#i have to see virus and trip again. do u understand. i have to see virus and trip again..........do u know who i was then?

[emergingsentiments]

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha: Episode 10 (Repost)

Loneliness must have drawn you back here, says Hwajung to Chohui. But these could have been words for Dusik and Hyejin, too. The past and current entanglements of Gongjin’s love affairs, after all, run parallel to each other. For Chohui, her mother’s death and her brother’s migration left her solitary, so it only seemed natural to return to somewhere familiar. Hyejin, on the other hand, visited the seaside town to reclaim the memory of happier times, when her mother was still alive. Dusik’s reasons are still obscured but the glimpses into the wakes he’s stood vigil by are compelling reasons behind his return.

Home, as I observed in the first episode of Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha, is where the heart is and the hurts are.

Episode 10 unfolded like the turning point that it is. As the previous chapters tackled the inner workings of all our characters, especially the progress of Hyejin and Dusik both as individuals and in their romantic engagements, we saw how people began to confront their fears. Whether it’s Cheonjae’s anxieties as a has-been singer and as a single father to a rebellious Juri or Gamri’s quiet suffering in her empty nest, the melancholy that undergirds the town’s surface pushed each one to face their scars and losses. For all the comic relief she brings, even Miseon had to brave confusion and rejection.

In this page of Gongjin’s tale, however, the theme of battling life’s greatest antagonist is truest among Dusik, Hyejin, and Seonghyun.

Poor Seonghyun, so new to the town yet so quick to have been thrown into the maelstrom of Gongjin’s charms and tragedies. His greatest fear was being late. He missed opportunities before, including in the postcard-perfect moments of his youth. Always an observer but never the one observed; always watching over Hyejin but always a step behind others in the line. If he were dancing, he’d be out of rhythm, too busy trying to memorize the choreography.

He has rehearsed his lines a thousand times. Will they come out right? Here, Lee Sang-yi gives Seonghyun his most graceful and yet graceless moment. Making an abrupt u-turn on his way to Seoul, he returns to Gongjin — late once again. Hyejin, attacked by a wandering sexual predator in town, has been saved by Dusik. If the shock of the night’s crime were not enough, he confesses the next evening to a Hyejin that had just mistakenly implied her growing affections for Dusik. She’s just had dinner, too.

Full and formal, Hyejin listens to Seonghyun’s lonely and tense confession. Sangyi delivers the lines Seonghyun has held onto for years. It’s a speech marked by jitters, fretful glances, and a slowly growing blush. Once out, he tries to stop the tension by marking the scene as a take. But the clapperboard humor isn’t enough. Hyejin watches him eat alone. She has no appetite.

Hyejin, for her part, couldn’t be blamed. She never really saw Seonghyun other than a senior to be admired. Yes, he’s saved her from a jerk before. But years of absence have made the heart grow duller instead of fonder. She’s also just come from an equally awkward dinner with Dusik, who is celebrating his grandfather’s death anniversary. There is no room for another meal. The night before — the night of the attack — she had slept in Dusik’s home for the third time as well.

At the first visit to his home, she kissed Mr. Hong on impulse and alcohol. On the second, she carried the weight and fears of an inebriated Dusik. On the third visit, she is traumatized from the night’s break-in, so now slips in to Mr. Hong’s clothes and stays over, unable to sleep unless Dusik’s around with poetry. He reads to her...It is my job to fall in love with you while waiting for you the next day. The antidote to Hyejin’s fear, after all, is Gongjin’s son.

But what does Hyejin fear? Well, it’s simple. She fears what she lost — her childhood, to be who she is. As a young girl who lost her mother, she had to grow up fast given her father’s alcohol-tinged coping mechanism. As a young woman, she had to build walls after a harsh rebuke of her lowly appearance. So she covers her scars with pretenses — and fancy shoes. Her clothes are her walls. Her life has been planned out. She steers this career with distinct professionalism and ambition. But it’s never ruthless. A woman-child, her core reveals a soft, compassionate heart.

This is what Dusik brings out in her. It’s not something Dusik necessarily gives. The two, after all, have their losses but they are whole persons, too. Dusik’s unconventional lifestyle and ways have eroded the surface of Hyejin’s fortress. Like salted sea slowly breaking down cliffs. With Dusik, she regains the lost child, the one who laughs when pieces of crab meat are flung to Dusik’s face. If that was Seonghyun, Hyejin would have been profusely apologetic and formal. But Mr. Hong is different. Around him, Hyejin can be unguarded, vulnerable.

Dusik, on the other hand, always saw her in a different light. Carrying the weight of unexplained grief, Dusik knows exactly what’s hidden behind Hyejin’s front. But for all his bravado, he’s afraid, too. The people he loved the most have left him, leaving him with an unimaginable sense of guilt. It’s what keeps him tethered to the idea of boundaries. He only likes Hyejin as a friend. But his eyes, his actions — they speak otherwise. If he admits to loving Hyejin, then the prospect of fresh losses cripple him. He’s an engineering graduate, so he has made the calculations. And yet, this strange woman who has returned from a childhood memory is urging him to take those risks and forget those probabilities.

He took a stab on the shoulder, one that nearly cost his life. Isn’t that love — or even the semblance of it? Why does Dusik need to certify his affections with assurance? Gamri, Gonjin’s wisest daughter, sees through Dusik’s barricades. Life’s brevity, she says, demands risks but most of all, honesty with oneself.

These are words worth ruminating in the evening breeze at the town’s breakwater.

It’s the same place where Hyejin finds him.

After a trip to Seoul to forget the town’s powers over her and Miseon, she realizes the city’s offerings were no longer attractive. Everything reminds her of Gongjin. She can’t stop thinking of Dusik. As a grown-up, Hyejin had sought security. Her instinct of self-preservation made her hard. Drenched in a sudden downpour in Seoul, she remembers her rain-soaked self with Dusik at the beach. It is enough for her to understand.

These realizations surge from Hyejin’s adrenaline-filled confession. Unable to deny her growing affections any further, she takes the plunge.

The child faces reality with simple acceptance. In the presence of a vulnerable Hyejin, things freely move and are themselves. The effects are immediately clear. Like any sensible woman, Hyejin knows Dusik could all but reject him, too. Who drives back from Seoul to rant about love, right? But Dusik understands. The hours waiting for her return were sooner than he had anticipated. But the man had made his calculations. The formulas are no longer useful.

True to himself, Dusik fulfills his new duty. It is my job to fall in love with you while waiting for you the next day. So he returns the confession with the most reasonable declaration: a kiss, first tender, one that leaves Hyejin breathless. He speaks but yearns for more. So he lets his lips touch hers for a second time. A kiss now free from all the tentativeness of the night.

A few weeks ago I read several criticisms about Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha. It’s cliched. People only watch it because the actors are popular. There’s nothing exceptional about a love story.

Cliched, true. But there is a reason why there are cliches because they are true. Do people only watch because the actors are popular? Perhaps. Perhaps not. A love story doesn’t hold a candle to the more intellectual and uncomfortable narratives available for consumption, right? You know, the stories that deal with war and violence, politics and its lack of virtue, the more profound tales that explore humanity or its degradation. But I fear this is an effort to leave the commonplace, the domestic, and the personal materials unattended for the sake of what seems profound. Yet, the production of these “better” and more profound stories does not offer any solace from suffering.

For over a year now, we’ve been fighting the wrath of an invisible virus. It might even be true to say that for many of us, we’ve lost someone dear, someone deeply loved. If not, we know someone who has dealt with these losses. Given the lockdowns and restrictions, even grieving has been abbreviated. Our reality is sobering. We fear many things. So while I don’t hold it against people to choose the more elevated tales, it would be a shame to dismiss those who gush over a love story as uncritical and frivolous.

Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha resonates with and appeals to many because it reminds us of the things we’ve lost to the pandemic. Face-to-face conversations. The stability of a job. Family. Friendship. The pat on the back. Our grandparents. Our first love. A hand to hold. Dinner with friends under the warmth of incandescent light. Office conversations. Senseless chatter. The thrill of falling in love. The smell of the sea, and the sand on our feet. Our best friend. The normalcy of a leisurely walk. Dancing in the rain. People. Our community. The words we wanted to say. A kiss.

In a world where physical intimacy and closeness are dangerous, we feel our lips with our fingers watching Hyejun and Dusik kiss. And we remember the way we were. Kim Seon Ho was right in saying Hometown Cha-Cha-Cha is a healing drama. To love and be loved, after all, remains the ultimate catharsis.

[sunflauer]

our first date :)

okay, where should I start?

I got there like half an hour early cause I was nervous and I wanted to figure out what I would say to him. I bought a yellow ribbon for my hair cause it was cute and then I walked for a while before meeting with him. I got back to our arranged meeting spot, saw him and run towards him and hugged him tight. I think I scared him cause I kinda came out of nowhere.

“Oh jeez, did I hurt you?”

“Haha nah, you just paused my music :)”

We took the bus, where I did the “choose a hand” thing I told u a few days ago, and it worked perfectly. The trip to the garden was a bit awkward, but I bet it was supposed to be like that.

We finally arrived at the garden, but before going in, we started looking for a coffee shop or something. After walking for a while, we finally found one, bought two cappuccinos, and then got into the garden.

Once inside, we sat down on this cute little bench and exchanged gifts. I gave him the notebook with cute little stories of us and other things, and he gave me a rose made out of paper, blue paper, his favorite color. We talked for a bit and laughed and then got up and started walking around the garden. At this point I raised my hand up to my face, but not that close, and I started looking at my pinky as if it had something on it, something I had never seen before. With curiosity in his eyes he asked me what was wrong with my finger, and so I said “ look at your finger, don't you have the same thing?” “ what do you mean? I only have a ring.” He said raising up his pinky long enough for me to grab it with mine and start walking faster making him blush and die inside.

We walked around the garden for hours, laughing at everything, slowly losing our nerves and holding hands in the end. Many cute words were exchanged in that garden, words I'm going to save for myself, but I assure you they were really adorable and hard to forget. Some of them were even hard to hear, since he was so nervous that most of his comments were whispers that I had to magically understand.

A few minutes before leaving the garden I started feeling a bit dizzy and a terrible headache invaded my brain, the kind of headache that makes you feel like you're developing superpowers or something. I'm prone to passing out sometimes and he knows that. Besides wearing a mask all day and walking around a garden kind of tires you out, you know?

On the way back, I rested my head on his shoulder for the whole trip. We hugged and even hummed one of the songs that we keep close to our hearts. The smiles on our faces were so big that both of our masks were falling down as they grew wider and wider.

On the last bus home, my headache had reached a new level, making it harder for me to breathe, making me believe that I was actually going to pass out in that bus with him by my side.

“ I don't feel so good. I'm not kidding, I'm not trying to be cute or anything, I really don't feel well.” I said, almost panicking.

“Okay, take it easy, breathe…. Do you want us to get off the bus and walk to your house?”

I said no since we were only a few stops away from my house but then ended up getting off the bus before getting there. We walked like 3 blocks and I tried to catch my breath once again.

“ Are you feeling better?”

“A little… thank you. And I'm sorry” I said as I stood before him, with a sad look in my eyes.

“Hey" he said, grabbing both of my shoulders “ there's nothing you have to be sorry for. These things tend to happen sometimes... especially to you... and I already knew that :)”

It was at that moment when I leaned towards him and rested my head on his shoulder once again and then pretended to pass out just to tease him. We laughed once more and then I did another cute thing.

“Pick one; natural or shiny?" I said, giving him no hint of what I was talking about.

“natural or shiny what?”

“ just choose one!”

“alright shiny”

and then I took this shiny and glossy lip gloss and applied some to my lips, then took a piece of paper and kissed it. I ripped that piece of paper from my notebook, took my small pen and wrote the word coupon on it.

“you can cash this one in when the pandemic is over”

Then I applied some rubbing-alcohol to my hands, and that's when he said “can I have some?”

I knew he didn't care about the rubbing-alcohol or taking precautions when it came to the virus, so this was a shock to me. After giving him some, I noticed how he rubbed it all over his face, like a crazy person, and then he pressed two of his fingers to his lips, kissed them, and then pressed them on my cheek.

If my dad hadn't interrupted the lovely scene we would have said goodbye in a different way, one that wasn't just yelling “byeee” to each other from a distance.

It was a magical day. Our first date. As I remember every single aspect of that day, it feels like taken out of a romantic comedy. The hand holding, the stolen glances, the subtle touching, the hugging, the adorable things we said to each other... everything was perfect. And I can't wait to see him again.

[winterromanov]

know it’s for the better - bucky x reader

pairing: college!bucky x reader

part of the will we talk? universe

prompt:  what about college!bucky during quarantine? their school gets shut down... do they stay together? how does it go?

a/n: a repost bc the ‘read more’ fucked up on the ask and idk??? what happened??? but here u go. about 2k words

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.

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know it’s for the better

The semester is not supposed to end like this. No, there are supposed to be parties and laughter and getting wine drunk on the roof, bare legs dangling into New York City. There are supposed to be finals, and library study sessions, and football games in hot, summer rain. There are supposed to be more nights tucked in the twin bed in your dorm room with Bucky’s arm looped round your waist, fingers splayed across your bare skin.

Instead it’s the beginning of March and everything is over. You could feel it coming like storm clouds, black and ominous, hovering on the horizon. The virus has been hovering on your periphery for an embarrassingly long time. As your twitter timeline became more and more scary and the news could talk of little else, it has become frighteningly and anxiously real. Life—everywhere, but particularly in New York—is never going to be the same.

You have no choice but to pack up your little dorm room and return home. Your mom had frantically booked you a flight out, worrying that in less than a week they could be suspended altogether. The virus has been spreading furiously in the city. A place you now call home could be one of the most dangerous places in the world.

And yet…the thought of leaving behind everything so abruptly is killing you. It’s not even school, despite loving it so much. It’s not the college lifestyle or your friends or just having the freedom to waltz wherever you want without fear.

It’s Bucky.

You leave New York, you have to leave him. And God knows how long that might be for.

“Y/N.” His voice is soft, barely a whisper. Bucky has been quietly watching you fill suitcases with clothes, cardboard boxes with belongings. Every so often it looks like he is going to help, but he thinks twice about it, like he can’t bear this is happening. “Y/N…could we, like, stop for a second?”

“My flight leaves first thing in the morning,” you say, refusing to turn and look at him. Your eyes well up as your tear Polaroids and ticket stubs and a sketch Steve did for you from your corkboard, unable to look at those either. They’re just reminders of everything you’re leaving and will never be the same again. “I don’t have time. I just need to get this done, okay?”

“I can’t just keep watching you do this and not talk about what’s going to happen next!”

“Well, maybe you could fucking help, then.”

You never swear, not really, and you can feel Bucky’s expression burning into the back of your skull. Hurt, surprise, desperation. “Let me help. Let me understand what is going through your head.”

“I—I didn’t mean that kind of help, I just need to pack these damn bags…”

Bucky’s hands touch your shoulders. It should feel familiar, his limbs and yours colliding. But he feels like fire. It feels like you’re going to have his handprints burnt into your skin, red and raw, a tattoo of the one real relationship you’ve ever had.

Because he knows just as well as you do that…it’s not going to work, is it? School is over. There is a fucking pandemic going on outside, and you live all the way on the other side of the country whilst he is and always will be a Brooklyn boy. You were supposed to have a whole semester and the summer to sort out what came next, to establish the foundations of your future together, if there was definitely going to be one. And that’s been ripped underneath you like a traumatic tablecloth.

You love him. You love him so fucking much. But is it fair to try and keep going when everything is like this?

“You know my mom and dad would love you to move in,” he says, “You can quarantine with us, see how things go. I just—I just don’t want you to leave. Please don’t leave.”

“Bucky. Please. That’s not fair.” You say, eyes fluttering closed. “We haven’t lived together before and…how do you know we’d work like that? This is serious, and terrifying, and I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

“You don’t feel safe with me?”

At that you turn to face him, seeing the desperate pain in his eyes. You run your hands across his jawline, cupping at his neck. One tear runs across and down your wrist and he looks away, embarrassed. “Sweetheart. You know that’s not what I meant.”

“God. Yeah. I know, darl’. I know.” He kisses your hand softly. “With everything going on, (Y/N), my future feels a lot more certain knowing you’ll still be in it.”

You fall into his chest, inhaling him in. That woody, fresh scent of his cologne, coffee and mint and dark chocolate. You want to wrap yourself up in him and drown. Escape to a place where time is irrelevant, and nothing ever ends.

“I need to be with my family, Bucky. My mom is worried about me. I can’t put her through me staying here, even if I wanted to. And your mom would be the same.”

“I get that. I do. But you’re—you’re making it sound like that we have to break up.” You lean out of his embrace, his tear-filled eyes scrutinising you. “Are…we breaking up?”

Your mouth opens, swinging like a door on a loose hinge as you try and say something. Eloquence usually comes to you easy, when talking about the books you read for class. It’s one of the things Bucky first noticed about you, your fervent love for language. But there are no words for this. Just empty, agonising silence.

“Why do we have to break up?” He asks, voice cracked in two like a broken porcelain vase. “Why is that what you immediately resort to? There are thousands of ways we could make this work. Starting with the fact that I love you. Is that not enough to even try?”

You pause. Your room, once your safe haven, now feels torturous and unbearable. Suffocating. You bite your lip, tears burning behind your eyelids. “I would love to say yes, Bucky, but I don’t know. I just—I don’t want to be a few weeks down the line, you here and me in Colorado, finding out that it hasn’t worked and it isn’t enough and we have to break up over fucking Skype or…I don’t know, slowly ghost each other into nothingness? I would a million times over rather end it here where I love you than then where I don’t.”

“That is the worst logic I’ve ever heard. Literally the worst. You are assuming the absolute worst of both of us, and…” he runs a frantic hand through his hair. “You know what, if that’s what you think, maybe you’re right. If you have that little faith in me—us—now, maybe we should call it quits.”

“Bucky—”

“I’m going to leave. Have a good trip home.” He looks around your room for one last second but does not meet your gaze. “Have a really fucking good trip home.”

Bucky hovers for a moment by the door, like he’s waiting for one last glimmer of hope. That you might ask him to stay because even…even after all that, he still would drop everything for you to say stay.

But you don’t. The door reverberates loudly in the frame on his way out.

-

You don’t break down, which surprises you. For a little while after he leaves, when you try to immerse yourself in packing and singing along to Taylor Swift from your speaker, you think that it’s for the best. It is, it is, because it can’t work and it won’t work and this will save pain further down the line.

But the hours pass and silence creeps in to your now empty, echoing dorm room, absent of the vibrant life that once occupied it and—your heart feels wrong. This is not freeing, or a relief. This is not the ending you wanted.

You go to get a shower and Bucky’s sports towel is hung over one of the empty cubicles. You turn the tap as hot as it can get it, drowning the whole room in steam and something switches within you. The tears start and they refuse to stop, wracking your body like convulsions.

You fucked it. You well and truly fucked one of the only things that could have got you through all of this, even if you’re over a thousand miles away. It’s like Bucky said. The future is uncertain and scary and untenable, but it feels a hell of a lot more definite with him in it.

You wrap yourself in your towel and walk back into the corridor. Wiping your eyes, there’s a shape in a red jersey hovering next to your door.

“Bucky?”

He turns, his jaw tight and eyes rimmed with red. “Y/N.”

He doesn’t have to say anything else. You run over to him, grabbing fistfuls of him desperately, like he’s going to flare and fade from you forever. His arms wrap around you with equal vigour, warm and panicky and home.

“I didn’t mean it.” You say, your words swallowed up by his ribcage. “Dear God, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it.”

You can feel him sob, body trembling in your arms. “Thank God.”

“I don’t know what will happen next. I haven’t got a fucking clue. But I know I want you there, okay? However it turns out.” You bring his lips down for a kiss tinged with hot water and steam, relief and pure, young, beautiful love. Your foreheads gently rest together. Another quick kiss. “I love you. I love you.”

He kisses you again, like he’s trying to fit in as many as he can. Like he’s packing them all into a suitcase for you to relive, one by one by one, when you’re at home and everything feels like its crumbling.

