#very dumb and bad about my grandma drinking herself into the hospital

[laurenttheninth]

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[muffindaddystyles]

Please write more of Dove and Harry ? You’d earlier written in ne where she gets lost and Harry can’t find her…. Please some more like that. I really like reading protective Harry for his kids especially daughters!

HARRY HATES A CERATIN PINK BICYCLE BUT DOVE THINKS OTHERWISE :D

Harry has never been this stingy towards things. You don’t hold a beef with stuff round you, right? You hold beefs with actual hell of people who're mighty pests in the name of human being.

But, this. Oh damn this. Four wheeler little pink bicycle, that have sparkling pom-poms around it’s handles, a cute yellow basket corked to it's front and rainbow coloured cups hanging from the back of it’s seat that cackles whenever the wheels roll.

It’s the most obnoxious transporting vehicle, Harry had seen in his whole life. He's kind of grousing in the corner that why out of trillion of toys auntie Gemma had to prove herself the best aunt in the whole world alive and chose this hideous gaggingly pink bicycle.

It just doesn’t makes sense to gift it to a three years old! And when that three years old’s a headstrong little thing, with wilfulness of her daddy and the marbles of kitten in replacement of those eyes.

“Daddy we’ll ‘ve fun, promise!” Her ‘r' vanishes into a whistle since she’s still wary onto speaking huge words, babbling her daddy’s ears off with random shite doesn’t count.

Sometimes Harry thinks; that his 50 years old mum's prisoned and captured into a dainty body of three years old -- and his time has come to get bossed around and scolded for his own good sake.

His mommy in the guise of his little dove.

“How’s tha’ missy!?” Harry squints down at her with his hands fisted on his hips. His fake scowl breaks into a fluttery smile when dove with her grubby pudgy hands pushed the bicycle around, her boot clad feet stomping against the hardwood floor, “Like this daddy!” Her chest heaved from getting tired of pushing it around in circles.

“Y'gonna put y’old man to labour?” When she sees her dad’s strictness resolving into contemplating the idea she squeals out giggles making Harry flinch and cover his ears, He’s sure he’ll end up deaf in his fifties.

Harry feels his chest warm and gooey with fond when she jumps on her tippy toes and wraps herself around Harry’s calves.

“Kay, teddy bear enough of butterin’ dada up.” Harry grunted through his nose ducking down to scoop her up in his embrace and she instantly loops her arms around his neck, her button rosy nose twitching with happiness as she patted his cheek with a toothy grin.

Harry shook his head at her brains, his eyes closed and lips thinned while he tries to announce it to her in the most dramatic way.

“Why’re you the way you’re dovie? He sighs and her response doesn’t baffles him any, “’Cos you.” She whispers into his ear as if it’s the most secretive thing in the world getting his cheek and earlobe wet with her drool.

“Yeah, cos' ‘m your inventor. My bad.”

.

That’s how they ended up here in the living room since Harry’s still hesitant and scared to let her ride the bicycle outside.

She makes sweet and loud kissy noises dangling her feet in a rhythm messing the already bombed up curls of Harry while he puts protection pads around her knees, he leaned more onto his shins adjusting the strap of her helmet and pinched her chin to make her look at him.

“Hello baby –..,” He opened his mouth to give her instructions when she cut him off with a cute whiny huff and the fold of her arms round her small body, “Daddy ‘m no baby.” Harry rolls his eyes towards the ceiling and bats his lashes.

“F'me you’re.” He tuts with a coo and took her wrist gently to help her slide down the sofa before she could possibly terrorise him more, sometimes Harry has this aching urge to laugh at her statements but it’s not right to his lil bean so he does it when he’s alone to not to hurt her feelings.

She refused any kind of guidance from him with just a single gesture of her palm (he doesn't know how she manages to behave like a 30 at her 3) and he ended up helping her wiggle her bum up the seat anyhow, “Hmm. Y'already know the deal dovlin'.” He knocks on her pink helmet which has tiny cows on it.

She bobbed her head and puckered her lips, Harry being her best telepathic communicator gets the sign and forwards his cheek for her to kiss it.

“Love y'daddy.” Her affection for her dad muffling against his stubble and in droopy voice he mimics her with bright teasing eyes, “wuveee you daddy.”

“Back to work!” Harry commanded moving towards the end of cycle and squeezed her neck tenderly before pushing her around and giggles happily when she squealed out in utter thrill.

“Weeeeeeoiiii!!” Harry joins her putting aside the fact he was very against it moments ago, but the little fun does no harm, right? He did think so.

It has always happened to him in this particular order whenever the things gets into their happy track a downfall is always written for them, just like the time when dove got sick and wouldn’t get any better taking her to hospital got crucial only for them to come back to their family being there for them her grandma and auntie Gems were their to get her recover but she got sick again.

