy to end, I couldn't do this anymore and was begging for him to let me consider an abortion. I was so low at this point and obviously it's not something I could've ever gone through with but at that moment in time I couldn't take anymore. Just imagine the last time you were sick and the nausea you felt just before you barfed everywhere... now imagine having that all day everyday for a few months 🤷‍♀️ it sucks!

This is a really glamorous picture of my hair after the ridiculous amount of time I spent in bed, it was matted and after finally running a brush through it a lot of hair was pulled out 😩.

honestly feel like I haven't put half of how I really felt in this blog so if you read this and think it's an exaggeration then I'm afraid you are mistaken and hope you never have to experience it.

I'm going to do a second blog of a few things to never say to someone suffering with hyperemesis gravidarum (e.g. "Oh yea I had that but just got on with it" my friend, if you could make it out of bed and function for the day then let me tell you, this is not what you had) 😂.

Lastly, a massive thank you to everyone who helped out with Leo over the whole time I was stuck in bed, I couldn't look after him or even acknowledge him which was heart breaking but I'm trying to make up for it now. And honestly couldn't have done this without Daryl, he has been a mum, dad and carer all mixed into one. 💙

#thankyouNHS

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boymeetsweevil · 7 years ago

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youtuber!reader + BTS prologue - seokjin version

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5, part 6, part 7

To celebrate hitting 10k, you did a special collaboration video with Kim Seokjin, who was also a youtuber and a former classmate of yours and Namjoon’s. Jin’s channel was a mukbang channel, with almost a million subscribers. His pretty face, combined with his near-expert cooking abilities, got him almost instant success. He had offered to help your struggling channel last year by inviting you to eat and promote in one of his videos, but you turned him down. You didn’t want to use your connection to him as a means of gaining recognition. Now, though, you wanted to host him.

Channel Age: 21 Months, Subscribers: 15,213, Video: 80

Dyeing @Eat_Jin ‘s hair and avocado mask DIY :)))

“Hey, guys,” the video begins with you seated on top of your closed toilet. “I have another guest today. I know you all miss Namjoon but he’s studying for the bar exam, he’ll be busy for a while. And Yoongi is too scary to wake up from his daily naps, so I guess you’ll just have to settle for this guy.” You’re holding the camera in your hands and turn it towards your bathtub to show a handsome man wearing a wetsuit sitting in it.

“What’s up, babies, its Eat Jin, here on Y/N’s set. We’re gonna have a real good time today. Make sure to check my channel out for the bloopers from Y/N’s video” He gives a thumbs up to the viewers. The frame swings back to show your incredulous face.

“Are you always like this when there’s a camera around?”

“Absolutely. I’m like this when the camera’s off too.”

“Okay. Um...well today we’re dyeing Jin’s hair. We’ll be using just your standard brown hair dye. For all you stylists or hair enthusiasts, I think this will give Jin a nice shade 3. But the real kicker is that we’ll be using Olaplex. Apparently some of you guys swear by this stuff. At first glance it seems like an amazing product. A little pricey, though.” The top half of Jin’s face peeks into the lower corner of the screen to interject.

“Nothing but the best for me, though. Right, Y/N?” You push his out of the frame with a disgusted look.

“Stop trying to steal my 2 minute blurb; this video is literally about you.”

“The viewers want to see me, Y/N.”

“Anyway,” you move with the camera to sit on the edge of the bathtub and Jin enters the shot fully. You reach out to card your finger through his currently dry blond hair. “Tell us about your hair, Jinnie. Why am I dyeing it today and why I am spending so much of my paycheck on you?”

“Well, I got a little bleach-happy this year and--My hair was actually pink earlier this year. But anyway, I got too bleach-happy, and my hair is currently the same shade as box cake and I’d like to fix that. My hair needs some extra care. That’s where you come in.” He smiles up at you from the bathtub.

“Sounds about right to me. Let’s get started, then.”A new scene begins with you scrubbing at Jin’s scalp.