It will never crumble completely. You know this, because James Buchanan Barnes is your foundations, and he made it pretty fucking clear on day one when he grinned at you in sophomore year Russian lit. You both love novels because you love stories. You love beginnings and ends and everything in between, the climaxes and the romances, murders and death and life—you love breaking apart character, brutally analysing fictional lives and motives. But most of all, you love the feeling of watching characters you adore falling completely and utterly in love. You have spent years trying to define your favourite love story amongst the hundreds you’ve read, but you never thought—

All that time, all you had to do was wait.

send me a request

[letterstotheone-whomilovemost]

12/31/2020 (14 months after the event)

Happy New Years!

It has been a rather weird year, hasn’t it? While some days from this year feel like they were only yesterday, others feel like half a decade ago. To be quite frank, the same applies to the last time I saw you. I’m sure if you saw this you would go “blah blah, you say the same thing every time you write.” While this is true, I can’t help it. I started taking new medication, as of 14 days ago. My psychiatrist, I have one of those now-- along with a therapist haha, recommended me getting put on escitalopram for my severe anxiety. It’s always been pretty bad, but over the course of the past 14 months, it has skyrocketed pretty high. Isn’t it strange how our minds develop as we get older? Survival of the fittest? Or is it just adaptation? The human body is pretty neat, let alone our brain. 

I was going through my photos the other day, and got the sudden urge to delete all of them. Of course, I’m not as crazy as just upright deleting them-- so I uploaded all of them onto a drive, and then deleted them from my phone. All of them. Decided it was time for a fresh start, why not start with the one thing I open every day, right? I decided earlier today, about a week after I deleted all of my photos, that I would go into my drive to try and find a photo from September that I downloaded from a manga I was reading. Of course I got sidetracked, I scrolled to 2014 and was going through all of my old photos with my brother and my family, and then suddenly I got to 2017 and there it was. The black and white photo of you and I at the parking deck, both of us laughing as hard as we possibly could. I smiled softly of course, as the beautiful memory came rushing over me. But then something hit me. For some reason, this isn’t how I remember you. My brain forgot what you looked like, or at least started trying to. It’s been about a year since I last saw a photo of you. While the brain is so incredibly amazing, it has a bad habit of memories starting to fade, especially when it’s a person attached to bad memories as well. It works in some cases, where people are trying to forget-- but even still it does the opposite and leaves the person going “Why can’t I forget you!?”. Strange, right? The human mind is so beautiful. I can still hear you talking to me sometimes, if I try hard enough. Lately, I haven’t been so hard on myself. I’m trying to figure myself out still, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it is okay that I still love you. I know I more than likely always will. That’s what love is, right? Being able to love and never losing that love, no matter what happens. 

All of this being said, I figured I would kind of recap everything that has happened in the wonderful year of 2020. It has been one hell of a ride.

January, the month of my brother’s 15th birthday. He was so happy and we all celebrated his birthday with him the following weekend. We also went hiking the same month, while it was cold; my mother, brother, and I had a blast. This month was mostly just working and being lazy on my off days. I had a fall out with my best friend.

February, I had a love hate relationship with this month. I tried dating someone new, I saw that you had gotten in a relationship two months prior and figured it was time for me to try and move on as well. Needless to say, dude was a douchebag and was a very violent individual. I left him within 3 weeks. My birth father, his newlywed wife, my cousin from my favorite uncle, whom I had never met until then, and I all went to Ruby Falls. It was quite a beautiful journey. Whilst I fought with my father, it turned out to be an okay experience. Later in the month, I ended up getting into a fight with my landlord, who was demanding that I pay extra, even though I was not behind on any payments. I ended up cooperating with them, so that I didn’t lose my home. I celebrated my little sister’s fifth birthday.

March, I lost my job. Millions and millions of other people did as well. Covid-19 struck the world. I took it lightly and just assumed that yet again, the media was blowing things out of proportion. My landlord wasn’t understanding of the fact I was put out of work, along with millions of others. They ended up being generous for the month after I showed them statistics. I ended up being lazy, doing nothing but watching Netflix and Disney plus for the entire month.

April, Corona Virus was boring at this point. We had all been told, “Oh! We’ll all be open for business again in the next two weeks!”. That was the first week of March, and it was now April. The government didn’t give us any kind of help until the last week, so that kind of fucked me. I spent most days laying in bed on TikTok. I also got super into streaming in the beginning of this month, and my platform was finally starting to take off.

May, unemployed for two months. I debated taking a job at a warehouse. Unfortunately, the media deterred me from doing so. There was a spike of cases in my state; it was terrifying. I didn’t leave my house much. I got my dog, for the first time in 4 years. It was beautiful, I cried. He was so happy to be back home. I started a routine of watching anime every morning at 7 am and then going for a walk. I wanted to get back into a daily routine, regardless if I had a job or not. I was falling behind on bills, and I really needed to distract myself. I started getting into digital art, rather than traditional, for the first time ever. I stopped making my music.

June, I reconnected with a lot of old online friends from 2013. It was strange and I didn’t really know how to feel about it. It was nostalgic in a way, spending late nights on discord calls. I didn’t really enjoy it all too much, I felt like it all needed to stay in the past. I started anti-depressants, again. This time it was Prozac. It made me feel extremely drowsy, and made me feel out of body most of the time. I tried to date, again. An old friend that I had from 2013, we reconnected and even though they were out of state, I decided-- “Hey, maybe this will be good for me. I don’t have to worry about them getting aggressive with me, we can take things slow, and we can pace ourselves.” Oh man, if only I knew. He flew down to my state, met the family, was extremely respectful and even stayed in a hotel the first trip. Everything seemed to be going okay.

July, my 21st birthday. Did I drink? No. Sounds crazy, right? I had about half a drink, and decided I just didn’t want any. I had stopped taking my antidepressants, the new boyfriend had said that I wasn’t acting right. It fed into my suspicion, that the meds weren’t doing a whole lot for me. They were just making me really sleepy and on edge all the time. The new boyfriend had come down again for my birthday and mother’s birthday, since we share the same birth week. Celebrated with my mom, her best friend, and I. July was pretty hectic, since I had decided I would be moving to West Virginia on August 5, 2020.

August, I moved to West Virginia. I packed up all of my belongings, uprooted everything I had ever known, hugged my family goodbye, and got into the back of a truck with a u-haul attached to it. I rode in the back of the vehicle for 14 hours, fell asleep in Kentucky, woke up in Ohio. It was daylight by the time we approached West Virginia. It was so beautiful, all of the mountains. I was moving into the house in which he lived in, which his sister was next door on one side, and his parents on the other side. We had the nice river breeze, since Ohio river was within eyesight. I lived in the Tri-state area so it was Pennsylvania on one side, Ohio on the other, and us-- five minutes to each state. It was a good first couple of days. Then we got into our first fight. I was unable to work, since I left my car behind. Luckily, I had saved up a bunch of money for me to be able to buy one. He hit me with really low blows, saying I didn’t need to work-- since women weren’t good for that kind of thing. It hurt, to be honest. I had never seen him like this before, in the eight years I had known of his existence. He had been with me in my hometown for three weeks and not once acted like this. I walked on eggshells, bought a car with my hard earned money, then got a management job at the Domino’s that was ten minutes from my town I was living in. Towards the end of the month, he got aggressive with me. He stopped working the same week I had moved in, he had no car. He had no ambition, he decided to just give up. Maybe that’s what I tried to see, maybe-- just maybe I could help him find some ambition. I wanted to save him, in a way? We got into a severe fight, I couldn’t take it anymore-- I fought back, and he ended up swinging on me.

September, I packed all of my belongings that I could into my tiny little Toyota, and left in the middle of the night. I had one thing on my mind, and that was to go to my mom’s house. My mother had known how bad he had gotten, since he acted such a way with my mother on the phone, unknowingly. I drove for 15 hours, well 13 but with rest stops to nap for a bit since I was running off of no sleep, but I finally ended up back home. I ended up staying with my mom for a bit. Later had to relocate, so I moved in with an old friend. Started streaming again.

October, Worked. Literally worked the entire month, my entire existence fell into dread. I became overly aware of how much time had passed. I felt like I had been doing nothing. I dreaded the last day of the month, every day just gave me more and more sadness.  I didn’t want the day to come. I started dreaming of you more and more and more. Halloween came, I decided to look at it differently, I started to thank you-- rather than try to hate you. I came to the conclusion that I would never hate you.

November, Thanksgiving! I started to become grateful, moved back into my mom’s house. It was a bumpy ride, but I managed to get back into the habit of doing healthy things. Started going to the gym again, drinking more water. I told my father he was dead to me, haven’t spoken to him since. I got to spend Thanksgiving with my real family, my mother and her best friend’s family. They watched me grow up since the day I was born. It was so much better than any other holiday I had ever had up to this date.

December, I started a new form of medicine. This time it was for anxiety, since that’s the main factor of my illness-- or so we think so far. I am on escitalopram, and I started it the week before Christmas. I got to see my real family again. It was nice, but this time I got to reunite with my childhood best friend for the first time in fifteen years. It was so lovely. I have become almost bedridden again, but it won’t last long-- since it’s just a side effect of my medicine. I also got to see some friends from high school, but then I realized-- they’re the exact same way they’ve been since the beginning. They wanted nothing but to talk about drama. It just isn’t my thing, I don’t like dealing with people much anymore, because of the constant drama. I’ve learned a lot about people changing, and the lack thereof.

I think this year has been a year full of lessons for me, and it has been tough. As they say, there’s no pleasure without pain, no pain no gain, right? This year has taught me a lot about myself and the people around me, and I am extremely grateful for the things I have experienced. I’ve learned so much about who I am as a person. I’ve grown a lot, while this year has kicked my ass. I have high hopes for the next year. For the first time, since 2016, I finally see a future in myself, by myself. 

To New Beginnings, Lovebug.

I love you, always.

22:27

[mattzerella-sticks]

The Silver Lining, Destiel Christmas/Hospital fic

Castiel expected to have a regular Christmas, the same he's had for all his life. Spent with family, exchanging presents and good cheer. Basking in the warmth of unconditional love. However, a twist of fate and a prank gone wrong leads him to experiencing a few new firsts.

His first trip to a hospital.

His first Christmas celebrated in a different location.

His first meeting with a certain man, suffering from a horrible case of food poisoning.

Of the three, he hopes the third is the first of many, many more. Is their encounter as rare as a Christmas miracle, or is it the gift that keeps on giving?

Cold. Wind races past his collar and sends shivers down his spine. “Stupid Gabriel,” he growls, shuffling the ladder until it aligns securely against his house. Castiel huffs a foggy breath over his trembling hands, rubbing them together for warmth. “How he can see tangled lights in this weather…”

Snow buffets him on his way up, Castiel pausing at times so he won’t fall off. Halfway up the ladder, Castiel’s common sense tugs at his nerves. Warns him from moving any further in fear of endangering himself. But then Gabriel pops in and strangles the thought, gratingly reminding him that decorations need to be perfect so close to Christmas. “It’ll only take me a second anyway,” he says, climbing another rung, “In and out.”

He reaches the roof, gripping the edges for balance. Squinting, Castiel scans the decorations amassed for the error Gabriel saw. Neck straining from the effort. Finding no fault in the perimeter Castiel checks the larger display. Leans further onto the roof and blindly gropes for Santa and his sleigh of reindeer. His hand slides around a hoof and Castiel squeezes it, smiling.

Suddenly a window rushes open, slamming. Castiel flinches, the ladder teetering underneath. “What? No, no -”

“Merry Christmas Cassie!”

“ No !”

Castiel falls, plastic and metal scraping across his roof and drowning out his screams. Before he hits the ground, Castiel sees Rudolph flying into a nosedive. Hurdling closer until the reindeer is all he sees. He blinks, and the world fades.

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

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Tentatively, Castiel opens his eyes. Fights against the ten pound weights stretched across his face to re-enter consciousness. He groans, first from the overly bright lights shining above him and next because of a dull ache biting into his side. Castiel tries to rub his eyes, except he can barely find the strength to do so.

“Well… look who finally decided to join the party,” a voice drawls from the left, “It’s about time, really.” It takes too much effort for Castiel to turn his head so few inches. He scrapes together the energy and, in the process, answers important questions knocking around his head.

Like where was he? A hospital, no doubt, given the sterile white walls and medical equipment lying around. And the hanging television playing holiday reruns of, ironically, Doctor Sexy. Unfortunately his smolder doesn’t evoke any of the warmth and comfort it usually does. Pain takes prominence, especially when he moves. Castiel cannot glimpse the damage, but the amount radiating from his right worries him. What he can view are tubes criss-crossing around him and the sickly man hunched over the bed to his left: the owner of the voice. In need of a distraction, he focuses on him.

He watches Castiel with curiosity and tired amusement etched into his features. Pallored skin glistening with sweat, each freckle prominently on display like stars above a city suffering a blackout. The man wears a similar dressing gown to Castiel’s, accessorized with a bucket clutched tightly in his lap. “Hey,” he says, lips trembling, “you feeling okay?”

“I feel like shit.” Castiel’s gravelly voice sounds more so from disuse, croaking the reply. The other man chuckles from nearby, agreeing with his amateur diagnosis. Laughter becomes hacking, and his face disappears into the bucket for a moment. When the echoing coughs stop, the other man emerges. Castiel continues, “How long…?”

“Not sure,”  he shrugs, “I was rolled in earlier because they had nowhere else to place me…”

“Place…?”

“There’s not really a wing for food poisoning victims,” the other man explains, “they had to stick me where they could.”

Castiel skews his head to the side, stuffing it further into the pillow. “Food poisoning? You’re in the hospital… for that?”

He glares at him, wrapping his arms tighter around the bucket. IV scooting closer from being tugged. “Listen, pal, I didn’t think I had to be here either. But apparently I’ve got the white blood cell count of a newborn so… here I am.” His head falls back into the bucket. “Be lucky you missed the massive crap volcano that erupted out of my colon.”

“I doubt it was because of luck…”

“True,” his roommate sighs, rising from the bucket once more, “being under for most of it was more drugs than luck. Kind of grateful, though, because then you didn’t hear me yell, grunt, and curse throughout it all… Until…” He blanches, fingers dipping past the rim, “until I just told you.”

Castiel arches a brow, smirking. “Why did you?”

“Because I had no one to talk to this whole time and I hate silence,” he tells him, “Been narrating the past few lonely hours.”

“You’re… not tired?”

“Too nauseous to sleep, really.”

“Even after all that shitting?”

The man rolls his eyes, feet kicking freely underneath him. “It was some pretty rotten eggnog,” he says, “and Sammy promised that vegan crap was all kosher… didn’t see him or Eileen drinking any.”

A little bit of energy jumps into Castiel as he digests the tidbit of information. “Vegan eggnog put you in here?”

“Vegan eggnog and a bad case of the flu,” he defends, “I’m usually made of stronger stuff.”

“So am I,” Castiel says, “Hardly ever sick… once my entire family got bogged down by a nasty virus and I was the only one who managed to remain healthy. Was their nurse for an entire month… schlepping from one house to the next making sure they were feeling better.”

“Then I guess they can return the favor,” his roommate offers, “especially since what happened to you trumps any cold.”

Castiel’s good mood dips low, and his body sags with the reminder of their situation. “Right,” he says, “Uh… exactly what happened to me?”

The man pauses, grin slipping into a tiny frown. “You mean you don’t know? Or… remember?”

“Remember what?”

“Hell I doubt I’d ever be able to forget if that happened to me…”

“What are you talking -” Castiel chokes, dam bursting and the memories flooding over him. He shivers immediately, hospital gone and replaced with the blustery winds from outside his house. Snow falling in clumps from above, doing their best to bury him. Already he thought a blanket of white crushed his chest.

Then Hannah’s face pops into view. Scared, speaking in a way that Castiel cannot fully understand. She’s on the phone, gibberish grating to his ears. So he lolls his head to the side and watches his other sister, Anna, shove at Gabriel with a monstrous expression on her face. The one she wore when it meant their brother dug a hole so deep he couldn’t climb out of it. He remembers smiling, a few of the words cutting through the ringing in his ears to reach his brain. ‘Idiot’, ‘thinking’, ‘killed’, and ‘prank’ are all he heard.

Nearby the burgeoning fight, his friend Kelly tries her best to talk to Jack. Castiel’s nephew won’t tear his eyes away from him. Lazily he shooed him off, trying his best to help. That only brought more focus onto him.

“No, Castiel,” Hannah said, clear for the first time. She wrangled his arms to the ground with haggard breaths. “Keep them lowered to stem the blood flow.”

“Blood flow?” he asked, “What do you mean, blood -”

Blood. So much of it, trickling from where an antler punctured his side.What he thought was snow revealed itself as the broken figure of the reindeer that fell from Santa’s sleigh alongside him.

Face intact, torn from the body at the neck, its black, plastic eyes trapped him. Made it impossible to look away. Even when the paramedics finally arrived and began asking him questions, he answered in a daze. When they removed the decoration, Castiel followed the head with his own until it disappeared from sight.

The next sequence of events plays in pieces. Being patched and carried into the ambulance, Hannah choosing to go with him. Her answering questions for him. Any allergies? Only to shellfish. Medical history? Until now, spotless. The calm, automatic doors at the hospital that betray the urgency of any situation. Doctors and nurses in festive gear descending and doing their best. A prick in his arm and the fuzzying of his senses.

Waking up in a strange room, with a stranger affected by serious food poisoning who has gotten up and leans way too close.

“...come on man, I’m so sorry,” he says, “I thought you knew. I didn’t know - when I asked she said you should be fine. They fixed you up really good, able to save the kidney -”

“My kidney?” Castiel gasps, “It… it hit my kidney?”

“Punctured it in three different parts,” the man tells him, “all clean entries, plastic intact, so no serious problems.”

His mind recovers from the panic, gripping onto the facts presented like a crutch. Thankful for the assurance, but also curious. “How do you know this?”

His roommate’s face shifts from pale to deliriously red, and he shuffles a few steps back. “I… I kinda asked the nurse when she came to check on me?” he winces, “you were still out cold and… there’s nothing really on TV except Christmas specials. If you ask me the last thing I want to be reminded of is Christmas while I’m stuck here…”

Dosed again with a bruising reminder, Castiel finds his injuries doubling and heart plummeting. “Stuck in the hospital on Christmas… it is Christmas, right?”

“Well…” the other man shrugs, “almost. It’s Christmas Eve, but in a few hours…”

“So I’ve been out for an entire day?”

“Seems like it. At least you’re up, from how the nurse put it you were going to be under for awhile - at least until after the holidays.”

Castiel scoffs, “A Christmas miracle…”

“Hey, could be worse.”

“How?”

“Imagine waking up alone,” the man says, squeezing his shoulder, “without this handsome face to greet you.” He winks, charm sparking like a flickering lighter. One that fails easily since a disturbing gurgle cuts through and makes his flirty expression shift into disease. Flies away from Castiel towards the bucket on his bed and bends over it, exposing the festive boxers hidden under his gown. While aware of what his roommate does, it can’t dull the warmth caused from his wink nor the sight of his shapely snowflake-covered ass.

Castiel squeezes the blanket, averting his gaze when the measured pace of the heart monitor picks up slightly. Careful not to disturb the tube he’s sure is lodged to help him pee. Measures his breaths and thinks of horrid things to stem the blood and direct it elsewhere.

Finished, the other man flips and wipes at his mouth. “Here I thought there was nothing left in me,” he gasps, “Sorry you had to see me like that.”

He shrugs, cheeks burning. “You needn’t apologize, you couldn’t help it.”

“Yeah… but I mean, I at least know the names of the guys who I ralph in front of.”

“You mean you didn’t ask for my name when you did my medical history?” His roommate stumbles slightly, tripping over his words in a rush to defend himself. Castiel savors the brief awkwardness before paving over it. “Castiel. My name’s Castiel.”

“Castiel?” The man’s eyes gloss over while processing the name, a look Castiel was oft familiar with.

“It’s… not the most common of names,” he grins wryly, “My father named me - and all my siblings - after characters from his favorite book.”

“What books was that?”

“The Bible.”

Nodding, his roommate drums his fingers against the bucket. A different sound since it’s slightly full. “I mean, it is a good book. The good book.”

"Exactly."

Silence drifts over while they awkwardly bait the other to continue the conversation. Castiel wins, patience one of his virtues. Not the first he waited someone out, and it won't be the last. “So was he one of those religious guys?” he asks, tapping the form of a cross, “Or a… religious guy ?” The balled fists stacked on top of each other, like holding a sign, is easy to interpret.