“Alone!” She grumbles trying to move Harry’s hands away but he grips it tighter, “’M big!” She complains feet reaching for the paddles that took a swing.

“Hands on handles!” Not in a mood for her to throw a tantrum after such exhilarating moment Harry dismissed her off with a bit of frown, “Hands on handles! Hands —--,” He shouts anxiously heartbeat racing painfully against his ribs and he feels time slowing down as he watches dove losing her balance – but – puffs out in relief when she thumps against the sofa.

“Shit!” He cries out when the cycle tumbles along dove and falls on her, the poor baby didn’t even got time to process what's happening before the metal basket hits her bottom lip and her elbow hard.

Harry’s fear reeling infront of him, deafening him for a moment.

Immediately, He throws it away from over her half assed about where it lands and bunched her in his arms protectively. Cradling his sweet baby’s face in his palm and his eyes watered up at the bleeding lip and more abrasions on her elbow.

He sucks in a whimper when she tries even not to sniffle being a brave girl for her dad and goes to wipe his tears with her trembling lil hands, “It’s otay daddy.” Harry hiccups into her wrist smacking kisses upon kisses into her palm.

“’M sorry me lil dovlin'.” He sulked wiping his nose with the sleeve of his hoodie and kissed her forehead.

It physically pains him to see his Dovie hurt, it makes him sad till long hours.

Call him sensitive but with Dove he’ll never able to hold his tears back, she pulls onto his heart strings the most agonisingly, she comes before anyone else and her safety too.

“No cry.” She pushed him away and pouted leaning to peck his lips and Harry giggles when she wipes the subtle blood stain she got on his mouth with a sheepish smile, “Lets fix your boo boos honey pot.” Harry gave her a weepy smile and pet her head taking them to his room.

He’s really surprised and well very proud that she was so brave for him, in times like these Harry realises if nobody got him his daughter’s gonna be there for him always.

“’M really reallyyyy proud of you sweet pea.” After putting Dove's favourite rapunzel bandages on her gashes Harry showers her in kisses that are loud and exaggerated but full of pride and love for her, making sure to do ‘mwah!’ at each one.

.

Harry made her chicken nuggies and let her drink orange juice (even though it gives her an achy throat) she’s such a good little briber.

She’s all snuggled in his bed, her face hidden in his chest out of shyness as Anne asks about her accident with a sad pouty smile.

“You gotta be careful next time okay sweetie?” Anne told her. Harry groans when her head perked up with gleam in her eyes, “There’s no next time!” He quips making his point clear.

“Gran’ma you wan’ see?” She blubbers excitedly crawling out from under the covers but carefully Harry catches her ankle and tugs her back towards him which causes the phone to fall from her hands onto the floor.

The clumsy cutie.

“Oh Grandma, you otay????” Her curly head pops from over the mattress and the room fills with laughter at her innocence and dumbness, she's just three, you prick.

“My silly little bear.” Harry’s laugh fades into giggles while he settles her bum on his chest and cuddles her tightly into his neck despite of her whiny protests and squiggles to let her free.

[dontshootmespence]

Unabashedly Us

A/N: An anon request for a JJ x Reader where they are on a date and a waiter makes some comments about them being together. 

                                                               ----

“Baby! Are you ready?” You called from the kitchen and were already prepared to run out the door. One, you were hungry, and two, not just for food. Sure, you were physically starved, but JJ had been away on two back-to-back cases and this was the first time she’d been home in a week and a half, so you wanted to eat and get back to the apartment. “I’m hungry! And not just for food!”

When she laughed from the bedroom, putting the last touches on her outfit, and the sound made your heart flutter. You could just picture her mega-watt smile peeking out from the mess of perfectly wavy hair. “If that isn’t inspiration for me to move faster then I don’t know what is!”

Seconds later, she emerged, dressed in a pair of black leather pants and a stunning off-the-shoulder navy blue top that played perfectly off her eyes. You placed a peck on her cheek and grabbed her hand, pulling her down the stairs and into the car. It was time for some quality togetherness after an extended period of time apart.

For spontaneity’s sake, JJ had picked a restaurant about 20 minutes away that you hadn’t been to before. It was a gorgeous place, not really dress-down material, but not upscale either - it was right in between and a great compliment to both of your personalities. 

The tables were made up with a plain white table cloth. In the center stood a stout crystal vase with different colored roses in each. The ones on your table were a beautiful coral hue. “This place is gorgeous, Jayge.”

She blushed and sat across from you, instantly grabbing your hand, leaving both of you to peruse your menus using only one hand. “What are thinking of getting?” You asked.

“The salmon looks delicious.” Her fingers traced circles in your palm.