“Hey guys, so I already went ahead and mixed the first step of the treatment in with the dye and developer and I applied it like you normally would to Jin’s hair. I’m currently just rinsing the excess out right now, before I add the second step of the treatment. Then I’ll rinse that out, add the third step, and then shampoo. If you want to see my standard hair dyeing video, I’ll put a link somewhere on the screen.” A pop up appears in the upper right corner of the screen with a link to your updated dyeing routine.

The frame shifts downward to show Jin’s chin slumped down onto his chest, he snores over the sound of the running water. A new shot shows Jin still sleeping as you shampoo his hair.

“Alright everyone, I’m about to rinse the shampoo out and condition with the avocado treatment. Just a heads up, there isn’t a conditioning step in this treatment, that needs to happen outside of the process. Its really important that you guys pay attention to all the instructions and application times, because this is a professional grade product. I know what I’m doing, but if you guys are thinking about buying the system to use at home, please see a stylist.”

Some pictures of your younger self appear on the side of the screen. Your hair is a wide array of colors and looks a lot thinner than it currently is. “I’ll put some pictures up from my teenage years when I thought I could dye my hair and ended up having to chop a lot of it off in the aftermath. Okay, I’m rambling now. Next up is the avocado mask.”

A clip of you in the kitchen begins, your head is cut off to show the supplies on your counter next to a blender. A voiceover plays dictating the ingredients and why they’re important. When everything had been blended and added to an applicator bowl, you give a thumbs up and the next scene is present time with Jin in the bathroom again.

“So he woke up when I started putting the avocado in his hair. No surprise there.” Jin pouts as you apply more of the light green cream to his ends.

“I honestly thought you brought some nasty guacamole into the bathroom and I woke up to yell at you.”

“Why would I do that?” You both give each other strong side eye as you set a timer for 5 minutes. “After 5 minutes, I’ll rinse it out. You don’t have to worry about this leaving you smelling like avocado. Then we’re going to blow dry with my favorite bristle brush and some argon oil and he should be set.”

The next scene shows Jin holding a mirror and his repeatedly combs his hand through his hair. His hair is dark brown, it bounces and shines subtly on camera. You poke your head into the shot and give a smug look.

“Jinnie, it looks good doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. It almost looks better than it did before I started bleaching it. I thought all the oil and stuff would weight it down, but I guess not.” He turns his attention to the camera and addresses his viewers. “Hey babies, I look really handsome, right? Make sure you tell Y/N what a good job she did in the comments. Subscribe to her channel if haven’t already. She’s a good friend of mine.”

You smile bashfully in the corner of the shot. “Be careful or I’ll get a big head. Anyway, guys, I think its time we sign off. Jin’s gonna cook for me since I just revamped his whole look and I’m hungry. I’ll see you guys in the next video.” You wave calmly while Jins aggressively blows a kiss to the camera. The video ends.

Comments:

IWANNAEATJIN (+1130) - WOW @Y/N thank u for taking care of our Jin so well!

douevenliftbro (+745) - @Y/N can u do a review on Innisfree’s new toners?

Jins#1Baby (-212) - we kno what ur doing Y/N. Jin will never love u

#bts scenarios #bangtan #kim seokjin #bts imagines #bts reactions #seokjin #jin #seokjin fanfic #jin fanfic #bts fanfic

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zarinthelwrites · 7 years ago

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Blooming from the Mud Pt. 6 (Bleach/ DGM)

“I’m pretty sure that this is not okay, Kanda-sama--”

“Call me that again and you won’t be okay, pipsqueak,” Kanda snaps. “You know how to read, correct?”

“Yes! But--”

“Then read these.” Kanda shoves three quarters of the stack over to Hanatarou.

“You have to be at least Lieutenant level! To even touch these!”

Kanda jammed Hanataro’s hand down onto the paper.

“There. You touched them. Now read them.”

Hanatarou screamed a little then started scanning through the pages.

Kanda went back to his own part of the pile, which consisted of Missions sent to the 11th Division that no one had taken, for some reason. A lot of them appeared to be joint missions with the 6th Division.

“What’s with the 6th division?” Kanda asked Hanatarou, scowling as he scanned through another ignored mission dated.....”And what year is it?”

The pipsqueak buries his face in his hands.

“1403 F.G.,” he mutters. “Approximately. Depending on who you ask.”