“Neither,” Castiel tells him, “he got wrapped up in this cult when he was younger, the one Rose McGowan was a part of. When he finally left, he didn’t really give up on the faith. And… well, he already named half my siblings after angels. It’d be stranger if he stopped after Anael -”

“Anael?”

“She found a workaround,” he says, “Anna. Better than my brother Lucifer who chooses to go by his full name. The only one who lucked out was Hannah who got the most normal name of my siblings. Why he couldn’t do the same for me I’ll never know.”

“Hey, Castiel’s a cool name… bet the angel you were named after was a badass,” his roommate smirks, “ I was named after my grandmother, Deanna.”

“So your name’s Deanna?”

“ Dean ,” he purrs, the name curling perfectly under his lips. Teeth flashing in a suggestive manner like its done probably hundreds of times in the past. “Dean Winchester.”

“Well,” Castiel mirrors his expression, “it’s nice to officially meet you, Dean Winchester .”

Dean wiggles his bucket, bowing slightly. “Likewise, Castiel…”

“...Shurley -”

“Shurley. Castiel Shurley, right right right.”

He giggles, enjoying the full body production Dean performs. Attempting a casual facade, crossing one leg over the other while he leans on one hand. The other firing an imaginary bullet from his finger gun. Except he forgets the hand leaning was perched on the bucket, and Dean starts tipping. Vomit sloshes inside the bucket and, after precarious teetering from both parties, both Dean and his bucket remain standing. No mess, but tons of stress.

“Any chance you can pretend that didn’t happen?” Dean asks.

Castiel shakes his head. “Trust me, Dean, on the list of embarrassing things you’ve done tonight this hardly ranks in the top ten.”

“Well shit,” Dean sighs, hopping up onto his bed, “At least it means I can’t make anything worse.”

“The night’s still young…”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cas.”

They laugh, only stopping when the pain in Castiel’s side nastily barges in on their merriment. Reminds him why he and Dean met in the first place. He hisses, vision blackening for a moment. When it returns, Dean is perched on the edge of his bed with worry. “Dean -”

“Are you okay?”

Castiel tries to reassure Dean he’s fine, but another current of pain shocks him. His knees buck up and the heart monitor beeps too loudly and the injured side feels like a meteor burning up in the atmosphere on its path towards crashing into the Earth. Sweat pours down his forehead and his limbs twitch in aborted movements. Dancing like a marionette, controlled by the intolerable cramping.

Minutes flash by like pages from a comic book. A cool touch brushes against his head, drawing one eye open. Its Dean. He appears calm while speaking to Castiel, but the fear is evident in his shiny eyes and trembling lips. In the throes of his pain it plants a seed of comfort, and he focuses on tending to that while dealing with it all.

Then someone rushes in, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum flooring. She removes Dean from view, taking up space and asking questions Castiel cannot answer. When it’s apparent, she switches tactics and scans his station. Finding what she needs, his savior calls to another person who was waiting by the door.

They dip into the hallway, returning moments later with a full bag of clear liquid. The woman who first ran in takes it from the one who brought it, fiddling above Castiel and out of sight. When she crosses his gaze again the full bag is empty. She shoves it into the hands of the nurse. Barks a terse sentence and orders her out.

Time returns to its normal pacing while Castiel’s body melts into the bed and the pain recedes into nothingness. His mind sharpens into awareness briefly and then dulls considerably with each second.

“Is this okay Mr. Shurley?” she asks, pressing around his wound, “Are you feeling anything at all?”

Castiel giggles, her actions tickling the focal point of his trauma. “Not a thing.”

“Perfect,” she sighs, flicking the full bag hanging from the stand in front of her. “So sorry that you had to experience that. A nurse should’ve been by to swap your morphine drip hours ago.”

“My morphine…?”

“Yes, your drugs,” she tells him, smirking, “what’s making it possible for you and I to have a conversation where you can contribute freely instead of in panted moans and grunts.”

Another round of laughter forces its way from his chest and makes his cheeks stretch awfully far. “I like morphine,” he says, “Can I take it home with me?”

“If only it wasn’t highly addicting,” she sighs, swiping at his nose with her finger, “Unfortunately no, but at least you won’t be leaving us so soon you’ll have to give it up right away.”

“Awesome...”

“If that’s all.” She nods, turning to Dean. “Thank you for paging me, it could’ve been much worse had he been alone.”

Dean sags against his bed, grin as large as Castiel’s. “Makes this food poisoning worth it, Doc Masters.”

“Silver lining to everything,” Masters winks. The doctor waves farewell, paying extra attention to Castiel. “Sweet dreams, Mr. Shurley.”

“Bye bye…” Castiel says, head lolling towards Dean, “What did she mean by that?”

“By what?”

“Sweet dreams?” he slurs, “Does she think I’m going to fall asleep?”

Dean’s expression softens, and he drifts closer to Castiel once more. “Yeah, you will. Morphine’s already pumping strong… shouldn’t be long until you’re back under and I’m… I am alone again .”

“ No ,” Castiel whines, throwing a tantrum. Not a good one since his limbs fly without his input, wiggling like jelly. “I don’t want to go to sleep.” Dean calms him, guiding his wrists to the bed.

“You don’t have a choice in it, Cas,” he says, “but… it’s nice to hear you want to stay with me.”

He agrees with Dean, heating up again in a delightful way. “You’re very nice… even if you throw up a lot and can’t handle vegan eggnog.”

Dean scoffs, “I can handle it, when it’s made well. But it’s not my first choice. Give me meat any day.”

“I love meat.”

“We have that in common, then.”

“Do we?” Castiel asks, skewing his head to the side, “You enjoy intercourse with two penises or more, too?”

He chokes, grip on Castiel’s wrists wilting. Dean gapes at him, color draining from his face for an entirely different reason.

In the seconds between his outburst and Dean’s answer, Castiel mulls over what he said. Clarity shines through his foggy mind and he realizes how personal a question he asked his roommate, a practical stranger. His high fades under the sweltering self-consciousness, Dean’s proximity less intoxicating and more anxiety-inducing.

His heart monitor either beeps too fast or not at all since he can’t tell if the ringing in his ears is from it or borne from the screams he refuses to release.

Thankfully Dean starts talking, and the voice inside silences. “I… I’ve never had the opportunity for more… my experience cuts off after two.”

The fuzziness resurfaces with a vengeance, strengthened by Dean’s answer. Caught off guard, Castiel hums. “Oh, well… it’s fun. But, also difficult.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Are you interested in leveling up your experience?”

“Actually,” Dean’s gaze dips towards Castiel’s lips, trailing up to his eyes slowly. “I’m… I’m more of a two-dick guy. Mine and… I don’t know?”

“You don’t know?” Castiel frowns, “that’s depressing.”

Dean laughs like a sad, twinkling bell. “Yeah, it sucks not knowing which other dick you want your dick to spend the rest of your life rubbing up against.”

Castiel nods, “Even more when you’re the only one without a second dick or a vagina to love you unconditionally. And no matter how successful your life is your family looks at you like an awkward throw pillow. They don’t know what to do with it or where to put it.”

“Exactly how it feels,” Dean says, “I… it’s not easy being lonely. Especially around this time of year.”

“But we’re not lonely,” he tells him, “we have each other.”

“That we do Cas… that we do.”

Potential sparks to life in Dean’s eyes, fascinating Castiel. He stares intently into them, watching the verdant fields in the other man’s gaze burn. No intention in calling the fire department to douse the inferno. Castiel wants to watch it forever.

Every blink becomes heavier, harder to remain open with the weights sliding across his eyes. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

“You need to,” Dean says, “so you can get better.”

“But won’t you be alone again?”

“Nah,” Dean smirks, “it’s like you said. We have each other.”

“Good.” Castiel yawns, stretching far enough his toes peek past the blanket. “I… I really think I should go to sleep now.”

Dean agrees, peeling himself off of Castiel. He shivers with his absence. Castiel stops fighting against the morphine and allows it to drag him into unconsciousness. Dean’s face the last thing he sees when his eyes shut for good.

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

When Castiel wakes up again, he’s surrounded. His family sit on an assembled pile of chairs, chatting in festive gear while he stumbles into awareness.

Jack notices first, clapping on his mother’s lap and smiling with missing teeth. “Uncle Cas! Uncle Cas!”

Conversation stalls, and every face in the room turns to him. He smiles weakly, waving his hand off the bed as far as he can. “Hi,” he croaks, “how’s everyone doing?”

Gabriel laughs tiredly, scrubbing at his face. “Shived by Rudolph and he’s still thinking about others. Doesn’t that just jolly your holly -”

“Zip it Gabriel,” Anna whacks his chest, “you more than anyone else don’t get to make jokes about this.”

“Oh come on!” he cries, “The doctor said it was a non-threatening injury!”

“Because we called the paramedics,” she says, “and, by luck , your dumb prank only managed to cost him a kidney.”

“Not even! They said it would heal -”

“Guys!” Hannah interrupts their bickering, “Can you save it for later? Maybe after Castiel tells us how he feels?”

Reminded of his presence, his brother and sister sheepishly offer apologies. Castiel forgives them easily, especially his brother. “While it was stupid, I’m not dead.”

“Glad to hear it -”

“But,” Castiel continues, smirking, “I do expect a lot of attention and care… just because I’m willing to forgive doesn’t mean it’s easy to forget. Or move… or pee, I’m guessing.”

Gabriel huffs, crossing his arms. “Should’ve seen this coming.”

“Oh be glad,” Kelly says, “out of everything that could’ve happened, this is the best you could ask for.”

He relents, accepting his fate for the present. Satisfied, Castiel relaxes in bed while conversation resurges. This time filling him in on what happened while he was stuck in the hospital. From muted celebration on the Eve to a rapid exchange of presents in his house so they could arrive when visiting hours started.

“We might have left a few to open when you came home,” Anna admits, “So you didn’t miss all the fun.”

“Thank you…” Castiel holds his tongue, preferring the others to continue without his input. Finds comfort in how bright and cheerful the room feels with their presence. Reminded of a similar feeling, adjacent to the one overtaking his heart, Castiel looks to the other side of the room.

Only Dean’s bed is neat and empty. Not even the bucket was there.

“Wait,” he says, “where’s Dean?”

“What?” Gabriel asks, following his gaze, “Oh? Is that who that was? Didn’t know you got so chummy with your roommate, Cassie.”

“Where is he?”

“He left,” Anna shrugs, “Doctors came in an hour after we arrived to give him the news he was free to go.”

“And he left with this giant of a man!” his brother says, “it was terrifying, truly, seeing someone that massive.”

“He was really cool, Uncle Cassie!” Jack says, bouncing, “He bought me a candy bar!”

Kelly sighs, trying to contain Jack’s energy. “So nice of him…”

“So that’s it?” Castiel asks, frowning, “he just… left?”

Hannah reaches across and squeezes his hand, mirroring him. “There wasn’t any reason for him to stay longer, Castiel.”

He deflates at his sister’s care, her good intentions like a needle to his ballooning happiness. Castiel sighs, tugging his hand free of her hold and folding it over his stomach. “Yes, I… I guess he didn’t.”

No one dare speak, the adults in the room trying to process how Castiel’s mood shifted. His usual defense, to cover disappointment with a carefully constructed mask, doesn’t rise up inside. Whether from the remaining morphine swimming in his system or overall tiredness, Castiel prefers allowing his feelings to play freely across his face.

Memories from last night are fuzzy, but he remembers the important things. How friendly Dean was, and caring. Comforting him when it wasn’t necessary, when he had his own troubles to deal with. The possibility he represented, created thanks to the unguarded confessions brought about by drugs.

He’s drawn from his memories of Dean’s smile by a knock on the door.

Doctor Masters stands there, a smile on her face and a stuffed bear in her hands. Castiel squints at the gift, a heart in its paws and a Santa cap on its head.

“Why hello there Mr. Shurley,” she says, stepping into the room, “glad to see you’re awake again. And not in pain.”

“Thank you,” he says, “I… Am I going to be in pain again?”

She shrugs, “Not likely. I checked up on you an hour after we switched your drip to make sure it was all okay. Got to talking with your roommate and he said you were doing fine until the pain became too much to bear. So I’ve decided to start weaning you off the good stuff, and giving you enough to not feel much but still be present.”

His face softens. “Exactly what I want.”

“Speaking of presents…” she smirks, fiddling with the bear, “someone asked me to give this to you once you woke up.”

Gabriel immediately teases him, shaking his shoulder. “Cassie, you sly dog. Did someone ‘While You Were Sleeping’ you?”

“I, I don’t -”

“Why don’t I leave this here, and you can process it without me,” Doctor Masters says. She places the bear on his lap, walking towards the exit. “I’m only the messenger. Besides, there’s a lot more people in this hospital besides you.”

He misses her goodbyes, examining the bear. Studies details like the red and white scarf wrapped around its neck and the poof ball at the end of its hat is shaped like a plus sign. The red heart has a message on its surface, ‘Get Better Soon’, and one between it and the bear.

A white envelope, easily lost in the white fur of the bear. Castiel frees it, giving the bear to a waiting Jack. He reads the name on the front and his stomach flutters with butterflies emerging from their cocoon.

CAS

“Well,” Anna urges him, “you gonna read it or what?”

Flipping it around, he sees the envelope is barely held together by a piece of scotch tape. It opens with no trouble, the card slipping out and into his hand.

The cover has a replica of the bear drawn on, holding its heart forward. Words tattooed to the heart in the stuffed animal balloon to the top of the cover, taking up a lot of the tundra scenery.

Castiel passes it, more interested in what’s written inside.

Dear Cas ,

Merry Christmas! I wish I could be there to see you wake up, but I know today is supposed to be spent with family.

Thank God it’s only one day a year.

If you want to meet during any of the other three-hundred, sixty four, here’s my number. I hope you call, because I think I’ve found the second penis I want to spend the rest of my life with .

He closes the card, dragging it to his face to hide the blush and skin-splitting face threatening to add more definition to his chin. His behavior only fans the flames of his family’s intrigue, both Anna and Gabriel leaning too far forward in their seats.

“Well,” Anna starts, “who’s it from?”

Castiel waits for his face to cool, and then says, “It’s from a friend.”

“A friend ,” Gabriel chuckles, rolling his eyes, “Like we’ll believe that.”

“He is a friend!”

“He’s also a Christmas miracle!”

His family laughs, and Castiel finds himself joining. Too filled with joy to find their antics annoying. Instead he jokes alongside them and, when they’ve calmed down, explain the night’s events and his secret Santa. Counting down to when visiting hours end and he can make use of the number inside the card.

Merry Christmas, indeed.

[harryimaginestuff]

Ruin the Friendship: Part 2

hi lovlies! sorry for such a long wait, I hope you enjoy part 2!

Word count: 3k

Genre: angst 

    It had been 7 months since you had last seen and heard from Harry, the last time being when you walked away from his house and out of his life. In the beginning there had been a hole shaped like Harry that had sat heavily in your heart that had affected every one of your moves. You had never felt that way until Harry and you repeatedly promised yourself that you would never allow yourself to feel those emotions ever again.

     However, your pessimism ended soon after as the hole in your heart slowly began to fill of a love for something else.

      “Sam! I swear to god put that shit back how many times have I told you I can’t eat that!” You whine at him as he picks up a plate of sushi. “Why can’t I have it then?”     

“Because you love me so much and wouldn’t want to tempt me?” you bashfully ask, giving him your sweetest smile as you walk closer to him to envelop him into a hug.      

Whilst Sam is rarely stopped in public, the both of you wanted to ensure your privacy as you stepped out for your weekly shopping trip. Ever since Harry had been out of your life you had somehow grew even closer to the man beside you, something you had originally believed was impossible seeing as you were practically joined at the hip ever since you had met him when you were six.      He had been there for you every step of the way. He was by your side once you had returned from Harry’s the same morning as your eventful ‘break-up’. He was by your side letting you cry onto his shoulder not saying a word because he knew that silence is how you deal best with sadness. He was even by your side the day you found out you were pregnant.

      “Uh oh,” you hear Sam whisper causing to look over at him, aiming to see what had caught his attention. Annoyance fills you as your eyes follow his gaze to the wall of trashy magazines all with the common theme of himself and a ‘mystery woman’.

      ‘Sam Claflin spotted with mystery woman.’

     ‘Claflin spotted entering London home with mysterious girl and a telling package.’

    ‘Exclusive! Sam Claflin photographed entering home carrying baby crib packaging with mystery woman.’

    The same image is used throughout all magazines, a blurry picture with your back the camera and whilst you’re not visible enough to be recognised, Sam’s face is clear as day which would in turn make it hard to disregard the pregnancy rumours that are bound to come.

      “Hey look at me.” Sam reassures, gently grabbing your shoulders as to divert you away from the issue that has captured your attention. “It’s all going to be fine, and if someone stops us, we just say nothing okay?”

     Trashy magazines were usually untrue, always coming up with some fabricated lie from a ‘reliable source’, however in this circumstance there was no need for a reliable source seeing as pictured in every one of the magazines was a picture of her and Sam and whilst she wasn’t recognisable, it only meant that a shit storm was on the way, it was just a matter of when.

      “I know Sam, we both knew it was going to happen eventually.” You signed, stroking the swell of your stomach, “just didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

     “Let’s finish buying you your ice cream and get out of here.”

     “Love you Sam,” you smiled cuddling into his side.

      “Love me enough to let me buy some Sushi?”“No.”

// 

    That night you couldn’t help but let your mind wonder to the moment you found out about the human growing inside you. 

     After almost a week of incessant puking and convincing yourself that it was just a general illness, as after all there had been some kind of virus that had been making its rounds around work over the past few weeks. And if you were being honest you would have ignored and waited out this apparent sickness if it weren’t for Sam’s friendly concern.

      It was getting to the point where his consistent badgering and bothering had gotten you to reach your boiling point, leading to him taking you to the doctors for his benefit rather than yours.

      It felt like only a week ago when you were sitting inside the doctor’s office with Sam waiting for you outside patiently.

      It felt like only a week ago when the doctor had put you at ease and then into a frenzy in so little time.

      It felt like only a week ago when you were left in shock after discovering that you were growing a real human inside of you and that little human happened to share the same blood as the man who singlehandedly held your heart and broke it.

      You couldn’t even begin to explain the way your stomach dropped and the way your heart thumped so loudly within your chest. The words ‘pregnant’ has echoed across the room filling you with despair and warmth simultaneously. Tears had  filled your eyes, but it wasn’t sorrow for yourself and the fact that you had accidentally fallen pregnant with a man who couldn’t lob you, instead it was grief for the small part of you growing from within who may never learn who their  father is.

//

     After going for your weekly shopping trip, the both of you were exhausted, you more so because of the full-grown baby chilling in your stomach, and Sam because you had made him carry every single one of the bags. All 10 of them.      And now being the bestest friend that he is, he was currently sitting on a makeshift chair by your feet and massaging out the full ache that had developed. Who knew motherhood would be nothing but ache, pains, puke and love?

      “I love you.” You moaned out, expressing your gratitude to the man who’s always been stood by your side.

      “I’m only doing this because you let me eat sushi, albeit I had to eat it on my own in the toilet, but still, the gesture counts.”

      You and Sam has been friends since childhood, before fame there had always been you. The whole reason he took on his role is Love, Rosie was thanks to you seeing as he saw so much of the both of you in the characters, sans the romance of course.

      This is why as soon as you revealed your surprise pregnancy the first thing Sam said was that he would be whatever you needed, whether that was the baby’s father figure or just the cool uncle, either way you knew he’d be there for you through thick and thin. And he was. He attended every appointment, he was there for every craving, he was there for the first kick. Quite frankly here was no way that you would have been able to do it so smoothly without him.    �� “Harry just texted me.” Sam said cussing your stomach to drop with unease. The last time you spoke to him was when you ended it and the last time Sam spoke to him as far as you knew was when he went to pick up some of your belongings from Harry’s place. “He must’ve seen the articles. But he doesn’t know it was you.”

     You can feel the dread slowly travel through every vein in your body as the colour drops from your face. This is it. The moment you knew was coming       “What did u want me to say.”

      “um… just… I don’t know… just confirm a pregnancy but say nothing about me.”

     Sam looked at you, eye brows slightly raised. “Are you sure? If we lie we can’t turn back and if he finds out we’re in shit.”

     “Yes, yes I’m sure just send it.”

