#30% to both and the other 40% of my brain is white noise

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | chapter eleven

chapter eleven

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: Y/N POV: details of what happened to Stephen, her grandmas cancer, and very detailed explanations of how babies are made (as biologically accurate and not very graphic as possible) this is an angsty trauma filled chapter that made me cry a lot just writing it so I'm sorry in advance

word count: 3K

from the beginning <3

June 13th, 2010

There’s a knock on her parent's door at 4 in the morning, Y/N’s sound asleep on the couch back at her grandma’s, awoken by said grandmother as she hears all the noise beyond the porch. There are 2 cop cars at the main house, worry starts to settle over them.

She puts on a pair of shoes, taking her grandmother's hand in hers as they begin the early morning trek up the road, anxiety seeping in deeper and deeper as they get closer to the lights illuminating their driveway.

Her father is talking to an officer on the steps, her mother is crying behind him. “We’re so sorry for your loss,” the officer says and Y/N’s blood runs cold, numbing her from the impending despair.

“What happened?” Her grandmother asks, rubbing a hand along Y/N’s back in preparation for the worst.

“Evan was in a car accident,” her father says softly, knowing that Y/N knows Stephen was with him tonight. She breaks away from her grandma and without thinking she’s right in the officer's face.

“Which one of them died?”

“Ma’am,” it was never a good way to start the worst conversation of her life with that word or in that tone. She felt like a '40s housewife learning her husband wasn’t coming home from the war, only he wasn’t even her husband yet.

He would have been on next Saturday.

“I’m sorry, Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” he says the worst sentence she’s ever heard, and now she’ll never forget it. “The passenger side took the worst of it, once again, I am so sorry for your loss.”

She’s surprisingly calm, managing to whisper, “thank you,” before she’s walking off into the field, pushing everyone's hands away as she travels as far as he feet will take her.

She ends up at the willow tree by the pond as soon as the sun is rising, it happened a lot earlier in June than the rest of the year. The birds singing, the wind blowing against the leaves making them carry a tune in harmony together. The world is still spinning, life is moving on, but how?

She sat there against the tree for a while, picking blades of grass and weaving them into a chain, soothing her brain as she makes a pattern. Giving her hands something to do so they stop going numb, it’s the only thing that really reminds her that she's real, that she’s controlling the twists and tucks, the shape and length and the fact that it was created at all.

Ending the life of the single blade of grass as she picks it, never to be whole again. Snatched from its happy place, where it grew loved and surrounded by other matching green strands as they blew in the wind.

Then she's pulling fist full after fist full of grass out of the dirt, her hands covered in mud as she shouts, throwing handfuls of grass and dirt towards the pond. The once blue water starting to turn cloudy; disrupted and upset with her anger as it swallows her weapons, but it doesn’t make her feel better. All she did was disrupt the earth, changing the way this once beautiful patch of land used to look. She couldn’t help but sob, realizing that she was like this field now and her beautiful green pasture was disrupted, overturned and ruined.

The life that flowed through her died along with the love of her life.

“Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” the words echo in her mind in a constant circle like she’s stuck in a tin can.

It starts to reverberate, getting louder and louder as the same 7 words all run around in her head. Bouncing off the walls, smacking her down again and again as she hears them over and over and over… she’s holding her hands on her ears, shaking back and forth, sobbing when she feels someone wrap their arms around her.

She doesn’t open her eyes, instead, she's rushing to push them off of her, struggling out of their grasp as she fights them. Finally, she loses, being held in her brother's embrace as they both cry, he barely has a scratch on him when she finally looks at him.

she’s never been physical in her life, but she punched him right in the face. Her twin brother, best friend in childhood and the person she’s known the longest in her life. He held her close in the womb, crying if they separated as soon as they were born, she loved him deeply and yet she hated him something fierce at that moment.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Evan cries, “we were stopped at a red light, Y/N!”

“I don’t care! He was supposed to be my husband!” She swats at him, smacking his arms again and again as he tries to hold them back, holding her so tightly as she basically screams bloody murder in the field.

All she can see is his face, her beautiful happy Stephen. The first time she ever saw him, standing under a street light in Boston, papers in his hand and wonder in his eyes. The way he looked up at her, the glow of the light making a halo glow over his head.

She should have known he was too good to be true. Always destined to return to the heavens, he was truly angelic with his big emerald eyes that were only the tiniest bit yellow on the edge of the pupil, the way her name sounded on his tongue like a blessing coming true.

They buried him 2 days after what was supposed to be their wedding. Disrupting another beautiful patch of earth to hide him away forever, she placed a single rose on his casket, she never said goodbye and she never planned to.

“See you later, superstar,” she patted the glossy black box once last time before sending him down into the earth.

—

September 2012

This fucking willow tree and 7-word sentences…

“What do you mean you have cancer?”

Her grandma let a tear slip from her eye, “I’ve got colon cancer, honey, the doctors said I have another 2 years, maybe 5 if I'm lucky.”

Every time someone sat beside her in this one spot, she learned the worst information in the world. Sure Evan didn’t mean to kill Stephen, doesn’t mean she’s talked to him at all in the last year. with Grandpa dying only a few summers back, her favourite house cat now buried in the yard, she can’t lose her grandma now too.

“Okay,” she starts to plan in her head, her eyes about ready to jump out of her skull as she tries to think of all the things they need to do before it’s too late, “let’s go to England, let’s blow my bank account, you can’t leave me without going to England with me? We were supposed to get tea and pretend to be the queen and princess?”

She couldn’t stop the tears, her whole body heaving as she sobbed into her grandma’s dress, “you can’t leave me too!”

“Your grandfather and I have a fund for you, you were the last baby we got to raise when your mom went back to work, I want you to use it for that baby we talked about,” her grandma’s voice is barely a whisper, softly getting the words over her vocal cords as the tears joined Y/N’s on her dress.

Without another word, she took her hand and walked home, getting in her car together and heading to the closest fertility clinic, she booked her first insemination for February, pre-paying for a round of IVF hormones and everything to start in January, she had 3 months to plan.

Finding the perfect donor was the only hard part. She had 3 different books to choose from with all the clinics in the DC area sharing 1 sperm bank. She finally made her decision 3 weeks before they were set to get her pregnant when they updated the books.

Sample 2319, male 30’s, healthy, high IQ, 6’1, brown eyes, brown hair (curly). “Sounds a lot like Stephen,” her grandma agreed, saying his name for the first time in over 2 years, she knew this was her guy.

—

June 14th, 2021

Peeing on a stick shouldn’t be as terrifying as it is.

She hasn’t been this nervous since the first time Dr. Collins inseminated her. Laying back on the table at a weird elevation to make sure she got pregnant, her whole body tense as she thought of the possibilities of her future child.

Sample 2319 sitting in a cup not too far from her face as she prepared for a man she barely knew to put the semen of another man she didn’t know, inside her. She only picked this guy cause he was smart and tall, no health issues to report and the number made her think of Monsters Inc.

In her mind, she made a baby with a man she named mike wazowski, not knowing his real name was actually Spencer Reid and he was only just down the road at Quantico the whole time. It was the weirdest day ever, and then it became the second-best day of her life

Nothing could top holding her baby in her arms for the first time. Her grandma and mother beside her as they all cried, the perfect purple baby screaming on her chest as they tried to wipe the white gunk off her tiny body. her sweet little coos, seeing her swollen eyes open for the first time, the silence that overcame her as they made their first introduction to each other. Her little person, the love of her life, her wonderful Amoreena.

Her cry was perfect, like music to her ears she wanted to hear her little voice as long as she could because it meant she was alive and real. She was healthy and beautiful and the most perfect bundle of joy she could have ever made.

Now she was hiding in the bathroom to pee on a stick while her 7-year-old had breakfast in the next room. Oh, how times changed, but one thing remained the same, she was finding out alone again. Only this time she meant for that to happen, it was exactly 4 days since her period was supposed to start and it wasn’t there, neither was Spencer.

He had something to do that morning, but he’d be meeting them later that afternoon, it was Amoreena’s last day of kindergarten after all. She wanted time to either enjoy the thought of having another baby or cry in peace because for once it didn’t work, giving her a week to recover before trying again.

Amoreena was a miracle, the easiest IVF baby they ever made at the clinic, apparently. If she was pregnant this easily again it was a sure sign that he was Amoreena’s father too, only he could get her knocked up while not even trying.

She didn’t remember pregnancy tests taking this long, she flipped it over and walked out of the room, unable to think of anything else while she waited for 3 minutes to pass. Amoreena noticed she was being weird, studying her mother's movements as she paced the hall outside of the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?” She asked, curious as ever as she twirled lightly in her new princess dress.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Always mom, I’m the best secret keeper in all the kingdom, remember?” Amoreena smiled, holding onto her leg as she stared up at her.

“Your dad and I tried to make a baby,” she whispered, petting the litter hairs on her forehead as Amoreena looked up at her, her first little baby. “I’m waiting to find out if it worked, but we can’t tell anyone in case it didn’t, okay?”

Amoreena’s eyes were wider than she’s ever seen them, her mouth opened slowly as she understood the words in her mind. She didn’t look happy or surprised, nor upset or worried. She looked confused, “how?”

She laughed then, shaking her head as she lifted Amoreena into her arms, she would have to know soon anyway. “You know how every month mummy has a bad week where she bleeds and her tummy hurts?”

“Yeah?”

“When people with our parts grow up they make little tiny eggs but we don’t lay them like chickens do, they stay inside our tummies and wait to become babies and if they don’t we have a period and release all the stuff our bodies saved up that month to make a little person. You’ll have one soon too in a few years, probably when you're 12 like I was, and when people with a penis get old enough they’re able to help us make the babies like roosters help the chickens. Our bodies are really special and make some really cool things when we try to,” she explained it in the most simple farmhouse way she could.

“Like when the goats are all born in the spring and they just show up?” She tried to clarify, understanding it at the basic level.

“Kinda, you’ve seen the photos of you in my tummy and how aunty Shannon’s stomach grew when she had your cousins, I’ll get really big like that too if I’m pregnant, the baby will grow for 9 long months till they’re nice and healthy and then we’ll have another person in the family,” she couldn’t help but smile as she thought about it.

“How do we find out?”

She opened the bathroom door then and carried Amoreena inside, setting her down on the sink and pointing at the upside-down test stick. “We create a special hormone when we’re pregnant, it’s something that can be detected in our pee!” she explained it like it was magic, watching her get excited instead of grossed out.

“So I peed on that stick and if it has 2 lines I have a baby in my tummy, if not then your dad and I have to try again.”

Amoreena picked up the test and looked at it, keeping it out of her mothers sight as she did so, “there’s two lines,” she lit up waving the stick lightly as she squealed.

Y/N wrapped her up in her arms and twirled her around, “you’re gonna be the best big sister ever!”

“How do we tell dad?” Amoreena’s soft voice whispered in her ear as she snuggled into her shoulder.

“I have an idea,” she whispered back before carrying her back into the kitchen.

Her All About Me project was sitting on the counter, ready for Y/N to drive her into school today. She set Amoreena down on the floor to watch her as she took some tape and taped the stick to the bottom corner of the project. “Pass me the marker, please?”

Amoreena ran to the counter to get it, coming back and placing it in her mom's hand before leaning in to watch what she was writing.

“I’m going to be a big sister sometime next February!” Amoreena read the words as her mother wrote them, unbelievably excited.

“Your dad can read that at the ceremony tonight!”

“I thought you said we can’t tell anyone yet?” Amoreena questioned her, like always.

“Your teacher can know, the other kids won't know what it means, it’s just important Spencer sees it, but we will wait to tell nanny and poppy, okay? Sometimes the babies don’t always stay, it’s sad so we keep it a secret until they’ve got a tiny little heartbeat in there,” she didn’t want to scare her, but she knew it was always a possibility.

“Then we try again,” Amoreena smiled, “It’ll be easier now that you don’t need Dr. Collins to help you, how did you even make me without Spencer?” She didn't use his real name often anymore, only in times when she wasn't referring to him as her father.

She sat down then, pulling Amoreena into her lap so she could hold her while she thought of the right words. “So we have eggs, but people with penises have something called sperm. When adults, and I mean adults you have to be at least 25 to have a baby it’s the rules,” she teased her slightly, ticking her arms.

“Adults have sex, babies are made when someone with a vagina and someone with a penis get together. But when you don’t have a partner with a penis to help, sometimes they’ll donate their sperm to the doctor's offices to help people like me make their perfect little families all by themselves.”

“Interesting,” is all her little mind can say, she has learned so much in one day, Y/N was surprised she was still listening and surprisingly still for once. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“We won't know for a while,” she smiled, holding Amoreena closer to her chest. “How do you feel about all this?”

Amoreena was quiet as she thought about it, “is Spencer the guy who gave the doctors the sperm for me?”

“We think so, but we don’t know, why?”

Amoreena looked at her softly, “it wouldn’t be fair, I know he said I don’t need a father but why do they get to have him for both?”

“I think Spencer is your father, you’re just as smart and wonderful as he is, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re his baby too. but if you want to know if he isn't, when you turn 18 the doctors will tell you who it is, it's completely up to you to find out,” she whispered, the tears starting to fall down her cheeks as Amoreena tried to wipe them away.

"I like thinking he's my father, so he is." Her mind worked in the most wonderful way. Y/N couldn’t help but hold her close as she lightly cried, “I had a dream yesterday that I had 8 sisters,” her voice was so soft and innocent as her tiny hand cupped her mother's cheek.

She gasped lightly at the words, remembering Spencer’s panic in the middle of the night last night, how scared he was to leave her all alone with 9 babies and no one to help her. They knew something that she didn’t yet, cheaper by the dozen seemed less like a dream and more like a prophecy.

“I’m so happy to make your dream come true,” Y/N whispered, “I promise I’m happy, the baby just makes me emotional.”

Amoreena placed her hand on her tummy then, “I love you, baby.”

Y/N stuck her tummy out as far as she could, “I love you too, big sister,” she said in a funny voice to make Amoreena laugh, leaning back in the chair as she held her.

And just like that, getting pregnant with Amoreena was bumped into 3rd place for the best day of her life. Sharing the moment with her and no one else was perfect, insuring she knew that she was just as important moving forward as the little person she was growing this time.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 let me know if you would like to be added as well!!

[kismetfakemon]

Name: Lambaa Name Origin: Derived from lamb and baa Type: Fantasy Classification: Sleeping Pokemon Ability: Comatose Evolution Method: Evolves into Ba'allubye at Level 30 Flavour Text: A cute little thing that just can't help but falling asleep all the time! It loves to eat the sweet dreams of kids and tries to get them to fall asleep with sweet lullabies it plays from its horns, but it often ends up making itself fall asleep instead. They're popular with families to give to small children who have issues going to bed. Cuddling a Lambaa's fur is practically sleep-inducing in itself, but if that doesn't work the songs it plays from its horns will have them both snoozing in no time. Using its magical abilities, Lambaa is somewhat capable of navigating the world whilst asleep, but it often ends up floating and bumping into things instead. But don't worry, it's amazingly soft wool protects it from any harm.

Name: Baallubye Name Origin: Derived from baa and lullabye Type: Fantasy/Sound Classification: Dream Eater Pokemon Ability: Comatose Evolution Method: Evolves from Lamba'a at Level 30. Mega Evolves into Mega Baallubye whilst holding the Baallubite. Flavour Text: Baallubye is both asleep and awake simultaneously. It has three eyes, two of which are always closed in a deep slumber, and the third eye on its forehead is what it uses to see whilst awake. It's rumoured that its brain is split into thirds: one-third being "awake" and the other two-thirds being "asleep." If all three sections are awake and active, Baallubye's attacks become more powerful and deadly. It lulls both Pokemon and humans alike to sleep with soothing tunes blown from the horns on its head and gentle bell-like chimes from the organ on its neck. It does this in order to eat the dreams it needs to stay alive. This Pokemon can subsist on regular food but dreams are to it as ambrosia is to the gods. The yellow orbs in its wool are said to be physical manifestations of the dreams it eats. They even have a subtle glow to them.

Name: Ba'allubye (Critical Burst) Name Origin: Portmanteau of Baa and Lullabye Type: Fantasy/Sound/Psychic Classification: Dream Eater Pokemon Ability: Magic Guard Evolution Method: Critically Burst from a Ba'allubye holding the Ba’allubance Flavour Text: It's awake! And with it's awakening comes newfound power. The blue orbs on Baallubye's body are crystalised psychic power that allow it to see the wildest dreams and most horrific nightmares from even awake Pokemon. They let off a mysterious ring when this Pokemon attacks. They are also capable of seeing the universe if one gets a chance to gaze into them. The purpose of this is unknown. White Noise Fantasy Special 40 BP / 100 Acc / 10 PP Ba'allubye's Burst Move. This move turns Ba'allubye's Hypnosis into White Noise, a move that puts the opponent to sleep and damages them for 2-5 turns

 (Fantasy is another new type of mine. You can find more info on my Carrd.)

[goldenraeofsun]

just say yes

The latest installment of this verse... or 5 times Dean tries to propose to Cas.

Dean bites his lip as he scans the menu. What the hell is branzino, and where the fuck are the prices? He flips the flimsy piece of cream-colored paper over, but no dice. 

Thank god there’s a steak listed among the five lone entrees. It’s probably five times his normal dinner price tag, but Dean already made peace with putting off buying that 30 year anniversary Rush album. It’ll still be there after his next pay check. 

Cas eyes him over the top of his own menu. “What are you thinking?”

Marry me.

Dean doesn’t say that, though. He has plans. Keep his trap shut until dessert. Tell Cas he’s going to hit the head. Pull a waiter aside and ask for two glasses of champagne. Return to Cas. Hopefully not shit his pants as he proposes. Drink champagne. Go home and have fantastic engaged sex.

Dean has high hopes for the last part of the plan.

“Dean?”

Belatedly, he says, “The steak.”

Cas hums. “That does look good.” He ducks back behind his menu. “I was thinking of getting that too. But maybe not.”

Dean takes a hasty sip of water. “Get the steak if you want it, man. We don’t go to places like this often.”

“I think I’ll get the honey glazed salmon.”

“Sounds good,” Dean says lamely. He drinks more water. At this rate, he won’t have to fake the bathroom run.

Aren’t they supposed to have alcohol by this point? They’ve been sitting at their fancy-ass table in this fancy-ass restaurant for nearly fifteen minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t have picked the newest five-star restaurant to propose to Cas. He’s already on edge from the pressure, and the pristine white tablecloth isn’t helping. He can already see five ways he’s gonna stain it. There are several forks in front of him. For fuck’s sake, this place has an actual chandelier. Dean hadn’t honestly thought they existed outside of billionaire mansions and Disney movies.

The live music is nice, though. A sedate piano tinkles in the background, barely audible over the buzz of polite dinner conversation.

Dean catches a glimpse of himself reflected in the dark windows to the street. He looks a little sweaty, but not as nervous as he feels, thank god.

This is stupid. He shouldn’t even be nervous.

They’ve talked about marriage before. They’re adults in an adult relationship, so popping the question out of the blue would go down like the time Dean swept Cas away for a surprise camping trip. Turns out, Cas did not like camping. Which Dean would have known if he had asked anytime in the past four years.