“Me too! I’m really in a salmon mood.”

There was barely anyone in the restaurant yet. You’d decided to come early to beat the start-of-the-weekend rush. It was a good thing there were few people around, because they’d probably be sickened by how adorable you were (if you did say so yourself).

After deciding once and for all that you were both having the same thing, you placed your menus on the table as a cue to your waiter that you were ready to order, linking your fingers together and beaming at each other as he made his way over to the table. The man wore a strained smile as he approached, and his abrupt manner of speech took you off guard. “What can I get for you this evening?” It was like the words were what he was supposed to say, but the tone was his own. 

“We’re both going to have the salmon,” JJ said, trying her best to smile at him. “And I’ll have a water also.”

“I’ll have a diet coke,” you added. “Thanks so much.”

Maybe he was having a bad day. You’d worked in retail and food service before. Some days, you just wanted to punch everyone in the throat and didn’t want to be there at all. “I don’t think he likes...us,” she said.

“Why would he not like us? He doesn’t know us.” It didn’t click until she spoke again.

She swallowed hard and pulled your hand to her mouth, placing a kiss on the top of your palm. “I mean, I think he doesn’t like the fact that two women are dating.”

“Well, that just sucks for him now doesn’t it?” You laughed. Fuck that. You weren’t gonna let anyone break your stride. You were dating Jennifer Fucking Jareau; you were proud to have her on your arm. You’d shout how much you loved her from the rooftops and if people didn’t like it, then fuck them.

For a while, you both let it go, falling back into easy conversation until he came back to the table. You were still holding hands, and this time you saw his eyes dart to their place on the table. He definitely didn’t like it. Well...too bad. JJ saw it too, and she wasn’t happy. Normally, she’d let things slide, but she’d had a tough couple of weeks and she blurted out her question before she could stop herself. “Is there a problem?”

“N-no...just, here.” He placed the meals down on the table. “Enjoy your meals and go.”

“Excuse me?” You weren’t even angry; it was more astounding than anything. “You’re trying to rush us out? We’re paying customers.”

“You came here early, which is good. You should be out by the time families start coming in.”

“Why should we have to be out before families come in?” JJ asked hotly. Oh, this was not going to be good. “Is my sexuality rude for the children? I can’t hold my girlfriend’s hand, but that couple in the corner can suck face and that’s not considered rude? Are you serious?”

“This is a family place. Just enjoy your meals.” And with that, he turned away.

“Is he fucking kidding me?” She hissed.

You rolled your eyes at his stupidity and took a forkful of your food. “Forget it, babe. He’s dumb. I’m hungry. You’re not going to change his mind.”

“Well, I’m gonna complain to the manager,” she replied insistently.

“Are you sure you want to do that?”

“Yea, why not? They should know who their employees are.”

Luckily, the manager came by just a few minutes later to ask how the meals were. “They’re delicious,” she started, “But I do have a complaint about our waiter.”

The woman was extremely attentive, her eyes almost soft and grandma-like as JJ started to explain what had happened. “Oh, that’s Brent,” she said, rolling her eyes. “We’ve known the type of person he is, but he needed a job so I wanted to give him a chance. Don’t worry. I’m going to have a word with him.”

“Thanks so much,” JJ said.

The weekend crowd was now filing in, drowning out the conversation that was being had between the manager and your waiter. Within 10 minutes, you finished your meals; the salmon was amazing. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the blur of your waiter approaching the table. “You told my manager? Just because I don’t like the fact that two women are together, you told my manager?”

“Yes,” JJ said without missing a beat. “I don’t care what you think in the context of your own home. When you’re doing a job, you keep that shit to yourself. It was inappropriate and I said as much.”

“How dare you!” He said, his voice rising in tone as he spoke. “I could get fired for that!”

JJ scoffed. “That’s not my problem. Maybe keep your homophobic bullshit to yourself and you won’t have a problem.”

“Better yet, don’t be a homophobe,” you added. If JJ was going to get into this, you might as well add in your two cents.

Most of the other patrons were now looking at you, JJ and the waiter. So much so that the manager returned to your table. “Brent, leave. You’re fired.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He screamed. “You fucking bitch!”

To everyone else’s dismay, the asshole known as Brent lunged in JJ’s direction, but she popped up from the table in a flash and wrenched his arm back behind him before pinning him to the table. “What the fuck?” He screamed.

“I’m an FBI agent, dumbass.”

JJ let him up from the table. He shook his arms out and looked at her in disbelief. “Brent,” the manager said again, “You’re done. Get out.”

Brent huffed and spat a few more curses in your direction before leaving. With him gone, the rest of the patrons went back to their meals. “I’m so sorry to both of you,” the manager said. “You said you enjoyed our food right?”