     “Okay whatever you want.”

     The inevitable fact that Harry could and would soon find out about his daughter had been pushed to the back of your mind as you concerned yourself with more important and urgent matters as you prepared for the arrival of your baby. However, deep down you knew that the real reason why you refused to acknowledge the truth was because you were terrified of what could happen if he ever did find out. More now than ever as you had made Sam outright lie to him, putting you in a pretty bad spot if he was to ever find out. You knew that the confrontation was unavoidable and either Harry would find out on his own accords or you would reveal it to him yourself. Either way that day was fast approaching, and you were one step closer seeing as Harry now believed that there was a pregnant woman in Sam’s life.

     You just never thought that that day would be today.

      Both you and Sam were sat inside the nursery, which previously was a game room that Sam had sacrificed as soon as you moved in with him. The two of you had been working on building a crib and painting the room since earlier that day. Whilst in every other sense the two of you made a great team however the both of you had come to the realisation that decorating was your weakest point. Rather than working together you were in one corner painting the wall whilst Sam was in the other building the crib. You currently weren’t speaking seeing as not even 20 minutes ago you had fallen into a tedious argument on what the colour of the wall should be, with you arguing for a universal yellow and Sam arguing for a lilac hue.

      You were pulled out of your mindless humming by the sound of the doorbell ringing causing your movements to halt at the sudden intrusion.

      “Mind getting it for me.” Sam asked, fiddling with the wooden boards laid out in front of him.

      You simply nodded and strolled out of the room. Perhaps the person waiting behind the door was the delivery man, after all Sam had been raving on about some kitchen gadget he bought earlier on in the week, so perhaps it was that.      Peeking through the hole you felt your body turn ice cold as behind the door stood a very familiar curly headed man.

    “Shit shit shit.” You mumbled to yourself as you roughly distanced yourself, almost as if the door was fire, with the flames licking at you, melting the glue that pieced together your heart.

      “Sam? It’s Harry.” The familiar voice ignited your body as you bolted up the stairs and back to the nursery.

     “Harry-he’s-Harry…” Despite the broken phrases, Sam was still able to understand you as he gently pushed you into a chair and handing you his glass of water as he sweetly whispered in your ear.

      You could hear the muffled voices of the distant men below you as you once again hid from your issues. From what you could hear, Harry’s random appearance was down to him giving a small gift for a child he beloved to be Sam’s. It was weird hearing his voice now so many months after you separated, and it was even weirder to think that that was the voice you listened to almost everyday. But now wasn’t the most recent time that you had heard his voice. The last time you heard it was soon after you found out you were pregnant and you had been calling and calling him only to be met with his voicemail over and over again, until one day rather than hearing him, it was an automated message informing you on how the number was no longer available. For you that had drawn the line since the lack of need for him to keep you updated on his contact details was a tell-tale sign that you no longer held any importance anymore. And yet there you were on the other line, completely in love with him and pregnant with his baby.

     “Y/N?” And there it was again, that voice. That voice that could make you smile, scream and cry all at once. But it wasn’t the that that made you choke up this time it was the fact that he was standing right in front of you staring at your rounded stomach. You watched as his mouth taped open and closed like a fish and if it wasn’t for such a tense moment you would have burst out laughing, but this wasn’t the time.

       “It’s you.” He hesitantly steps forward his hand subconsciously lifting towards you. “You were the girl who was pregnant.”

      He takes one more step towards you before settling down at your feet his hands resting on your legs.

      “You were the girl Sam was talking about.” You’re yet to open you mouth and speak, but the fear consumes you as you watch the clogs turn in his mind as he tries to piece together the information he’s just been given. “You’re pregnant with Sam’s baby.”

     “What? No.” Apparently he was piecing together the wrong information. Sam chooses this moment to walk in, mumbling a quiet ‘shit’ at the image in front of him.

      “I mean Y/N there’s no point denying it now I can see that you’re pregnant and Sam told me he had a pregnant girlfriend.”

     “I’m almost 8 months Harry.”

     “Okay?” He asks confusion still written across his face until suddenly his face goes slack and you think that this is it, he knows now.

     “You were sleeping with me and Sam?”

      “Harry for Christ sake.” He stands up creating a distance between you as he moves him self to the corner.

      “You told me that you loved me.” He pauses as his eyebrows furrowed in anger. “But you were with Sam behind my back. That doesn’t look like fucking love to me.”

     You open your mouth to speak but he holds his hand up to silence you.      “And you.” He points at Sam. “You were supposed to be my fucking friend. No wonder you stopped speaking to me! You were sleeping with my girl. You were both laughing behind my back. I knew you were like everyone else, just using me. We were supposed to be exclusive.”

     “Mate calm down, don’t say stuff you’ll regret just let her explain.” Sam said lightly gripping his arm.

      “M’not your fucking mate.”

     “You’re such a dick Harry! And still as oblivious as ever, first when I was trying to tell you I loved you and now when I’m trying to tell you the baby’s yours.”

     Harry stills the anger leaving his face, “why didn’t you tell me?” He whispers.      You laugh dryly, “I did so many times. As soon as I found out before telling anyone I called you. Over and over again but you never answered but I never gave up until that bitch automated voice me that your number wasn’t available, you changed it. Do you know how that felt?”

     “Do you know how it felt to reach out to someone you had known and cared for and loved for two years to act like you never existed, to be left on the ground like dirt. You say now that I must’ve been using you but I’ve never felt more used at that point, I was left thinking that I was never anything more than a good fuck and once I was no longer willing to cooperate you pushed me aside to find a new plaything. I felt like complete and utter shit. I was so in love with this man, pregnant with his child and absolutely scared shitless. I didn’t know what to do and you weren’t there!” You cry out. “You were never there. Not when I needed you the most.”

     “I can’t believe I was dumb enough to believe that you cared at all for me.” You broke down in tears, your body folding into itself as you curled up into a ball, a subconscious effort to protect your already split heart. 

     “Y/N… that’s not true.” Harry finally said after Sam quietly left the room, allowing you to have the conversation that was needed.

      “There’s no proof from your actions that tells me otherwise.”

     “I left you because I thought that that was what was best for you.”

     “Harry don’t feed me the shit that you feed all the other girls when you no longer want them anymore, that you end whatever you have with them for their own safety.”

     “But it wasn’t just for your safety this time. I did it for my sanity as well as yours. Do you know how many of my past relationships has ended as a result of the hate they receive? Basically, all of them. I realised too late that I loved you too, after spending a week without you in my arms I realised that I didn’t want a day like that ever again. But then I remembered all my past relationships and I couldn’t let you go through all the shit they had to. Not you because I had never loved anyone more than I love you.”

     “You can’t say that to me?” you cried out. “You can’t play with my feelings like that. You never wanted me before this pregnancy, why would I ever believe that you were genuine about wanting me now. You’re just in love with the idea of a family. But you’re not in love with me.” 

    “I love you; I swear I do, and I’ll keep telling you that until you get sick of it. I didn’t handle the situation well back then, but I swear I’ve changed as much as a man can change in eight months. We don’t have to jump into everything now but please let me be in your life. The both of yours.” He said reaching out to stroke your swollen stomach.

     “I’m only agreeing for now for the sake of our child, if we’re in contact we do it on my terms, I’m staying here-”

“-but”

     “I’m staying here with Sam, you can come to any other appointments I have and of course the birth, whenever that is. But that’s it for now.”

     “We just see where things go?”

     “Yeah, we’ll just see where things go.”

     You watched in awe as Harry sang softly into your stomach, maybe you’ll finally have your happy ending.

// 

tags

@harryisalittleshit @killerqueenishere

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “40 and 13″

Overpopulation caused the governments all over the world to vote for a drastic resolution: a special virus was created that makes everyone die when they turn 40 years old. The Joker will turn 40 in five days and Y/N can't cope with the news since she'll be left behind without him.

You and The Joker just finished eating dinner in front of the TV, trying to ignore the depressing news that shows the death toll climbing each day since the virus killing everybody once they turn 40 was unleashed upon the overpopulated Earth 12 months ago.

The King of Gotham is quietly sipping on his grape juice, debating if he should tell you or not; he’s been struggling with the decision for a while and being the way he is doesn’t help the matter.

“Pumpkin,” he starts the conversation,” did I ever mention my birthday is on July 13th?”

“Hm?” you turn your head towards him, not sure you heard right; you had a huge fight this morning and barely managed to patch things up enough to tolerate each other’s presence by night fall.

“You always wanna know when my birthday is and I’m telling you now it’s on July 13th.”

He keeps on staring at the TV s, disregarding your gaze that seems to burn through him.

Why is he suddenly sharing such an intimate detail? You tried several times to get it out of him without any reaction besides that of him getting mad and emphasize it’s none of your business. Unless…

“J…” you hesitantly ask. “How old are you going to be?...”

The Joker takes another sip from the can before placing it on the coffee table and nonchalantly enunciates:

“Fourty.”

He hears you sniffle it’s not difficult to predict you’re going to burst into tears in a few seconds.

“I’m only saying this because I didn’t want to drop dead without any warning; I’m sure you would hate me forever and we can’t have that happen: I do the hating part. That’s a sacred rule.”

And there she goes, he sighs as soon as Y/N begins bawling her eyes out next to him on the couch.

“…July 13th is in…in 5 days,” you manage to utter while crawling on his knees, your arms tightly going around his neck. J doesn’t stop you and actually hugs you back even if he promised himself he won’t tolerate any kind of emotional rubbish from his girlfriend.

“Yeap, coming up,” he buries his face in your shoulder, inhaling the perfume he likes and for some reason it’s not very comforting today. “You have three more years to go so make it count, ok?”

Y/N can’t stop crying and plans to blur out a million sentences yet the disclosure is overwhelming for the heartbroken woman.

“W-why didn’t you…” and The Joker can’t understand the following word but he comprehends the meaning.”…earlier?”

“I didn’t share earlier since it would have been atrocious to watch: when you cry you get these wrinkles in the middle of your forehead. Uggghhh”, he shrugs with fake disgust. “It makes you… how should I put it nicely?… Super ugly! For 5 days though…I believe I’ll be able to endure it.”

Y/N’s faint snorting noise prompts his smile too, aware she is not fighting back the stupid remark like she would usually do and that’s fine with him.

“P-please don’t leave me,” you kiss his cheek and cuddle to his body, panicking at the thought he’ll be gone in a few days.

“I don’t have a choice, Pumpkin. Nobody does. Not anymore.  It’s inevitable and you’ll have to deal with it…”

“What am I supposed to do without you?” you bring up the painful fact bound to become reality in such a short notice it physically hurts.

“Survive,” the candid reply advises. “You’re The King’s Queen so live for both until your time will come.”

J wishes to elaborate on the topic and you cover his mouth, upset.

“You’re not a King and I’m not a Queen. We’re just a man and a woman that screwed up over and over again; still…here we are. That’s it…That’s all there is…No King and no Queen,” you shake your head in denial. “Only us…” your voice dims under the burden of grief.

Your fingers slide off his lips, revealing a stunned Joker that seems to see his girlfriend for the first time. How come he didn’t realize sooner?! She loves him. She really does.

“Only us…” J repeats in a trance, pulling Y/N into a soft kiss that somehow feels more intimate than everything else they did before.

You glide your hands down his chest, the way you grind against him making it clear you want more than a make out session.

“Does this mean you’re not mad at me for the moment?” he tests the waters although the answer is logical.

“U-hum,” you take your t-shirt off and The Joker gropes you, the typical mischievous smirk lacking from his part: he just wants you close. Despite vehemently denying the hunger for your touch, the thought gives him an unexpected sense of loneliness. When all your life you’ve been nothing more than a walking contradiction, it’s hard to battle the inner demons caging your desire to the point of no return.

That’s why J wipes your tears and doesn’t have a smart ass comment regarding the smeared mascara: he craves the distraction with such intensity it makes the rest fade.

“I have some requests,” you whisper and he stares into your eyes, kind of lost and finding himself unable to resist the tempting lips pouted one inch from his.

“Oh yeah?” the curiosity takes over.

“No fighting,” you trace the tattoo on his abs and The Joker never agreed to anything faster:

“OK.”

“I want to talk about stuff we never talk about…”

“OK.”

“I want us to make love as much as possible,” you negotiate wondering if he will fuss about the spontaneous list summarized in a hurry.

“OK,” The Clown Prince of Crime consents without arguing to your terms because the truth is he has no intention to do so today.

“And I want some sort of proof that you like me,” Y/N boldly demands since he unfortunately indicated the opposite on numerous occasions in the past.

J frowns, not mumbling the OK you are expecting. The awkward silence continues and The Joker notices how hard you’re trying to hide your disappointment when actually he’s straining to conceal his own emotions. He shouldn’t indulge the urge of making you happy before it’s too late, yet the demons in his mind are quiet now: the accidental clarity could make a person finally act against their usual judgment.

You watch him pass his fingers through his locks, confused when he brings the longer strands in the front of his face. J carefully plucks one green hair out of his head, gesturing for your left hand. You hold it up and he twists the neon colored token at the base of your pinky, explaining his action while finalizing the project with a couple of knots:

“I guess you can say you have me wrapped around your finger.”

The girlfriend’s stunned expression is certainly worth the trouble of affirming it loud; The Joker savors the outcome and you take off your bra, tossing the lacy garment behind the sofa:

“Abandon all hope Mister Joker,” Y/N’s instant evil grin changes the mood.  “You belong to me now.”

*************

“I can’t sleep,” you stretch next to him on the couch.

“Me neither,” he yawns. “Even if you exhausted me,” J adds, yanking you in his arms again. You kiss his collar bone, restless at the question about to echo in the stillness:

“Are you afraid?”

The Joker has no idea on how to verbalize his inner views on the matter, but he doesn’t leave you hanging either.

“Maybe …I’m not thinking about it…”

“I am,” you squeeze in the important topic he probably didn’t even consider. “I’ll be here for you when it happens, but when I die…I will be alone...”

J feels this sharp pain in his heart that makes him realize a critical element: he didn’t have the opportunity to weigh in what dying before Y/N will mean for her.

“I’ll be here,” he pecks your forehead and you cling to him, discouraged at the obvious lie.

“Yeah, sure…”

“I promise I’ll be here, alright?”

“We are both aware how well you keep your promises,” you admonish in a way that doesn’t trigger his anger.

“I’ll keep this one, hm?” he reassures Y/N and she snickers at the impossible to fulfil vow, but appreciates his passionate response nevertheless. You nod a yes, drawing invisible circles on his skin.

“Do you want to dance on the terrace?” you suggest on a whim.

“OK,” The Joker quickly consents and gets up, grabbing the sheet from the floor. He takes your hand and guides you on the patio, unfolding the thin fabric as soon as you’re outdoors. Despite the cool breeze, it’s nice and warm in the middle of the night.  

“No music?” you tease as he wraps both naked bodies in the sheet.

“We dance to our own tune, Pumpkin,” he winks and slowly moves while tightly hugging you.

“We always did,” you play along, brushing away the horrible sentiment of regret clouding the peaceful atmosphere.

“It’s a jungle out there,” J stirs the dialogue in order to address his concerns. “This whole virus business is turning the world upside down. You saw on the news they might release the antivirus sooner than anticipated, but there are no guarantees. You have to find a way to survive no matter what.”

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine…”

“After I’m gone, please don’t do anything… reckless. It won’t be easy, but you can’t give up."

You know what he’s referring to and mutter:

“I won’t… I swear...”

J starts spinning faster, chuckling at your excited screams. 

“Stoooop!!!!” you beg laughing, trying not to trip and fall.

“Did you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?” he bites your ear and you squeal, jumping out of the sheet that’s sliding to the ground since he’s not holding it anymore.

“No,” you giggle and J lifts you up in his arms, delighted to have found a small piece of heaven in the hell surrounding the gloomy future.

“Good; there’s a first time for everything,” he abruptly halts for a kiss before reprising the crazy pace while Y/N can’t remember the last time the two of them had so much fun.

*************

July the 13th, 8:45am

“I couldn’t help noticing you didn’t wish me a happy birthday,” he watches you comb your hair and the reflection in the mirror depicts a tearful girlfriend that struggles with so many emotions it’s difficult to speak. “I was hoping you’ll mention it while we took a shower.”

“Happy Birthday…”

“Thanks,” The Joker simply replies and you finally put the brush down and attempt to flee the bathroom when he blocks the exit. “Are you avoiding me?”

“Ummm… I’ll make breakfast…” you sniffle and he glares at you, understanding your reaction for once.

“I was planning to have sex, but I might kick the bucket right in the middle of the activity and I believe you might take it personally although I don’t consider you boring in bed.”

“It’s not funny…” you scold and he agrees:

“It’s not because it’s not meant to be,” the harsh reality strikes a chord within Y/N. “It literally can happen at any moment and I don’t want to embarrass myself like that. Can you imagine? Rumors spread all over town that The Joker couldn’t finish.”

He detects the faint smile and sulks at your verdict:

“You’re an idiot.”

“That’s fucking rude,” he scoffs. “What if these are the last words I hear?! What if I check out precisely this second, huh?! Would you be thrilled that’s the last thing you said to me?!”

Instead of a sassy remark J gets a remorseful apology he wasn’t aiming for:

“I’m sorry… I don’t know what to do…”

“Me neither,” he sincerely underlines. “In the meantime, you should…” and pauses since he suddenly feels out breath, “you should make breakfast.”

“Are you OK?” you inquire, worried he almost lost his balance.

“I’m fine, just need my coffee to wake up,” he sighs and steps away from the doorway, heading towards the master bedroom.

“Aren’t you coming downstairs?” you catch up with him and The Joker tilts over for your support.

“I’m a bit dizzy; I’ll lie down until you finish the food. Don’t look so panicked: after I eat I’ll be better.”

You gulp and place him in bed, your pulse so enhanced it gives you the impression you’ll faint soon.

“You want some water?” you offer and he adjusts his pillows, collapsing on top of them afterwards.

“Yes,” J musters the strength to grumble, this weird sensation of total exhaustion creeping up in his brain.

You rush out of the room and bump into the bookcase, numb at the soreness. The Joker barely perceives your stomping, digging under the cushions for a small envelope he keeps in his fist for you to find in case you don’t return before he loses consciences. He wrote the note yesterday and it would be a shame to chicken out at the end and not proceed as planned.

“Here’s the water,” you barge in with the bottle and run by the bed, nervously touching his face. “How are you? Can you stand up?”

His eyes go in the back of the head and he tries to concentrate on your voice as it fades into nothingness.

“Hey, I’ll make your favorite pancakes,” you shake him, startled he won’t snap out of his apathy. “J, look at me. Come on, let’s go downstairs…Can you at least drink some water?” you start sobbing seeing he’s not receptive to your encouragements.

The Joker’s lips are moving without sound and you fall on your knees, scared to see him frantically breathing:

“I know, alright? I already know. All I ask is that you come downstairs and eat your stupid pancakes, deal?”

The Joker’s eyes are closing and he deeply exhales, releasing the small piece of paper that rolls on the floor. You don’t even pay attention to it, desperate to witness an event you aren’t prepared for.

When The Joker came into this world 40 years ago, there was nobody there to love the newborn; his own mother didn’t want him.

But when he passed away at 9:03 am on his birthday, someone that loved him was there.  

**************

Three years later – your birthday, 6:07am

You turn off the TV, annoyed they continue to depict the terrible results after to the official release of the antivirus last week: it’s not working and people are still dying. What did they expect by opening Pandora’s Box? So much turmoil on the streets, protests and demonstrations…

The governments will be voting tomorrow on implementing the martial law since the public outcry makes it impossible to contain the escalating damage after the huge failure they neglected to speculate.

Y/N drags her feet on the carpet, watching the snowflakes dancing outside the windows.

“We shouldn’t postpone this any longer…” you talk to yourself, removing the precious message The Joker left behind out of the hidden drawer on top of the fireplace.

You unfold the envelope, reading the hand written note for the millionth time:

Inside you’ll find my real name.

You’re the only one I trust with this.

Destroy the evidence.

You don’t glance at the name it contains and his memory immediately makes the isolation unbearable. You flick the envelope on the burning logs, enjoying the flames consuming the last trace of who he really was.