But… that marriage conversation was two years ago. Dean wasn’t ready then; they both weren’t. Cas was still in a bad place with Jimmy and Claire, and Bobby had just died, so they weren’t about to roadtrip to Vegas anytime soon.

Now, Claire can have a civil dinner with her parents, and the hole Bobby left in Dean’s life can go unnoticed some days.

The deal is, Dean can’t chicken out tonight. He already told Claire to make herself scarce. She can sleep at her parents’ or at Krissy’s, Dean doesn’t care, as long as she is not crashing on their sofa when they get back from dinner.

Dean would rather read a hundred plagarized student essays on The Very Hungry Caterpillar than admit to Claire he failed to ask Cas to marry him. 

So, proposal time.

The waiter comes by with their drinks and takes their orders. Conversation is a little stilted, but hopefully Cas chalks it up to Dean being outside his comfort zone in this fancy-ass place. There’s no steady thunk of darts hitting a board or clack of pool balls in the background to put him at ease. Just that lame piano.

Cas makes porn noises over his salmon at first bite, which Dean totally doesn’t get. It’s fish.

“How’s your steak?” Cas asks as he surfaces and dabs his mouth with his cloth napkin.

Dean belatedly slices off a piece of his meal and pops it in his mouth. A generically bland compliment dies on his tongue. Jesus Christ - that’s some good cow. It practically disintegrates before he can chew. “Great,” he tells Cas honestly.

Cas hums in contentment.

“And since you’re practically at third base with that salmon,” Dean starts, “I take it-”

“Oh my god!” a woman’s voice squeals behind them.

Dean reflexively turns his head in the direction of the commotion. A few tables over, near the center of the restaurant, a man is down on one knee, and - son of a bitch.

Dean watches, his mouth hanging open, as the woman shouts, “Yes, of course, yes!” Waiters walk past their table with a whole fucking bottle of champagne. People at nearby tables fucking clap.

Dean resolutely turns back around to face Cas, at a loss for words that aren’t extremely loud swears.

“Isn’t that nice?” Cas says mildly.

“Yeah, very nice for them,” Dean says through gritted teeth. 

Of all the goddamn nights. Of all the goddamn restaurants. What are the goddamn chances?

Dean slices into his steak with extreme prejudice. If he could murder the happy couple, he would. With zero regrets.

Fuck it all, Claire’s gonna be insufferable.

  A CHARMING B&B IN VERMONT

Dean wakes up delightfully cozy with Cas spooning him from behind. No memory foam, but the bed is delightfully springy anyway. It was definitely what they needed after a full school day and a nine-hour road trip. Luckily, the owner of the bed and breakfast, a charming older woman actually named Mrs. Butters, was happy to wait up for their late check-in last night. She even had hot cocoa waiting.

Dean had held out a slight hope they could christen their room before they turned in for the night, but Cas passed right out before Dean turned on the lights. Poor guy had to deal with three sets of angry parents, and it was only the second week of school. Something about how their supposed-genius kids should be in AP Latin instead of the Fun Latin class - aka the one for dumbass seniors.

The mid-morning sunlight filtering in from behind the plaid curtains casts everything in a warm glow. The room itself is beyond charming. There’s a legit fireplace next to the bed, and they’re currently nestled under a patchwork quilt. The wood panelled walls give a distinctly rustic feel to the place, despite the reasonably sized television screen mounted on the far wall.

Dean turns over in bed so he’s facing Cas instead of the door. He resists the urge to poke him awake, and instead prods with a gentle, “Cas.”

Cas grumbles wordlessly. Fucker doesn’t even open his eyes, although Dean can tell from how his breathing changes that he’s awake.

“Cas.”

Cas wrinkles his nose and shoves his face into the pillow. “What, Dean?”

Dean can barely make out the words, but he gets the gist from the million times Cas has done the exact same thing. “I smell bacon.”

Cas’s eyes slit open. “So?”

“Don’t you want bacon?”

Cas huffs, and Dean can tell the exact moment he resigns to waking up. “Then go get the bacon. Nobody’s stopping you, Meat Man.”

Dean wiggles in bed, jostling the whole mattress. “Come on, babe.”

“I was sleeping.” Cas raises his head to look squint out the window. “It has to be before ten am. Since when are you a morning person?”

Since today is the day Dean is going to propose.

Instead, Dean reminds him pointedly, “Bacon.”

“Ugh,” Cas groans as he sits up. “I expect at least a blow job after breakfast if we’re leaving bed this early.”

Dean slaps his ass and jumps out of bed before Cas can retaliate. “Up and at ‘em!”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Cas.”

* * *

Claire 11:02 Did you ask him yet? If he said no I’ve got chunky monkey waiting

Claire 11:31 That was a joke Uncle Cas will say yes Theres no way he wont

Claire 11:40 If you’re not answering because of sex don’t tell me

Dean sighs as his phone lights up with Claire’s latest text. In the bathroom, Cas hurls again. 

Dean 11:41 No proposal

The bubbles showing Claire’s typing start almost immediately.

Claire 11:41 Are you serious? He’s not goin to turn you down!!!

Dean 11:41 Food poisoning

Claire 11:42 HAHAHAHA

Dean scowls at his phone.

Dean 11:44 Not now, Claire.

Claire 11:44 Wait Seriously?

Dean 11:44 We think it was something he ate at breakfast

Claire 11:44 Oh fuck I’m sorry for laughing

Dean rereads her text. He hasn’t ever received a straight-up apology from Claire before. Unsure of how to respond, he sets down his phone and gently pushes open the bathroom door. “How’re you doing, babe?”

Cas, slumped over the toilet and looking like death warmed over, raises his head an inch. “It seems to be easing up.”

“Really?”

Cas vomits into the toilet again. He groans.

“Shit,” Dean mutters as he crouches next to Cas. He rubs his back with one hand. “Do you think you can get some water down?”

Cas nods, so Dean straightens and fills a glass next to the sink.

As Cas drinks, Dean runs a hand through Cas’s sweaty hair. His forehead has a sickly sheen to it, and the back of his neck feels hot.

“Dean -” Cas breaks off to cough the water right back up into the toilet. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, no,” Dean says quickly as he refills the glass. “Don’t be sorry. This isn’t your fault.”

“But you had all these plans,” Cas moans as he takes the water to try again.

“We’ll do ‘em some other time.” He wets a washcloth and wipes down Cas’s forehead.

“Before Thanksgiving,” Cas rasps, “we’ll come back. I don’t want to miss the leaves changing.”

“Of course,” Dean says soothingly. He moves the washcloth to the nape of Cas’s neck. “On the bright side, you’ve been puking for, like, an hour. There can’t be much left.”

Cas, the dramatic bastard, nearly brains himself on the toilet seat with the force of his next hurl.

  HOMEMADE DINNER

After the disastrous fancy restaurant and B&B, a homemade dinner has to be the way to go. They’ll be in their own goddamn house - that has to cut down on the number of things that can go wrong.

Dean spends a whole week deliberating on what to make. He could do his usual burgers and fries routine, Cas’s favorite, but it should be special.

He settles on beef wellington. Pie for beef!

It’s a bitch to make - both because puff pastry from scratch is no joke, and hiding his first experiments from Cas means inventing increasingly convoluted reasons to get him out of the house. And, sure, every Youtube chef and Great British Bake off contestant has said store-bought puff pastry is fine, but Dean doesn’t want fine, he needs perfect. 

Dean picks a day when Cas has Model UN afterschool. It’s in the middle of the week, but at least Cas is guaranteed out of the house until six at night.

By 5:58, Dean is ready. The Wellington is cooling on the counter; the red wine has been breathing (whatever the hell that does) for the better part of an hour; and he’s showered and made himself presentable.

His phone pings at six pm on the dot. 

Heart sinking with foreboding, Dean taps the screen.

Cas 6:00 I’m going to be late for dinner. There was an accident with chemistry club a few minutes ago. The building had to be evacuated.

Dean 6:00 Are you OK?

Dean takes a moment to hammer the heel of his hand against his forehead. One fucking break. That’s all he’s asking for. One goddamn evening to go right.

Cas 6:00 Yes, and the kids are too. They’re airing out the halls now, but we won’t be let in for another half hour.

Dean picks up the wine with the hand not holding his phone. 

Dean 6:01 What time do you think you’ll be home?

Cas 6:01 7:30 maybe? I’ll keep you updated.

Dean swigs back a gulp straight from the bottle before he can answer. Fuck this.

Dean 6:02 Great! I’ll order pizza when you’re on your way back

Cas 6:02 Meatlovers?

Dean 6:02 Unless you’d like something else

Cas 6:02 No thank you :)

Dean flips on a recorded Jeopardy! episode as he cleans up the kitchen and texts Charlie. He has a free dinner waiting for her if she can hightail it to his place in the next hour and never speak of it again.

  HOMEMADE DINNER #2

If Dean is anything, he’s stubborn. John Winchester raised no quitter. Try, try, and try again. And try a fourth time, when the first three go sideways.

Burgers, this time. They don’t need a days’ worth of prep. And they’ll go over well.

“Dig in,” Dean says as he sets the plate down in front of Cas.

“This looks delicious, Dean,” Cas says sincerely as he picks up his burger.

Dean waits, and he can see the moment Cas tastes the molten cheese stuffed in the middle of the patty. His eyes go wide with surprise.

“Like it?”

Cas nods vigorously and inhales the rest of his burger in record time.

“There’s enough for us to have thirds,” Dean says smugly. 

Cas smears ketchup all over patty number two, and beams at him. “These make me very happy.”

Dean laughs. “That’s the goal-”

Cas’s phone rings.

Dean falters.

Cas stares at him expectantly, waiting for Dean to continue.

“You should get that,” Dean says, his shoulders slumping as he sets his burger down. It’s probably a bad sign he was already half-expecting things to go south. “It’s probably important, or whoever it is would’ve texted.”

“We’re in the middle of dinner,” Cas protests even as he reaches in his pocket to pull his phone out. “It’s Claire,” he says, baffled, before he picks up. “Hello?”

Cas sets down his half-eaten burger. He listens, his brows slamming down forbiddingly as Claire’s voice gets louder and louder, but still not loud enough for Dean to make out actual words. Silently, Cas takes his napkin off his lap and pushes his half-empty beer in Dean’s direction. Finally Cas says, “Yes, of course, Claire.”

Dean frowns as Cas lifts his gaze up to meet his. “Jimmy and Amelia?” he mouths.

Cas shakes his head, speaking into his phone,  “Does Kaia need a pick up from the hospital?”

Dean goes cold. Kaia was actually one of his favorite students. While she was in his class, she won a Scholastic Gold Key and honorable mention for two of her horror novellas and always did the reading. But Dean and Cas haven’t seen her since she broke up with Claire the summer before college.

“Is she okay?” Dean asks quietly.

Cas’s mouth thins. He gives a short nod.

Dean sighs and picks up the plate uneaten burgers. He can probably reheat the patties. The fries won’t keep, though, so he leaves the plate in front of Cas. He shoves a few in his mouth and gets to his feet.

He’s halfway through cleaning the frying pan when Cas gets off the phone with Claire.

“Are you heading out?” Dean asks gruffly while he gives the iron a particularly hard scrub.

“Yes,” Cas rumbles as he wraps an arm around Dean’s waist. “I’m sorry to cut dinner short.”

“Hey, it’s Kaia. ’Course we gotta help.” Dean forces an understanding smile on his face. “I’ll make up the couch while you pick her up?”

Cas squeezes him gently before moving away. “Thank you.”

“You got time for the cliff notes on what happened? Why’d you get the call?”

Cas leans against the counter next to the sink. “Kaia was in a car accident. She’s a little banged up, but mostly fine. A few bruised ribs and a possible concussion.” He shakes his head, disbelieving. “You know Kaia was never especially close with her foster family, so Claire got the emergency call.”

“Huh.” Dean grabs a plate to clean. “It’s been two years since the split.”

Cas shrugs. “I’m not sure what their situation is. I know Claire was surprised. She’s already in her car, and she should be here by midnight. Hopefully she recognizes Kaia’s injuries,” he frowns, “and they won’t try any… any ‘hanky panky’ tonight.”

Dean laughs, and if it’s slightly higher than normal, Cas doesn’t seem to pick up on it. He grabs Cas and kisses him square on the mouth. “You are ridiculous. Nobody says hanky panky. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Cas scowls. “They have to be well past kissing at this point.”

Dean snorts a laugh. “Yeah, that ship has long sailed, dude.”

Cas throws his hands in the air. “We don’t have enough sleeping surfaces to separate them.”

Dean sets the dirty plate down to face Cas fully. “Do you really think they’ll get back together? Kaia broke Claire’s heart not too long ago.”

Cas throws him a look like he wonders where the hell Dean’s logical brain has flown to. “Are you asking if I think couples can get back together after a harrowing break up?”

“… no.”

Cas shakes his head ruefully. “You’re more like Claire than I ever was, and you took me back.”

“Huh,” Dean wipes his hands off on a dishtowel, “you might have something there.”

“You do call me the smart one,” Cas says as he pushes off the counter and heads to the doorway. “It has been known to happen.”

“Smartass,” Dean corrects loudly as Cas grabs his coat and keys.

“Semantics.” Cas doubles back to kiss Dean a proper goodbye, and it’s just as electric as it was when they were seventeen. Cas tastes like Dean’s cooking, and he’s been letting his stubble grow out, the short hairs rasping against Dean’s palm as he cups Cas’s cheek.

“I love you, Dean,” Cas says as he draws away.

Dean grins. “I know.”

Cas huffs an almost-laugh as he heads back towards the door. “Now who’s the smartass?”

  IN BED

Cas, the son of a bitch, falls asleep before Dean can wring out a second orgasm out of him. Such a godamn shame. Just goes to show, they really aren’t teenagers anymore. At least Dean got to use the new vibrator he bought for the occasion and the edible panties. 

Dean flops back in bed. Maybe he should put the proposals on pause. Clearly, marriage isn’t in the cards. He can be a bit dense when it comes to Cas and him, but there’s dense and there’s denial.

It’s been two and a half months. Five proposal attempts. They’re nearly halfway through October, and he’s no closer to getting a ring on Cas’s finger than he was in late August, sweating bullets in that stupid fancy restaurant.

He can’t keep planning and failing to propose to Cas every other week. One, he can’t handle the stress and constant brainstorming. And B, he’s way behind in writing college recommendations and grading his freshman’s essays on Animal Farm. 

Cas isn’t going anywhere. Dean isn’t going anywhere. So Dean can cool the proposals for now and start fresh in January.

  SCHOOL ASSEMBLY

“I hate these,” Dean mutters to Benny. He frowns across the top rows of the bleachers where the seniors are supposed to sit. There are a few notable faces missing, but nobody that belongs to Dean’s homeroom, so he couldn’t give less of a shit. Below them, sit most of the juniors, and pretty much all of the sophomores and freshmen.

“It’s thirty minutes, brother,” Benny says, patting his arm. “You’ll live.”

“Shows what you know,” Dean grumbles back as Jody strides to the middle of the gym, microphone in hand. He asks Benny, “Do you know what this one’s about? Bullying? Cliques? Hugs not drugs?”

Benny shakes his head.

Jody sighs loudly into the mike. Clearly, she wants to be here just as much as he does. “Thank you all for coming,” she starts like any of them had a real choice. “First things first, Halloween is in two days, and while costumes are allowed and encouraged, don’t be racist.” She grimaces. “God help me, I don’t know why I still have to say that. If you are unsure if your costume is racist, it probably is. Wear something else. Secondly…”

Dean tunes her out. Instead, he scans the bleachers again, this time looking for Cas. He should be with the other sophomore homeroom teachers, but there’s no sign of him. Dean frowns. He can’t remember the last time Cas played hooky. And never without Dean. Dick move, Cas.

Movement at the edge of the gym catches Dean’s eye, and he watches, puzzled, as two students roll out one of the old projectors. The overhead lights turn off.

Is Jody seriously going to make him sit through a slide show? They’re wasting a prefectly good Friday morning on a goddamn PowerPoint?

The projector flips on, and the first photo is… of Dean. 

What the fuck? His mouth drops open in horror. In the picture, he’s in his junior year of high school - he can tell from the hair - with a bunch of people he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. Plus Cas, who’s at the next table over in the cafeteria, head bowed over a book and slightly out of focus.

There’s a click, and text scrawls along the bottom of the screen, Destiel Met in Edlund High School Fifteen Years Ago! 

The projector flips to the next photo, this time showing Dean’s senior yearbook picture.

More than a handful of students peer excitedly in his direction, undoubtedly hoping for a reaction.

Scowling, Dean cranes his neck to search the crowd for Charlie’s flaming red hair. She’s the only one who refers to the two of them as “Destiel”. Everyone else uses their names like sane people.

But the projector clicks to a photo of Cas, and Dean can’t help getting distracted. In the picture, Cas is alone at a table in the library. God, he was cute back then. His cheeks were a little fuller, and his hair was curlier. He still had the same intense blue-eyed stare, though. Patented Cas.

It all started with a tutoring session. Young Mr. W needed help in Latin, and our future Latin teacher, Mr. N, was up to the task!

Dean is going to kill Charlie. He tries to get to his feet - maybe she’s hiding behind Jo or something. But Benny’s hand grips his upper arm, holding him in place. “Don’t,” Benny says softly.

“What?” Dean demands as he tries to shake Benny off and fails. “Do you know what the hell is going on?”

“Stay.” The corners of Benny’s mouth twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Watch.”

Dean huffs a breath and turns back around. If it was anyone else, Jo or Charlie, he wouldn’t trust a word out of their mouths. Benny, though, he’s not the type to make Dean sit through this without a good reason.

But that’s all ancient history. Destiel really got started five years ago, in this very gym.

The projector shows a picture of their class reunion, when Dean met Cas after ten years of no contact. They’re standing pretty close together (but that doesn’t mean much with Castiel What-Is-Personal-Space Novak), and they appear deep in conversation.

Since then, they have been inseparable.

Dean and Cas at a softball game. Dean and Cas at homecoming. Dean and Cas at GSA’s pride party.

Here’s to fifteen more years of Destiel!

The students clap and cheer with more than a few laughs.

Musical Interlude! flashes in front of a picture of Dean playing guitar to a group of pajama-clad students at last year’s Senior Lock-In.

The lights flip back on, and Dean blinks as his eyes adjust. By the time the spots have cleared from his vision, the projector has been wheeled away, leaving the main floor of the gym empty.

A staticky crackle echoes around the gym. And - is that Def Leppard playing on the speakers?

As the intro to Rock of Ages plays, the cheerleading team troops out from the locker rooms. 

They start a routine Dean’s never seen before. To Rock of fucking Ages.

The cheerleaders sings along with Joe Elliot, “What do you want?”

Dean’s mouth falls open as the entire high school chants back, “I want rock and roll. Long live rock and roll!”

By the time they get to the “Rock of Ages” chant, all the students are on their feet, clapping along with the beat and cheering.

The song dies down soon after, and Dean, a broad smile on his face, turns to Benny. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I dig it.”

Benny laughs. “Good. He’ll be pleased.”

Dean’s just about to ask who he is (he’s 99% he knows), when Cas walks out from behind the bleachers. 

Cas takes the microphone from Jody. He coughs nervously, waiting for the students to settle back down. “Thank you,” he says to the cheerleading team. “That was... awesome.” He glances up at the assembled students and teachers. “Dean-” he pauses as the cheers and clapping start up in earnest “-can you please come down here?”