“Very much so,” you replied. Despite the asshole waiter, the place was gorgeous and the food was delicious. 

The manager’s face softened again. “Then please come and see us again for another meal, drinks included free of charge at your earliest convenience. I’ll go get a little card or something to give you so that if you come in when I’m not here then my staff will know.”

After a complimentary dessert, you paid the bill and promised the manager you’d return soon, thanking her for her hospitality. “Well, that was an eventful dinner,” you chuckled.

“Sorry, I got really confrontational,” she grimaced. “I just can’t help it when people are like that. I love you and I wish people would just see that and not the fact that we’re women.”

“Me too,” you sighed. But there were going to be people like that all over the world. You just had to make the best of a bad situation. “I do have to admit though, you pinning him to the table was really badass and sexy.”

“Really?”

"Seeing you all protective and strong like that...sexy as fuck.”

JJ laughed and leaned into your shoulder. Sometimes people sucked, but you weren’t going to let one asshole ruin your night.

@coveofmemories @jamiemelyn @sexualemobitch @unstoppableangel8 @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @rmmalta @lukeassmanalvez @yoinkpeter @the-slytherin-ice-queen @marvelfanlife @amarislestrange @obsessed5sosfreak @sonhadoraative @1enchantedfantasy1 @ace-and-rosey @tarciau @twelveyearoldchildprodigy @offbrandcursewords @entelechysymphony @pugs-cats-bb-8 @davidr0ssi @sarahkay-19

[shesavalkyrie-blog]

hello hello, my name is ashley and i am so excited for this. sorry i’m late to the party but a quick one two three about me is that i just started watching the walking dead two days ago ( bc of this rp tbh!! ), i will tirelessly promote mamma mia!: here we go again ( out july 20th... be there ), and i’m currently reading wishful drinking by carrie fisher. down below is a little snip it about my girl xena if you’d like to check it out. sorry it’s kind of a mess but i’m really excited about her. i am so open to plotting or just talking so feel free to send me a dm. p.s. if the apostraphes are turning into crazy code im really sorry i have no idea how to fix it and it doesn’t look like that when i’m editing the post : ( clicking read more & looking at it on my blog seems to work better 

*・°☆━━ congratulations! you’re officially logged on as XENA RIAN! you have chosen your avatar to look just like DANIELLE CAMPBELL and they are TWENTY - THREE years old. their main skill is SURVIVALIST! you have given them the traits +STRATEGIC along with being -STRONG WILLED! well done! you have chosen them to be known as the VALKYRIE of infected! is this information correct? you will arrive to the world of infected shortly! please wait! trigger warnings!! death, car crash, heart attack, depression, anxiety

R E A L      L I F E / finley hannigan was born in seattle, wa where she grew up and lived until she was eighteen years old. after graduating high school finley moved out to los angeles, california to continue her education in college / in college finley is studying writing & producing for television. she would love to work in the realm of being a screenwriter, showrunner, and maybe a producer or director one day / growing up finley didn’t necessarily have a typical childhood. it wasn’t necessarily completely unusual and she was sure somewhere out there could relate on some extent, she just hadn’t met those people yet. when fin was ten years old her mother and her were driving and a car bashed right into the driver side door. her mother and her were both taken urgently to the hospital. her mother, who was driving, faced more serious injuries, where fin had a a cut on the top right of her forehead, and a busted lip. she was more so mentally traumatized than physically. upon her dad’s arrival to the hospital, her mother died only minutes later. she’d lost too much blood. in her dad’s shock, he faced a heart attack. he was able to get stable before suffering another, dying just hours after finley lost her mom. / she moved in with her grandma, who had lost her own husband a few years prior. from then on it was the two of them. her grandmother meant everything to finley. growing up her grandmother always called her ‘ xena ‘, for she always told her that she was a warrior princess. in finley’s edgy phase, she claimed she wanted to be a king - because according to the patriarchy, they had the power: so her nickname changed to ‘ rian ‘, which means king. over time the two names became interchangeable with her real name, and often times she responded better to those than her own. / when finley was nineteen, her grandmother passed away. her will? funds for college and her house to xena. so she lived on her own. her already independent nature amplified and she learned to take care of herself. she prefers not to rely too much on people. she’d had far too little luck with people sticking around. / despite her own family struggles and learning to cope with both depression and anxiety, the girl continued to have a kind heart. despite her occasional depressive episode, she remains compassionate, thoughtful, witty, and extremely determined. / finley began playing infected as a form of gathering information for a new screeplay. as anticipated, apocalypse themed . she wanted to make sure she had as close as possible an understanding of the scenery, the experience, what you needed to figure out, but most of all the feeling. I N    T H E     G A M E / finley’s gamer tag? xena rian. those nicknames had to be put to use - thanks grandma!! / she entered the game with a couple friends. they were going to help her with notes about their own experience so she could try and get some different perspectives for her screenplay. except they didn’t always go in together. when the game became real - she had no idea where they were. other than that she knew one of them was online / naturally, xena became a survivalist. that’s what she’s been all her life - it seemed rather fitting. / she’s yet to come across many people and not opposed to being in a group, but the few small groups she had come upon didn’t want a ‘girl to slow them down’ or were honestly just being stupid. little did they know of her specializing as a survivalist, having a very good general skill set, not to mention her sub-skills of a medic & an assasin. W A N T E D     C O N N E C T I O N S / her friend who was logged on to help finley w/ her script. of course it was fun for all of them, and that was certainly just an excuse to play the game more, finley puts quite a bit of blame on herself. this relationship can have varying backgrounds that we can definitely come up with together!! i’m super open haha - i think it would be cool if this was someone who it took a bit for her to find ... if she ever does / the team: a group of people ( maybe a group of survivalists? ) that band together and realize that a small group isn’t so bad. they form a very family-like relationship: extremely protective over one another, provide relief, but of course squabbling & dumb fights from stress, the ability to make each other laugh like no other. this would all of course be built up over time!! / “hi i saved your ass, see you later”: someone that she saved from getting infected but he split off from pretty soon after when she got them back to their group. they could maybe run into each other later and have some sort of a relationship form off of that? / we’re constantly bickering can you please shut up but also i kind of like you / someone from her school: they might not know one another, but they see each other and whether or not they decide to stay together, they feel a bit better having someone to remind them of home / i’m honestly so open to anything so please feel free to send me a message if you have any ideas!! i would absolutely love to plot with any and all of you