“Done… I kept my end of the bargain; where’s yours?” you lecture The Joker’s framed picture decorating the dinner table. “Liar…” Y/N pats her hands together, feeling cold even if the fire is very warm. The ticklish sensation in your fingers intensifies, making you shiver. You stare at your knuckles, no other jewelry besides the strand of green hair still wrapped around your pinky; it’s infinitely more valuable than any present J ever gifted you.

A gush of wind makes the curtains fly inward since the sliding glass doors leading to the terrace are wide opened. The sky is still dark, matching the general mood hoovering over Gotham these days.

You decide to take a stroll on the patio, this way you might be able to clear your mind from the impending doom you can’t escape. The snow squeaks under Y/N’s socks and the chill gets her out of trance since evidently she didn’t bring a jacket either. Another step and you stumble, finding it difficult to regain your equilibrium.

“Shit…” you choke on the strong air filling up your lungs.

Why is it so difficult to walk?

You take a seat on the nearest chair by the pool, not bothering cleaning up the snow; for some reason a break is more than welcomed at this point. You’re growing restless and try to disregard the anxiety building up in your chest: are you dying? Or is merely stress after living with this burden for so long?

Maybe if you shut your eyes and rest for a sec, you won’t be this tired. Yet the moon is shining so brightly it’s impossible to ignore; last time it was this beautiful you danced with the devil on an that unforgettable summer night. Seems like ages ago for the worn out Y/N.  

What if you take a nap? Only five minutes. That should be helpful and then you can resume your morning routine because you refuse to accept this could be the end already. Your eyelids close, not realizing you don’t feel the cold anymore; it’s nice and comforting, just like the touch of someone you love.

*************

You wiggle in the chair and rub your eyes, refreshed after the well-deserved snooze: hopefully you didn’t waste too much time from your last day on earth. Your gaze wanders off around the terrace and you suddenly freeze: there’s someone leaning over the railing, watching the city from the 30th floor.

You rise from your spot and hesitantly walk towards the person, gasping when you notice the familiar fur coat.

“There she is,” The Joker turns around to greet you, smirking when you cover your mouth in disbelief. “Told you I’ll be here.”

You can’t make a single sound and he opens his arms, waiting for you to run to him.

“You didn’t miss me?” he laughs at your baffled reaction, bundling the coat around Y/N as soon as she finds herself in his embrace.

“I did miss you; I missed you so much,” you inhale his scent and the smell of your favorite cologne confirms he’s truly there. You hug him so tight he would normally complain, but there’s no bickering coming out of The Joker. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you smile and he kisses your lips, whispering:

“You have me wrapped around your finger. Where else am I supposed to be?”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

diyunho(.)tumblr(.)com/post/153664676321/joker-x-reader-masterlist

[stone-man-warrior]

December 11, 2020: 4:24 pm:

https://www.google.com/search?q=all+fours+push+over&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwi82JS7lsftAhXEgZ4KHTSjBBsQ2-cCegQIABAA&oq=all+fours+push+over&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQAzIECCMQJ1CKKliZMWDDNGgAcAB4AIABf4gBsAWSAQMwLjaYAQCgAQGqAQtnd3Mtd2l6LWltZ8ABAQ&sclient=img&ei=Qw3UX_yqJsSD-gS0xpLYAQ&bih=671&biw=1472&client=firefox-b-1-d

The “All Fours Push-Over Prank” brought to you by Salvation Army at Bell Ring Store Front near you.

Same photo angle, different photos.

That’s Stevie Bell Terror cell at 445 Jackpine getting ready to do an attack at my house. They need to do all kinds of drama in advance to make the scenario work in their favor. The way it is now, and has been, in some pf the lies that are told, Stevie Bell is said to be my son, and that we don‘t get along very well, and he lives across the street right there. That lie has been perpetuated for about eight years, I have no control over it, the county courts are in charge of that lie, and use that as a way to lure US Federal Officers, so that the local authority terror cells can kill the federal officers. That is done so that national Sheriff Association can make recommendation for replacement terror associated officers later on, after the wake is over at the federal building.

What you see there is a 24 foot U-Haul Moving Truck in the driveway, and the Lindsey Bell black nissan w/shiny trim is there that I explain about sometimes, and that other black truck is a USPS Goonz Squad terror operative, maybe from Portland Oregon, is associated with United States Postal Service terror cell called “The Stork”.

They have done the exact same scenario countless times, enough that I know it’s bullshit, and the black truck is a USPS assassin who is here to kill me, and cart away my belongings in the U-Haul, while Stevie Bell plays the innocent grieving son who wishes he had spent more time with his dad, who died of COVID, because that black truck from USPS Goonze Squad, is COVID, an assassin.

That link to the Google search is a distant relative of what is happening at Bell’s across the street. A terror attack at the Walmart, also happening now.

I just returned from shopping in Socio-Terrific Dystopia, Grants Pass. where conditions are 100% terror controlled for slaughter, is ongoing, Dystopian terror in a place that looks almost perfect.

I don‘t understand who the victims are though. All of the citizens were already killed and replaced long ago, so, unless there are some out of town groups of people who were drawn here to Josephine County, then, there is no one left to do the attack on.

They are not going to attack their own families who visit for holidays, unless the German side, and the British sides are clashing. That, is a possibility.

The “All Fours Push Over Prank” is a basis for some of the attack.

Example: A small child wants to prank a bigger sibling, gets down on the floor behind that person, and either that person falls over backwards on their own tripping, or, is pushed, and falls over backwards while tripping over the small child who is on all fours on the ground, ready to prank.

The Salvation Army is at the Walmart. Dressed in official looking uniform, looks very “US navy Officers Uniform”. They have their bucket, bell, some signs, a friendly and hearty “Hellooo! and Merry Christmas!” as you enter and exit the Walmart.

The whole fucking world is on lock down, Corona Virus everywhere. We are told that so many people around the world are dropping dead that no one is allowed to go anywhere, do anything, can’t go to work unless your job is listed as one that is absolutely necessary.... but these assholes can come and do their British Charade while dressed in US navy Chinese Knock-Off Officer Uniforms.

It’s a Pirate Tug Boat.

They Tug at your heart strings because all you can think about is Ebenezer Scrooge and how Tiny Tim was treated on a MOVIE!

I am certain that there are some crutches nearby the front of the Walmart somewhere, if not crutches, then some other thing that looks like crutches is nearby, and is in the backs of trucks in the parking, planted for your Tiny Tim thoughts at the Walmart Christmas Adventure.

It was “Nightmare Before Elm Street” at the Walmart today.

The Elmer’s Restaurant across the street, desolate, no body there, only two cars in the parking, one was a SUV says “ELMERS” in big graphics on the side. The other car was a Red SUV. “Blood Sports” at the Walmart, noted at the Elmer’s, which is about like a fancy Denny’s.

The “All Fours Push Over” was advertised as it is every year out front of the Walmart with some signage. The sign is a big green board that was put there by Salvation Army at the front entrance, it is partially blocking the store entrance, and that fact is part of the message. There is a yellow box that is about the size of a three year old child on their hands and knees, it’s just a box, is yellow, is supporting that other green sign... push the green sign a little, and it falls over the yellow box. It’s “Green Jello terror cell, the SDA Salvation Army Chapter, at the Walmart. They also will incorporate that the fall that happens will lead to at least one lawsuit at the Walmart, for the “Insult to Injury” part of the terror. The local court gets involved, a SDA SAG Lawyer is involved. someone falls, and sues, Walmart settles out of court, some money changes hands, and if there were witnesses to any of the terrorism murders that will be going on, those reports will be discounted by the local authorities as just someone who must have seen that person who sued the Walmart when they fell down that day.

“Yes, someone was injured at the Walmart, I think Walmart chose to settle though, you have to check with the courts about that, but, there were no murders, Jesus Christ no... Heavens no, nothing like that happened, just a slip and fall is all that happened, that must be what that person saw.” Says the local Josephine County Sheriff when the federal officers come looking around.

Other than Salvation Army Bell Ring at the Front:

I forgot to bring my normal things that I bring to the store. I have been bringing my own reusable bags to the store since the government mandate that says we can‘t use single use plastic. I forgot those today. So, a lot of people were looking at my shopping cart saying all kinds of things about bags,... all kinds of bags and things to say about them to other people on secret communications as they pass by me in the store.

By the way, that thing with the single use bags law, happened here around last October of 2019, was a “Heads up, we are about to begin the COVID Phase” terror comm. The Single Use Plastic Law is no longer a thing, there are bags everywhere again, same as before that mandate.

I was going to purchase a camera today. So, I looked at the six different ones that are available at the Walmart display. Gone are the days of dozens of camera choices, there are only about six different ones in a small glass case that you can look at, through the glass, can‘t touch those, no way. There is a Canon Sterling Model. Small, 720 mpxl, 2.7 inch display, 8x zoom, heavy duty aluminum construction, has no WIFI inside, is good, looks like it could be used for taking some pictures, $129... I want one. Ok.. I go get the friendly Canadian terror Walmart Electronics Sales Associate for that.

“Help me please to get a camera from the display?”

“Yes, I can help with that”

We go there, he opens the pad lock on the very small 36″ x 24“ size cabinet that contains all of the cameras available at the Walmart, there are about maybe two dozen boxed cameras in there, and one of the boxes is empty for each of the ones in the display, so, there are very few cameras in there, at two weeks before Christmas time, and the size of that storage for them is tooooo smaaalll .... something is not right, Tiny Tim.

“Darn, I’m sorry, we don‘t have that Canon Sterling model you were looking at, but there is one of these other ones, that blue one, is also a Canon model... do you want to have a look at that one?” Says Canadian Walmart terror representative.

“no” I said.

“That one has Blue-tooth built in, I don’t want the Blue-tooth in the camera” I said some more.

I thanked him and left, remembering the exact same thing happened about this time last year. You can only get the Blue-Toothe model camera, so that they can spy on you. That is what Blue-Toothe is for, it’s always on. even when it says it’s turned off.

In case there is someone doing the math, it goes like this:

The one you want has 2.7″ inch screen, the one with the Blue-Toothe, has 3″ screen, comes with Blue-Toothe. So, 2.7 + 0.3 = 3 inches, so, that one is the Trinity one. Has 10x zoom, 1080 mpxl resolution. The associate knows what to do by the way the product is made with featured screen size, for SAG rules. He is going to point all of the victims to the Blue-Toothe camera, and say the other one is not available, there is no way to know when it will be available, and the display model is not for sale.

Maybe I’ll say some more later, I also went to AM/PM, so, there is a little to say about that.

5:48 pm (the bastards are still turning off my number pad on my keyboard every five minutes, I have to switch the num-lock button every time I want to type a numeral.)

==

6:25:

More to add is that yesterday and today there are a lot of people wearing the n-95 style hospital masks. Those will get you killed. Unless the terror soldiers are specifically instructed to use those, they are used to mark victims. You need cloth, home made masks. Also, the n-95 model has micron-filter that allows more nitrous molecule, and less fresh air to breathe, it’s double whammy killing COVID mask that way.

I am seeing some people wear these useless clear plastic mouth guard looking thing too. I have no idea how that is supposed to help for COVID protection.

Yesterday at the Walgreen’s, a young man was at the pharmacy boat dock, dropped his prescription paper for philling, the representatives were talking very loud:

“Have you filled here before?” they asked the young man.

“no, I haven’t” he said.

“What kind of insurance do you have?” the boat dock said.

“I don‘t have any..... it’s out of pocket” he replied.

He turns around to walk away after explaining that he is going to wait rather than come back later to pick up his prescription.

“Wow... everyone is wearing masks” he said to someone on a secret communication device.

I was thinking maybe this young man had come from some wonderful faraway place where there is no such thing as Twitter, a place without masks.

========

Other stuff at Walmart today is that the parking was danger city. The place is jam packed, terror soldiers are going out of their way to make you crash in there. They see you are pulling in, or out of a parking space, and them they go right behind your car, and stop there. It was rainy and foggy today too, perfect for low visibility terror at the Walmart. Big giant size four wheel drive truck has to come park right next to me just as I put the car in reverse, now I can only see in one direction, the way the Big Invisible Fog Horn in the Sky wants me to go, towards more dangerous conditions at the Walmart parking. They have it arranged that the parking is all full, but there are a few select parking spaces open, where the conditions surrounding those are highly controlled with other terror vehicles that are all prepared to interfere with someone who chooses to park in the available parking spaces. All of them are rigged, all of them are manned with crews of people who orchestrate conditions that favor the terror army, and are in conflict with safety of those who park there. no matter what happens, they have it rigged so it’s your fault if a collision happens, and there is no shortage of very distractible things that you have to see, pedestrians. dogs. bicycles, rogue runnaway shopping carts...it’s all there while others are targeting you. They put those there to make you crash.

At the AM/PM, same parking hazards are there as are at Walmart. There is a portable carnival food trailer there, at the AM/PM parking lot serving food. The AM/PM serves the same food inside the store as the circus trailer in the parking. So, why does AM/PM allow a competition to be parked there selling food in the parking lot? Because that place inside the trailer has a good viewing angle of the whole AM/PM gas station, and can see both entrances from there and all of the gas pumps, can shoot from there if necessary, a cross-bow, or a gun. Can direct traffic to come and go, to block someone, cause Cluster-Fuck if they need that, and can see all the way down Grants Pass Pkwy in both directions, the Carl’s Jr, Taco Bell, some of Winco Foods parking, and down Terry Lane from that circus food trailer. The thing is a green trailer about 16 feet, says “Mediterranean Food” on it, has a COVID Testing Easy-Up Canopy attached to the side.

Inside the store, I suppose the strangest thing, and something I don’t recall having seen before, was there was a man standing by the ATM in there, he had a small portable wireless receipt printer, and was printing receipts there near the ATM inside the store, as the big giant size man behind the counter was talking with him. It looked a bit less than legit to me, knowing about that all of the banks are hijacked, and purchases and inventory records are all faked in Oregon.

7:12 pm.

====

8:23 pm:

Other thing at Walmart today was Fake Security Officer w/Two Concerned Citizens doing what they call “The Unclean“ activity.

“Unclean“ is when three people, very clean-cut, proper, upstanding looking people are walking around and through someplace, they are all looking around, each one is looking a different way, when one of them turns to look a different way, so do the other two, so that all three, are always looking around in three different directions, constantly moving, turning, looking for something while also being super innocent and “holier than thou” sort of vibe going on. That happened as I entered the Walmart, one of them was “Security” with full vest, black official looking uniform, stuff clipped onto his belt. I don‘t recall a gun, or absence of one.

The thing about the Fake Security, is that he was the ‘Fake, fake security”, so, there is the usual fake security that drives around in the parking w/flashing yellow lights, but that guy was not there, his usual fake security car was there, but this other unusual fake security was there instead of regular fake security.

I don’t have other information about that. It’s fake, everything is fake, and when the fakeness is found out, they bring other, new, different fake falseness, to put in place of the usual fakery that was found. The real fake usual security was probably across the street at the Starbucks having some coffee & donuts while the temporary extra special fake terror actor from SAG fooled other federal investigative people on patrol.

There may have been the guillotine there today, at the front door. All of the usual guillotine sort of distractions were in place near the front of the Walmart.

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

10:14 pm:

Lately, the overwhelming notion that the terror army are pirates, has enlightened me in ways that I find helpful, and I want to help others see the things I am seeing if those things become present, so, “Pirates”, Boats, Barges, Dingy’s, Sloopes, Slips, Catamaran, Sails, Wind, Piers, Ports, Docks, Beaches, Palm Trees, Treasure and Maps to find it, is something that really can be seen if the terror army is around in your town.

All things shipping, complete with oil tankers, can be seen, in order to see the terror army as they are communicating with Pirate Themes in LARGE WAYS. When you are out and about, see if you can find a boats, it could be truck, but when you look at it with a Cracker Jack Secret Decoder Ring attitude, it’s a boat, has a yard arm, has some Trump Supporter Flags for Sails, has some special bumpers so it can get close to the dock, could be some stickers, artwork, printed words that make it more shiplike in some way.

If you don‘t see what I am saying here, that’s good news. Just make sure you have an eye from the crows nest from time to time, just in case the Pirate Circus comes to your town.

The most important part is that there is a strange presence of a Fog Horn like quality to the atmosphere in the town, it’s not a sound that you can hear, it’s more like a lot of people who make conditions which force you to go on your way in the direction that they want you to go, like a fog horn does to keep the captains from crashing onto the rocks, except these people use a reverse fog horn that guides the people into danger.

Traffic conditions, with people who pull out in front of you at the store parking aisles, makes you choose a different aisle, then they guide you with shopping carts and pedestrians, other drivers jockeying around in the way, is like the Fog Horn that guides you, into the specific parking place where they want you to be, for easy victim placement. There are some empty places to park, but you would have to get out to move those shopping carts that they put in them if you want to park there, and, that also is bait, they are waiting for victims to get out to move the shopping carts that block you from parking there.

This is too difficult to be specific. You just have to be willing to see it on your own, conditions can change, the Pirates adapt, they are lead by Screen Actor Guild, and those guys wrote the Movie Screenplay already, for all of the Pirate movies, so, they just switch from Master & Commander, to Hunt For Red October, on the fly.

All of that can then change to Airplane, to make you feel foolish while looking for Pirates at the Airport. Right now it’s all about Pirates where I live, they are easier to spot than when the Jurassic Park themes are in play.

Jumangi terror. Gumby terror, he can walk into any book with his pony pal Poky.

10:46 pm.

==

10:51 pm:

There some themes that don’t ever change. There is always a “Save the Princess” sort of idea that is a basis to support terrorism murders on. Maybe is one person princess, maybe is Grenfeild Tower where the whole building full of people is the princess.

There is always a treasure, some money, some riches as bait. The terror is not really interested too much in stealing money, they have that already, but those ideas about money and riches, treasure, other wealth, is used as bait. A purse on the front seat of an unlocked car, or a lot of gold jewelry on a pretty woman, all is bait. A Harley Davidson with keys dangling is a favorite around here, is bait.

You don‘t have to want to steal that stuff, all you have to do is be near it. The terror army does the rest, they have fake police for that, to make fake police report at the real police station about why someone was killed as they tried to steal that motorcycle, rob that jewelry from that woman, or take that purse from the unlocked car at the Walmart parking. All you wanted is some milk and some eggs for breakfast tomorrow.

They use themes though, good cop/bad cop is always there same as the princess and the lure of riches and easy money. There are many themes, there is always a hot chick, a stud, a dog & pony in some way, and there is always someone to feel sorry for while they are scouting you with the “I need some gas & food money” sign w/baby and wheelchair nearby.

It all repeats over and over again, large size princess is a whole busload of people is the bait and need help, small size of the same bait is a child who is being told they can’t have what they want, parent yells at the child. Both are Save the Princess, designed to make you react in some way, a way they already practiced for to mark you.

===

11:30 pm:

For instance, a set-up that is standard procedure at the AM/PM today, happens about half the time I go in there:

It’s simple, as I am there, the only US Citizen anywhere around for 500 miles or more in all directions, everyone else is a Canadian terror soldier, or, a SAG actor from Hollywood, as a leader for the Canadians.

I am in line, want to get some things at the front counter, a girl comes in the store doing the Pee-pee dance, says: “I need the key for the rest room” while interrupting the transaction I am having with the store clerk, who tells her: “There is no key, it’s open if no one is in there”

now, if I go anywhere near where those restrooms are at, inside the store, near the access door to the refrigerated beverages cooler, that is where the victims get dragged into the refrigerated area. If no one sees that someone was hit and taken back there, then the girl in the rest room is not needed for the terror to continue, but if someone does witness the activity of someone being hit and taken into the cooler, then that girl in the restroom is super handy as a princess who was saved, and that is what is said to have been witnessed. The terror soldier murderers, are transformed into heroes that way. So, if I go over there because I was reminded that I want to get something from that area, then they hit me, drag me into the cooler. If someone sees, the girl in the rest room is told to start screaming, looks like I went in there to rape or rob her, but was thwarted by the AM/PM other customer, or staff near the cooler.

Variation of the same thing is a small child is taken into the rest room by the father or mother, it’s the same thing, with slightly different twist so they have some variation, not always exactly the same scenario, the child is in the rest room, either with or without the parent... whatever suits the ongoing theme so that other terror soldiers in the store who know the theme of the day, will know what is going on, and know their spoken lines they need to say.