But Dean’s frozen to the spot.

Benny gives him a not-so-light jab with his elbow. “Go on.”

Dean shakily gets to his feet and makes his way to the gym floor, and he swears his legs are about to give out from under him.

“Alright, you got my attention,” Dean says with forced bravado. “What’s up, Cas?”

The students hoot and holler.

Cas reddens as they die down again. Clutching the microphone in a death grip, he says, “Dean, we have been together for a number of years.”

Dean grins, a wonderful, all-consuming giddiness filling him the longer he stands in front of Cas. “I know, dude. I was there.”

The students laugh and someone, probably Jo, wolf whistles.

Cas swallows. “I wanted to do this here, where we first met, where you first asked me out on a date, where we had our first kiss.”

“Don’t tell ‘em about all our firsts on school property,” Dean says in a stage-whisper, “or Jody’s gonna have an aneurysm.”

Over a fresh round of student laughter, Jody puts her head in her hands. Donna, the school guidance counselor, pats her a few times on the back.

“Dean Winchester,” Cas says, and, shit, his hands are shaking. “I have loved you for more than half my life, and I look forward to far more than fifteen years by your side. Will you marry me?’

Dean’s not stupid. He had a strong hunch, ever since Rock of Ages played - aka the cassette he put in the Impala the first time he took Cas for a drive fifteen years and a lifetime ago - that this was what Cas was leading up to. 

He’s mostly surprised Cas had the guts to pop the question this way. There was a reason Dean tried to keep his proposal plans mostly to the two of them. One of them is practically a social hermit, and it’s sure as shit not Dean.

“Just say yes, jerk!”

Dean spins around, nearly tripping over his own feet in surprise. Fuck, that’s Sam. His giant of a brother is hovering right outside the gym’s double doors, beaming at the pair of them. Claire gives a little wave from where she’s half-hiding behind him.

Dean turns back to Cas. He can’t think about Sam right now. Or Claire. Or the five hundred students with their eyes on them. 

Only Cas.

“Cas,” he says, and it feels like the whole room is holding their collective breath, none more so than Cas, who looks like he’s about to pass out. “Man, I’ve loved you since I was seventeen. Of course I’ll marry you.”

Cas lets out a shaky exhale of relief, and Dean laughs. He takes the microphone from Cas’s now slack grip, steps all the way into Cas’s personal space, and kisses him.

The cheers from the assembled students are nearly deafening.

[jaeknightorbats]

Tunnel Caprica [M]

Pairings: Baekhyun x Sehun (SeBaek) 

Ratings: NC-17

Genre/AUs: Smut, dark romance, slice of life

Description: It was a normal day for convenience store worker Byun Baekhyun when Sehun—a wealthy looking man—entered the store, only getting overdosed by drugs afterwards.  It was the encounter that would change Baekhyun’s life. It was the encounter that introduced him to a world that should never exist in this already problematic world. 

Warnings: Graphic sexual content, substance use, drug overdose, alcohol, and strong language

Chapters: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 (NEW!)

Synopsis: Tunnel Caprica connects two cities under the huge and long mountain ranges of the country Ioca [a-yo-ka], making it one of the longest tunnels in the world with a distance of nearly 40 kilometers. However, people choose to drive the 3-hour long pass than driving through the tunnel, because driving through the tunnel can be claustrophobic—an hour drive with nothing but repeating images of the never ending tunnel. But through the tunnel also hides the entrance to another world that Baekhyun is yet to find out.

Part 1

Word count: 3.9k

Just a single response—a single response that could make everything better.

Or could make matters worse.

It had not been long since his girlfriend replied—five hours outmost. But five hours felt like a day to him. Getting used to quick replies, it’s making him crazy as to why he wasn’t getting any response even after sending her messages and giving her calls.

She’s mad.

He couldn’t help but think, and it’s making him weak. He doesn’t like anyone getting mad at him, especially if it was her.

Ple—

He stopped typing. He shouldn’t bother her, she’s at work. He shouldn’t annoy her. She must be annoyed. He wasn’t at work—it was his rest day, leaving him alone with his thoughts and his phone. Nothing worse than that—overthinking.

He dug his face on to his phone, praying to the gods to make a miracle for him.

He waited, and he waited. Still got no response.

Maybe staring at the screen would make a difference. He stared at every icon he could see, scrolled from side to side.

Why am I lying to myself?

Nearly 30, he was, but he could be still naïve at times. He was a high school dropout with divorced parents.

What divorce? They have no money for such things, his parents only lived separately, and things were too confusing for him. He ran away from his home at the age of 17, and started to find ways he could live on his own. Things never worked out for him, still broke at the age of twenty-nine. He’s renting a small, cheap apartment, and he had a third-hand car that needed constant maintenance. He worked at a convenience store near where he was staying, only a 15 to 20-minute walk.

Byun Baekhyun considered himself as a good-for-nothing, and was only working to survive. The only thing that was making him somewhat happy was his girlfriend’s affection. Now, the person giving what he wanted was mad at him.

He took a deep, hopeless breath as he dropped his head down to his table from where he was sitting. At the brink of losing hope, his heart jumped when his forehead felt the vibration of the table coming from his phone.

He didn’t check from who it was, and immediately clicked the notification and read the message.

Disappointed, he was, when the text message was from his carrier, reminding him that his phone bill’s due was approaching.

This girl, now this. His grip to his phone loosen, feeling weak—he could hear his heart beating. He felt like he was losing his mind.

A picture of his wallet flashed through his head, remembering exactly how much money he still had before his next pay. $43.05.

His phone bill usually cost $45.

He didn’t want to double check his wallet, it was too heartbreaking for him. He recently spent most of his money buying his girlfriend a nice dinner and a new phone—a phone she didn’t like that’s why they’re in a fight. She wanted an iPhone. He couldn’t afford such phone. He himself was sticking to his 3-year-old phone. As long as he could send his girlfriend a message, he was fine with any phone.

He pressed his eyes closed, thinking what should he do to pay his dues and to make his girl happy. His feet couldn’t stop tapping—he couldn’t think of a solution.

“Money can’t buy happiness?” he muttered to himself. “Bullshit.”

He stood up from his chair, threw his phone to the sofa just to release some stress—even a tiny bit. He needed a break.

He started walking circles in his small place, thinking of different things how to earn enough money to, at least, pay the bills.

Baekhyun never turned his head so fast when he saw his phone screen flashed from his peripheral view, hearing the vibration from the sofa. His feet dragged him fast towards the sofa and his hand grabbed the phone.

Disappointed again, it was from his friend, Park Chanyeol.

Im coming 2 ur place.

Baekhyun felt so pissed. He was hoping it was from someone better—his girlfriend. “I don’t need you to come,” he muttered to his phone.

Subsequently, a rapid knuckle impatiently knocked on Baekhyun’s door. It paused for a quick while, then started knocking again.

Baekhyun already knew who it was. He stomped his way to the door to stop the noise.

The grin on Chanyeol’s face faded, cocking his brow after he saw Baekhyun. “What’s with the face?” He made his way into Baekhyun’s place without permission and went straight to Baekhyun’s living room.

Baekhyun followed Chanyeol with a glare as he closed the door. “What are you doing here?”

What a stupid question—Baekhyun realized immediately. Chanyeol only visited Baekhyun for one thing, and one thing only—sniff drugs.

“I’m telling you, bro. You should break up with Yuri. She’s just using you,” Chanyeol said as he was pulling out his cheap snuff set from his jacket, placing it on the glass coffee table afterwards.

Chanyeol already knew what was bothering his friend, especially when Baekhyun made a face like what he was wearing. Nothing else bothered Baekhyun but women. Sometimes, Chanyeol knew Baekhyun doesn’t know how to straighten his priorities just for the sake of a woman.

But Baekhyun doesn’t like anyone minding his own business, so Chanyeol only watched him be stupid.

Baekhyun ignored him, and changed the topic. “Hey, when are you going to take home your shot. It’s taking a lot of space on my fridge.” He only had a mini fridge, it could only fit a few drinks and few foods.

“For as long as I don’t need it,” Chanyeol blatantly replied. “I don’t want my mom seeing that, she’ll start asking questions.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You already said that.”

Chanyeol still lived with his parents since he spent a lot of his money on the things he liked to snort.

Baekhyun pulled a chair on the dining table, and watched his friend do his thing.

Chanyeol carefully released a portion of his powered drug from a tiny airless balloon on Baekhyun’s table. Chanyeol pulled his wallet out and took a card to collect the scattered powder on the table and made a thin line with it. He licked the remaining powder that was on his card. Then, took his already-rolled-up bill from his kit. His nose made a loud noise as he snorted the powder. He twitched both sides of his nose and sniffed again, just to make sure his brain received that well. His eyes slightly became watery from the mild burning sensation that went through his nose. He cleaned the white dust excess on the table with his finger and brushed his gums with it—every bit counted.

Chanyeol sighed, satisfied, as he rested his head on the sofa.

“What was that?” Baekhyun asked.

“Heroin.”

Baekhyun was still a traditional man. Drugs never interest Baekhyun. He’s tried a pot, but it was never for him. He’s seen people around him done it, and he didn’t like what it did to them. Besides, these substances cost too much.

“By the way,” Chanyeol lifted his head up and pointed at Baekhyun, “I told boss you’re gonna take my shift tonight.”

Chanyeol also worked at the same convenience store, that’s where they met each other.

Baekhyun reacted, “What?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you. I have some business tonight.” Chanyeol winked mischievously—obviously planning something sketchy.

Baekhyun thought he’d have his rest day for himself.

Then, Baekhyun remembered his bills and his girlfriend.

Maybe he needed that shift.

“Breaking news: Kang Sunmi filed a divorce. The fifteen year old allegedly—“

Snapping fingers diverted Baekhyun’s attention from the television back to his manager who was in front of him. The manager pointed his pen to Baekhyun and said, “That news will stay for a while, customers don’t.”

Baekhyun nodded lazily.

It was past 3AM. He was on his second cup of coffee but he still felt drowsy, his eyes wanted to close itself. He’s not used to night shifts unlike Chanyeol, who could do any shift at any time of the day. Baekhyun still had an 11AM shift after his shift at 4AM. He’ll have less time for sleep, but a little more money for him. He needed every cent.

Less than an hour left.

There weren't many people at the store, so he was pissed off at his boss for being such an uptight motherfucker.

He couldn’t wait for his shift to end, he missed his bed. But he missed his girlfriend, Yuri, a lot more. She was still ignoring Baekhyun’s call and messages, making him miserable. He didn’t know how to make her notice him again.

I’ll pay her a visit after my shift. I’ll be there before breakfast, before she leaves for work. She’ll be surprised, see my effort and sincerity, he thought.

The idea washed away his sleepiness in a snap. He got excited to see Yuri’s face again. Baekhyun hoped she would forgive him and give him a kiss or hug.

His brain cells started to work actively, thinking of what things he should say.

How should I apologize?

Thinking of what he should do.

Should I text her first or knock straight away at her door?

Should I buy her a chocolate?

No, maybe hotcakes. She loves hotcakes.

He was alone with his thoughts, distracted by the challenges of love.

The bell on the top of the door rang when somebody pushed it open.

It woke Baekhyun up from his thoughts, his instinct greeted the customer who got in. “Good evening.” He, then, realized it was already early in the morning. He corrected himself, “Morning, sir.”

They were trained to greet anyone who came in the store.

Baekhyun watched the tall man take big steps as the man walked in, not even turning his head to Baekhyun’s direction. The tall man vanished from Baekhyun’s sight as he passed by the tall shelves.

Baekhyun had seen different types of people enter the store when he took night shifts on some occasions. There were people in pajamas buying food for breakfast, or maybe for their late night snack. Guards, drivers, and night shift employees buying coffee. Normal looking families who were on a trip buying snacks. Bunch of drunk teenagers wearing cropped tops and/or bomber jackets who came from a party buying cigarettes, or water for their friend who kept throwing up. People of any age wearing tacky clothes who were obviously on drugs—he could tell it from their teeth—buying lighters. Some people looked dangerous, he dared not to judge the things they buy, but they were usually alcohol and cigarettes. And, some men buy condoms.

But Baekhyun had never seen a person walk wearing sunglasses. Who wears sunglasses late at night?

What was also striking was the man was wearing an obviously expensive black coat. It was beautiful how vivid the color was; it was the blackest of the black he had ever seen. If the man came from a party, it must be a fancy one, might be a ball, or a fancy wedding of a multi-millionaire. Baekhyun thought the man was lost. The man should have asked his butler or driver to buy things for him.

A pair of heels started to echo his ears—it got louder as it got closer.

Of course, he has matching Italian shoes.

Even the most decent shoes don’t make a sharp sound like that.

Baekhyun turned his head to the man’s direction as the man got closer to the counter.

The man stopped in front of Baekhyun, still holding on to his items. He slightly lifted his head and scanned his eyes around the top shelves that were behind Baekhyun.

Baekhyun noticed the man was wearing a high-end brand of sunglasses. The way the light reflected on the black frame and on the black lenses, it was something else. His skin glowed as the light met his face, showing his healthy and almost poreless skin.

“Do you have anything besides Jack Daniels?” the man started to speak.

Baekhyun turned around and scanned the shelves himself. He knew the man was looking for something hard. “We have Johnnie Walker. Red, black, and double black.”

He rarely drank such expensive alcohol, but he enjoyed the scotch he recommended when he tasted it.

The man scoffed. “I’d take the bourbon.”

Baekhyun nodded and stretched his arm to reach the box of Jack Daniels.

The man placed his item on the counter. Baekhyun scanned the box, and the cotton balls that the man placed.

“Is that all?”

The man looked down at the front of the counter, turned his head from left to right, searching for something. He finally reached for something that caught his interest. He lightly threw the item on the counter

“That’d be all,” he said as he revealed a part of his side body under his coat, reaching his back pocket for his wallet.

“$27.14,” said Baekhyun after scanning the box of condoms—the ultra-thin one.

The man took another item in front of the counter the moment it caught his attention.

Baekhyun scanned a small bottle of lubricant. “$38.54”

The man initially took a hundred-dollar bill out from his wallet but he put it back. He extended his arm, slightly revealing a shiny silver watch under his sleeve, and gave three 20s instead.

The man looked at Baekhyun and said, “Keep the change.”

Baekhyun's eyes slightly widened, his lips curved upward. He couldn’t be happier, he needed every cent of money he could get.

It must be his lucky day.

“Thank you, sir!”

The man cocked both of his brows as a response while he put the smaller items inside his coat and carried the bourbon by the hand. Then, Baekhyun watched the man leave the store.

Baekhyun couldn’t stop grinning as he put the change on his wallet after he cashed in the payment.

“That was a nice watch,” he muttered to himself. It was like love at first sight when he saw the man’s watch. It was still at the back of his head.

Baekhyun looked at the store’s watch.

Ten minutes left before 4:00.

He started to fix his things at the staff room. Removed his tacky uniform under his white shirt, and wore a cozy jacket. He bid his goodbyes to his co-worker and manager and left the store at 4:05AM.

Cold wind blew on his face, making him shiver. He dug both of his hands on the pocket of his jacket, and started to walk across the almost empty parking lot.

He couldn’t spot a single person around. Few vehicles, yes. It was still early. The area of the city he’s in wasn’t exactly the busiest.

Baekhyun put a smile on his face. “I’m gonna buy hotcakes. I’m gonna see Yuri.” He felt excited. He tried to paint the look on Yuri’s face when she saw him at the front of her doors.

“We’re gonna have breakf—“

A long honk of a car distracted Baekhyun from walking. He turned his head where he heard the noise, but he couldn’t see anything—it was too dark, and the parking lot was too huge.

He turned around, checking if other people were around. But he was alone.

It was still honking, it wouldn’t stop. There was panic in Baekhyun’s eyes, his heart started to pound hard, he was nervous. Other parked cars seemed peaceful. His eyes searched everywhere, but he seriously couldn’t see anything. He started to walk hesitantly where the loud beep was coming from, he was unsure.

Silence.

Baekhyun’s ears rang and felt deaf after the vehicle stopped honking. But he was still worried. His feet wouldn’t move, his mind went blank, his ears still ringing.

Then, a tiny, orange light suddenly emerged from his sight from where he was walking to. The light was from inside a car. He could see tiny silhouettes in it.

He started to walk forward, but still hesitant. He turned his head from left to right to check if there were other people besides him. He was still alone.

The light got closer and closer as he walked nearer.

“HEELP!”

A loud screech of a woman alarmed Baekhyun, putting him to a stop.

“HEEELP!”

Baekhyun ran as fast as he could to the light, to the woman’s voice who cried for help. He saw the woman looking in his direction. Baekhyun was having a hard time to breathe because of the cold wind blowing against him, but he ran faster after he saw an unconscious man next to the woman.

Baekhyun panted heavily when he finally reached the vehicle. Him and the woman looked at one another with panic in their eyes.

“HELP!” The woman cried while she was shaking the man on his shoulders.

Baekhyun shifted his look to the man—it was the man who tipped him earlier. He was unconscious.

Baekhyun opened the door. “What happened?!”

The woman was in a state of panic, she didn’t know what to say. She was only worried for the man.

“Have you called 911?”

The woman blinked. “Are you fucking crazy?!”

Baekhyun looked around the vehicle. He saw a spoon, an elastic band, a syringe, a dust of power, and cotton balls. Baekhyun suddenly noticed the man had his sleeve rolled up.

“He fucking OD’ed?!” He concluded after he saw the things around them. The man got overdosed by some drug.

The woman didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were shaking—she was unsure if she should trust the man.

“You must call 911, or he’ll die!” exclaimed Baekhyun.

“No, no, no. Please don’t call them!” the woman begged.

Baekhyun knew if they called 911, they'd go to jail after he regained his consciousness because they were doing illegal drugs.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun cursed, he knew the woman won’t change her mind—he had met a lot of people on drugs, so, he somewhat understood. He removed his jacket, dropped both his bag and jacket on the concrete.

He stepped up to their high SUV and searched for the recliner lever of the man’s seat. But he couldn’t find it. “Where’s it?! How do you recline this fucking seat?!” Baekhyun yelled at the woman.

The woman jumped in panic, “Fuck.” She pulled something behind the seat of the man she was with to recline the seat.

Baekhyun lent his face to the man’s face to feel and listen if he was breathing. He wasn’t. “Fuck.”

“Don’t fucking die on me, Sehun,” the woman begged, pulling her hair. Her eyes began to tear up.

Baekhyun held the man’s face upward. He’s going to perform CPR.

He had his face close to the man, then the woman spoke. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Do you want him to fucking die?!”

Baekhyun exhaled all the air from his lungs and passed it to the man. He pumped his chest with both of his hands intertwined.

No response.

Baekhyun performed another around. He gave air, pumped the man’s chest.

Still, no response.

Baekhyun performed another, and another, and another round.

“Fucking shit. Don’t die on us, man.” He kept pumping his chest, sweat was breaking on his forehead despite the chilly climate.

The man wasn’t breathing.

Then, Baekhyun remembered his friend, Chanyeol. He remembered that he had Chanyeol’s adrenaline shot in his fridge.

“Fuck.”

Baekhyun carried the man on his shoulders and transferred him to the back of the car.