[pen-paper-ink]

The White Room

           I start every day the same way: swing my legs off the bed, pad across the cold tile to the wall, and draw a single black line onto the white. The wall is turning black with the passage of time, slowly losing its purity as I lose my mind. I think the marks used to mean something more to me. There is a hazy sense of the desire to throw each at the world, to use them as knives against the people who put me here. That is gone now, the hate fading away, leaving me as blank as the other walls of my prison. I still count the marks, fueled by some need to know how long since I was erased from the outside world. Today is day two hundred and seventy three since I ceased to exist.

           The cold ceramic flooring transitions to hard carpeting, a blessing to my bare feet. It takes me a moment to realize I walked all the way to the common area. Wasn’t I just in my room? How did I forget the stretch of time from there to here? I seem to always be forgetting things these days: socks, the date, my name, how to get to the common room, what I had for breakfast. The only comfort is that there never seems to be anyone around to talk to. Conversation might reveal just how much I have forgotten and I am not sure I want to know what has slid into the black hole of my memory.

           That’s not to say I never talk to anyone. I talk to myself constantly. It’s rather nice; I am both a great conversationalist and a great listener.

           “Hello” I say upon entering the common area. I forgot that I have Nana to talk at. She never replies, but like me she makes a wonderful listener. Her name is not really Nana, but I named her after my grandma when I first arrived. That was when I remembered my grandma.  Now I base my memories of her on Nana. I assume she had a similar face, all hills and valleys surrounding kind eyes. Perhaps she also knit, the way Nana does, constantly, as if the knitting needles are an extension of her body.

My eyes always go to Nana’s knitting, drinking in the color. I stare at the yarn, whether it is lemon, indigo, lilac, cerulean. I’m not sure how she convinced whomever is in control to allow her to have colored yarn, much less such a steady and vibrant supply of it. Today it is yellow like the sun, or fire, or hope.

           Something in me believes that the yellow might bring me alive again, make me feel something, and I reach out, unthinking, to touch the yarn. My fingers pass through it, and I freeze. Slowly, I bring my hand back, watching carefully this time. It moves through the yarn as if it has turned into mist. Looking up, I see that Nana is no longer smiling.

           Panic. It explodes within me, and my hands begin to shake.

           “Are you a ghost? A figment of my imagination?” I demand. As usual, there is no response. Silence except for the clacking of knitting needles.

           The clacking of knitting needles, my mind repeats. I can hear the needles!

           “Am I real?” The whisper escapes my lips. Am I real!? my mind screams. How would I know? I can touch the walls, my bed, the chairs, the floor, all the things in this building. Does that mean that I am real and Nana is the insubstantial one? Or do I not exist and this building is a creation of my mind? The only way to know is to experience something else…

           “Outside, I have to get outside.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth there is a stinging sensation in my arm. I look down, but the world is growing fuzzy and I can no longer see much of anything. Stumbling around, my world suddenly goes black.