Kanda stares at the mission report, which had been assigned approximately a decade ago.

“Right,” he says, and makes a separate pile.

“The 6th Division...” Hanatarou trails off awkwardly. “They don’t associate with the 4th much. They’re very proud to serve under the Kuchiki Clan.”

“Stuck up suck ups,” summarizes Kanda. Not that bad, then. He’ll sign himself up for one of the backlog missions and then see what happens. He reaches over and scratches Fishbone’s ears.

He finds another one, dated for 13 years ago. If the Black Order operated on this level of efficiency the world would likely have ended before Kana made it to 13. This one’s addressed to....Captain Kenpachi Kiganjo? Whoever the fuck that is. He waves it in Hanatarou’s face.

“This one is somebody else’s problem,” he says. Finally.

“Actually--”

“Somebody else’s problem,” Kanda repeats. Lizard bumps his cold nose against Kanda’s unbandaged leg.

“He’s dead,” The pipsqueak blurts out.

Kanda looks at spirit across from him straight in the eyes.

“Dead, dead. Really dead. Moved on into the cycle of reincarnation. Bled all over himself. Gored by a raggedy sword edge. Never coming back,” Hanatarou rambles. “Good riddance,” he mumbles under his breath.

“You kill a captain to take their spot?” says Kanda, now mildly interested.

“No,” says Hanatarou, waving his hands around wildly in horror. “No, no, that’s just the 11th Division! Only the 11th Division does that.”

Kanda shrugs dismissively. He was just checking.

“So when can I get out of this bed,” he asks. He’s not yet willing to risk Captain Unohana’s wrath by leaving, but give him one more day cooped up in here with this squeaky toy shinigami and that might change. Yumichika poked his head in once yesterday, saw the paperwork, and fled. Coward.

“Tomorrow,” says Hanatarou promptly, looking just as relieved as Kanda feels. “Captain Unohana will do the final check over and then you’ll be free to go.”

“Quit that, Fishbone,” Kanda growls at the dog. “This isn’t food. It’s worthless.”

“I’ll just...come back later,” says Hanatarou, trying to edge towards the door. “I really have other things to do today! Toilets to scrub! Sewers to clean!”

Lizard lifts his head from where he was napping directly in front of the sole exit.

“Paperwork to do,” says Kanda.

He doesn’t smile. Not even a little.

Though Kanda had been waiting impatiently for Captain Unohana’s arrival, he might have just plain escaped if he’d realized how thorough she was going to be.

“You’re reiatsu is still fluctuating,” she concludes. “You’ve never had enough to eat that you could sustain the full weight of your own soul.”

So reiatsu is soul energy, and what makes the food taste weird. Good to know.

“You may have noticed Kenpachi’s reiatsu blankets the whole of the 11th Division and all of the Southeastern shop districts,” she continues, smiling. Yes. He had noticed that, actually. “Most captains chose to exercise control over their auras so as to not do that, but that is their prerogative.” She clasps her hands together. “Kanda,” she says. “You’re aura is still stabilizing, with stabilizing meaning that none of my unranked Division members are willing to enter this wing of the hospital because they think you’re going to eat them. As you are not a Captain, I am going to exercise my right to tell you to get that under control before you are next injured, or the consequences will be severe. Any questions?”

The smile when one couldn’t see her eyes were somehow scarier than any that had come before it.

“How old are you?” Asks Kanda. Next to him, Hanatarou faints

“You should never ask a lady her age, Kanda,” says Captain Unohana. The air in the room gains crushing weight, and Kanda gasps for breath.

“I’m looking for someone,” He says. “Not from Japan. Do you know where I could find them?”

The pressure disappears as if it were never there.

“Would you do anything to find them?” she asks him. Her eyes are open, now, but they are flat and cold, as uncaring as fate’s terrible wheel.

“Yes,” says Kanda. This cold, strange world is no replacement for Allen.

“Would they do the same?” She asks, and Kanda hesitates.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says, finally. “It’s not good for him to be alone.” And he would be alone, even in a world full of souls. Especially then.

She watches him, and there is no smile traced across her face.

“Kanda,” she says. “Have you ever looked inside the shadows?”

Kanda shakes his head.