“What are you doing?!” The woman freaked out, confused. She followed them behind the car.

“Keep giving him CPR. I have something in my place that might help.”

Baekhyun went in front of the car, fixed the seat, and started driving. He drove as fast as he could to his place, he had the hazard lights on, he didn’t stop at any red light, he kept honking the car on every car that was on his way. Every second counted. The man could die at any moment.

They reached his place in 3 minutes.

Baekhyun carried the man on his shoulders and ran as fast as he could to his door steps.

Baekhyun’s eyes widened. His keys were in his bag.

He left his bag in the parking lot.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This isn’t happening,” he muttered to himself.

“What? What’s happening?!” The woman freaked out while she held the man’s face behind Baekhyun’s back, trying to wake the unconscious man.

“Fuck,” Baekhyun panicked. He didn’t want to let the woman know. She’d make him freak out more if she knew.

Baekhyun searched his pockets. He was starting to feel the weight of the man on his shoulders. Baekhyun gulped. Then, he felt the bulk in one of his pockets. It was his wallet. He remembered he had a spare key in his wallet.

He immediately took his wallet and searched for the key inside his wallet.

It was the biggest relief of his life when he felt the cold brass meet his finger. It was his key.

He opened the door, then carefully placed the man in his living room.

“Keep giving him CPR,” he ordered the woman as he ran as fast as he could to his mini fridge, and took a package on the top shelf.

He ran back to the man. His hands were shaking. He had read the instruction of how to use the shot countless times when he had nothing to do with his time and when he attempted to throw it away because it took a lot of space. Chanyeol had also told him how to use the shot once or twice just in case Chanyeol got overdosed himself. But Baekhyun still read it, just in case he read it wrong before.

But he was shaking, his head couldn’t think straight. There was an unconscious man in front of him.

“Fuck this shit.”

He’ll have to trust his memory.

He opened the package, and there was a tiny bottle that came with a huge syringe in it.

“Rip his shirt open,” Baekhyun commanded the woman as he tried to inject the 6-inch needle to the bottle with his shaky hands.

Baekhyun breathed heavily. He held his hand high over his head with the syringe, focused on the man’s chest. He had to inject the shot hard enough to get through his ribcage to his heart—to make his heart pump again with the adrenaline shot.

Baekhyun’s breath got heavier and heavier by the second.

Just a single response.

Baekhyun held his breath and stabbed the man with the needle.

A single response that could make everything better.

The man arose from his position, making a loud noise as he inhaled every air his lungs could get as he came back to life.

In a shaky voice, breathing rapidly, the man cursed, “Fuck.”

Or could make matters worse.

To be continued...

J/N: Send notes, reblog. Follow me on twitter @/jaeandbats for updates

**

Read next chapter

**

Tunnel Caprica: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 (NEW!)

[sesskag1postchallenge]

Operation Grandpup Drop (A SitBoy Discord Crack Fic)

Created by awesome people on the SessKag SitBoy Discord, one post at a time in complete wild abandon. This is a SessKag crack fic. 

Chapter one:

Walter20507/29/2019 He found the group surrounding the campfire. Jaken was intent on trying to steal the Tetsuiga once again for his master Lord Sesshomaru, but something caught his attention as he peered through the bushes. The strangely garbed miko that he had sparred with when they first encountered each other had pulled something strange out of her yellow satchel. It appeared to be...

 SlayerYesterday at 9:05 PM

Something he had never seen before. Jaken's poor little brain had no idea what the object was so he pocketed it when her back was turned. And ran back to his Sesshomaru-sama.

 imjaneeesYesterday at 9:21 PM

It was... triangle shaped. With three holes. And the other was a stringed object but this one had two triangles but smaller than the first.

Strange object it was, it was somewhat elastic too. The fabric was nothing he's ever encountered before and thought to ask his lord about it later, HE was sure to know. His lord knew everything. Upon closer inspection, the odd objects were strangely decorated too, with something that could probably pass as a Neko if you squint enough.

Walter205Yesterday at 9:42 PM

Jaken was so busy examining his ill gotten goods that he didn’t notice the oni until he ran smack into the large demon before falling back onto his toady old behind. The demon turned as he dumbly stated what a good snack Jaken would make. For his part Jaken was just about to yell for help from Lord Sesshomaru when a red line appeared at the top of the oni’s head and ran down the creature’s midsection before stopping at the groin. The red line grew in size before the oni became two distinct halves of his former self as they fell apart from each other. In their place stood a distinctly female version of Sesshomaru, one which triggered a familiar memory within Jaken before she spoke; “Little Imp, you are my son’s servant are you not? Would you be so kind as to lead me to him?”

   Jaf JafYesterday at 10:26 PM

Jaken scrambled around for an answer, his words a jumbled hot-mess of incoherence and babble until he finally managed out a wheezed "Yes." He tucked away his loot from the miko into the depths of his sleeves, before beckoning Sesshomaru's mother with a bow and another polite rush of words.

  Stormie Like WeatherYesterday at 10:39 PM

Meanwhile, back at camp, Sesshomaru couldn't shake the feeling something unfortunate would be occurring soon. Generally this gut feeling took him to the problem and he would obliterate it without issue, however this itch did not bring with it a path to follow. Left with nothing to go on, he found himself brooding in thought against a tree. His mood sour.

 Walter205Yesterday at 10:55 PM

But Sesshomaru was pulled out of his musings by the appearance of Rin, accompanied by Ah-Un and Kohaku. The last had just joined his group along with Kirara to aid in the hunt for Naraku. Previously the last he had seen of the whelp was four years ago during the events surrounding the events at Mt Hakueri but he had heard through the Shikon Vine that his brother and their companions had managed to free him from Naraku's control and restore his life while removing the Shikon Shard embedded within his neck. Sesshomaru kept a disapproving eye on the young whelp as he knew he had taken a fancy to Rin and didn't approve of the two being together. 

 The crunching of twigs and leaves drew Sesshomaru's attention to his left. He found Jaken as expected but he was accompanied by...his eyes grew wide as Rin and Kohaku both let out a startled gasp.

 Stormie Like WeatherYesterday at 11:13 PM

Encouraged by the gasps of the teenagers, InuKimi did her best to sound exasperated, "My, Sesshomaru, I expected to see some young with you at this point, alas there is no sight nor scent of a pup and Mate having been near you." Folding her arms across her chest, she pinned him with a glare, "Just what have you been wasting your time on?"

She glanced back over to the teens, "And just what is your excuse? Young virile humans, get to it before you die."

 Walter205Yesterday at 11:40 PM

Both of their faces turned beet red and briefly they glanced at one another before turning away while making startled exclamations and excuses for why nothing was going on. Jaken watched in some amusement before he remembered about the strange thing he had snatched earlier from the miko's satchel. 

 "Oh my Lord, earlier I retrieved something from your brother's wench that may prove useful," the toad said as he withdrew the oddly shaped and patterned cloth. Inukimi stood directly behind the toad and snatched the garment as soon as she saw what it was. She scented it deeply before tossing it in her son's direction. 

 "Memorize that scent my son, it reeks of both pureness and wholesomeness, rare traits to find in this day and age, at least by lowly human standards."

 Somehow, somewhere, she didn't know why, but Kagome felt like she reaaaally shouldn't be anywhere in the feudal era but alas, duty calls and the shikon no Tama won't put itself back together.

 Walter205Today at 12:09 AM

"Almost time for bed. Sango, want to join me in a hot springs dip?" asked Kagome as she stood and stretched. Shippou took notice with an exasperated sigh as both Miroku and Inuyasha stole glances at her filled out form before both quickly glanced away again, Miroku having the added incentive of Sango wagging her fist at him. 

 "No Thanks Kagome, I think I'll sit this one out and keep an eye on the others," she replied while side glaring Miroku. 

 "Oh all right, I'll be back shortly," she said as she disappeared into the woods. Having finally learned after a few years, Inuyasha waited until she had disappeared before snorting and muttering that she would take a lot longer.

 imjaneeesToday at 12:30 AM

Kagome walked off to the springs, a smile on her face as she thought of the soothing feeling the warm waters would give her aching muscles.

She reached the hot springs and proceeded to undress and dip herself in the water, a moan escaping her lips as soon as she was settled. One of the few perks in the feudal era: free hot springs. 

Deciding to do some cleaning while she was at it, she reached for her bag and dug her hand in. After some reaching, she frowned. That was odd. She knew she put it there earlier. Rising to her feet, she looked inside the bag, the noises she made rummaging through her bag blocking the snap of a twig she normally WOULD have heard.

 Jaf JafToday at 12:35 AM

Sesshomaru approached from the trees, an un-amused grimace plastered on his face while he watched the girl spin around and stare at him in mortification. His hand behind his back and a lifted brow, he would have sneered. "Do you need a moment?"

Kagome hissed and slipped back into the water, trying to recover her dignity more than anything. "Excuse you," she hissed watching his impassive face for any hint.

"Hn." He gave none, but proceeded to slowly circle around the hotspring. "You seem to be missing something miko, and not just your sensibilities. Honestly. Bathing by yourself, in a forest, at night. Shameless."

 Walter205Today at 12:40 AM

Briefly, she considered calling Inuyasha for help, but didn't want him gazing at her in the nude or a huge fight to break out when she was trying to bath. Plus, so far he hadn't tried to attack her but rather was just prancing around the edge of the Hot Springs. 

 "What would you know about it?" she asked while trying to gauge his intentions.

 Stormie Like WeatherToday at 12:42 AM

"Being a youkai myself, I can attest that if I were a lesser sort you'd be in very real danger. Be that as it may, my intentions are pure this night."

 Jaf JafToday at 12:45 AM

"If your intentions were anything other than being an asshat," she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "Then I'd purify that pretty pale butt of yours on the spot."

"Oh," Sesshomaru's lips curled up in a flash-quick minuscule smirk before disappearing back into a thin line purse. "Is that a bluff or a promise?"

 Walter205Today at 12:49 AM

"Enough of this game," said Sesshomaru in an odd tone of voice as tentacles suddenly exploded out of his form. Kagome barely had time to open her mouth for a scream before they wrapped around her head and arms, trapping her in place. 

 She watched in sudden disgust and horror as Sesshomaru's form transformed from that of the stoic demon to Naraku in the flesh. 

 "You're far too trusting of your allies my precious little shard detector and now I once again have you within my grasp. Oh, and about your purification threat, I have something right here for that," he says as he brings his other hand out from behind his back, revealing a collar that he places around her neck just as she starts calling up her powers. 

 The pink light fades from her as she starts to feel weak.

 Jaf JafToday at 12:57 AM

It's one of those brief fleeting moments, that Kagome experiences every now and then. Some might call it a near death experience. Others might call it a miracle. Some may say it's the receptors in a brain trying to make pain less than what it really is.

But in that one second, the miko saw a figure in the treeline. Glistening white fur, round coal eyes, and large white paws. The pink bow and the denim overalls were a dead give away. Hello Kitty stood in all of her glory, wide face as expressionless as the hanyou-formerly-disguised-as-demon-lord was.

"Kagome," Kitty whispered, fading into the forest. "One of the best feelings in the world is knowing that both your presence and your absence means something to someone. Are you really gonna let this slinky bastard get you when no one will notice?"

Kagome felt a spike in her consciousness and anger. I'm so not going down as a "shard detector".

  Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:01 AM

Naraku brought his face close to her's, his cold wet tongue slithering out to taste her sweet pure collar bone. Tentacles as slimy as an earthworm, she forced herself to wriggle her arm free. As he chuckled, "I thought I'd never get you alone girl, now that I have you-! Gaaahh!" Her thumb went into his eye socket with a squishy plop.

  Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:04 AM

Enraged, she bit the closest appendage and growled, "You think without my powers you can take me?!" Blood speckled her face, "Think again!"

  Jaf JafToday at 1:05 AM

Naraku floundered back for a moment, his tentacles splashing up water as he flailed for balance. His voice floated over the wind like squeaky nails on chalk as he howled in pain.

 Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:12 AM

The momentary distraction was enough for her to slide out of his slick tentacles like a piece of soap in his hands. With a splash, she began to climb out and run. Not looking back to see how close he was, she focused on her feet hitting the ground. Branches scraped along her skin, and she could hear him screaming in frustration behind her. Each foot fall took her farther away. The fact that she was naked didn't register as she had one thing on her mind, survival.

 Jaf JafToday at 1:16 AM

Nothing mattered to her other than retreating to safety. The scrape of branches and wood, the bite of insects and grit. Not a single thing fazed her as she made her escape. She ignored the sharp needled twinge that spread along her bare feet, and the icky prickling of goosebumps along her skin. Her one train of thought was get out get out get out get out.

 Stormie Like WeatherToday at 1:21 AM

With no sense of direction, it had only been a matter of time until she hit a point where she could no longer run. Her heart thundered as she was forced to pause. Blood rushed through veins. Water rushed over the cliff before here, splashing into a river many meters below. The cliff before her could mean death, but waiting around could mean worse than death. She bit her lip, and made a decision that would determine her fate.

 Jaf JafToday at 1:24 AM

"Presence or absence," Kagome muttered, whispering the wise kitten's earlier words. "I'll be missed. Someone will notice."

Without a second thought, she lunged off the edge at the thundering sound of Naraku's approach. She was willing to risk the thundering waters over the hanyou. Surely the drop-off would be more kind to her than he would.

 Walter205Today at 1:54 AM

She felt the embrace of strong warm arms mid-fall that whisked her away from the torrent below. Opening her eyes, she beheld focused blue eyes and black hair held back by a brown bandana. Her eyes opened wide before glancing back up the cliff face to see Naraku staring down at them from the opposite cliff face. 

 "Kouga!" she exclaimed with a mixture of relief and surprise. He turned down to ask her what she was doing way out here naked and without puppy face protecting her, only to see that she had passed out cold. Not knowing anything of the current situation beyond their mortal enemy chasing her down, he made the decision to leave Naraku behind in a cloud of dust as he retreated with his intended back to the wolf demon hideout.

[monster-bait]

For the asks: 2, 7, 14, 17, 23

2. What is the most rewarding thing about writing for you?

The characters are by far the most rewarding aspect for me. I’m not someone who writes for headpats and comments from strangers, I don’t need a ton of external validation. (What I need is an agent. Help a girl out, Tumblr!) I’ve created characters I really love (like Merrick) and characters who have felt like real people I’ve known all my life (like Lurielle) and characters who I feel fortunate and privileged to have met for even a brief moment (like Fionghall) and that’s wonderful and I love it...but then every once in a while, a character like Idiot or Tate or Silva will move into my head, and their stories are so much bigger than I first imagined, they themselves are so much deeper and more complex than I ever would have guessed, and it really takes my breath away. Sharing my brainspace with them and learning their stories is the biggest reward for being a writer.

7. Which authors/artists are your biggest inspiration?

Peter S Beagle’s The Last Unicorn is without question at the top if the list. I loved the movie as a child, loved the book as an adolescent, and my love and appreciation only quadrupled as an adult. I’m hard pressed to think of another book that so brilliantly illustrates the ideas that magic and wonder do not solely belong to children, and that sadness and regret are not strictly emotions for adults. There’s not a woman alive over the age of 30 (or 40 or 50) for whom the “How dare you come to me now, when I am this” scene with Molly does not resonate. I based a character in my novel Wingman on King Haggard, and he is by FAR my favorite character to write, lol! Lir’s soliloquy at the end—”Heroes know that things must happen when it is time for them to happen. A quest may not simply be abandoned; unicorns may go unrescued for a long time, but not forever; a happy ending cannot come in the middle of the story.” ...the story is the story, with both sweetness and pain, and we must experience both to enjoy the HEA. “There are no happy endings, because nothing ever ends.” “I will keep the color of your eyes when no other in the world remembers your name.” Like, just put me on a spit, I can’t take how beautiful every line in this whole damned book is. Lots of works inspire me, but none as much as this “children’s book.”

14. Do you like it to be silent or for there to be background noise when writing? If you like noise, what’s your preference?

Silent or low television background noise/white noise in public. I am incapable of listening to music passively, so I can't have music on when I write

17. Do you like to reread your own stories?

I sometimes spend more time rereading than I do writing! I spend more time developing character voice than I do developing plot, and I reread to get back into the headspace of the characters. Sometimes it works--I reread Lisette & Gel’s story last week, and wrote the follow-up in an hour, and then other times--like right now it doesn’t work as well. I’m trying to bust out my Merrick revisit, and I’ve been away from these characters for so it’s like, Aw fuck. Other times I’ll reread something and think “I have no idea who wrote this, but it sure wasn't me!” (ie: the way I feel about trying to get back into the voices for the Mermaid fic. Not only have I been away from them for a long time, I wrote the first 5 chapters with a very deliberate rhythm and cadence, and I’m struggling to refind it!) 

23. How do you deal with writer’s block?

I really think writer’s block is a state of mind. I’ve watched writers write paragraphs-long screeds on how they can’t write anything, their inspiration is gone, they cannot possibly put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboards)...but they write their whole sob story with ease. I think sometimes we get hung up on our own stories, or our characters lead us down a dead end, or we don't know our own plot, or or or. So pivot. Write something else. If you’ve lost passion for a project, call it what it is, and move on to something that *does* excite you. We get so tangled up in explaining away our writer’s block, that we become unwilling/unable to actually identify the issue, and stay stagnant. If you can write about your writer’s block, you don;t have writer’s block. Your brain just doesn’t want to write that particular thing right then.

Thanks for the asks, Traveler!

[firstdegreefangirl]

Maybe it’s not the sunlight

So. I wrote a thing. Inspired by my own struggles as a day sleeper (which totally ARE because of sunlight, and also construction noise) and helpfully urged along by @vesperass-anuna​. I’m also gonna tag @stargazerdaisy​ because these two are the only people who’ll be half as excited about this as I am.

Posting to ao3 later, but that’s an after-work thing. 

It’s 10:17 in the morning when Maya finally pushes her front door open. She’s trying to do the math on how many hours she’s been awake, but other than “too many” and “over a full day,” she’s too tired to count them all.

(The answer is almost 30. She woke up for work at 4:45 the day before and, thanks to a delayed transport back from Oklahoma, has been awake for almost 30 hours.)

As she toes off her shoes and lets her duffel drop unceremoniously onto the floor next to her, she fires off a quick text to Abe. He’ll want to know that she’s home safe, and also that she didn’t give into the urge to kill the chatty recruit she spent seven hours waiting on a plane with.

He replies with a smiley face and a promise to drop by with food after he’s off work. Because that’s where they’re at now: the occasional roll in the hay turned into drinks after work turned into … whatever they are now.

They’re not dating, Maya ponders, as she wipes her makeup off and brushes her teeth. They’ve been sleeping together in the physical sense off and on for a few months, and in the literal for the last month or so. After work they’ll have dinner together, watch some TV and, really, what’s the sense in one of them driving half an hour home just to go back to work the next morning?

But they haven’t put any labels on it yet. They haven’t had that conversation. Maya is changing into her pajamas when she realizes that maybe she wouldn’t mind a label if they were to have that conversation at some point in the future.

She pulls the curtains closed and wraps herself in her quilt, planning to sleep for at least four or five hours until Abe comes over with dinner.

Two hours later, she’s still lying there, tossing and turning, trying to will herself to fall asleep. The room is dark. She’s counted hundreds of sheep, then grouped them backwards by sevens. She’s taken deep breaths. She’s put on her favorite fuzzy socks.