If you drive a raised truck that can be crawled under, they will do that at the AM/PM, with a screw driver, to crank your starter over too many times, drain your battery as you are distracted with a long line in the store. You come out, truck won‘t start, dead battery. That is when the Mobile Auto Repair just happens to pull in and park next to you, as if you called it in ahead of time. It says right on the mobile repair van that they do jump start service. It gets worse from there. That has happened to me three times there so far, to the extent that I needed a tow truck because the event was primed for at my home with sabotage to the starter motor. Three starters in a short time, because Chartrand comes and uses the screwdriver short circuit method to spin the starter around while I am in the shower. Burns the starters up. Get to AM/PM, and one more short does the trick, need to get a new starter, and Chartrand has the Stingray surveillance unit, so, he knows where I called to get a new starter, after the tow-truck assassin fails, and he is there waiting for me at the auto parts store, three times so far, same thing, dead battery at the AM/PM, Mobile repair is there, just happens to park there, the starter is toast, need a tow truck, then need a starter at the O’Reilly’s Auto parts, where Chartrand is working behind the service counter when I arrive to get a new starter that he ruined for me.

That is how the AM/PM Luke’s Arco does what they do, and lots more.

Richard Chartrand is the terror neighbor I explain about often, he has lived two doors to the north at 376 Jackpine for about 6 or seven years, is one of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police who is also a Oregon State Police Officer in disguise. He uses a real Oregon State Police Dodge Charger, a grey one. So, I call for help to stop terrorism, and/or make reports here, or at Twitter to get some national security help, and they send the Canadian terror Oregon State Police to kill me instead of coming to see what the problems are themselves. That happened so many times, that Richard Chartrand was sent to come live on the road as my neighbor, so that he could be like Johnny on the Spot when someone reads what I write here and calls the police or FBI to send some help. Chartrand, of Oregon State Police, is right there, two doors away, always is on call, ready to respond to reports of terrorism I make. He is not going to help, instead he has a lot of terror soldier thugs like Burton Mitchel Dietrick who also lives on Jackpine, Stevie Bell who uses the Chartrand approved terror story that Stevie is my Son and we don‘t get along, but he lives across the street to care for me anyway because I am a disabled man with spinal cord post surgical conditions that, they say, needs a caregiver all of the time. Meanwhile, the sheriff gave them the keys to my house because they arrested me on June 15 and got my keys that way when I went to jail for something that never happened, was just for getting the keys, and to take a few whacks at a disabled spinal cord patient while at the jail. After that, Chartrand had some fresh keys for the lock that I already changed because Fran Taylor was making keys that fit my front door somehow, I don‘t know how, she has key making machine, that’s what I know about that, So, everyone has keys to my front door, the national security people are told that I need special care all of the time, and that is why the Caregivers are coming over here everyday to beat me up with a baseball bat or try to poke me with euthanasia drug for the big sleep. Happens almost everyday, national security won’t send help to a disabled man, they are ok with the current caregiver situation with baseball bat therapy, and the terror doctor who only does phone or video appointments who tells me that I have arthritis, and that is why I hurt so bad, so, he gives enough treatment for someone who has arthritis, is not interested in treating the post surgical spinal cord injury, one that always hurts even without the caregiver and baseball bat beating daily evening therapy that I get regularly, for many years. Then, to add insult to injury, they killed my daughter, but she calls sometimes to tell me that she graduated from medical school, is a doctor now, works at the ER and Intensive care unit as a resident physician at the hospital somewhere.

no one will send help.

I am pretty sure all of the Chartrand’s are dead now, they attacked me too many times. There were five of them to start with:

Richard Chartrand (Rich)

Jennifer Chartrand (Jennifluffer)

Sterling Chartrand (Stir)

Elizabeth Chartrand (Lizzy)

and Richard’s sister, Jay Chartrand (”Watch Dog” he called her)

All are dead, or, too injured and cut to pieces to hurt me anymore. Others are there at 376 Jackpine, so, the terror from there continues with other Royal Canadian Mounted Police who are disguised as Oregon State Police, and are stationed two doors away for ease of access with daily baseball bat therapy.

Part of the problem with the national security is that the insist on always being fooled by the local authorities, who are not real authorities, are terror army soldiers and special operatives who are trained and assigned especially for fooling national security, So, the other problem is that the terror army is so enormous, that if a few nsa officers come to Oregon, they will be killed, and a takeover team sent to the nsa HQ, to take that, and kill & replace all of their family and friends. The nsa needs to bring US Military, but the White House is hijacked by SAG terror leadership, is not going to send US Military to Oregon, Trump is only going to send them to Afghanistan to protect the terror heroin poppy fields there, and, those guys that are sent to Afghanistan are ambushed when the get there by the British “Friendly’s”, are killed, and now they are all replaced with Canadians who are protecting the terror heroin poppy’s in Afghanistan while pretending to be US Military under direction from the White House.

But hey, there is still football to watch on TV on Monday nights, in the rainy season, so, all is ok I suppose, eh?

=======

12-12-2020: 2:21 am:

For anyone who may possibly be watching this account, be advised that today I don‘t think I made any comments at the suspended Twitter account, this past week, I have made only few short, not so lengthy use of the text box there. I try anything to get help, typing in any text box I can find is something I have done to try to get help, so, see if you notice any difference when I refrain from using Google products to type in a text box, starting today... last night 12-11-2020.

I will try to refrain tomorrow, to see if there is some difference by not using the Twitter text suspended account box.

Twitter needs to be taken offline globally, pronto, fast, any and every way possible.... immediately.

2:29 am.

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

12-12-2020: 7:32 pm:

Addition lies that are told to other, far away people, nsa, or other Global Security personnel about me, and the circumstances that are lied about the existence of the information presented here on this Tumblr account, and other places online:

The same way that Stephen (Stevie) Bell at 445 Jackpine is said to be my estranged Son, so is Deb Monroe at 434 Jackpine said to be my estranged Daughter, who lives next door in that Offensive Monroe Surveillance Travel Trailer. The same, or similar conditions as with the story that is told about Stevie Bell, are repeated with stories about Deb Monroe, that she is available at that trailer for Caregiver of her Dad, who is said to be the author of this account, a disabled man who needs assistance to dress, cook, shop for food, go to doctor appointments, use a restroom, shower or bathe, and help to feed the cats.

Although I am a disabled man, I don’t need any of that kind of help. I need national security and global world wide security to read this account. I need those people to stop being fooled by the local authorities who are the ones who have crafted up so many lies, including the ones that include Deb Monroe, and Stephen Bell. Those national security people need to stop all contact with the local authorities and do their own research to find the truth.

That is where and when the information here can be helpful. It could be used to stop about 90% of the terrorism on Earth.

That is a lot of terror that would end. Immagine a time when there would be no more Schul Schute’s. That is only the beginning of what could be achieved if nsa would only just do their job, stop relying on others, and stop being fooled.

There is other lies that include Sandy Monroe, I don’t know the extent of those. I suspect that sometimes Sandy Monroe is said to be me, the author of this page, and the person that Deb Monroe is caregiver for, as I am kept captive in my home, out of view from potentially helpful people who are too far away to see what is really happening around here.

Personally, I feel that Deb Monroe is really the daughter of Scott and Karen Liter of 329 Jackpine, and they may have taken over at 325 Jackpine, to pretend to be Dewey and Roberta Gasper, who are terror pirates, and are dead.

Lies. Stephen Bell; Deb Monroe, Sandy Monroe... none of them are caregivers.

I don’t have or use or want any caregivers.

That is Sandy Monroe attacking at the laundry room door earlier this year, about February. There are three other people at least also outside, as Sandy was pounding on my door, that door, and the front door, for about two hours that night, she demanded I let her in, said that this is her house, insisted that she lived here. There was a dead body in my woods covered with a sleeping bag, and I think the four people thought I had taken a photo of the dead body, so, this fucking scary shit happened.

There is more to this, It’s all been said before, so, do your own research, I just want to make sure that everyone who needs to know can see that Sandy Monroe is featured there in those photos above.

7:56 pm.

=========

8:21 pm:

You could be looking at those photos and saying: “But that is not the Sandy Monroe that we have detailed in our portfolio profile information, something is wrong, someone is not telling the truth and we could possibly be being fooled here with this person claiming that the photo shows Sandy Monroe”.

That would be a good start to moving closer to the truth.

What you should know:

That is only “The Current Sandy Monroe, and that particular Sandy Monroe is the one that is occupying the front residence at 434 Jackpine Drive. That one is not the first one, as there have been at least three Sandy Monroe’s over a course of about four or five years since the time they moved in there next door.

There have been at least two Jeff Monroe’s there also, neither one of the Jeff Monroe’s have been seen for a few month’s, and the latest Jeff Monroe was there for most of the time... about three and a half years. The original Jeff Monroe had tattoos, big ones, on his shoulder blades, the newer one is much thinner, uses a hoodie to conceal his face, does not take his shirt off, so, tattoos are not visible if present.

There is currently a Jeff Monroe deficit, as there does not seem to be anyone portraying the Jeff Monroe role at the Monroe terror cell next door.

That current Sandy Monroe has dental conditions that mimic the post gunshot dental conditions I suffer from. Very similar teeth arrangement to my own.

8:37 pm.

=========

8:57 pm:

For clarity sake, I think it’s wise to say one more time that the person in those photos is not the author of this account information here, maybe some other account of information but not this one here at StoneMan Warrior on Tumblr.

Also is wise to remind more time that phone lines are all like spaghetti, the ones that are buried in the ground that compose the Centurylink network. All of the phone lines were intentionally put onto the wrong terminals in all of the service boxes that serve the area, maybe the whole state of Oregon, I think the spaghetti phone line method of fooling the nsa has worked pretty good so far, about twenty years or so, and they use the local Josephine County spaghetti phone lines as a model for all of the phone lines of all of the world by now. They just send a van to the main access box, says something American HVAC and Vacuum on it, and those guys switch the wiring around inside the main access terminals in the neighborhood, and then they also switch the wires on the small, individual service access boxes that are out front of all of the houses. But that is only the cover part, only on the surface where it’s easy to see that it’s spaghetti phones, so, they also use the old school PBX switchboards to make super customized terror phone call experience for nsa to get lost and be fooled with. But that is only the old school part, so, they also use the new fangled digital equipment too, helps to play the Pope’s mystery card, so the VOIP systems can change the phone call from land line to digital computer line to then goes to cell-phone tower to make confusion Vatican mystery hokus pokus in places where only should be land line to easily listen to for national security, makes it easy to switch the Pope signal back to land line with use of the PBX again for that. Just need a house with two phone lines incoming and your good to go for Stingray Hijack from hell that way.

It’s not as confusing as it could be though.

They call the PBX “Medusa”. They named it. They get those from the Sheriff Auction. The terror scouts go find them, then, it goes in the auction, listed in the Grants Pass Daily Courier as a item available for biding on. I don‘t know why they do that, put it in the paper, except that when that happens, it makes it easier to capture the nsa when they come around asking questions, and is handy when the Sheriff is in charge with the auction for that. It becomes a place to put a trap real quick before the new “Medusa’s” are put into service. They “Christen“ all of the equipment and weapons like that, before it goes into service.

Spaghetti phone is why nsa might think Sandy Monroe is author of this information.

(also, the complicated part of the spaghetti phones, is, that I am supposed to have two addresses worth of telephone lines. They stole one address worth, and hooked that one up in the spaghetti, Stingray, VOIP, Medusa, Cell Phone/Land line Pope system of modern communication technology they use around here. I am sure there is some Blue-Toothe way to make it more challenging for nsa, but I don‘t know about that, I hate Blue-tooth. So you have to watch out for addresses where there are supposed to be extra phone lines, or, for addresses that were made special to have a lot of phone line. It’s like money, they just scrape a little off the top, in the paperwork. With the phones, just some airplane Vodka applied to the service box at the neighbors house terminal does the trick, POG is bonus. You need one of those special 9/16 box end wrenches (just show your SAG card to the people at Acme Tool & Die, they pass those out when one is requested to those with dues paid in full, card in good standing).

I use tape. That way, you can know if the seal was broken.

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

This is still on the 12-12-2020 additional information:

Different, unrelated to the above:

10:10 pm:

Very few people understand the nuances surrounding a disability. There are some things about disability that have their own set of terror jargon when commanded with terror orders from White House, Congress, State Governors... etc. The Pointy Hat Clubs have language based on this “secret” knowledge about disability:

In USA, we have Social Security Disability Insurance. We go to work, we pay out of the paycheck a deduction for an insurance premium.

not many people understand that it’s an insurance premium. It’s useful for when you get hurt, can’t work anymore, are broken.

Same idea with Unemployment Insurance, you pay a premium for insurance ahead of time. If everything goes good, you never need to file a claim with the insurance company.

There is other kind of insurance, the employers pay for insurance that protects the employer, and also protects the employees from all kinds of things that can happen. I forget what that insurance is called, but that insurance is the reason sometimes that a person is considered as a disabled person, sort of, in USA. There are certainly medical and health reasons a person is considered as a disabled person, and, when filing a federal disability claim against that insurance that you pay for with your paycheck, the SSDI deduction, there is a ton of doctors, tests, scans, interviews, exorcises, waiting periods, more tests, more doctors, more scans, lots and lots of paperwork, and some spies that come to watch everything you do. It takes about two years minimum to go through all of the tests, scans, doctors, ... repeat, then again, only to be denied, because those are the rules, you have to be denied at least one time. So, those who really are suffering from some serious problems are the ones who have no other choices. They just keep jumping through the hoops as the new hoops are presented for jumping through. Everyone else, gets real hungry, and tired, and they go back to work.

So, the secret communication used by Government terror leaders to say commands about disabled people, as targets, or, to say commands to the terror soldiers who already killed and replaced disabled people, is hidden inside of talk about insurance. 

When congress, or Trump talks about “Pre-Existing Health Conditions” for insurance related subject matter, they are saying some kind of specifics about disabled people, elderly people, maybe small children who are not old enough to go into the work force yet are also pre-existing conditional people.

The reason is that the disabled person may have some conditions, lets say heart condition, where they look OK, can walk the same as everyone, but have some heart condition, maybe had a heart attack already, so, the reason they are not employable is that the insurance company is not going to cover a person who could have a heart attack at the jobsite when the medical record already shows a history of heart-attack, or other circulatory problems.

Right there, is the reason why that person is “Disabled”. Can walk, can even run (but is risky), no walking aid is required, no wheel chair, but could drop dead from heart problem while changing light bulbs on the company Christmas display in the store window, cause a short circuit, makes a fire, someone has to come to drag the person from the burning front store Christmas lights, then that person is electrocuted, the place is on the fifteenth floor of the building, there is no number 13 on the Ottis elevator,and they left it out of the stairwells too because Christians are superstitious, could be a disability I think, mental psychotic ailment, so the fire crew is lost while trying to save the heart-attack light-bulb replacement person, and some of them are hurt, suffer smoke inhalation, could die, and the equipment is ruined too. All of that, and the conditions of fire damage and injury at the employers have not even been considered yet.

That is why the insurance company is not going to insure disabled people who have ailments, or multiple ailments that are listed at the Social Security Administration. Those that are awarded a disability status, and those people who have listed impairments or multiple impairments, that when stacked up together are deemed that which the insurance company won‘t cover, are said to be “Disabled People” and can sign up for a special parking card for convenience at the store parking if they want to, you know, those blue ones with the wheel chair on them, goes on the rear view mirror.

Insurance. The employer is mandated to have it. The Insurance company works close with medical doctors, the doctors go to school for a long, long, long, long, long time, and they also are at the Social Security Administration, where the disabled people, all of them, are denied at least one time, because those are the secret rules. That, and the employers insurance is also the secret rules. Somewhere in all of that are smart people who figured out a way to make a balance between medical records, tests, interviews, with analytic studies, health science, and that people who are fake, will give up, and go back to work. Also, that period of time where you are denied, is often enough time to heal. So, those who do not heal, and have listed impairments, don’t have to change out the company Christmas light bulb display, however, those people, if they can walk, will always suffer greatly, forever, from abuse from the Christian Church, who feels that if you can walk, that is the disability test, no doctors, insurance, social science, medical science, or knowledge of any kind is necessary for becoming a church member. They let anyone in their club.

One thing is for sure about disabled people, that is that the actual health conditions they suffer from are not likely to improve, are likely to become worse over time, and, those conditions will always be obvious with future testing, but mostly, in the medical environment that once existed, is gone now, but the one that is supposed to still be working, where the disabled people enter into with regular checkups, and treatment plans, will always maintain an ongoing record of progress as the person ages. Sometimes medical treatments and advances in technology and medical science can provide remedy to disabled people status, but not often. Even so, the disabled person, once out of the work force for fifteen years, is considered as permanently disabled forever for having become “institutionalized” and that the consensus is that the person, and the social work environment changes so dramatically over that amount of time, that fifteen years out of the work force is considered to be the disabling factor. So, again, smart people figured out a way to make it easier for disabled people to survive in harsh environments where the Church applies so much pressure for so long that the disabled persons, after fifteen years of experience with being a disabled person, can simply tell the invasive church people...

...to “go fuck off somewhere else, this is not my first rodeo, you superstitious offensive terrorist fruitcake”.

Watch for terror comm featuring “Pre-Existing Conditions” to find disability specific terror instructions from government officials.

[vickisventures]

Club Med?

I’m not sure if it’s a full moon or just Sturgis people but this week has been crazy. People seem to think they are at Club Med and not a small, family-owned campground.  Below are some of the requests we have had: shuttle service to and from the laundry room (because their site is too far away.). They were told “No” but caught Steve on his way down and did bum one ride.  That same family wanted to be moved to a site closer to the laundry area. Not possible!  They were upset that their site didn’t have a standing grill (just had a fire pit) so Steve had to go find one and put it on their site. That same family, arrived 2 days after their arrival date because they decided to make more stops along the way and agreed that they had to pay for the original dates but when they got here, tried to weasel out of paying and to extend their stay for free.  We were able to extend their stay 1 day but they had to move to another site and pay.  They have called the office so many times, you’d think they had nothing better to do on their vacation.  Another couple came rolling in driving a motor home with a U-Haul trailer containing their brand new motorcycles.  They later called the office to ask us to shuttle them to the local golf course for their tee time because they didn’t want to have their golf clubs rubbing up against their new “toys.”  And had the nerve to be upset when they were told “no.”  Then that same couple was having trouble with their electric and we thought the problem was on our end.  We offered to move them to another site.  They said “no,”  BUT they wanted a refund for their stay.  Jen agreed to it.  Come to find out it wasn’t our issue but theirs—they had a bad electrical cord but somehow, they still ended up getting a free night out of it!  I had a call asking for a late check-out for 2 of our tent sites because they had arrived late.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with asking, but he got upset when I told him that we had people coming into their sites and needed to get their sites cleaned up so they would need to be out by check-out time.  What’s up with the entitlement issues people have??  Another guy called to say his car wouldn’t start and could I send someone up to jump it?  I asked if he was in a hurry because we were dealing with a lot of things and were shorthanded and he said they had sightseeing to do.  So, I called AAA (Steve) and he came to their rescue. Then there was the lady who arrived at 10:15 to check in.  I explained to her that check-in time was noon and that they could either go into town and mess around for a while or just park out on the access road for a while. I told them the check-in time was in their confirmation email and that people still had 45 min to check out and we were still cleaning sites. They were not happy, but they left.  She came in again at 11:45 and rudely asked if they could check in now?  I wanted to say what about noon did you not understand.  I agreed to check them in but took my time.  She was very short with me and rude but hopefully I’ll never see her again!  And this all happened in ONE day.

The other dumb things we’ve had to deal with is people who cancelled at the last minute.  I’m really not sure what people are thinking when they don’t follow policy and expect it to be ok.  One lady didn’t show up and when Jen called to ask where they were, she simply said, “Oh, I forgot to let you know we weren’t coming.”  Jen asked the lady for a credit card so she could charge her for the stay, fully knowing that wasn’t likely to happen, but the card she had on file was expired.  Now it was Jen’s fault for accepting a card that had expired but now she’s going to have to keep bugging the lady until she gives her a card number OR she sends it to collections which is a lot of work as well.  The other big cancellation she had was a lady who had booked a year ago for Sturgis for 2 weeks and cancelled on the day she was to arrive.  She said they were scared about the virus.  Jen asked them if they weren’t scared a week ago, a month ago, or even 3 months ago?!?  She got upset with them when they acted like it was no big deal and when they asked if they were “good” for next year, Jen told them they would not be welcome back into this campground.  But then we had the lady who came to check in that was soooo happy to be here for a 2nd year in a row and was practically bouncing off the wall with excitement.  Another lady who wasn’t upset that we accidentally charged her card prior to her arrival and forgot to give her the military discount.  She was thrilled when we offered to give her the money back in the form of wood. (She was also told we’d give her the cash back.). These people help us deal with the others!

