Cdrama: the story of the Kunning Palace
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Cdrama: the story of the Kunning Palace
Jokes on you, that guy you sent to murder me in cold-blood is part of my found-family and there's nothing you can do about it, Die
Miserable? Don't Talk About it.
Being down is being down. And that's all fine. But let's not talk about it. I would prefer a good old fashioned screw.
“How are you doing?” Yeah, well, I have this thing with the night sweats and being unable to stop my brain and not knowing what the hell is going on with my life and thinking I’m just not where I should be. But aside from that, well, yeah, all is good. No one wants to hear about it. I sure as hell don’t. Nobody does. Not even the Facebook algorithm. (They blocked my previous post about the…
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I was rude to the knife wielding psychopath
This situation happened yesterday as I was looking after my sick 2 year old. She has viral croup, the flu and conjunctivitis. There was snot in her matted hair, she was in dirty pjs she wouldn’t let me change and she was milking the woebegone look.
My kids are sick so often that I’ve renamed them Pestilence and Plague. I’m convinced they do it on purpose for the treats and cuddles. They get sick school friends to lick them.
Plague was on the sofa, feeling crap. I was sitting next to her going quietly mad while watching too much Topsy and Tim, eating grape kebabs (it’s a thing - Plague eats stuff if I put it on a stick) and drinking squash.
Our front window looks out onto the street outside. Our neighbours like to look in and judge our levels of chaos. Yesterday as we were sitting on our sofa, a man in overalls waved at my front window. He was clutching three knives in his left hand. He held them up and gestured at us to open the door. One of the knives was a carving knife.
My daughter chirped up, from her feverish slump, that she’d get the door.
I declined.
I stared at the man. He frowned at me, clearly beginning to feel impatient.
He shouted something incomprehensible through the window. As if this clarified things.
And then he sighed at me. The sigh. That very particular Dutch sigh that told me I had broken a social rule…..For one second I actually considered opening the door. Well, I wouldn’t want the knife wielding psychopath to think I was being RUDE, would I?
I realised that death at the hands of a triple bladed maniac was not better than looking after a sick toddler (….by a very small margin) I shook my head and trilled,
‘No thank you’,
He tutted at me and left.
I was left very unclear as to what had just happened.
Death can be avoided by drinking 17 5hour's in the parking lot of a Walmart when there is a blood moon
Part of me wonders how many times we avoid death each day. From almost missing a step to forgetting to look before crossing the street, I've always wondered how many alternate universe versions of you have died, because of things you couldn't help to things you just missed by a hair.
This is some Final Destination shit right here.
"Don't die... Don't die on me. Please..."
As Tsukishima lay, bleeding and beaten on the ground, he never lost his calm smile. His brown eyes were composed and pain free when he looked into Riruka's magenta eyes. A single hand rose to stroke her cheek as she kneeled by him; he had enough strength left for that at least. The only indication of his weakness was the soft hoarseness that claimed his voice.
"I wouldn't dream of it, Riruka...Go..and get somebody to patch me up, would you? I'll be here when you return...I promise." The words were spoken slower than usual out of necessity and when the raven-locked male had finished speaking, he let his arm fall back to rest beside him before letting his eyes fall shut. He would survive, of that he was sure, but the blood loss was quickly affecting him. He needed to concentrate to keep his heart rate slow and breathing even. "Go on," he murmured when Riruka didn't leave right away. Slipping into a meditative state, he blocked out the world as he focused on living.