She’s exhausted. But none of it is enough. She groans and rolls over again, hoping that this time lying on her stomach will do the trick.

It doesn’t, and 10 minutes later she rolls back over and checks her phone. No new notifications, just the same unopened text from Abe, telling her to get some rest and sleep off the homicidal tendencies if she wants him to bring dessert too.

As if she’s not trying.

She puts on classical music, and another hour passes as she wonders why nobody told Mozart that all his songs sound the same. Last week she passed out watching Parks and Rec, but today she listens carefully, trying to figure out what part of government work these people do that’s kept them from becoming jaded by the bureaucracy.

Eventually, she gives up and resigns herself to her inability to sleep in the middle of the day. It didn’t used to be this way; in college, she could stay up all night finishing a paper, turn it in at 9:30 and sleep for 15 hours uninterrupted. During boot camp, she’d be up until 3 a.m. for drills, back up at 7 for revile, then sleep as soon as they were released for recreation, whatever time that was.

But even that was seven years ago, college a full decade behind her. She’s 33 now, and supposes that an actual sleep schedule is her body settling into its age, however mentally and physically drained she may be.

She doesn’t get up though, choosing instead to cling to a last shred of hope that she’ll fall asleep in the two or three hours Abe is still at work.

Maya can’t tell how long it’s been, but she knows it hasn’t been two hours when she hears a key turn in the lock and the door shift gently open. There’s rustling, which she knows is Abe putting bags on the counter, then footsteps down the hall and a soft knock at her door.

“My?” Abe whispers as he pushes the door open a crack, just far enough to peer in at her. “You’re not asleep?”

She groans and shifts around on the mattress. “Nooooo,” she whines. “I’ve been laying here all damn day and I haven’t slept even a minute. Guess my all-nighter days are behind me.”

Abe pushes the door open the rest of the way and steps into the room. He hasn’t changed out of his uniform, but he’s stripped off the button-down, leaving him in a white T-shirt and his dress pants.

“Couldn’t nap on the flight? I know Marine transport puts you right in the lap of luxury.” He moves to stand next to her bed and gently pushes her hair out of her face.

“Ha. Not with that boot sitting next to me. Swear I could pick his grandma out of a criminal lineup, much as he talked about her.”

“Yeah? Didn’t bore you to sleep?”

“Ugh, I wish. I’m so tired.” She relaxes into his touch as his hand comes to rest against her face, thumb brushing softly along her cheek.

“Well there’s Greek food in the kitchen if you’re hungry.” Maya hides the grimace as her stomach rolls and groans.

“God, how bad is it that I’m too tired to even think about eating right now?”

“That’s because you’re supposed to sleep at night, My. Not sit on a military base and wait for a plane.” He’s teasing, but his tone is almost as gentle as the way he pulls his hand back and stands up. “But don’t think about eating now. I’ll go put the food up and change, you think about falling asleep.” He’s gone back down the hall, whistling some Top 40 tune Maya is too exhausted to place, before the domesticity of it all hits her.

Abe is in her kitchen. Putting away takeout he bought for both of them. From her favorite place, because he knows she’s had a long day. And he’s changing out of his work clothes in her bathroom, probably into the jeans and T-shirt he left behind last weekend. But they’re not dating. There’s no label attached.

She’s still thinking about it when he comes back – in the jeans and T-shirt, sure enough – and settles on top of the covers next to her, resting a book on his thighs. The movement of the bed is enough to jostle her from her train of thought, and she turns her head to stare at him curiously.

“Nothing good on TV this time of night. But Rami suggested this book, so I figured I’d check it out. Besides, this way you’re not in here all alone.” Abe crosses his ankles and cracks the book.

And she blames it on the exhaustion, but suddenly Maya’s eyes are misty. She’s had her share of exes, but the simple, seemingly thoughtless, care is new to her. He could have sat anywhere else in the apartment with his book, but he chose not to make Maya lay in an empty room. NO matter how tired she is, though, she’d never give voice to how nice it is to have someone care about her in all the little ways.

Especially if they’re not dating.

So, she shuffles closer to him instead, leaning her head against his bicep and yawning hard enough to pop her jaw.

“Take it easy, Dobbins, good God. Are youtryingto break your jaw?” But he’s smiling when he says it, still speaking gently.

Before she gets herself settled in, Abe pulls his arm out from underneath her, dropping her head to his chest and shifting his book to one side.

Maya pushes herself a little closer into his torso and yawns again, smiling when Abe’s free hand comes up to run tenderly through her hair.

“Sleep, Maya. You know your body wants to.”

“Yeah, it does.” Another yawn. “But my brain has spent the entire day proving that I can’t sleep when the sun is up.”

“Mmm, circumstantial evidence. Keep trying.” He’s quiet for a moment, then, in a voice hardly louder than a whisper, starts reading his book out loud. Maya has no idea who the characters are or what they’re doing, but she closes her eyes and listens, feeling Abe’s chest rise and fall beneath her.

When she opens her eyes again, the first thing Maya notices is that she’s the warmest she’s been all day. The second is that the book has dropped flat, Abe’s leg holding the pages open. The room is dark now, and silent, save for the sound of his quiet snoring.

Before the wakefulness can set in all the way, though, she closes her eyes again and brings a hand up to tangle with Abe’s, spread out on his stomach. She sighs when she feels the fingers in her hair tighten just a bit – a sleepy reflex to her movement, she’s sure – and is met with two thoughts as sleep pulls her back under:

Maybe you don’t need a conversation to have labels.

And

It’s entirely possible that the sunlight wasn’t her problem with day-sleeping.

[acekatherineplumber]

Questions! Yay questions!

1: 6 of the songs you listen to most? Out Tonight (RENT), Tightrope (The Greatest Showman), Candy Store (Heathers), Delicate (Taylor Swift), Gorgeous (Taylor Swift), So Much Better (Legally Blonde)

2: If you could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be? Taylor Swift. It would be so nice.

3: Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23, give me line 17. You will have to pay for excess baggage.

4: What do you think about most? How much cleaning I constantly have to do

5: What does your latest text message from someone else say? “I once again work until [private information], but I hope you have a great day”

6: Do you sleep with or without clothes on? It depends. 

7: What’s your strangest talent? I’m doubled jointed in three places

8: Girls… (finish the sentence); Boys… (finish the sentence)Girls are wonderful. Boys can choke.

9: Ever had a poem or song written about you? No.

10: When is the last time you played the air guitar? No idea.

11: Do you have any strange phobias? I’m afraid of stairs

12: Ever stuck a foreign object up your nose? When I was like 5. It was a bead.

13: What’s your religion? Atheist

14: If you are outside, what are you most likely doing? Taking a walk

15: Do you prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it? Behind it

16: Simple but extremely complex. Favorite band? I like solo artists more

17: What was the last lie you told? I don’t remember

18: Do you believe in karma? Kind of? I believe that the way you treat people affects how they treat you.

19: What does your URL mean? Katherine Plumber is ace. Fite me.

20: What is your greatest weakness; your greatest strength? Perfectionism, passion

21: Who is your celebrity crush? Emma Watson? I just think she’s pretty, but I’m not sure I want to date her because I don’t even know her, and I’m not sure she would like that.

22: Have you ever gone skinny dipping? I have a hot tub, so regularly.

23: How do you vent your anger? I like to vent it through art

24: Do you have a collection of anything? I used to collect state quarters, but nothing current

25: Do you prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online? Phone

26: Are you happy with the person you’ve become? Sometimes yes, sometimes no

27: What’s a sound you hate; sound you love? I hate windshield wipers, I love cats meowing

28: What’s your biggest “what if”? Everything is a what if for me

29: Do you believe in ghosts? How about aliens? Yes to both

30: Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm. My earbuds, one of my cats

31: Smell the air. What do you smell? I have a stuffed nose today, so nothing

32: What’s the worst place you have ever been to? Probably my old private school

33: Choose: East Coast or West Coast? East

34: Most attractive singer of your opposite gender? No.

35: To you, what is the meaning of life? Finding and pursuing your own happiness

36: Define Art. Anything that makes you think (except Modern Art, because that is fucking elitist and pretentious and terrible)

37: Do you believe in luck? I believe in making your own through hard work, but sometimes shitty things just happen.

38: What’s the weather like right now? Cloudy, slightly rainy

39: What time is it? 10:07 am

40: Do you drive? If so, have you ever crashed? Yes, and unfortunately yes.

41: What was the last book you read? The Count of Monte Cristo

42: Do you like the smell of gasoline? I don’t hate it, but I don’t love it

43: Do you have any nicknames? Yes, but it’s personal

44: What was the last film you saw? The Princess Bride

45: What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? I’ve had a lot of bad sprains. Also a concussion.

46: Have you ever caught a butterfly? Yes

47: Do you have any obsessions right now? Bubble tea. Don’t judge me

48: What’s your sexual orientation? Asexual

49: Ever had a rumour spread about you? I used to be bullied really badly, so yes

50: Do you believe in magic? Yes

51: Do you tend to hold grudges against people who have done you wrong? Yes.

52: What is your astrological sign? Leo/Virgo

53: Do you save money or spend it? I try to save it

54: What’s the last thing you purchased? A stuffed cat

55: Love or lust? Love

56: In a relationship? Yes

57: How many relationships have you had? Technically 5, but only 2 of them have been really serious

58: Can you touch your nose with your tongue?No

59: Where were you yesterday? At home for most of the day

60: Is there anything pink within 10 feet of you? My cat’s nose

61: Are you wearing socks right now? No

62: What’s your favourite animal? Cat

63: What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? Honesty and passion

64: Where is your best friend? At her school. She has a summer class. The other one is at work.

65: Give me your top 5 favourite blogs on Tumblr. @hoogwoorts @schmackarys, @keepers-quaffles-and-old-clocks, @berrykikwi, and @purplerainbowsrachel

66: What is your heritage? German, English, Irish. Very white.

67: What were you doing last night at 12AM? Browsing the Internet.

68: What do you think is Satan’s last . It’name? I don’t give out the last names of real people.

69: Be honest. Ever gotten yourself off? Yes. It’s nothing to be ashamed of, and is actually really healthy. It’s good for anxiety.

70: Are you the kind of friend you would want to have as a friend? I hope so.

71: You are walking down the street on your way to work. There is a dog drowning in the canal on the side of the street. Your boss has told you if you are late one more time you get fired. What do you do? I call someone else over and head on my way.

72: You are at the doctor’s office and she has just informed you that you have approximately one month to live. a) Do you tell anyone/everyone you are going to die? b) What do you do with your remaining days? c) Would you be afraid? I would probably wait until my last two weeks to tell people. I would travel. Yes, I would be afraid.

73: You can only have one of these things; trust or love. I don’t trust people anyway, so love

74: What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it? Love Song by Sara Bareilles

75: What are the last four digits in your cell phone number? Not giving that out.

76: In your opinion, what makes a great relationship? Honesty, kindness, and common interests.

77: How can I win your heart?You can’t! You can have eggs and you can have bacon, but you can’t have Elphie because they are taken!

78: Can insanity bring on more creativity? Yes, but it should still be medicated

79: What is the single best decision you have made in your life so far? Going to London.

80: What size shoes do you wear? 7.5-8

81: What would you want to be written on your tombstone? I don’t know, but I think it should be in French.

82: What is your favourite word? At the moment? Princesa.

83: Give me the first thing that comes to mind when you hear the word; heart. The color blue.

84: What is a saying you say a lot? It’s amazing what you find when you clean up.

85: What’s the last song you listened to? Delicate

86: Basic question; what’s your favourite colour/colours? Aqua

87: What is your current desktop picture? Liberty Leading the People

88: If you could press a button and make anyone in the world instantaneously explode, who would it be? Mike Pence. I hate Trump, but Pence is scary and would be harder to impeach.

89: What would be a question you’d be afraid to tell the truth on? Everything that is wrong with my brain.

90: One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren’t really doing anything, they’re just standing around your bed. What do you do? Run and lock the door.

91: You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what’s even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What is that power? Invisibility

92: You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again? Probably the latter half of the first act of Les Mis in London.

93: You can erase any horrible experience from your past. What will it be? The thing that caused my PTSD.

94: You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice. Who would it be? I don’t really want to do that. I don’t know of trust them.

95: You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now. Where are you gonna go? Berlin.

96: Do you have any relatives in jail? No

97: Have you ever thrown up in the car?Yes

98: Ever been on a plane? Yes

99: If the whole world were listening to you right now, what would you say? Something about education rights for all.

[getoutofthisplace]

Dear Gus,

As always, I was humbled by the number of happy birthday wishes I got on Facebook. I’ve made a tradition of sharing with everyone a detailed account of how I spent my birthday. Here’s what I told them about today:

It started around 3am, when I woke up with a piercing headache. I rolled around until I found a position on the pillow that somewhat alleviated the pain, I convinced myself I didn’t have brain cancer, then I fell back asleep until I heard Gus quietly crying in the next room around 5. I walked by the light of my phone screen from our bed to Gus’s room. When I opened the door, he pushed himself up and looked at me from his crib—he’s a stomach sleeper, like me. I closed his louvered closet doors some so the light wouldn’t be blinding, and I reached in to pull the string so I could see well enough to change his diaper. He stopped crying when I leaned over the crib rail and picked him up. Holding him against my chest in the middle of the night is always a reminder that I have the power to calm him with nothing but my presence and love—a power so raw and wonderful that I don’t understand how any parent ever takes it for granted. Gus cried again when I placed him on his changing table, but I quickly put a pacifier in his mouth, which stopped the crying and allowed me to switch his wet diaper out for a dry one. I put him back on my chest and walked him over to the closet, where I again pulled the light string, but I didn’t rush to place him back in his crib. I walked slowly, stepping side to side trying to rock him back to sleep while his trusty owl nightlight on the table emitted a constant stream of white noise. But even after he fell asleep I didn’t want to put him back down because he felt too precious in my arms to abandon for even a moment. But I did put him down, and he complained sleepily, but then fell asleep again.

I used my phone to light the path to the bathroom, where I stepped naked onto that unforgivable bastard of a scale, which read 195.2 pounds, up a little from Sunday morning because I gorged myself on corn casserole and cherry pie at my grandmother’s house in honor of my family’s plethora of January birthdays. I showered, spending more time than usual letting hot water run over my head because it made me forget about the headache, and I dried off in the dark so my eyes could adjust well when I tiptoed back through our bedroom without waking Liz up. However, when I opened the bathroom door and came into the room, I heard her whisper “Happy birthday” from our bed in the darkness. I felt my way to the side of the bed, then sat. I leaned down and began making kissing noises, which she reciprocated—it’s a game of “Marco Polo” we developed long ago to find each other’s lips when it was too dark to see them—until our lips met. “I hope you have a great day,” she said, before I tiptoed out of the bedroom and into the hall bathroom, where I got dressed and brushed my teeth. I let Suki out into the backyard to pee, put food in her bowl. I let her back in, grabbed my backpack, then went out to my truck.

At the office by 6:30am, I got the parking spot closest to the door, but there were a few cars scattered in the lot. I saw the light on in the gym and wished I had the discipline to develop a regular exercise routine. When I got close enough, I could see Jordan Culver in there like a champion with his headphones in his ears and a kettle bell in his hands. A few minutes after I got to my desk, my sister showed up at my cubicle in workout gear. “I have breakfast for you, but you can’t have it until after I get done in the gym.” “Oooo…” I said. Sometimes my brother-in-law makes breakfast for her and makes enough for me, too. I assumed that was the case. Around 8am, my headache intensified, which reminded me of the promise I made to Liz to call the doctor. I set up an appointment for 1:30. At 8.30, my coworkers gathered in a conference room around a breakfast casserole Chris Nick made and some fruit and they sang happy birthday to me while I wore the designated birthday sombrero and I assured them that—despite the #40andfabulous hashtag Liz used in the Instagram post she made that morning about me—I am not 40 yet.

I worked at my desk until noon, when I drove to Boulevard Bread for lunch. When I got there, I found Clayton Scott Grubbs and Ryan Hitt behind the counter making sandwiches. I asked Ryan what the special was, but he said there wasn’t one. “The first rule of business is to always have a special,” I said in a mock corporate tone the two of us used when we worked together back in 2010 at the now-defunct House Restaurant. I ordered a smoked turkey sandwich and some Zapp’s chips, then sat down until Joshua Asante came over to say hello. He asked me what I’m up to and I told him I was meeting the woman who just walked in. Hilary Trudell runs a storytelling show called The Yarn. We agreed to have lunch because I’m trying to back out of participating in her January 22 show because I don’t think I can tell my story in a compelling way within the allotted time. The show’s theme is “Adoption Stories” and I have a good one about how Lance Lang is my blood, but was adopted by another family at birth, then he sent me an email 52 years later because 23andMe.com said we share some DNA and now he’s family again. Hilary said she really likes the story and she gave me some ideas on how to approach it with brevity. Then we talked about Argenta Reading Series and how she and I are both trying to navigate the waters of nonprofits when neither of us knows anything about it, but we’re both committed to our causes. I promised her I will do my best to get my story where it can be told from her stage, and I’m 50% sure I can make it happen. I want to, and not being able to see the finished product in my head, which aches, so close to the date of the show disappoints me. It makes me feel inadequate as a writer. Like maybe all I’m good at is unnecessarily documenting things—like an entire day—and posting that exhaustive documentation to social media in the hopes of approval from a group of friends and acquaintances who might see it, based solely on some kind of bullshit algorithm that I used to feel I had a grasp of, but now I don’t know.

I drove to North Hills Family Medical Center, watched some sort of house-hunting show on HGTV in the waiting room for 40 minutes while I waited on someone to open a door and call my name, which finally happened. A nice woman in a surgical mask recorded that the scale she put me on read 204 lbs. “The boots,” I told her. She chuckled, and walked me to an exam room, where she declared my blood pressure is great. I told her about how I’ve had a headache since January 1. How the intensity of it comes and goes. The doctor told me a CT scan would be the course of action, but it’s probably just allergy-related, so a scan probably isn’t necessary. “I should tell you my father died of brain cancer in March,” I say. The doctor tried not to react, but his stumbling over words gave him away. “Just to be safe, let’s go ahead and do a CT scan.” And I could feel the pressure of my headache consuming me in that moment as I was reminded of all the doctors’ offices I sat in with my father in those three and a half years that it took him to die.

“If you aren’t in a hurry, he wants you to sit tight while we go ahead and get approval from your insurance to do the CT scan so we can get this going as quickly as possible,” the nurse told me. The urgency. I sat in the exam room and thought about how cruel life is and how I’m already aware that I should’ve met Liz and had Gus a decade ago so I could’ve spent more time on this earth with them as a family. I will be 71 when Gus is my age. To take my mind off of the fact that I may need to gear up for a fight against a brain tumor, I picked up the copy of WebMD Magazine on the table beside me. (How do you have a print magazine when your whole schtick is that you are on the web?) I skimmed it carefully when I read how broccoli might break-down cancer cells. I love broccoli. I should eat more broccoli, I told myself. And then I questioned why in the hell I would be eating turkey sandwiches for lunch when I am smart enough to understand the detrimental effects deli meat has on my body, not to mention the turkey’s. I committed silently to eating nothing but fruits and vegetables and beans and whatever else Clayton Bell's Facebook posts tell me to.