…

           The air fills with a blaring noise, and Andi drags her eyes open, hand blindly reaching for her alarm clock. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she sits up in bed.

           “Are you awake?”, Helga pokes her head in the room.

           “Only sort of,” Andi tells her, faking a smile, which the housekeeper returns cheerfully.

           “Just making sure. You remember what today is, right?” Andi nods, and Helga leaves, tossing one last smile over her shoulder.

           Of course Andi knows what today is. It’s not like her father had been talking about it constantly or anything. The visit to his lab was probably his way of trying to relate to her, but Andi couldn’t bring herself to care. His half-hearted attempts to act like a father only started after last summer, and felt obligatory rather than voluntary.

           “No, bad idea Andi” she told herself, discarding the tight crop top and grabbing the professional button down next to it. Better to dress nice today, even if all she wanted was to push his buttons. Andi took one last look in the mirror and left, clomping down the stairs.

           “Meda don’t you want breakfast? I made Saturday pancakes.” Her father’s voice came floating from the kitchen and Andi froze. Saturday pancakes used to be a regular occurrence, her favorite part of mornings. She hadn’t eaten them since last August, when they started to taste like ashes and the butter bread they had served at her mom’s memorial service.

           “How dare he!” she whispered to herself. Anger punched though her gut like a knife, but she walked into the kitchen and pasted on a smile.

           “I’d love some” Andi said, reaching into the fridge for the milk carton. “You know how I feel about pancakes.”

           Her dad smiled and put two on a plate before passing it to her. Andi cracked a brittle smile and grabbed the plate, taking a fortifying gulp of milk in the hopes the white liquid would quell the fire in her stomach.

…

           The world is white. Cracking open my eyes, I realize I am in my room. How did I get here? There is an ugly feeling in the pit of my stomach, as if something has shifted and I cannot remember what. I walk to the opposite wall, and reach for the charcoal, but grab only air.

           “That’s odd,” I mutter to myself. “I always leave it right here.” I turn back towards my bed, intending to search the room, and gasp. The wall over my bed is covered with black charcoal. It is so thick in some places it appears as though the wall is simply painted black. Carefully, I walk towards the wall, climbing over my bed as I go. As I get closer I realize that what look like black expanses of charcoal scribbles are actually letters. Reaching out, I touch the wall, tracing over the charcoal letters trying to make out the words.

Outside. The word I am tracing is outside. My curiosity piqued, I turn to another spot and begin tracing out the words there.

Outside. Confused, I turn to yet another spot, desperate for some kind of message.

Outside. Outside. Outside. Outside. That’s all I can find. No note about why I’m here or what’s going on. Just that same word over and over again. Frustrated, I shove away from the wall, tumbling over the bed in my anger.

What about outside!? Go outside? Fear outside? What!?

There is a keening noise echoing around the room. It scrapes along my nerves, adding to my frenzy. I clamp my hands over my ears to drown it out, but this has no effect. If anything, the keening is a little louder and seems to reverberate within my head.

There is a stinging sensation in my neck and I move my arm to touch it, only to discover my arms have puddled beside my body, unresponsive. Before I can panic, the room fades away and my world goes black.

…

           Andi gazed out the black tinted window, wishing she was somewhere else. The car ride to the lab was torture. There was no winning; either there was awkward silence or painful small talk. Always at the back of Andi’s mind was the fact that her father knew nothing about her. If he ever tried to be involved in her life, conversation would have been easy. But he was always gone, never making an effort until he found himself the single parent of a broken and angry teen. Not really the right moment to attempt to connect with someone for the first time, Andi thought to herself.

           “We’re here.” Her dad’s voice broke through her train of thought. “Now remember to stay near me and not to touch any of the equipment. It’s very expensive and delicate.”

           Andi rolled her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m seventeen, not seven.”

           Her father’s reply was interrupted as they rolled up to the guard’s station. “Identification and name please.”

           “Kretos Gregory,” he said, handing over his badge, “and my daughter Andromeda.” The guard handed back Gregory’s badge, eyes darting over Andi.

           “She needs to sign a confidentiality form, sir.”

           “Yes, of course,” Gregory said, grabbing the form from the guard and passing it to Andi. “Just sign this real fast, Meda.”

           “Why do I need to sign a confidentiality form?” Andi asked, staring at the form he placed in her lap.

           “It’s just a small security measure, nothing to worry about. A formality, really, to make sure knowledge of the experiments doesn’t get out.”

           Andi took the pen her father held out and signed at the bottom of the form after a moment’s hesitation. Something about the form made her vaguely uncomfortable; the secrecy it implied, as well as the idea that whatever happened inside the building shouldn’t be common knowledge.

           The form passed from her hands to her father’s in silence, before it went out the window to the guard. He glanced over it, checking her signature, before slipping it in a folder on the tiny desk.        