The other workamping couple arrived 2 days ago...the one that is only working for a month.  They seem like a nice couple although I don’t get coming to work for just a month.  But to their credit, they jumped in and started to work the next day and they seem like hard workers.

You may have seen on Facebook that we went paddle boarding the other day for the first time.  We’ve wanted to go for a while, but it always seemed kind of expensive to rent the paddleboards.  Once again, our VIP passes saved the day and we were able to get the use of paddleboards for the day for free.  We were told that Jenny Gulch (part of Pactola Reservoir) was a good place to go since it was a no-wake area.  It was good information!  There were a few boats that came into the area to just hang out or let people play in the lake, but it was perfect for newbies.  It was a warm day and so fun to hang out at the lake.  We paddle boarded for a while, took a break to just sit and read and then we’d repeat.  We only left because we became overtaken by flies (I think they sensed the rain coming.)

We did the Sunday Gulch hike (4 mile loop) today by Sylvan Lake. It was a warm day and a difficult hike. Not difficult in the sense that we had to do a lot of rock scrambling but in a more tiring, workout sense.  By the time we finished the 2 hour and 15 minute hike, we were ready to rest and eat our picnic lunch.  It was a pretty hike though that took us through a lot of wildflowers and mini waterfalls.  I think we have now completed all of the hikes in Custer State Park that we wanted to hit.

We found out today that we will NOT be getting our fridge part this week.  We aren’t really surprised but we are disappointed.  They are saying it’ll be here while we are in Yellowstone, so our plan is to leave super early the last day of our trip, go straight to Rapid City and have them put the part in before we head back to the campground. Not quite what we’d hoped for, but it’ll have to do.  Yellowstone, here we come (in 5 days!)

[louisdvgj929]

Ask Me Anything: 10 Answers to Your Questions About How Do U Know If You Have HPV

A person could strengthen the immune system and therefore typically create resistance to an HPV infection in literally as short of time as a couple of months, sooner than it could make any type of significant infection. (Selected Chapters of Book)

Perchance have you heretofore been down with a common cold virus? Possibly did you do away with the issue? Naturally you got over it! You will not cure a runny nose itself, nevertheless your immune system generally establishes immunity to any cold infection within a few days. That is called being healed by your personal immunity!

No doubt you will possibly succumb to a different runny nose virus, due to the fact that there exist more than several hundred different runny nose viruses. But you will certainly unlikely acquire the very same cold infection that you had in the past due to the fact that you have actually created resistance to that cold virus.

Adults have in the past had a lot of the runny nose viruses. Grownups have established resistance to the colds they have actually had. So there are not as many cold infections remaining for parents to acquire. That is why parents only acquire a few colds annually whereas kids succumb to 10-12 colds per year.

Human papilloma virus is similar since human papilloma virus is just an additional virus. Therefore you can generally create resistance to HPV virus. Nonetheless, HPV virus is much better at evading your body's immune system than are the runny nose viruses. Therefore you have to persist with more diligence to acquire immunity to HPV.

Assuming one does nothing it could require a few years to create immunity to human papilloma virus. If an individual takes the author's suggestions, it requires just a couple of months to develop resistance to human papilloma virus. The longer someone is infected with HPV virus, the longer it can trigger damage. Therefore it is best to generate immunity and remove human papilloma virus as quickly as reasonable.

Somebody can strengthen the body's immune system and therefore quite simply establish resistance to an HPV infection in only a matter of a couple of months, before it can produce any kind of compelling damage. (Book Review)

Most people get puzzled and think they have actually not created resistance to HPV just due to the fact that they become infected again by a different strain of the more than 100 HPV viruses. However somebody could prevent future exposure as well as additional HPV virus infections.

This amazing book sheds light on human papilloma virus problems, one of the most usual sexually-transmitted infections in the USA, infecting over 20 million men and women. Human papilloma virus causes cervical dysplasia, cervical cancer cells, genital excrescences, plantar moles, losing unborn babies, infertility and penile cancer cells.

No matter how this information entered your hands. Exactly what matters is exactly how you make use of such information as countless others that have removed HPV virus.

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Here is the bottom line, this book is about healing HPV, but it is not just concerning human papilloma virus. It has to do with living the most effective life we might live. It is about identifying HPV virus as an incredible opportunity to take responsibility for our own health. When seen in this manner, a person could be happy for HPV. Yes, thankful! And also with that gratefulness and also whatever else shared in this book, someone can, and somebody will certainly, heal the body! She understands this is successful due to the fact that it worked for her - it altered her life and also her wellness.

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Someone can enhance the immune system and consequently typically establish resistance to an HPV virus in basically just a few months, before it can create any major cervical damage. (Selected Chapters of Book)

Likely have you previously endured acute rhinitis? Possibly did you eliminate the cold? Certainly you got over it! You cannot cure a runny nose directly, nevertheless your immune system normally develops immunity to a certain cold infection within several weeks. We call that treated by your very own immune system!

And of course you will possibly succumb to a different runny nose virus, since there remain more than several hundred different runny nose infections. However you will unlikely get the same runny nose infection that you had in the past since you have actually established immunity to that cold virus.

Adults have actually in the past had a great deal of the rhinitis viruses. Grownups have actually developed immunity to the ones they have suffered from. So there are not so many runny nose viruses existing for parents to catch. That is why adults just get a couple of colds annually and children acquire a dozen runny noses each year.

HPV virus is comparable since HPV virus is simply an additional infection. Therefore you can generally establish resistance to human papilloma virus. However, HPV is much better at concealing from your immune system than are the runny nose infections. Moreover you should try with more diligence to develop resistance to human papilloma virus.

If a person does not do anything it can take a couple of years to generate resistance to HPV. If an individual follows the writer's suggestions, it requires only a few months to develop immunity to human papilloma virus. The longer an individual has HPV virus, the more likely it can create cervical damage. So it is preferred to generate resistance and remove HPV virus as quickly as reasonable.

An individual can enhance the body's immune system and normally develop immunity to an HPV virus in only a matter of a couple of months, sooner than it might trigger any major damage. (Short Review of Book)

The majority of persons become puzzled because they think they have actually not created resistance to HPV simply due to the fact that they become infected again by another type of the more than 100 HPV infections. Yet someone could prevent future direct exposure and also new HPV problems.

Simply this book clarifies human papilloma virus infections, the most usual STD infections in the USA, infecting over 20 million men and women. HPV virus creates cervical dysplasia, cervical cancer, genital blemishes, plantar protuberances, losing unborn babies, infertility as well as penile cancer cells.

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The book's author communicates exactly how she normally eliminated the symptoms of human papilloma virus as well as completely recovered her own body of the HPV virus problem by strengthening her resistance.

[stellxuk]

Broad lesson(s) from my solo trip

Some time has lapsed since I’d written the last post but as always words keep escaping me and at present time so o o o much has changed to how we’re essentially going about our daily lives. Being an introvert through and through, I don’t feel the effects of staying home as much as others but it has also created a new flux emotionally. I’ve been getting really vivid dreams (a side note), and have become more reminiscent of my trip to the UK, seeing it in different lights than the atomic now-I-know-I’m-not-a-solo-traveller vein. 

It has brought me immense gratefulness (more than I can express without sounding like a brat who decided to spend money on a leisure trip in the midst of then an impending pandemic) that I got to experience what I experienced in the UK before everything started going downhill. A lot, and I mean a lot, of unfounded worries surrounded me during the trip, which made me think that it was just a wrong time to have travelled and experienced the cities I went to. But now it has, in my own windings and projections, taught me a lot of empathy for the kind of fears people are going through now, and how important it is more than ever to surround yourself with the assurance that this is a time that will pass. It has also opened up a lot about who I am as a person inherently as well.

Picking up The Idiot Brain by Dean Burnett (a read I’d recommend) after reading 2 chapters and abandoning it for an awful long time (the pages have started to yellow kind of long), I understood how the irrational fears I felt during my trip were my cortisol levels trying to get me to hit optimum self-preservation mode and survive alone - something I have never done. Never! Of course my brain had trouble computing the experience then. I’ve never been physically alone more than an afternoon/ evening completing work at a cafe, or watching a movie solo, or a drive, or at most taking a solo flight (note that these aren’t survival activities but also just leisure activities). I’ve been wrapping my head around why I was so fearful and it seemed I couldn’t be at ease with myself more so than others who seemingly adapted pretty well to studying/living abroad alone. 

But it wasn’t a measure of courage and sensibility, it was apples and oranges in how I was raised and the circumstances which surrounded me as I embarked on the trip.

In the last post I wrote about enhanced responsibility traveling against my parents’ full consent (to clarify, they supported me in my decision but if they had a say they would’ve completely shut the trip down until the entire virus situation tided over). It had been weighing over my head the entire trip and through my mom’s frequent check-ins that as much as I wanted this trip for myself, I’m not my own person. We all aren’t. I read an essay “No Patient is an Island” by Anita Ho on Aeon and it presented studies on moral philosophy such as Rene Descartes’s “rugged individualism” where the self is individualistic, independent and in autonomous control of their lives. This goes against the inherent significance of family relationships - that which is characterised by collectivity, non-consensuality, sensibility and favouritism.

While it may seem that the end goal is independence, coming into your own person, much of our identities and idea of self is constituted by our relations with others. Besides navigating the new cities I was visiting, I was also grappling with a sense of guilt almost for having my mother worry over me, but also a sense of subtle want for defiance - to maybe miss a text or two, get back to the airbnb real late one night - and prove that I can be on my own. It is weird to say this even now but when I hadn’t done that, eventually caved to the messages my amygdala was sending and made sure I kept to my itinerary, don’t do anything stupid, and to assure my mother that the train ride home takes only 15 minutes and the station’s still crowded so I wasn’t alone, I felt like I still wasn’t really being fully independent. Even though I literally was - alone.

To me the premise for the trip was mild, non-social activities. Visit a park, a museum, catch a theatre play, take train rides to explore architecture, nature, boutiques, local cafes. That sort of thing. I remember catching up with a friend a week or two ago and he frowned when I said I started my days early around 8am but I was back in the airbnb most nights by 8pm. He proceeded to ask me why hadn’t I gone to a bar. Lol. Why would I be in a bar? Nothing wrong with bars - I’m not insinuating that if I had gone to a bar any of the nights that would’ve been the last you heard of me. I was just perturbed as to why there seemed to be a “generic itinerary” everyone had to follow and me missing out on these overtly “I’m solo tripping I am my own person now” type activities meant I had an odd trip.

I guess where I’m getting at is it all boils down to who I am, maybe neurologically my anterior hippocampus might be average sized or even smaller, or biologically I have inherited the DNA that encoded the same over-protectiveness and social paranoias my mother has (chemically, her oxytocin levels has surged through 3 childbirths and hence socially, my sense of danger and worry has also been compromised). There are so many reasons as to why I choose the straight path most times and I don’t take much risks. Don’t get me started on my psychological flaws on fears of failure and subconscious need for social (including parental) acceptance 🙃. But it doesn’t mean it was a horrible trip!!!! (I finally got to the point).

When friends asked me how was my trip, I felt socially obligated to preface that it wasn’t that great - because globally we hadn’t known we were about to fight a pandemic together, and because when I got back my parents were more relieved than excited to hear my stories, and I was slightly ashamed of how cautious I was and at some points, downright fearful. But now I understand, that I hold my life to great regards in accordance to others, and I attain a sense of selfhood through my connection with others. I have my fair share of social anxieties, but by my own measures I can deem the trip a great one regardless. An old friend who reconnected on my birthday (and we got to talking about her experience on her own solo trip) said this:

yea it’s not easy but it’s memorable hahaha there’ll be something about this trip that will stay with u for life and it’s sth that will be difficult to put into words or explain to anyone... try and relax and enjoy yourself! afterall this opportunity definitely didn’t come easy. you’re brave enough to even take ur first step :)

At that moment when I read her message a wave of calm just came upon me and that birthday I gallery-hopped - V&A Museum, The National Gallery, Hayward Gallery and Tate Modern - and I spent what others might think was the most mundane birthday but to me, one of the best yet. 

Will I go back to the UK alone again? Absolutely! Knowing all of the above doesn’t mean I’m okay with it and am set to just live like a hermit for the rest of my life. It means I have so much to work on and look forward to in growing myself more and more. This will (continue to be) on my own terms, that will also be considerate of the people I value and how I’ve been raised. It means communicating my fears and assurances for others better, and it means going against my amygdala sometimes and trying new things (that I would enjoy) to overcome irrational fears. I hope if you’ve read this far that you’ll also be patient with yourself to give yourself time to figure out why you feel/think in certain ways about certain things, and to understand that everyone is on their own path. I hope you’ll give yourself time for yourself, and not by social standards of what it should look like at this stage of your life, going through whatever it is you’re trying to figure out. 

Regular blogging content that actually talks about what I’d done on the trip in the next few posts :>

[gizoogletranslateshomestuck]

> Equius: Riznead first miznemo.

PAST carcinoGeneticist [PCG] 6:12 HOURS AGO opened public transtimeline bulletizzle B-to-tha-izzoard TIZZAY ADORABLOODTHIRSTY.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PCG 6:12 HOURS AGO opened miznemo on biznoard TEAM ADORABLOODTHIRSTY.

PCG: OK I THINK I SIZZAY DIS UP RIGHT. PCG: FUCK I SHOULD HIZNAVE CIZZAY UP WIT A BALLER BIZZOARD NAME. PCG: BUT I GUESS THAT THA NAME IT WIZZAY SUPPOZE' TA HAVE SIZZINCE THAT THA NAME THAT PCG: Chill as I take you on a trip. UH PCG: Anotha dogg house production. I ALRIZZLE READ. PCG: Im crazy, you can't phase me. WIZZAY THAT PROBABLY WIZZAY MIZZLE IZZLE SENZE TA ANYBODY. PCG: WHATEVA, IT JIZZAY A STUPID NIZZAY, LET JIZZY DO DIS. PCG with the S-N-double-O-P: DIS BE A PUBLIC BULLETIN US'N TROLLIAN WEIRD TRANSTIMELINE FEATURES WHICH I DON'T IZZLE REALLY UNDERSTAND YET. PCG: BUT I'M FRONTIN' MIGHT BE USEFUL. PCG: I'VE INCLUDED ALL TWELVE CRACKA IN THA SUBSCRIPTION LIST SO YOU SIZZY ALL BE ABLE TA RIZZLE THEZE MEMOS AT ANY TIME. PCG: THAT BE, ALL THA MEMOS POSTED, PAST N FUTURE. I THINK. PCG: IT COULD GIT PRETTY TEMPORALLY CONFUS'N OBVIOUSLY. I'M GO'N TA TRIZZAY TA KIZZEEP THA MEMIZZLE AS SIMPLE AND LINEAR AS POSSIBLE. PCG fo gettin yo pimp on: ALSO LET KEEP DIS A ONE-WAY-ONLY BULLIZZLE TA MAKE DIS AS SIMPLE AS POSSIBLE. PCG: DO NIZZY REPLY TO MAH MEMOS!!! DIS BE NIZZAY A BLINGIN' CHATRIZZLE, ASSHOLES. PCG cuz Im tha Double O G: IF YIZZLE HIZZAVE SUM-M SUM-M TA SIZZY TA ME 'N RESPONSE TA A MEMO, MESSAGE ME 'N PRIZZLE AT THA APPROPRIATE POINT ON THA TIMELINE. PCG: FIRST ORDA OF BUSINESS IS 'BOUT THA TEAMS. PCG: AS OF NOW, YOU SHOULD ALL BE AWARE THAT THIZNERE BE R-E-A-DOUBLE-LIZZY ONLY ONE TEAM, N WE BE AIZZY WORK'N TOGETHER. PCG: Its just anotha homocide. N BY "NOW" I MEAN TIME LOCIZZLE TA ME AS OF WRIT'N DIS. PCG fo' real: SO IF YOE RHYMIN' DIS 'N THA PAST... PCG: UH OK FIZZLE OF ALL, HOW D-YA EVEN KNOW 'BOUT DIS FEATURE ALREADY? SECOND WHIZNY DIZNIDN'T YIZZOU FUCK'N TIZZELL ME. PCG: Chill as I take you on a trip. WHATEVA I DIGRESS. PCG: IF YOE READ'N DIS 'N THA FIZZLE THEN WHIZZAY CIZZLE, IT PROBABLY OLD NEWS TA YOU. PCG: ACTIZZLE NIZZAY THAT I THIZZLE 'BOUT IT, WHAT SO SPECIAL 'BOUT RIZZLE DIS 'N THA FUTURE? PCG: IT LIKE IZZLE BULLETIZZLE BOARD, YOU PIZZOST STUFF N IT SITS THIZZAY FO` A WHIZZILE N THUGZ 'N "THA FIZZLE" RIZZEAD IT. PCG: HUH. BIG RHYMIN' DEAL I GUESS. 

PAST gallowsCalizzle [PGC] 5:51 HIZZLE AGO responded ta memo. 

PGC: OH MAH GOD K4RK4T! Real niggas recognize the realness. PGC dogg: WHIZZAY C4R3S!!!!! >:O  

PCG banned PGC from respond'n ta memo. 

PCG: ANYWAY L-TO-THA-IZZIKE I WAS SAYING. PCG: They call me tha black folks president. ONE BIZNIG TIZZEAM, CRACKA WHICH I H-TO-THA-IZZAVE ASSUMED TIZZLE LEADERSHIP. PCG fo' real: I WIZNILL ASSUME THAT IT WILL CONTINUE TO STAY DIS WAY FO` THA DURATION OF OUR Q-TO-THA-IZZUEST, N THAT I WIZZAY REMAIN AN IMPECCABLE LEADER FO` A SPAN OF HUNDREDS OF HOURS WHILE I GUIDE US AIZZY TO A STUNN'N VICTORY. PCG: 'N FACT, I DON'T EVEN NEE' TA ASSUME. PCG so sit back relax new jacks get smacked: I BROWZE' THROUGH DIS WHOLE BULLETIN 'N ADVANCE, N IT DOES APPEAR TA BE THE CAZE. GO ME. PCG: Holla! IN FACT, SIZZY I'VE SEEN WHIZNAT I WILL WRITE 'N THA FUTURE, I CRACKA WHAT IMPETUS I WILL H-TO-THA-IZZAVE FO` TRIPPIN' IT LATA WHIZNEN I'M SUPPOZE' TA? PCG: I PIMP IF I COULD JUST COPY/PASTE IT... HOLD ON. PCG: DAMN. PCG: I GUESS THEY THOUGHT OF THAT? I DUNNO. I TRY TA LIZZAY AT THA WHIZZAY BULLETIN AGIZZLE, BUT NOW T-H-TO-THA-IZZAT I'VE OPENED DIS ONE FROM THA BEGINN'N, I CAN'T SEE THA WHIZZLE TH'N ANYMORE. PCG: UNLESS I LOOK AT IT ON ONE OF YO' COMPUTERS... PCG: OR MAYBE IF YIZZY SIZZLE ME LIKE A TIZZEXT FILE OF IT? WOULD THAT CAUZE A PARIZZLE OR SUM-M SUM-M? PCG: YIZNOU KNIZZAY WHAT, DIS BE SO STUPID. PCG: I ACTUALLY HUSTLA READ'N ALL DIS SHIZNIT LIZNIKE A HALF HOUR AGO, N NIZZOW HERE I BE TYP'N IT ANYWAY. PCG: I PROBABLY CAN'T AVIZZLE SPENDIN' ANY OF DIS, HIZZOW WEIRD BE THAT. PCG: I HATE TIZZY TRAVEL. PIZZLE twinArmageddons [PTA] 0:34 HOURS AGO responded ta mizzy yaba daba dizzle. 

PTA: eheheheheh KK iim ba2iicizzle ju2t lmao hizzay at thii2, WOW.

PCG: HOLY FIZZLE SHIT, BE YIZNOU THUGZ RETARDED. 