When the nurse came back, she told me the doctor changed his mind about calling me with the results of the CT scan, which will be Tuesday at 2.15pm. Now he wants me to come in on Wednesday so he can go over the results with me personally. It occurred to me that he’s taking the necessary steps to deliver bad news.

Liz wanted me to call her on my way back to the office, so I did. I told her the headache is probably nothing, and she agreed that it’s probably nothing. But she registered my fears through the phone because she picks up on the nuances of my behavior that I am unaware of. It’s a wonderful thing to share this life with someone who loves you enough to notice the subtleties of your voice.

Back at work, my coworkers asked me if I felt better. I can’t remember if I told them about my headache or they deduced that I wasn’t feeling well because I went to the doctor. Either way, I said, “Not really.” The left side of my head pulsated. Around 4:45, Laura messaged to ask me when I was leaving work. She had a gift she wanted to give me before I left. I walked to her office and pulled a box from a bag. Inside was a framed Kodak newspaper ad from way back. “I saw this at an antique store and it made me think of you and Liz.” It’s a black and white photo of a man and woman on snow skis. The man is looking into an old camera and the woman is grinning playfully beside him. It looks like an old-fashioned mirror selfie. “Kodak as you go,” the copy reads. I pulled a card from the box. Inside the envelope I saw Laura’s handwriting on folded up notebook paper. “I wrote some thoughts down on paper when you were in Arizona, I think. August 2016, I think. Dad was sick and you were gone and I know I’ll never do anything with them, but I thought you might like to have them.” I read the small pages. A rare glimpse into my always-professional sister’s emotions. She is my father reincarnate. The note says how she remembers us going to take family portraits in the early 90s, when Dad was preparing to run for the Arkansas House of Representatives. She remembers the man being there that served as Dad’s campaign manager and how she knew from that point on that she wanted to do marketing in some capacity. She and I have never talked about that time, but I tell her, “I think about that guy a lot, too, and what his job was,” but I never thought about the influence he had on my own desire to work in marketing. He was such a minor character in our lives—he had nothing more than a cameo—but then there Laura and I were, sitting in the office where we both do marketing, trying to remember his name. Only now that I write this the next day do I actually remember it. Chuck Hicks.

At home, I found Liz and Gus and Suki on the couch. My head hurt. “Gus is exhausted, I think we can put him down early,” Liz told me. So I took him back to his room, changed his diaper, put him in his pajamas. I turned on the space heater we have in his room, then handed him to Liz, who would feed him in the rocking chair after I turned out the lamp and went outside to throw the tennis ball with Suki until I could see Liz through the window in the kitchen, starting dinner. She bought things to make pad thai for my birthday dinner. I love Asian noodles. While she cooked, we traded stories about what happened during the day. “Oh, God. Were you able to contain yourself?” Liz asked me when I told her about talking to Joshua Asante at Boulevard. I’ve always admired his commitment to his art, and when Liz and I first started dating, I mentioned that I was possibly too intimidated to even talk to him. Now she always ribs me about it. But once she’d had her fill, we agreed that we should go to the gallery opening for his and Matt White’s photography at the CALS bookstore Friday. We decide we can just bring Gus with us. That some art will do him good. And then my head started hurting again, so I sat on the couch and rested my skull against the back of the sofa. After a couple of minutes, Suki pressed her nose against my hand, so I reached down to pet her. I touched dirt on her leg. “How much time do I have until dinner?” I asked Liz. “25-30 minutes,” she said, cutting tofu. “I’m going to give Suki a bath.” I picked all 45 pounds of her up and carried her to the hall bathroom where we have an outdated whirlpool (that I like but Liz says it has to go). I stripped down and got in the tub with Suki. I stood her up under the faucet and shampooed her. She hates baths. When I let her out, she got crazy, as she always does, running around the house spastically, and I tried to rush her into the back yard before she woke Gus up. I closed the patio door behind her and rinsed off in the shower. When I got out and dried off, Liz and I ate pad thai on the sofa while watching The Wire and she said, “I’m sorry the pad thai didn’t turn out better.” She always apologizes that her meals aren’t better, but they’re delicious 95% of the time. I’ve always loved her cooking and I always will. She doesn’t follow recipes.

We were in bed by 9pm, tired, but happy. When my headache surged again, I placed a helpless hand on my head the way my father used to and I tried not to think about it.

“It’s probably nothing, right?” I said.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said.

Dad

North Little Rock, Arkansas. 1.8.2018 - 8.24am.

UPDATE: The CT scan was clear. Turns out I have tension headaches caused by stress. The doctor recommended muscle relaxers and a massage.

[theviewfromthebooth]

Unbearable

Hey everyone. I've not written anything in a while, or had much motivation to, but everything is all over the shop right now, and a couple of weeks ago, something just came out of me. Back in those quaint times when we all still hoped this wouldn't be as bad as it is now (roughly three weeks ago), I made a joke in The Anfield Wrap office about making a disaster movie involving the Coronavirus and Liverpool's title party - the two biggest things in all of our worlds at the time. 

Well, I did it. It's a short story, but I've dreamt it as a movie, and hopefully the words will turn into images for you too. It was meant to be funny, but halfway through I realised that it isn't. It's also a bit too niche for most football or literary fiction sites (apparently), so I'm putting it up here. In the absence of any kind of appetite for the usual April Fools shenanigans, this is a good time to drop it. 

 It became a way for my mind to deal with everything – by laying out the worst case scenario, our situation becomes more bearable by comparison. Also worth noting that this was written before the government backed away (publicly at least) from herd immunity.... 

 Dedicated to my two biggest creative inspirations – Matt Groening & John Gibbons. 

                                                           -x-

UNBEARABLE:

A short story from the brain of a trying-not-to-panic Liverpool fan "For years Evertonians have been saying that the world will end if Liverpool ever win the league again......what if they were right?”

Ronnie has been planning his title party for years.  In the pub, in bed, at work, on the toilet. While his beloved Liverpool drifted nearer, then further from their holy grail, he has never wavered from what he calls his life's work. Torture is what Jan calls it. He still doesn't know how close she came to leaving after the open top bus fiasco in 2014,  but he knows he never wants to see that look in her eyes again.  She'll come around once she sees it, and feels it.

That day in 1990, when he was the same age as little Dirk is now.....the street party. The last time he remembers his parents happy. All he wants is that same unlimited joy for Dirk... and to keep him in Red. Kev was  a stubborn little so-and-so, but that won't happen again.

Back then he only had Roy Evans and his sporadically brilliant Spice Boys as ammo – now he's got Jurgen Klopp and his mentality monsters. Even Jan is changing her tune.  Ronnie couldn't believe his luck when she agreed to let him dress Dirk up as the Premier League trophy, complete with silver paint & ribbons. They won't need a bus – Adam down the road will bring his flat-bed truck. What better memory for the lad than to be paraded through the streets of Anfield, held aloft by thousands of jubilant Kopites? Just 2 wins away. He can almost taste it. Nothing can stop them now....

“It has been confirmed....all football in Britain is suspended until at least April 30th, as a result of the coronavirus. BBC Sport understands FA chairman Greg Clarke expressed his fear at Friday's emergency meeting that the season may have to be abandoned....”

The blood drains from Ronnie's face as he stares through the TV screen. The phone buzzing in his pocket snaps him back to reality, as news reaches the Whatsapp group:

Within the  walls of Whitehall, Clarke almost slips as he gets up from his chair. His head is so scrambled he offers Hancock his sweaty hand, before quickly whipping it away much to the amusement of Hancock and Johnson, and eventually Scudamore. Their laughter sends a chill through his bones. They think they've cracked it, but he KNOWS football fans. Closed doors aren't enough to keep away fans who've been waiting 30 years. And Liverpool have a LOT of fans.

As the chauffeur moves away, he takes out his phone to Google 'Herd immunity'.........

Ronnie's phone is red hot. Plans are moving at pace. Everton have been squashed and Operation Palace is full steam ahead. Dirk is bouncing off the walls in excitement and it's not even 10 am. Luckily a cuddle from cousin Danny always calms him down. Danny's dad is no such help. Kev has always been the bitterest of Blues, but claiming Dirk's life is at risk feels pretty low, even for him.

Ronnie plants a kiss just above the paint line, before pulling the woolly crown tight over the boy's ears, and hoisting him onto his shoulders. Dirk's laughter vibrates through his back as he shouts “You better get in that bunker of yours if you're that worried”, turning his snarl to a smile.  Jan takes a picture of her glassy eyed husband with the Premier league trophy, which goes down a treat in the Whatsapp group, followed by the obligatory joke about 'going viral'.

Only this time it's no joke. By the time they get to Adam's garage the streets are packed. Half of Liverpool have descended onto the estate. And they've all come to lift the trophy.

Johnson's brow furrows ever deeper as his aide lays out the situation - hiding his eyes from the mess he's created. Liverpool Council can't control the crowds. Reports suggesting as many as 3 million people are on the streets. Budget cuts sanctioned by his hand have left emergency services at breaking point, even before the 600% increase in population. Suspending public transport has caused queues of 10 miles and counting in every direction. Vaccines are running out fast, with nowhere near enough immune patients to protect the vulnerable.

His hands tighten on each other, as if the answer can be wrung from them. With the pleading eyes of his aide boring through his thinning scalp, the spell is broken. A menacing silence hangs between them.  He knows the whole country hangs on what he says next.

He knows he needs a miracle.

As the clock hits 90 minutes, so do Crystal Palace. Liverpool have roared back from an early setback to lead by 4 goals to 1. From the swaying throng in the garden of  Hotel TIA, Ronnie can feel himself let go of 30 year's worth of tension. 30 years of balls hitting posts and staying out. 30 years of penalties not given. 30 years of “should've saved that”. 30 years of “should've been us”.  All gone.

The final whistle is met with a guttural roar.  A roar 3 million strong, a roar so full of electricity that it creates a mushroom cloud over Anfield skies. Dirk reaches for his father, who doesn't miss a beat with his mock trophy lift, complete with the Henderson stutter step. Silver tears stain his face as he watches his son surfing the sea of hands.

A moment like no other.

It's only the thought of sharing the moment with Jan that causes Ronnie to reach for his phone. 34 missed calls. 55 unread on Whatsapp. “The Reds are still massive!” he thinks to himself as he opens Jan's most recent message:

“It's too late. I'm sorry. Good luck. I love you both.”

“With their country now stabilised, this new Chinese study into the Coronavirus will become the template for the rest of the world to follow. There has been some surprise at the results.  It appears children under 8 are the biggest carriers, while the fatal age threshold is only 40 years old, and could be even lower for those with a higher than normal blood alcohol level. The bad news for us here in Britain is the government's controversial 'Herd Immunity' strategy has been completely discredited”.

“FOR GOD'S SAKE TURN IT OFF!”

Anxious limbs fumble at the remote for what feels like hours, before finally, silence. Three pairs of eyes dart from George Alagaih's worried face to that of the Prime Minister.  Hancock musters the courage to meet his glare.

“At the current rate of infection, Liverpool will be at 90% by 7pm this evening. Considering what we now know about their vaccine levels, and....alcohol consumption....”

“HOW ON EARTH HAVE YOU FUCKED THIS UP? YOU TOLD ME THE SCIENCE WAS WATERTIGHT!”

“It was as watertight as could be in such an unprecedented scenario. The goalposts kept moving...” “I DON'T CARE ABOUT YOUR FUCKING GOALPOSTS! ALL I NEED TO HEAR FROM YOU IS HOW WE STOP IT SPREADING!”

“W-we do have a plan”.

Hancock hands over the proposal, and takes three deliberate steps back. He allows himself to exhale once he sees Johnson's eyebrows rise, and then settle, from behind the folder.

“I've run the numbers, with Sunny & Wallace. It's tight, but we can afford it.”

The Chancellor  nods slowly as Johnson looks in his direction.  A nervous head appears through the crack in the door, like a tortoise unsure of Spring.

“We need a decision, sir.”

Ronnie pants hard, darting for space like Mo Salah in a forest of defenders. He can't bring himself to believe it. Not yet. Not like this. No time. Just keep running. Half a mile from home. She'll come around once she sees us.

Dirk lets out a yelp as they're brought to an abrupt halt by Breck road traffic. Ronnie looks deeper into the faces around him. What was once drunken ecstasy is now something very different. All he sees is agony, smudged with silver. Doors have been bolted, windows shut. Songs are now screams. Visible waves of panic ripple through the crowds, as infection and information sow their seeds in real time. It takes him a while to recognize the hard thudding against his spine isn't his own heartbeat – it's his son coughing. He whips Dirk off his back and holds him in front of his face.

“Don't cry mate, it's gonna be okay” he croaks, barely able to say it let alone believe it.  Suddenly a cheer rises up ahead.  Ronnie instinctively moves towards the sound. That sound he thought he would feast on forever. Before he can pinpoint it, a larger sound fills the space. Less a sound than a NOISE. A long, buzzing noise, that prickles the neck and causes everyone to look up.

Bright white foam boxes with big red crosses fall from the sky.  More and more. Hundreds. Thousands. Cheers break out all over as boxes are ripped open, and the hugging of strangers resumes.  Ronnie releases Dirk's hand as he catches the box thrown at him, and pulls off the top.  He takes out the tablets and the bottle of water, and rubs his boy's back as he swallows them down. Overcome with relief he takes the trophy for one last spin, before placing him back on his shoulders. Home time.

“We shall not, we shall not be moved! We shall not we shall not be moved! Just like the team, that won, the football league...”

“WE SHALL NOT BE MOVED!”

Dirk waves to the little planes in the sky that saved the day.  He continues waving at the much bigger planes looming, and the giant glass bowl they're carrying.

[perspectiveartist]

@opus13

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people

THE LAST: 1. Drink: raspberry white tea 2. Phone call: Uh...shit who was it? It was either James or Mom. 3. Text message: Abby <3 4. Song you listened to: ...”Prelude 12/21″ by AFI...I WAS BEING NOSTALGIC 5. Time you cried: Sunday when Mom shamed me into shaving my knees by saying they were gross

HAVE YOU: 6. Dated someone twice: I mean...I guess. 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: Kinda. I didn’t at the time but in retrospect, there’s people I wish I had never shown affection for. 8. Been cheated on: ...kinda ambiguous. I thought we were still dating but she claims we weren’t so idfk but as far as I’m concerned yes, that cunt cheated on me and then BRAGGED to me about it 9. Lost someone special: Too many. I’ve been to a lot of funerals. 10. Been depressed: Chronic depression over here :))) 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Nope, I don’t drink

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS: 12-14: Blue, black, and either silver or gold. Which of those I like best depends on the context.

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU: 15. Made new friends:Yeah! I made some online friends, at least. I don’t think most of them consider me much of a friend, but I am happy to have them.  16. Fallen out of love: No 17. Laughed until you cried: Uhhh maybe? I don’t think I have but my memory’s shit so I could have 18. Found out someone was talking about you: I guess if anyone’s gossiped about me, they were smart enough to not let me hear about it 19. Met someone who changed you: Nah 20. Found out who your friends are: Ehhh any drama I had with friends was mostly just me taking slight to stupid shit, not anything serious that actually tested any friendships.

21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: Well yeah since James is friends with me on there 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: Most people tbh. I don’t really add online friends very often. 23. Do you have any pets: My cat Samoa and betta Maui here, then my two calico girls Kia and Autumn at Mom’s. 24. Do you want to change your name: I used to want to change my name to Melanie or Melissa as a kid tbh but after a while I just accepted my name. Idek what I’d change it to but it wouldn’t feel right. The closest I’ve come is having friends call me Al. 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: Laid on the couch sick as a fucking dog watching TV as I drifted in and out of consciousness. Yaaay happy 25th! 26. What time did you wake up: 10-ish? 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Trying to paint my fidget spinner with nail polish LOL but I fucked up and then got sad and realized I was way tired and was getting to that toddler phase of “I’m so tired that everything is upsetting me”. It wasn’t even much of a day, I think I was just hungover from a full weekend of socializing. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: uhhhhhhhhh I don’t think there’s anything particular I’m excited for. I don’t get hyped for games or movies anymore cuz I don’t have money to drop $60 on a game and movie theaters freak me out (anxiety) 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: Yesterday evening when she was dropping me off in Van Wert for James and his dad to drive me back home 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: Only one? My anxiety. At the very least, it would get rid of my eating issues, I could hold a job once I got my strength back, etc. I can live with the depression, but I feel like everything would be more tolerable if my anxiety didn’t stop my body from taking care of itself or working right. 31. What are you listening right now: I WAS listening to Philip DeFranco but tbh that was just white noise for me, I didn’t pay attention much to the issues he was discussing. It just ended. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yeah, my friend’s ex. I cussed him out over the phone. Then he had his mom and sister cuss ME out lmao what a fucking coward 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: Hmmm nothing at the moment. But that can easily change. 34. Most visited Website: Tumblr because I always come back out of the hopes of finding something new to look at every few minutes 35. Mole/s: Yeah, some. I have one under my right boob that I’ve had since I was little, I have a birth mark on my right elbow that’s like a mole, and then I have little moles on my legs and a couple on my stomach? 36. Mark/s: Yeah, a couple scars if that’s what you mean. I have a vertical scar on uhh my right shin I think, and then I have a scar on my upper lip. 37. Childhood dream: First I wanted to own a zoo, then I wanted to be a veterinarian. Then I realized I can’t handle the nasty parts of working with animals like shit and blood and stuff. So then I just didn’t really have a dream aside from maybe making a comic. But I gave up on that. 38. Haircolor: Dark brown 39. Long or short hair: Medium 40. Do you have a crush on someone: Idk I don’t consider it a crush if you’re in a relationship with them 41. What do you like about yourself: :)))) 42. Piercings: None and no intentions of getting them 43. Bloodtype: No fucking clue. In 8th grade we tried to do an experiment to find everyone’s blood type but my fingers are small and the rooms were cold and I have bad circulation so my teacher lanced me twice before deciding I wasn’t going to get a proper drop of blood to test and he was scared of bruising me cuz I guess I seem like the type to sue. So I never learned. Idek if Mom knows. 44. Nickname: Al, Sharkie 45. Relationship status: Taken 46. Zodiac: Capricorn 47. Pronouns: She/her 48. Favorite TV Show: uhhh idk I don’t do well picking faves I guess Bob’s Burgers 49. Tattoos: None and probably will never have any. If I did, it would be a watercolor style one of a flower that reminds me of a loved one. 50. Right or left hand: Right 51. Surgery: None 52. Hair dyed in different color: Nope. I want to get some blue in my hair but neither my budget nor my Mom seem thrilled about that so it will probably never happen. It’s expensive and time-consuming to safely bleach my hair. 53. Sport: Idk I played soccer in 4th grade but hated it, then I was on a bowling league for 6 years. But I ain’t played sports in 8 years. 54. (question wasn’t here) ...:D 55. Vacation: Like a dream vacation? Idk travel stresses me out too much for me to get excited about going anywhere outside my house. 56. Pair of trainers: wh...what? Like shoes?