           “Have a nice day,” the guard said slowly, a wrinkle appearing between his eyebrows as he glanced at Andi.

           At least someone realizes how dumb a father-daughter bonding activity this will be.

           Gregory parked the car, and Andi got out, taking a deep breath and painting up her veneer of understanding, interested daughter. She would be damned if she let anyone know how much his fake affection hurt.

           Her father strode into the building with Andi trailing behind. She looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the lab building. People walked around with clipboards, and the few sounds there were echoed off of the tile floor. The walls were white in an oppressive, hospital like way and the entire atmosphere of the hall instantly put her on edge. She continued walking, already wishing she was outside.

…

           I bolt upright in bed, gasping for breath and reaching for a spot on my neck. Outside! my mind is screaming. The word is stuck in my mind, but I have no idea what it means. It is important; I can feel deep in my bones that the fluttering of panic in my chest is connected to it. Blindly, I reach for my charcoal only to come up empty handed. With a strange sense of déjà vu, I dash around my room searching for it, but to no avail. The charcoal is gone.

           Hands are fisted in my hair and my breath is ragged. Someone has been in my room.

           “Who are you!? Where are you!? Come back!”

           My door is locked and I am banging against it with my fists.

           The bed springs creak as I stand on it, scrabbling at the wall.

           Fingertips scratched raw, as the wall is painted with red.

           A numbing sensation, spreading from my neck and across my body.

           Darkness.

…

           “We’re almost to Subject 729’s viewing room,” Gregory said, breaking the silence that had fallen between them.

           “Viewing room?” Andi asked. “I thought I was going to see the experiment you have been working on.” There was a heavy feeling in her stomach; Subject 729 sounded like what you would call a human experiment.

           “Here we are,” Gregory announced, something close to a twinkle in his eyes. Andi was floored, momentarily forgetting how to move. Her father was never happy, he didn’t know how to be happy.

           She stepped around him into the room, curious what could put her father in a near cheerful mood. Once inside the doorway, she stuttered to a halt. The viewing room had a window like those in interrogation rooms that opened onto what used to be a pure white room: white bed, white sheets, white floor, red walls.

No, white walls with red streaks.

Red streaks being clawed into it by hands contained within white clothing. White clothing that contained a girl her age.

           “Andi what’s wrong?” Her father’s voice floated on the edge of her perception. “Andi you’re shaking!”

            She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. There was no longer enough oxygen in the room and her lungs were aching. Underneath it all was the knowledge that this was what her father was working on. This was what he wanted to show her. This is what made him happy, her mind whispered.  

           “Andi,” her father touched her elbow, trying to pull her aside so he could step into the room.

           “Don’t touch me!” she screamed, wrenching herself away from Gregory. This is what makes him happy. Not me, not mom, but this – this violence!

           The movement was enough for him to step into the room and see through the window. Gregory’s face turned to stone.

           “Stay here, Andi,” he said. “I have to go fix this.” He strode from the room without even a backward glance. The door closed behind him and the click of a lock sounded in the room.

           Andi turned back to the window in time to see a small hatch open in the white room. Something small flew out of it and hit the girl, who stumbled against the wall before crumpling in on herself. Air whooshed from her lungs, and Andi stumbled towards the window. The desire to run and never look back competed with the need to help the girl in white.

           A few seconds passed, and then the door opened and a herd of people shoved into the room, their white lab coats a perfect match with the walls. Two of them bent down and lifted the girl, before turning and carrying her from the room.

           “No! Where are you taking her?” Andi screamed. “Don’t hurt her!” Her fists pounded on the window and tears tracked down her face. Distantly, she realized how futile anything she did would be, but the horror and revulsion yanked at her, pushing her to do something. For anyone to do something.

…

I wake to chaos. There are people everywhere around me, poking me with needles, taking my blood pressure, and writing on clipboards. The sea of people makes me sick, for some reason being in a crowd feels like being thrown in scalding water.

“She’s awake!”

“That’s impossible. I gave her enough tranquilizers to knock out a horse.”

“Well grab more! The doctor will kill us if we ruin this experiment. She is one of the only ones left.”

“She can’t be conscious until the reset is complete!”

The voices all clamor for my attention, each one louder than the last. I turn my head, trying to see past their noise, trying to find something calm to focus on. I catch a glimpse over one of the doctor’s shoulders of a man studiously applying white paint to a wall. There are red streaks he is clearly trying to cover up. They grab my attention; something about the red is pleasant, as is the way they seem to be grouped in streaks of five, almost as if they were created together. I wonder who took the time to put them there. They must be sad to see their hard work callously covered up with dull, white paint.