PIZZY: dude dizzle worry ii wizzont fuck up your memo fo` long, ii jizzle cant beliieve thii2 wa2 tha biig rea2izzle yizzay wantizzle "futizzle me" twizzo hizzy you izzle tho2e port2. 

PTA wit da big Bo$$ Dogg: twizzay ba2iically ju2t B-to-tha-izzabble 'bout paradoxe2 n argue wizzy your2elf fo` hundrizzle2 of page2 hehizzle. 

PCG: OK SO YOE SAY'N DIS FRIZNOM LIKE 5 HOURS 'N THA FUTURE JUST TA GIZZY ME A HIZZLE TIZNIME, NICE. PCG with the S-N-double-O-P: WELL THANKS FO` THA HELP, SO WHEN DO I BAN YIZZAY, FUTURE BOY? 

PTA: a few L-to-tha-izziine2 down, afta ii pretend lizzy iim goi'n twizzo D-to-tha-izziie. PTIZZLE: iim 2ure for a L-to-tha-izzaugh on account of mah iimmiinent banni'n, FUCK how could you evizzle do that two me. PTA: Boo-Yaa! 2o C-to-tha-izzold dawg. 

PCG: BE YOU REALLY STILL SIZZAY AT ME F-TO-THA-IZZIVE HOURS RAPPA FO` RUNN'N THAT VIRUS, GOD DAMN GIT GANGSTA IT. PCG: IT WIZZAS YO' FUCK'N VIRUS ANYWAY, Y-TO-THA-IZZOU'RE TA BLAME. 

PTA: eheh no bro we're coo' 'bout that, now future you ii2 connecti'n wizzle me 2o ii cizzy enta tha game yeah yeah baby. 

PCG: OH YEAH so i can get mah pimp on? 

PTA: Wussup to all my niggaz in the house. yizneah 2o thizzle2 fo` that fiive hour2 iin advance in tha mutha fuckin club. 

PCG: DIS BE BS ISN'T IT. PCG: Snoop dogg is in this bitch. STEPPIN' ME FROM THA FUTURE, HIZNOW JUVENILE CIZZY YIZZY GIT. 

PTA in tha mutha fuckin club: no dawg iit2 trizzay, we be bulge bumpi'n pizzupa pizzy2 agaiizzle. 

PCG: OH FUCK DIS CONDESCEND'N FUTURE KNOWITALL ACT, WE IZZLE BUMP'N SHIT, YIZZOU ARE SO BANNED. 

PTIZZA: nooooooo, not tha ban, it buuuuuuizzle2, oh gizzod hahahaha. PTA, ya feel me? wizzle. PIZZY: oh god. PTIZZLE: iit dizzle2 burn paper'd up. PTA, ya feel me? 2omethi'n'2 wrong, iim 2eriiou2! PTIZNA: that horrizzle p2ychiic noii2e PTIZNA: tha voiizzle2 PTA in tha hood: they're all goi'n two dizniie PTIZZAY: oh 2HiiT iim frontin' PTA: 2hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiizzle PTA: One, two three and to tha four. thii2 ii2 bizzay PTA: ii have twizzle git ha iin quiick PTIZNA: gots two go 

PCG banned PTIZZLE frizzom respond'n ta mizzemo. Anotha dogg house production. 

PCG: N SO THA PIZZLE HOOF CRUISIN' TO THA SWOLLEN HIZZAY KNOWN AS LADY DESTINIZZLE HAS STOMPIZZLE ANOTHA THROAT. PCG: WIZZY ONE OF YOU FUCKA BE NIZZAY fo gettin yo pimp on? PCG: NOBODY??? PCG: OK, GOOD. PCG: ALTHOUGH I'M FAIRLY SIZZY I REMEMBIZZLE SOMIZZLE ELZE CHIM'N 'N BEFORE I CLOZE' DIS MEMO. PCG: YIZZY ADD DISORDERED S-H-TO-THA-IZZIT WANNA BE GANGSTA CAN'T KEEP YOUR LASCIZZLE PRONGS OUT OF THA RIZZY HOLE, CIZNAN YOU. PCG in tha dogg pound: SOLLIZZLE, FO` FUTURE REFIZZLE, OR P-TO-THA-IZZAST REFERENCE OR HUSTLA PCG in tha mutha fuckin club: IF YOU WANT TA DO THAT KIND OF ROLEPLAY'N, YOU CAN START YO' OWN BULLETIN. PCG and cant no hood fuck with death rizzow: YIZZOU CAN ALL AIZZY LIKE BRAINDEAD ASSWIPIZZLE 'N YO' OWN FESTERING FLAP OF PARIZZLE S-P-TO-THA-IZZACE, FIZZAY WIT ME. PCG: EVERYONE WIZNILL BE SO CONFUZE' BY THIZZLE T-TO-THA-IZZIME PARADOXES, IT WIZZLE DISTRACT THEM FROM HIZZY AWFUL THEY TERRIBLE HOBBIES BE. PCG but real niggaz don't give a fuck: CHOOZE YO' CLASZES NIZZAY! LEVEL 69 BITCH BE UP FO` G-R-TO-THA-IZZABS, WIZZY WANTS IT. PCG: NO THAT'S NOT AN INVITATION FO` YOU HO-SLAPPIN' NERDS TA COME 'N HERE N CORRECT ME ON YIZZLE GODDAMN FAIRY ELVES. PCG: J-TO-THA-IZZUST DO ME A FAVOR N KEEP ME BANNIZZLE FROM THAT ONE OK. PCG cuz its a G thang: I'LL RETURN THA FAVOR IF YOU NERD UP MAH MEMOS, I SERIOUSLY CIZZAY BIZZLE HIZZAY MANY FUCK'N NIZZY BE ON DIS TEAM. PCG: JUST REMEMBER DIS BE MAH PERSONAL PODIUM, A S-T-TO-THA-IZZUMP IF YOU WILL, FO` SIZNOLE UIZZY BY ME AS LIZZLE FO` IMPORTANT LEADERSHIP BUSINESS. PCG: GOTS IT????????? 

FUTIZZLE carcinoGeneticist [FCG] 612 HIZZAY FROM NOW responded ta mizzay like this and like that and like this and uh. 

FCG: GROAN. FCG: DIS BE SO EMBARRASSING. FCG: WHAT WIZNAS I EVEN THINKING. 

PCG: I started yo shit and i'll end yo' shit. STFU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! PCG bizzle FCG from respond'n ta memo. Freak y'all, into the beat y'all. PCG: OK, I'M FED UP WIZZY DIS MEMO, GONNA CLOZE IT OUT. PCG like old skool shit: YIZNOU'LL HEAR FRIZZOM ME AGAIN MOTHERFUCKA WHIZZEN I GOTS SUM-M SUM-M ELZE TA SAY, I.E. JUST SCROLL DOWN YIZZY DOUCHE. PCG: IT ALL RIGHT THERE ALREADY. PCG: COZ OF PCG: One, two three and to tha four. TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME TRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVEL! PCG sho nuff: I KNOW, RIGHT? PCG so show some love, niggaz! ANYWAY, JIZNUST TO REITERATE: PCG where the sun be shinin and I be rhymin': FULL STEAM AHEEZEE PCG: DRUG DEALA = ME GANGSTA, OBVIOIZZLE PCG: PEACE THA FIZNUCK OIZZY DBAGS 

CURRENT centaursTesticle [CCT] RIGHT NOW responded ta memo. 

CCT: Listen to how a motherfucker flow shit. D --> I'd lizzle ta add ta dis useless memorandum CCT: D --> Tizzy I still don't recognizzle tha validity of yo' leadership 

PCG: SIZZY BALLER GRUB OOZ'N VESTIGIAL THIRD ORAL SPHINCTER. PCG: I thought i told ya, nigga I'm a soldier. HOW CAN YOU THUGZ BE SO STUPID. 

CCT fo yo bitch ass: D --> It may be true that we be all play'n 'n tha same sizzle, bizzle I see no reason ta disband the cracka pizzle strizzle CCT: D --> Especially if it means steppin' a tactical midget witta short fuze, a fizzle miznouth, n paralyz'n insecizzle ova the color of hizzy b100d CCT and yo momma: D --> That all I H-to-tha-izzave ta say 

PCG: OH I HAVE A SHORT FUZE! THAT VERY F-U-DOUBLE-NIZZY, YOU CAN ALMOST H-TO-THA-IZZEAR ME LAUGH OVA THA S-TO-THA-IZZOUND OF THA ROBOT YIZNOU BE PROBABLY BEAT'N TA DEATH. PCG: OR DO'N WORZE TO. PCG: HIZZEY, YOU DO KIZZLE YO' ROBOTS, RIZZY? 

CCT: D --> Uh 

PCG: Tru niggaz do niggaz. MIZZIGHT AS WELL CLEAR THA AIR AS LIZZAY AS WIZZAY MOBBIN' DIS ACROSS THA ENTIZZLE SPACETIME CONTINUUM. 

CCT: D --> Not usually 

PCG: HAHAHAHAHIZZLE PCG ridin' in mah double R: THA FUNNY TH'N BE 'N THA FUTURE EVERYONE WIZZLE RECOGNIZE ME AS THA UNDISPUTED LEADA, EVEN YOU. PCG: YIZZY WIZZLE BE HO-SLAPPIN' ON THA TIPPYTOES OF YO' IDIOTIC METAL SHOES, TAK'N DELICATE PURCHAZE OF MAH NUBBY HIZNORNS AND CRUISIN' YOSELF BITCH MAH HEEZEE TA PUT YO' SWEATIEST TOUGH HOMEY SMOOCH UPON MAH TWITCH'N SPINE LUMP. PCG: IT WIZZY BE TENDA N DEFERIZZLE, L-TO-THA-IZZIKE A WANNA BE GANGSTA BLINGIN' A NOBLE RING. PCG: JUST SCRIZZLE DOWN, RIZZLE THA LOGS. 

CCT: D --> Nowhere hizzle I sizzy evidizzle of dis CCT: D --> Most of dis be yizzay frizzom varizzles points 'n tiznime rav'n 'bout nonsenze n argu'n wit yoself CCT: D --> D-ya realize that hizzle 'n tha fizzle, dis bulletin has come ta be regizzle as sum-m sum-m of a jizzay CCT if you gots a paper stack: D --> A lengthy pizniece of comedy, often quoted amongst ourselves 'n private moments of levity CCT: D --> It seems I'm tha one ta inform yiznou of dis up front CCT: D --> Which be likizzle why you persizzle wit tha chillin' charade against betta judgement 

PCG: YOE GETT'N OFF ON DIS IZZLE YIZZAY 

CCT: D --> Wizzy d-ya mean 

PCG: DIS EXCITES YIZZOU, BE'N THA TOUGH HOMEY N PRETEND'N LIKE YOE PUTT'N THA OFF THA HOOK LEADA 'N HIZZIS PLACE. PCG: YOE PROBABLY WORK'N UP A GIZZAY SWEAT. PCG: H-TO-THA-IZZOPE YIZZOU ALCHEMIZE' A BIZZUNCH OF SPARE TOWELS. PCG: HEY WHY DON'T YIZZY && THEM WIT YO' SPONGEY BRAIN FO` EXTRA ABSORBENCY. 

CCT: D --> Hiznow d-ya knizzow 'bout mah perspirizzle problem CCT: D --> I mizzle, aside from read'n 'bout it 'n dis memo CCT: D --> Wait CCT: D --> Fudgizzles 

PCG bizzle CCT from frontin' ta memo straight from long beach nigga.

PCG cloze' M-to-tha-izzemo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

> ======>

[ecotone99]

[RF] The passenger

“.. in these unprecedented times, the little things shouldn’t be taken lightly. these are the things that makes our lives happier...” the radio’s voice is interrupted by a loud static, as I drive through a long tunnel on the expressway. The static annoyed me a little, so I turn off the radio. I think to myself, Unprecedented-a fancy new word for the media to toy around with. As the tunnel ends, my view is engulfed with dense dusky clouds. The color of the sky is pitch dark grey & through the window I see a dark blue glow all around. Its about 7 in the evening, I put the car into cruise control as the next stop would be after 25-30kms. When I relax for a bit and look across the dark countryside fields have grown out to be into dark dense forest of old massive tress. Nature has a free pass on doing whatever it likes to ever since we humans stop interfering with it. It has been the longest 5 years since the virus broke out. Sure there have been vaccines and multiple variants of it for multiple type of patients. The cure did work, and thing stabilized a lot. Only after a whole year of economic despair for the masses. So much so that the people infected wouldn’t afford the vaccine, even at the subsidized rate. Government being government took too long to offer it for free to masses. They had their fat paycheck and used it as an essential tool for the elections. Then, gave it to the masses. However, it was too late by then… the psychological impact it took on the young generation was just too much. From forming cult’s that believed to virus was a cure for the nature’s freedom to resisting the vaccine and living a depleted life quality only as a protest against the world organization for making the vaccine too expensive. Sure, the people who remain sane through it all were the artistic people singing the best form of music they knew, painting the best portraits they ever could… It was irony as its finest form, as world went from needing lawyers, politicians, health origination to more self-focused institutions of living, exercise & art culture. Now, the Fields like IT, Security boomed only in terms of volume but not quality. They soon become the sheep’s herd where people did task of humongous data collection, aggregation and analysis to sell ads. Technology, cars & travel soon become the basic food & clothing standard, they were just an expense now rather than a field of profession and innovation. Times have changed a lot.

The toll arrives, I skim through the left lane as I take control of the car. As I drive past go ahead to make a stop at a nearby coffee store for refreshment. The clouds burst into a thundering rain. It hits the ground like a storm. Rain made sure the sun set earlier than it usually does. I wait for a while for it to stop so I could have some tea/coffee, but it only got worse …

The strong air wind current made the raindrops hit the car with such a intensity that the only sound I could hear was of intense drizzling. I decide to drive along before the conditions made it impossible to drive. I turn on the wiper, but it wasn’t enough. I barely moved a couple of meters before someone literally jumped into my car by opening the rear door. He dripped all over the seats and wore a black raincoat that went well along with its dark grey mask. I scream “hey!!! What the…” and my car brakes screeches loudly.

“Look man, I just need to reach the next toll, I have to work at night... its my shift if I don’t would lose my jobs… Please help me out!”

I put on my mask kept in my dash, I see around 7 messages notification before I could check it … I realized that I was stuck in middle of nowhere with a stranger. He continues

“I can pay you 500 bucks! Could you please hurry?”

“The next toll stop is of Satara around 167 Km away… I hope that works for you.”

I then drive away into the rains for next couple of minutes until a conversation break out: -

“So are you going on another workcation?” I ask him and feeling utterly foolish using the word workcation…

“Well yes and no, I believe no form of vacation involves any form of work. But this shitty corona virus has made the world a remote hub for working from anywhere…”

“I remember when I use to work for one of the corporations like you do…”

I continue “I absolutely hated from the start. It was my first job and I hated it since the pre-covid phase. As the pandemic hit us, my optimistic soul decided to free-lance…”

“We are all just free lancers of living life… we distracted our minds from living it into things like a good salary, a lot of work so we have an excuse for our poor morale and discipline…” he interrupts me...

“Hmm, that’s what I thought when I tried to clean, cook and work with a mouse and tablet in my other hand… until I tripped over the broomstick... dipped my machine in puddle of utensils and soap...”

“I thought nothing can be shittier than a 12-hr. shift and living all by yourself… until I eliminated the former and lived with the latter…” I conclude as I put my car in cruise control again…

“trust me if you don’t leave, you keep doing this life of work and personal work takes a backseat with no time for yourself. You end up running, your mind jogs but you don’t….” he replies

Our conversation is what the thousands of young adult’s face today. The saturated menial work but secure till retirement vs the life of exploring yourself. I choose the life of exploring myself and quit my job a year after the virus. My promotion was just due, but I hated every second of it. The first few days were peaceful. Then it was those slog days of life has no meaning to the days of hyper productivity machine. Reading novels every hour to exercising in the evening to the home chores. This cycle of enjoying then lying on the edge of my couch as the end of the world to living healthier … it continued for years and years…

I had exhausted all my savings, I tried to pursue singing in between those years but these days... singing was limited to online videos and pay to listen apps. I couldn’t make it any of them…

The rain didn’t slow down at all, it rained with same intensity. We cross a milestone which says 78km to satara.

Now, here I was after 5 years, giving an ride to just another employee of just another corporation. While I yearned to ace my interview tomorrow for another role to live for other few more years at some company called DSB….

My phone rings, as I reach for it, the passengers got scared to death. I looked at him as he shivers with fear like one would in this heavy rain. I ask him “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t pick it up, please!”

“It’s not a bomb!” I joked.

But instead of laughs,his faltered words and a bit softer voice starts explaining “ I didn’t got enough time… its not fair.. I should have the chance…”

“for what?”

The phone rings again…

This time I ignore the passenger’s warning and pick it up.

“Stop your car right now!” a girl screams through the tiny speakers of my phone

While my car sails on 80 km/hr. via cruise control, I ask “Why? What the fuck is wrong?”

The passenger now becomes totally uneasy and starts uneasy rolling rom left seat to right and back…

“trust me, it’s your Uniform Disorder”

“What?”

My head suddenly starts hurting as I see the passenger hitting his head repeated across the windowpane and repeating “You must not take the job ... you must not…”

“hello? Hello? Stop it !” the girl over phones repeats it

My head bursts into pain and anixety with so much chaos …

I scream “STOPPPP!” with all the energy I had in my voice.

The passenger stops but now he’s crying profusely and removes his mask. He looks an awfully lot similar to someone I have seen… until I realize he somewhat looks a lot like me... in my past life... in the younger years...

I just had to stop now…

I hit the brakes but it’s a little too much and little too late as the car skids to off road and crashes itself into a huge tree…

The airbags pounce in my face and the car crashes & breaks down…

I lie sub conscious for few hours with my face dug into the puffy air bag…

When I wake up, I see a scar on my forehead which bleeds and looks as if I tried to hit the window with my head.

I see the passenger standing out calmly deep into the woods surrounded by dark trees… the rain had slowed down too...

Strangely, despite the accident and all the mess I didn’t feel angry for a bit.

It was as if whatever he felt , would translate to how I would end up feeling. Uneasy backin the car during the school but calm now post the accident in these dense woods.

I Stepped out to talk to him, to understand why he did what he did…

He tells me “I hate my job, and I could stand a single second of it, I wanted to leave just like you… after I left the condition only got worse... I couldn’t find where my interest aligned… I smoked up all my savings on this car… then I had nothing to do or anything to pursue that interested me...

I felt like nothing…or no one in this world mattered. The loneliness made me lose my grip. I took therapy with my parents’ money... things got better I changed myself from a couch potato to a productive machine.

It still felt like a job to us ... you know? Reading , singing, writing , doing the same old chores again and again…

It just felt like doing what’s right... eventually they convinced us to become normal… and tried getting a job for us...”

“US? US? Who the fuck are you, why do u look like me?” I ask him puzzled as he sounded like me narrating my own life story….

“I told you it’s never enough time!”

A car rushes into the forest from behind, I look behind… it’s my therapist. She jumps out of my car. I look back out again to find the passenger missing… he was gone in a split second. It was like he wasn’t even here. I found myself in his black raincoat.

She panicked and started crying... as she sobbed while trying to patch my forehead wound with her handkerchief. She finally started speaking “the Schizophreniform Disorder is making you live your worst day again. Usually, I have stopped you when you enter the car but this is by far the most far you have gotten. The job that rejected you is of so many years back , when you visited Bangalore for an interview and drove for a whole day… Its okay you will get another job ... another interview will be aligned… we will toe your car then repair it and I will not inform anybody about this mishap”

She continues to cry “No one needs to know “

My phone rings again...I try to find it in the mess of my crashed car… it felled at the front co passengers’ seat with a cracked screen…

It’s an unknown number, I pick it up “hello? Who’s this?” I enquire

“Yea, its PLC technologies, we have an interview scheduled for tomorrow. It would be an telephonic interview. What time would be comfortable for you?”

I get a chill down my spine and my phone slips through my hand. I am shell shocked and all I could think about was the panicking passenger who said on loop “You must not take the job! Job!” Should I trust him? or this genuine therapist who has been trying to make me feel better ever since. Is this the new normal? or just the same old normal?

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Link: https://notyoureverydayblog258255348.wordpress.com/2020/08/22/the-passenger/

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