MORE GENERAL: 57. Eating: Fried stuff yeee 58. Drinking: Coke, bottled tea, water, uh...fuck idk 59. I’m about to: smack my head against a wall for my brain being made of cotton 62. Want: security 63. Get married: I have no idea tbh I want to be with James the rest of my life but ceremonies suck. I also have issues of commitment in the way of “Oh god what if it doesn’t work out and then it hurts that much more cuz then he’s not just an ex, he’s an ex-husband?” And if James and I did split, I highly doubt I’d get married. I don’t even have an interest in dating. 64. Career: Fuck a career, I just want an income. I have no illusions of having a job you could call a career.

WHICH IS BETTER 65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs 66. Lips or eyes: Eyes 67. Shorter or taller: Kinda weird but it seems like the women I’m interested in I prefer same height or shorter, but men I prefer taller 68. Older or younger: Same age. I don’t have an interest in anyone over a year younger than me, and I just can’t wrap my mind around dating someone older than my brother so no one more than 2 years older than me. 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: idk I don’t care about either 71. Sensitive or loud: Sensitive indicates to me that they’re touchy and I don’t do well with that, but I don’t like loud people either so...they both suck I guess? I can’t be around sensitive people who take things too personally, but I also fucking hate loud assholes. 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship, I don’t fuck people I don’t know well. 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: I guess hesitant since a constant troublemaker would get fucking annoying.

HAVE YOU EVER: 74. Kissed a Stranger: No 75. Drank hard liquor: No 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: No 77. Turned someone down: Yes 78. Sex on the first date: No 79. Broken someone’s heart: I wouldn’t call it breaking his heart, but I did break up with a guy and he was upset for a little while. He got over it. I’d say it was a dent if anything, we were only together a couple months. 80. Had your heart broken: Not really but I never put myself out there to get it broken either 81. Been arrested: No 82. Cried when someone died: Well duh 83. Fallen for a friend: Yes, hard, but I got over it eventually

DO YOU BELIEVE IN: 84. Yourself: nah 85. Miracles: nah 86. Love at first sight: nah 87. Santa Claus: nah 88. Kiss on the first date: Depends on the date LMAO James and I technically kissed on our first date but I’d also known him for years and already had feelings for him. If I went out and dated some rando, no, no kiss. Kisses are commitments. 

OTHER: 90. Current best friend name: Uhm...A tie between Abby and Katie. They’re both always there for me and have been my friends for the past like 12 years. They’re reliable and sweet and supportive and I fucking love them like sisters. 91. Eyecolor: My eyes? Brown 92. Favorite movie: Aladdin

[commiemoth]

bbbb all of the adorable asks are so cute >////< im asking u, All of them

Bbbbb im happy i answer!! >\

2- my favorite color use to be purple definitively but now i cant choose unless its color combinations, my current favorites are: cyan + red, bronze + patina-green, silver + deep blue, black + cyan or neon blue, black + gold, white + goldIf i Really Really had to choose only one tho i think it would depend on my mood? Blue for sad, deep blue for calm, gold for energetic/confident, cyan for floaty, silver for dissociating?

3- no but!!!! I really want to! As soon as im out of my parents house im gonna do eyeshadow all the time as soon as i learn how! (Hopefully ollie can teach me because their eyeshadow looks are fucking #Iconic)

4- Yes yes yes!!!! In love right now and its better than ever before!!

5- ive been hesitant about this because last time i thought this it ended b a d l y but!! This time feels really different! I feel the connection and honestly i think yes!!

6- i think when im by myself im incredibly pessimistic and realist and accepting of it but with most other people im very optimistic for them i think? Even if im not for myself :/

7- ive had my first kiss already unfortunately :/but! First kiss with someone who actually cares and loves and respects u is completely different!! So my ideal first kiss would probably be leik after a moment of really spontaneous and overwhelming happiness between us? I think it would feel natural and comftorable and nice even if we’d both be awkward blushy babies about it >\\

24- ive gotten my nails painted before it was really nice! Im going to start doing it regularly once im out of the house and i hope ill eventually be gud enough to paint little designs on them!

25- idk wat this is asking leik, confessed wat? Id think yes and leik if confessed just as in telling something they wouldnt tell anyone else then yes, im honored that someone places that much trust in me when they do and i try to protect the secret/confession with my life

26- gggggg i used to lie so much all the time leik little lies to make myself more interesting/cooler but i dont do that anymore thank gosh, i only lie now to protect someone’s safety/identity , protect my own safety, or when talking to adults because i dont trust them, when its morally justifiable, or when ive been asked too by a confidant

27- ollie!!! (Everything about them) and also songs that are really energetic and (happily) nostalgic for me, and also cute animals! Or hanging out and havin a gud laugh with friends, im more likely to smile in stress free environments!

28- ggggg gosh i cry all the time in books and movies, i cried at finding dory, and at guardians of the galaxy vol 2, and at swiss army man, and at steven universe a lot, and at attack on titan sometimes when i used to watch it (not anymore) anything i read that has a major character death makes me cry, i cried at the Dragons overwatch short for hanzo and genji, im big baby :/

29- i think i had a crush on a girl in elementary school when i was still straight and she was the most popular pretty girl in school, boring het stuff :/

30- marriage sounds really nice! Not that important tho it just seems leik part of the whole big thing of the different levels of “making it official” but it would be nice and fun!!! Kids are scary! Too much responsibilty and i, kinda dont leik them :/

31- im very superstitious sometimes, a couple years ago i saw the picture of the russian sleep experiment creepy pasta and its haunted me and my halfasleep mind until a few months ago last year thats not really superstitious i guess but im always very irrational about things leik that, leik if a noise happens at night then my brain goes: “its the [a creepy picture i saw that day] monster here to get you” and it really sucks sometimes but ive been a little bette with it lately! (Ps, Do Not look up the russian sleep experiment, it might not be the same for you but it was terrifying for me and had a lasting effect)

32- my 3am thoughts are ollie!! Its much better thinking about cuddling them instead of thinking about if everyone i know hates me secretly or wat went wrong on that particular day (although ive been doing better on that too)

33- i leik candy a lot!! My favorites are snickers, swedish fish, cinnamon gumdrops, chocolate (either chili or caramel), jolly ranchers, skittles, and sometimes airheads, i used to l o v e poprocks but i dont see then around anymore :l

34- halloween!!! Its my favorite time because its not too cold to have to stay inside and still cold enough for cool fashion options and also halloween itself!! Its fun! :D

35- my favorite season is winter!! It lets me stay inside and watch the pretty snow while i drink hot cocoa and play video games :3 fall is a close second!! Most of fall is cool enough to still be outside and the cold weather suits me even if its sometimes gives me colds!

36- i feel leik a dog would help me be happier because they generally more energetic? But a cat suits my personality much better and i feel leik we might get along a little easier , both are gud and no preference tho!!!

37- im really quiet i think!! I try not to talk at all unless its with people i already know, but the more comftorable i am with someone the louder i am with them!!

38- my favorite time period is medeival or far-future! Medieval only when in fantasy with dragons and magic and stuff because Real medieval times kinda sucked but: the knights! The samurai! And far future because space travel and sightseeing on distant planets!!

39- bowties? There still kind of around tho i guess, cloaks and swords or also full plate armor (bring! Them! Back!)

40- hhhhh i never remember my dreams but the worst nightmares are where i wake up and cant breathe leik sleep paralysis im pretty sure (that combined with russian sleep experiment is h e l l but thankfully that doesnt really happen anymore) and the best dreams ive had are when ollie is in them!!

41- i used to be really afraid the dark but im still sometimes just as afraid so i guess that doesnt count? I used to have dreams where the little one eyed dudes id make out of my erasers would turn evil and stand on my chest and id wake up with sleep paralisys so? Thats something i guess :/

42-43 are skipped in the list?

44- i try my best!! Ollie knows :> im [Incapable] of flirting with anyone if they dont also flirt with me and i know that they leik me too tho so i havent been flirting much the past couple years till now :l

45- my style currently is kinda blandish i think? Dark or cool colors with a graphic teeshirt (sometimes of things that i dont even leik anymore) and black or blue skinny jeans (sometimes a bleached white pair, theyre my favorite) and some matching color of converse, sometimes i wear flannels or button ups and sometimes bowties too! But not as often

Ideal style: crop top, flannel, sunglasses, short short jean shorts, cool socks that go past my knees, matching converse!

46- hell yeah i blush!!!!!!!!! Sometimes i blush when people are really nice to me but most times its from romantic stuff because i get flustered and blushy So Easily!!

47- every once in a while my depression comes back and most of the time it doesnt stay for lomg but while its here i feel everything at once while wanting to feel nothing and its so overwhelming or i feel nothing at all while wanting to feel at least one thing and it makes my heart hurt, most of the time tho i lean more on the side of feeling everything! Feelings are gud and i leik them!!!

48- im definently a crier! Cried basically for 3 years straight, but ive only cried happy crying a couple times, definitely a few tho, i smile a lot! I think! I try to, i think smiles are really nice and there needs to be more of them in the world, ive been smiling a lot more the past couple months for sure :3Thanks for askin and!! @got to answer the same asks! Not all if u dont want to but just the ones u want :>

[failuretofrag]

1: when you have cereal, do you have more milk than cereal or more cereal than milk? I think it's about even. 2: do you like the feeling of cold air on your cheeks on a wintery day? Yessss 3: what random objects do you use to bookmark your books? Anything that's flat. Once I used a condom rapper. 4: how do you take your coffee/tea? Coffee with lots of cream, tea with sugar. 5: are you self-conscious of your smile? Slightly. 6: do you keep plants? Not anymore. 7: do you name your plants? I had a Japanese peace lily named Lily once. 8: what artistic medium do you use to express your feelings? Poetry. 9: do you like singing/humming to yourself? Yess 10: do you sleep on your back, side, or stomach? Side 11: what's an inner joke you have with your friends? So you're telling me.. a chicken fried this rice? 12: what's your favorite planet? Jupiter. 13: what's something that made you smile today? Jessi. 14: if you were to live with your best friend in an old flat in a big city, what would it look like? Oh man, I have no idea. 15: go google a weird space fact and tell us what it is! All of space is completely silent. 16: what's your favorite pasta dish? Probably Tomato Basil Penne 17: what color do you really want to dye your hair? Auburn 18: tell us about something dumb/funny you did that has since gone down in history between you and your friends and is always brought up. They call me Ralph a lot because I got super drunk one night and couldn't stop puking. 19: do you keep a journal? what do you write/draw/ in it? I have a sketch book that I doodle in. 20: what's your favorite eye color? Blue. 21: talk about your favorite bag, the one that's been to hell and back with you and that you love to pieces. I have so many bags, but my favourite one is a little cross shoulder bag that is my EDC. 22: are you a morning person? Not particularly, but I can wake up fairly fast. 23: what's your favorite thing to do on lazy days where you have 0 obligations? Sleep. 24: is there someone out there you would trust with every single one of your secrets? Two people, actually. Jessi and Gemini. 25: what's the weirdest place you've ever broken into? Uh, I broke into an old shed that was filled with hundreds of keys. 26: what are the shoes you've had for forever and wear with every single outfit? Under armor gym shoes? Lmao. 27: what's your favorite bubblegum flavor? Bubblegum. 28: sunrise or sunset? Sunset. 29: what's something really cute that one of your friends does and is totally endearing? Kim refers to my gf and I as Gag a lot, talking us up and such. 30: think of it: have you ever been truly scared? Yes. 31: what is your opinion of socks? do you like wearing weird socks? do you sleep with socks? do you confine yourself to white sock hell? really, just talk about socks. Okay so I use to love having colorful mismatched socks, then my OCD took over, so now I have 30 pairs of the same ankle black socks. 32: tell us a story of something that happened to you after 3AM when you were with friends. Coming down from ecstasy highs like 8 of us went to Denny's and just stayed there eating and joking for like 3 hours. 33: what's your fave pastry? Cheese Danish 34: tell us about the stuffed animal you kept as a kid. what is it called? what does it look like? do you still keep it? I had the Pegasus from Hercules. He was my favourite, but I lost him a few years back. 35: do you like stationary and pretty pens and so on? do you use them often? I actually have a weird obsession with calligraphy and fountain pens. 36: which band's sound would fit your mood right now? Halsey 37: do you like keeping your room messy or clean? I LIKE keeping it clean, but it's usually messy. 38: tell us about your pet peeves! Oh jeez.. loud noises, having to repeat myself, being ignored 39: what color do you wear the most? Black (but that's not a color) so blue 40: think of a piece of jewelry you own: what's it's story? does it have any meaning to you? My class ring! Hell yeah. It's my class ring lmao 41: what's the last book you remember really, really loving? Right Behind You by Gail Giles 42: do you have a favorite coffee shop? describe it! It's a Starbucks, but a really small one that lacks the usual pretentious feel of a Starbucks. 43: who was the last person you gazed at the stars with? Molly 44: when was the last time you remember feeling completely serene and at peace with everything? A couple nights ago. 45: do you trust your instincts a lot? All the time. 46: tell us the worst pun you can think of. Two fish swim into a concrete wall, one turns to the other and goes "Dam" 47: what food do you think should be banned from the universe? Pineapple on pizza. 48: what was your biggest fear as a kid? is it the same today? Nah, as a kid I thought that I'd get kidnapped, and now I know that that'd be a bad move on a kidnappers part. 49: do you like buying CDs and records? what was the last one you bought? Not really, I don't buy music much, and when I do it's to support the artist, but the last one I bought was The Human Condition by Jon Bellion 50: what's an odd thing you collect? Rocks 51: think of a person. what song do you associate with them? Jessi- Guillotine by Jon Bellion 52: what are your favorite memes of the year so far? Cash me Ousside how bow dah 53: have you ever watched the rocky horror picture show? heathers? beetlejuice? pulp fiction? what do you think of them? I liked beetlejuice, and I loved pulp fiction. 54: who's the last person you saw with a true look of sadness on their face? My friend Higgs 55: what's the most dramatic thing you've ever done to prove a point? That's hard to pinpoint. I've done a lot of dramati- I blew up my friends garbage can to prove I could make explosives out of things in his kitchen. 56: what are some things you find endearing in people? Laughs, half smiles, hesitation, voice cracks, eye contact 57: go listen to bohemian rhapsody. how did it make you feel? did you dramatically reenact the lyrics? Lmao, I usually sing along, but I don't think I catch as much of the nostalgia as most. 58: who's the wine mom and who's the vodka aunt in your group of friends? why? Oh my god, so the wine mom is Aze and the vodka aunt is Crusher and I can't explain this very well but trust me. 59: what's your favorite myth? That people only use a small percent of their brain. 60: do you like poetry? what are some of your faves? Neil Hilborn- OCD Shane Koyczan- To This Day Rudy Francisco- Scars 61: what's the stupidest gift you've ever given? the stupidest one you've ever received? I gave my ex a coupon for a free kiss, and I received makeup from my uncle. 62: do you drink juice in the morning? which kind? Nope, coffee is the only thing I can stand. 63: are you fussy about your books and music? do you keep them meticulously organized or kinda leave them be? I like them organized. 64: what color is the sky where you are right now? Blue 65: is there anyone you haven't seen in a long time who you'd love to hang out with? Yeah 66: what would your ideal flower crown look like? Lots of blue and green with white highlights 67: how do gloomy days where the sky is dark and the world is misty make you feel? Amazing. I love gloomy days. 68: what's winter like where you live? Shit. Hot. Not fair. 69: what are your favorite board games? Sorry, Clue, Battleship, Connect four 70: have you ever used a ouija board? No, fuck that shit. 71: what's your favorite kind of tea? Snapple Peach tea 72: are you a person who needs to note everything down or else you'll forget it? Yeah, I have a horrible memory 73: what are some of your worst habits? Nail biting, lip biting, cutting 74: describe a good friend of yours without using their name or gendered pronouns. Tall, dark, hilarious and a force to be reckoned with. 75: tell us about your pets! Baby is my pet. She a cat. She go meow. 76: is there anything you should be doing right now but aren't? Nope 77: pink or yellow lemonade? Pink. 78: are you in the minion hateclub or fanclub? A little of both. 79: what's one of the cutest things someone has ever done for you? This one time I was really sick, and Dani brought me soup and made me eat then helped me get up and shower and stuff. 80: what color are your bedroom walls? did you choose that color? if so, why? Off white. No. I want to redo it with some blood spatter 81: describe one of your friend's eyes using the most abstract imagery you can think of. Oh jeez. No. 82: are/were you good in school? I was bad with good grades. 83: what's some of your favorite album art? This is hard.. I Prevail- Lifelines album. 84: are you planning on getting tattoos? which ones? Already have some, but my next one is going to be a scorpion on my arm with water around it. 85: do you read comics? what are your faves? I use to! I think the series of ones containing the early stages of the relationship between harleyquinn and Ivy are my favourite. 86: do you like concept albums? which ones? They are okay I guess, but I don't really have any.. 87: what are some movies you think everyone should watch at least once in their lives? Fight club American History X The Lorax 88: are there any artistic movements you particularly enjoy? Not particularly 89: are you close to your parents? Not at all. 90: talk about your one of you favorite cities. Austin! I love the people and the environment, it's so relaxing and surprising. 91: where do you plan on traveling this year? I'm not sure yet. 92: are you a person who drowns their pasta in cheese or a person who barely sprinkles a pinch? I fucking love cheese. 93: what's the hairstyle you wear the most? Bed head 94: who was the last person you know to have a birthday? Schultzy 95: what are your plans for this weekend? I'm not sure yet, might be working. 96: do you install your computer updates really quickly or do you procrastinate on them a lot? Procrastinate. 97: myer briggs type, zodiac sign, and hogwarts house? The Commander ENTJ-A I think, Scorpio, Slytherin. 98: when's the last time you went hiking? did you enjoy it? About 4 months ago, and yes I loved it 99: list some songs that resonate to your soul whenever you hear them. AWOLNATION- Sail Jon Bellion- Guillotine Kiiara- Feels 100: if you were presented with two buttons, one that allows you to go 5 years into the past, the other 5 years into the future, which one would you press? why? Neither. Going back is a waste, and going forward is so unknown.

[businessliveme]

How to Never Be Stranded After a Canceled Flight

(Bloomberg) –At Bloomberg Pursuits, we love to travel. And we always want to make sure we’re doing it right. So we’re talking to globe-trotters in all of our luxury fields—food, fashion, cars, real estate—to learn about their high-end hacks, tips, and off-the-wall experiences. These are the Distinguished Travel Hackers.

Jen Rubio is co-founder and chief brand officer of Away. After stints working for Warby Parker and London-based All Saints, she launched Away in February 2016, focusing on hard-shell suitcases with lifetime guarantees. Their candy-colored silhouettes became staples at airports around the world at warp speed. At a recent Series D funding round, Away was valued at $1.4 billion.

The company now produces a range of bags and accessories, including recently introduced carry-on suitcases with built-in front pockets for items like laptops, giving travelers easy access to them.

Read: Cellphones a Flight Danger? Could Be on Some Boeing Jets

Rubio lives between New York and San Francisco, averaging about 200,000 miles a year—at least—in the air. Once a Delta Air Lines loyalist, reaching its Million Miler status, she now uses a variety of carriers. “American Airlines first class is hands-down the best transcon, with great seats and really good food,” she says.

She doesn’t rely on melatonin or Ambien to beat jet lag—this gizmo is much more effective.