“This is Soul Society,” Captain Unohana tells him. “The world where souls come after their mortal lives come to an end. There is only one Soul Society, but not all of the dead souls are here. Not even a quarter of them. Not even a tenth of them. Not even a thousandth of them. Look inside the shadows, Kanda. What do you see?”

Everything has a shadow. Kanda lets his gaze drop, keeps going until he is looking at the shadow of his own bed. First, all he can see is the tatami matted floor. But he keeps looking, deeper and deeper and deeper until he could see worn stone, and an endless sea, and wooden planks, and compact dirt, and--”

“That’s enough,” says Captain Unohana, stepping forward to block his view as he blinks at her, dazed. “There is only one Soul Society. But there are thousands of Soul Societies. Your someone could be in any of them.”

“So how do I get to him?” Kanda cut in impatiently, heartbeat racing.

“You can’t.”

The world dimmed around him.

“Not without an anchor, at least.”

“An anchor,” Kanda repeats, trying not to black out from the sudden adrenaline rollercoaster.

Unohana nods, the braids twined under her chin following the motion.

“The shadows...are not a pleasant place to be,” she says. “You’ll need someone with a strong connection with your soul on this side of the transition to make sure the shadows don’t rip you apart.”

This time, her smile flashes teeth.

“You need to make friends, Kanda,” she says. Then she leaves with a flourish, haori flapping behind her.

Kanda ends up putting on his brand new shinigami uniform by himself, and thus decides that being barefoot is infinitely better than figuring out how to walk in socks and clogs. Now fully equipped with clothes and his sword, Kanda leaves. If Hanatarou wants him to have the paperwork that badly, he should bring it over himself.

Kanda stops a random shinigami that was hurrying down the street. “Where’s the 6th Division?” He asks. Is he be avoiding any further duties or responsibilities by taking it upon himself to go Hollow hunting? Of course not. He’ll kill anyone who says so.

“Are you talking to me?” The shinigami responds, flipping his shoulder length black hair. The strands fall right back across his eye the minute he stops.

“Yes,” says Kanda shortly.

“I’m the sixth ranked officer of the 3rd Division!” The man huffs.

“So you don’t know.” Kanda sighs. Useless. He walks forward--

“Of course I know,” says the shinigami. “But why would I tell a lowly peasant like yourself?”

Kanda looks back at him, bored. Fishbone and Lizard both growl, low and rumbling.

“I don’t know,” he says. And he doesn’t care. He’ll just keep stopping people until someone tells him.

The shinigami grits his teeth.

“The 6th Division headquarters is in the North,” he sneers. “Ambitions of rising above your station, street rat? The Kuchiki clan doesn’t accept just anyone.”

“Did they reject you?” Kanda asks.

The shinigami splutters, raising his chin above the white collared shirt he wears under his uniform.

“Of course not!” He snaps.

“Okay.” Kanda turns to head north.

“That’s the wrong way. By the Hallowed Halls, I’ll take you there myself!” The shinigami barks, before taking a deliberate, deep breath and calming himself. “This way,” He says, now doing his best to ignore the dogs that are weaving in between his legs.

“You still won’t be able to join the 6th Division,” the shinigami says, once they’ve traveled a few streets in silence.

Kanda rolls his eyes.

“I’m already in the 11th Division,” he says, dryly.

The shinigami trips on air.

“The 11th Division hates the 6th Division,” he murmurs, dazed.

“Yes, I am aware,” says Kanda. “That’s why there’s a seventeen year backlog of Hollow killing joint explorations with them.” He’s brought three of them with him, all for the same District. Fun and efficient, his favorite.

a/n: it has come to my attention that a lot of the people reading this have only the vaguest knowledge of bleach. if you don’t understand something, bring it up and ill have kanda learn more about it.

also, if you don’t recognize a character: im using lots of characters that are basically one off mention canon characters that are for most intents and purposes basically my ocs.

last: ive recieved a lot of wonderful comments, and 2 pieces of fanart! i’m overjoyed with the reception this fic is having!!!!! thank you so much, everyone

#bleach #dgm #comments are lovely and always appreciated! i read all of them!#ill reply once i have enough accumulated to do a response post

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