I turn to ask one of the people surrounding me why they are painting over the designs, and a needle is jammed into my arm. The sparkling liquid in the tube is shot into my veins and the needle is yanked out. I open my mouth but no sound comes out. The walls are getting farther away and the voices are fading. Wait, I want to cry out. Stop doing this to me!

…

           Andi feels her body shaking apart. Her head is screaming, replaying everything over and over in a sick montage. She had given up banging on the window and was huddled on the floor with her knees up to her chest.

There was a roiling sensation in her stomach, as if someone released a hurricane inside her. Realizing what is about to happen, she bolted up and her eyes darted around the room before alighting on a trashcan in the corner. She stumbled towards it, falling to her knees and puking.

           The nausea was still there, but with nothing left in her stomach it turned to dry heaves that rack her body.

           The heaving stopped and Andi crumbled in on herself.

           The sharp cold of the flooring was biting into her cheek.

           She couldn’t bring herself to move.

…

           The scene in the operating room is ugly, interns and assistants running around, frantically trying to save data. Doctor Gregory stands surveying the chaos, a crease of disapproval sitting between his eyes.

           “What, exactly, is the meaning of all of this?” he says in clipped tones.  The room shudders to a halt as everyone turns to look at him, looks of horror and shock written across their faces. Doctor Gregory stands waiting, his arms crossed over his chest.

           “Um, sir, we – uh – are fixing the, um, experiment,” a mousy intern says, his eyes flickering between Doctor Gregory’s face and the floor.

           “And why, pray tell, does my experiment need fixing?” The interns glance between themselves, silently begging someone to take the fall.

           After a long period of silence, Doctor Gregory turns towards a blonde near the back of the room, “Margret, why don’t you explain this to me.” Margret gulps, recognizing the fact that she has effectively been singled out for slaughter.

           “Well, sir, experiment 729 just went insane. One moment she was waving her hand through the projection of the old woman, and the next she had gone haywire. We kept knocking her out, hoping the drugs would erase her panic, but it wasn’t working. We pulled the plug when she starting clawing at the wall.” Margret gulps in air, trying to appear calm after spewing the story out at a breakneck speed.

           Doctor Gregory sighs. “Let’s see if she is salvageable,” he says and steps up to the makeshift operating table.

…

           Gregory returned to the viewing room, a scowl etched on his face. He never imagined that the interns would nearly destroy his experiment through their ignorance. The scowl deepened as the realization hit that the experiment may be ruined anyways. Psychological experiments were so delicate that a slight imbalance had the potential to ruin years of careful work.

           He was deep in his thoughts, and it took a moment to register the form curled up near the trashcan.

           “Andi!” he exclaimed, rushing over to her. Gregory paused, kneeling beside her, unsure what to do. Carefully, he placed his hand on her shoulder, and gently shook her.

           Andi stirred and her eyes slowly blinked open. She starred at her father and scrambled backwards, her eyes widening.

           “Don’t touch me!” she shrieked. “Don’t you dare touch me!’

           “Andi,” he said, “just calm down, it’s okay.”

           “No! No it is not okay. You’re a monster! What are you doing to that girl?”

           “It’s just an experiment with identity sweetheart. Nothing harmful.”

           “Nothing harmful!? Are you serious?” Andi was sliding backward, trying to distance herself from him.

           “Andi stop that,” Gregory said, impatience showing through. She shook her head and continued to slide away. He reached out and grabbed her arm, halting her backwards movement.

           “Don’t touch me!” She scrambled away from him, tears beginning to track down her cheeks.

           Gregory made an impatient noise in his throat, reaching for a device on his belt.

           “Can someone bring me a small dose of the tranquilizing agent?”

…

           Andi groaned. Her body felt as if it had been hit by a semi truck, and somewhere in her head her heart pounded.

           As she woke up, images began to trickle back. A white room. A girl clawing at the wall. Her father’s face impassively watching.

           Andi sat bolt upright in bed, taking in her surroundings as adrenaline pumped in her veins. She was in her room, with no memory of how she got there.

           “Are you awake?” Helga’s head poked into her room. She took in the look on Andi’s face and hurried over to the bed as alarm flitted across her own features. “Min kjaere what is wrong?”

           “Everything,” Andi said, burying her face in Helga’s white shirt. “Everything is wrong.”

…

           My eyes drag themselves open, and I struggle to sit up and focus on the room around me. It is like a blank canvas, entirely white and empty. At the edges of my mind, there is a sense that the wall opposite the bed once had hundreds of small black markings on it. Perhaps it is my mind playing tricks on me. A different memory superimposed on this one.

I try to ignore the wall and the sense of wrongness in the room. Yet my eyes always return to it; there is no ignoring the feeling that something sinister is happening to me without my knowledge.