I never travel without a small, USB-powered white noise machine from Aurola, whether it’s to drown out a hotel neighbor’s snores through paper-thin walls, or to add some sound texture to the deafening silence of a country retreat. I discovered it when we were first starting Away and I was traveling to China. I was booked in an Airbnb in Hong Kong on a very busy street. I live in Manhattan, so I’m fine with noise, but I could distinctly hear someone’s conversation outside, and I couldn’t stop eavesdropping. But that Airbnb had a white noise machine on the nightstand. I clicked “play” and slept so well that I went online and bought one the next day. It’s become my trigger for sleeping. There’s a Pavlovian quality to it: No matter where in the world I am or what kind of room I’m in, the machine turns on, and my brain instantly relaxes.

Duty-free shopping can save serious cash—if you know what you’re doing.

I’m the queen of duty-free. People think airport shopping is completely accidental, but you can strategize it to save a lot of money. If you’re looking at a pair of Gucci loafers, the difference between buying them in New York and at Gucci at London Heathrow can be $200 to $300. It’s as much as 35% off—insane! They’re not something you need urgently, so you can always wait.

READ: These Secret Ingredients May Be Why Your Restaurant Bill Is So High

I use the Heathrow personal shopping program. You book it ahead of time, and tell them what stores you want to go to and how much time you have. Then the personal shopper meets you after security and takes you from terminal to terminal to get the stuff you need. I like it for Christmas shopping. I only found out about it because I noticed a bunch of Chinese tourists at Heathrow Terminal 3 with someone in an airport uniform. I went up to them and asked them what was going on, and they told me about it.

And this is how you really maximize those duty-free savings.

If you know you’re flying through an airport like Heathrow more than once, get a business card from any of the associates at high-end boutiques like Gucci or Chanel. Those airport boutiques have a limited selection because they don’t have a ton of space, but they can order things from any other boutique to be transferred there and hold it for you. Call or email them, then they will hold it for you and you can buy it—duty-free—the next time you fly from there. I did it when I was going back and forth between London and New York a lot.

Download this one app, and you’ll never be caught off guard by flight delays again.

Flighty is expensive for an app, like $50 per year, but somehow it knows when I’m going to get delayed before they make any announcements. If I board a flight, I might get a notification from Flighty it’s going to be 15 minutes delayed—and then five minutes later, the pilot will say the same thing.

READ: Six Tourist Spots in Saudi Arabia That Will Surprise You

How never to be stranded after a canceled flight.

Remember the Three-Hour Rule: If you’re stuck on the tarmac for three hours, they have to go back to the gate and let everyone off. It will take 30 to 45 minutes to get everyone off, then maybe they’ll let you back on or they might cancel it if the crew times out. There’s uproar when that happens, but if you’re three steps ahead of everyone else, it makes everything much more decent. If you think a flight is going to be canceled, call the airline and ask them to protect you on a seat on a later flight, too. I’ve done that, where I was basically on both flights until one of them got canceled. Or you can go online while you’re sitting in your seat and book a ticket on the next flight as a backup. If your first flight is canceled, you can ask for a refund. And if you don’t need the second seat, you can cancel that for free because you booked it within 24 hours.

Image courtesy: Pixabay

Global Entry has counterparts across the world.

For places you travel to often, check to see if there’s an expedited entry program. Doing that has cut down my time in the immigration line by 90% sometimes. Hong Kong has a program where if you visit more than a certain number of times a year, you can sign up for the Frequent Visitor e-Channel. They actually have automated kiosks for immigration when you arrive and when you depart. They approve you for it, you get a sticker in your passport, and you bypass basically all of the manual checkpoints on arrival and departure.

The best in-flight amenity kit is the one you make yourself.

I’ve become very particular as I travel more. On every business-class flight, there’s an amenity kit, but I wish the products were better. So now I pack my own, full of a bunch of stuff I’ll need in-flight. It means I don’t spend the whole flight getting up, rummaging through my bags, and disturbing everyone. I pack silicone earplugs from Savears. I learned about them when I was sitting next to someone who was a sound technician. He was wearing the same earplugs on the plane that he used backstage at concerts. He said they were perfect, and now I use them for everything. I also pack rinse-free hand wash from Byredo instead of Purell hand sanitizer; it smells really good and is less drying. And I put on Barbara Sturm antipollution serum before flights. Air travel is not great for your skin, so if you can keep it clean and moisturized, you’re good to go.

READ: Scared to Travel to ‘Dangerous’ Places? Don’t Be – Tyler Cowen

She loves this tiny Canadian surf town so much that she just bought a house there.

British Columbia is known for Whistler, but I love Tofino, a tiny surf town on the westernmost coast of Vancouver Island. It’s where my fiance [Flickr co-founder Stewart Butterfield] proposed to me. It’s hard to get to, but that’s kinda why I like it. Anyone who bothers making the effort to go, they’ll really appreciate it. You fly to Vancouver, and then there’s a scheduled floatplane service [to] Tofino Harbor. Once they started offering that, I bought a house there. The population is probably a couple thousand year-round. The climate is temperate rainforest, so it’s within the same 10 degrees always. There’s a beach, mountains, and it’s become a place for surfers, too. There’s also an amazing farm-to-table, or sea-to-table, foodie culture. I love Wolf in the Fog.

Make friends wherever you go by doing this every time you check into a hotel.

When I land somewhere, I go to the ATM and get money out. Then when I get to the hotel, at check-in I ask them to change around $40 into small bills. When you’re traveling, the ability to tip everyone you encounter when it’s called for, even in nontipping countries, goes such a long way.

The post How to Never Be Stranded After a Canceled Flight appeared first on Businessliveme.com.

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[ellymackay]

7 Proven Techniques To Help You Treat Tinnitus and Sleep Better!

7 Proven Techniques To Help You Treat Tinnitus and Sleep Better! is courtesy of EllyMackay.com

You’ve heard me talk about the impact of noise—for better and worse—on sleep. But recently I received several questions during my FaceBook Live Wake up Wednesdays (7:30 am PST if you have not seen it yet) about tinnitus and sleep. Looking back, I have never written about it, so I decided to dive in and learn more.

What is tinnitus?

Tinnitus involves the perception of “phantom” sounds that aren’t coming from an external source. Often described as “ringing in the ears,” people with tinnitus can actually experience a wide variety of sounds, including:

Buzzing

Humming

Pulsing

“White noise” sounds, akin to static

Booming

Drilling

Whistling

Whirring

Hissing

Snippets of music

Whatever the specific sounds, these noises are only perceptible to the individual. Tinnitus noise can vary widely in volume. About 1 in every 4 people with tinnitus describe their sounds as loud.

Many of us experience tinnitus every once in a while. If you’re exposed to extremely loud noise, or leave a noisy environment for a quiet one, you may notice a temporary buzzing or ringing in your ear. Maybe you’ve been near loud construction—like a jackhammer, or stepped out of a loud action movie or music concert to a quiet lobby or street. (Be aware: even a single exposure to very loud noise can do damage to your hearing, and increase your risk for tinnitus.)

About 25-30 million Americans have tinnitus as a condition, and they experience these noises on a regular, most often daily, basis. About 40 percent of people with tinnitus hear tinnitus noise through 80 percent of their day. And for a smaller group of people—about 1 in 5, tinnitus is disruptive enough to significantly interfere with daily functioning, becoming disabling or nearly disabling.

Tinnitus becomes more common with age, in part because of age-related hearing loss. Among adults ages 65-84 years old, it’s estimated that about 27 percent have tinnitus.

What causes tinnitus?

There are several potential causes of tinnitus, including:

Hearing loss (though not everyone with tinnitus has a hearing issue)

Exposure to loud noise

Ear disease

Ear or sinus infections

Ear, neck and head injuries

TMJ disorders

Earwax build up

Hormonal imbalances in women

Cardiovascular disease

Thyroid disorders

Some medications, including (but not limited to) antibiotics, antidepressants, diuretics, cancer medications, and very high doses of aspirin

Hyperacusis is a different, but related condition to tinnitus. People with hyperacusis have a high sensitivity to common, everyday environmental noise. In particular, sharp and high-pitched sounds are very difficult for people with hyperacusis to tolerate—sounds like the screeching of brakes, a baby crying or a dog barking, a sink full of dishes and silverware clanging.  Many people with tinnitus also experience hyperacusis—but the two conditions don’t always go together.

Research shows that sleep disorders, tinnitus, and hyperacusis often occur together.  In one study, 30 percent of people with tinnitus also had both a sleep disorder and hyperacusis.

How tinnitus affects sleep

People with tinnitus often have difficulty sleeping, and feel tired and fatigued during the day. They also appear to be significantly more likely to have sleep disorders than the general population. A study that examined the relationship between sleep problems and tinnitus found that 54 percent of people with tinnitus also had a sleep disorder.

According to research, people with tinnitus report several sleep problems, including:

Having trouble falling asleep

Not getting enough sleep

Experiencing poor quality sleep

Feeling less refreshed in the morning

There seems to be a two-way-street relationship between tinnitus and sleep problems. The symptoms of tinnitus can interfere with sleeping well—and poor sleep can make tinnitus more aggravating and difficult to manage effectively. In the same study that found a majority of people with tinnitus had a sleep disorder, the scientists also found that the presence of sleep disorders made tinnitus more disruptive.

Why is tinnitus so disruptive to sleep? Often, it’s because tinnitus sounds become more apparent at night, in a quiet bedroom. The noises of daily life can help minimize the aggravation and disruptiveness of tinnitus sounds. But if your bedroom is too quiet, you may perceive those sounds more strongly when you try to fall asleep—and not be able to drift off easily.

In addition to the tinnitus noises themselves, there are also other symptoms of tinnitus that may interfere with sleep, making it more difficult to fall asleep and stay asleep throughout the night. They include:

Stiffness, pain, and tension in the head, neck and jaw. Physical pain or discomfort can be a major obstacle to sleep, affecting both sleep quality and sleep quantity.

Daytime fatigue. Daytime fatigue is one sign of a lack of high-quality sleep. Being tired during the day also can contribute to even worse sleep, by creating irregular sleep schedules and sleep-wake times.

Depression, anxiety and irritability. Tinnitus can cause frustration and anxiety, and lead people to struggle with low mood. Stress and mood disorders are among the most common causes for insomnia and other sleep problems.

Anxiety can be a major factor

Both depression and anxiety occur frequently in people with tinnitus. A 2016 study found that among people with tinnitus, 45 percent will develop an anxiety disorder at some point in their lifetime.

Often, people with tinnitus can develop anxiety specifically about sleep, and their ability to fall asleep. This is a vicious cycle that frequently occurs in people who have trouble sleeping, regardless of the initial cause of their sleeplessness.

Imagine you’re settling in for a night’s rest. In your quiet bedroom, you’re tune right into those tinnitus noises—and you can’t shake your focus on them. You start to wonder about how you’ll ever fall asleep with these sounds in your ears. You think about the rest you’re missing out on because you’re not already asleep, and you wonder how you’ll have the energy to make it through your day.

Before long, you’re both mentally and physically stimulated in ways that make it even harder to relax and fall asleep. Like any other form of anxiety, stress about falling asleep creates mental arousal, bringing your brain to alertness. And it also creates physical arousal, raising heart rate and body temperature. This kind of anxiety can lead to behaviors that further undermine sleep, including:

Sleeping late or at odd times during the day, leading you to an irregular sleep schedule

Relying on alcohol as a sleep aid

Scrolling through your smartphone or watching TV when you can’t sleep in the middle of the night

Pretty soon, you’re getting even less sleep—and you’re even more worried about it. Mindfulness is one of the best, most effective strategies for breaking this cycle. I’ve written before about the power of mindfulness in boosting sleep.

Emotional stress and anxiety also can interfere with how well people manage their tinnitus. Staying relaxed is one important way to minimize the disruptiveness of tinnitus.

Sleep apnea, hearing loss, and tinnitus are linked

There’s some pretty interesting science indicating that obstructive sleep apnea may be a cause of hearing loss, making the sleep disorder an indirect contributor to tinnitus.

A large, 2014 study of almost 14,000 people found obstructive sleep apnea was linked to significantly higher rates of hearing impairment and hearing loss. Scientists think one reason for this is changes to blood flow to the ear that result in inflammation. (We know that sleep apnea causes changes to circulation and weakens blood flow to some areas of the body, including the brain.) A related factor? People with sleep apnea are at greater risk for high blood pressure, and high blood pressure can exacerbate hearing loss, according to research.

It’s also possible that very loud snoring—a hallmark symptom of sleep apnea—can be loud enough to damage a sleeper’s hearing.

Research shows higher risks for sleep apnea and other sleep disturbances in people with tinnitus.

Ways to treat tinnitus and improve your sleep

There is not yet a cure for tinnitus, but scientists are studying the underlying causes of the condition, and exploring potential avenues for treatment, including:

Electrical and magnetic stimulation of the brain’s hearing centers

Deep brain stimulation to calm neural activity associated with tinnitus

Many of the common treatments for tinnitus involve addressing anxiety and managing your response to the internal noise you hear. These treatment strategies can make tinnitus less frustrating and disruptive to live with—and also help you sleep better.

Avoid a too-quiet bedroom. People with tinnitus may find it easier to sleep in a less quiet bedroom, and may benefit from white noise or other sleep-friendly sounds that help mask and minimize their tinnitus. To my patients who are looking to introduce soothing sounds to their sleep environment, I recommend the iHome Zenergy Sleep System, which combines relaxing sounds with aromatherapy and sleep-promoting light therapy.

Practice mindfulness meditation. I’ve written about the power of mindfulness mediation to reduce stress and improve sleep. A 2017 study found mindfulness meditation is also effective in helping people better manage tinnitus. Mindfulness meditation involves sitting comfortably, putting your attention on your natural breathing. When your mind wanders—to irritating tinnitus sounds, to worry about sleep, or wherever else it goes, gently return your attention to your breath. Start with a 5-minute session, and as you grow more comfortable with the practice, you can increase the time. You can practice mindfulness meditation anywhere, at any time of day—including in the shower!

Use other relaxation techniques. Tinnitus is understandably anxiety provoking, often a source of frustration and stress throughout the day and night. Reducing anxiety, and finding ways to relax, have benefits for both tinnitus and sleep. Relaxation exercises can reduce the aggravation of tinnitus, and make you more able to fall asleep. A few of the relaxation techniques my patients find most effective and easy to use are:

Deep breathing. Deliberate, relaxed breathing can help move the body into the slower breathing patterns that are associated with sleep.

I like the 4-7-8 breathing exercise:

Inhale for 4 seconds

Hold your breath for 7 seconds

Exhale for 8 seconds

Repeat several times

Progressive relaxation. An exercise of tensing and relaxing specific areas of the body can relieve physical tension and mental stress, and may help take the focus away from tinnitus noise. Start with your feet and work upward through the lower and upper body, to the shoulders, neck and head.

Guided imagery. Engaging the senses in a soothing, comforting scene or journey can relax the body and the mind, and pull focus away from the irritating sounds of tinnitus. Whether you’re imagining yourself walking along the beach or along a peaceful wooded trail, be sure to include sound as part of your imagery.

Aromatherapy. Engaging your sense of smell with soothing, sleep-friendly scents may help reduce the stress and irritation of tinnitus and help you unwind to fall asleep with less difficulty. Lavender, jasmine, and vanilla are among the scents that promoting sleep. 

Seek out cognitive-behavioral therapy. Cognitive behavioral therapy, or CBT, involves working with a clinician (or independently, with a clinically-developed self-treatment program) to re-frame negative thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. CBT is effective with a wide range of physical and mental health conditions, including stress, anxiety, and depression. CBT is also highly effective in treating insomnia and other sleep problems. And research shows CBT can help improve the management of tinnitus.

Limit use of earplugs. Earplugs are important to use to protect your hearing when you’re likely to be exposed to loud noises. (Remember, exposure to loud sounds, and noise-induced hearing loss, are common causes of tinnitus, and may make tinnitus worse if you already have the condition.) But otherwise, people with tinnitus are advised not to wear earplugs, including for sleep. Earplugs reduce your ability to hear external noise and can make tinnitus more noticeable.

Using earplugs too frequently can lead to earwax buildup, another potential cause of tinnitus. When you do use earplugs, be sure they are clean (or new, if you’re using the disposable kind) with each and every use, to avoid exposing the ear canal to dirt and bacteria.

Don’t ignore ear pain. Pain or discomfort in your ear can be a sign of conditions associated with tinnitus, including ear infections and earwax buildup. These conditions, and the discomfort they cause, can also interfere with sleep. Whether your ear pain is sharp or dull, constant or intermittent, accompanied by itching or not, take these symptoms to your doctor.

Seek treatment for hearing problems. If you’re experiencing difficulty hearing, talk to your physician and seek help from an otolaryngologist (an ear, nose throat specialist) or an audiologist. In addition to addressing any underlying health issue and improving your quality of life, improving your hearing can make tinnitus less noticeable and less bothersome, during the day and at night when you’re trying to sleep.

Another thing that tinnitus and sleep problems share? A tendency among people to brush them off, and try to “tough it out,” rather than addressing their conditions. It’s not worth it, to your health or your quality of life. If you’re having trouble sleeping and you have symptoms that sound like tinnitus, talk with your doctor about both, so you can sleep better—and feel better— soon.

Sweet Dreams,

Michael J. Breus, PhD, DABSM The Sleep Doctor www.thesleepdoctor.com

The post 7 Proven Techniques To Help You Treat Tinnitus and Sleep Better! appeared first on Your Guide to Better Sleep.

from Your Guide to Better Sleep https://www.thesleepdoctor.com/2018/05/22/7-proven-techniques-to-help-you-treat-tinnitus-and-sleep-better/

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[kristinsimmons]

The Ethics of Keeping Alfie Alive

By SAURABH JHA

Of my time arguing with doctors, 30 % is spent convincing British doctors that their American counterparts aren’t idiots, 30 % convincing American doctors that British doctors aren’t idiots, and 40 % convincing both that I’m not an idiot.

A British doctor once earnestly asked whether American physicians carry credit card reading machines inside their white coats. Myths about the NHS can be equally comical. British doctors don’t prostate every morning in deference to the NHS, like the citizens of Oceania sang to Big Brother in Orwell’s dystopia. Nor, in their daily rounds, do they calculate opportunity costs for keeping patients alive on ventilators.

Conversations such as this are vanishingly rare.

Administrator: “It’s costing an arm and leg keeping this sick baby alive – to balance the annual budget we need to stop dialyzing a granny.”

ICU doctor: “We’ll have to send poor Ethel to her grave. That’s a shame. She was beginning to grow on me.”

Health Ethicist: “Wait, let me check with National Institute of Clinical Excellence, the rationing experts, who should be relieved of intensive care first. Perhaps it should be Winston, not Ethel – because Winston is an alcoholic. We need to make rationing scientific and fair.”

For the most parts, doctors in both systems do their best for their patients – the constraints of biology play a greater role in influencing physician decisions than the economics of fee-for-service or capitation. This doesn’t mean the system is unimportant – the system sets the stage which shapes decisions systematically – and differences between systems are most evident in gray zones. For instance, British doctors don’t relish missing STEMI anymore than American physicians – but their propensity to get a triple rule out study for vague chest pain may be lower.

To wit, if American doctors do more and British doctors do less, it’s because they believe, respectively, that more and less are in their patient’s best interests. Part of the challenge analyzing physicians, ever since the Dartmouth studies on variation in physician practice, is reconciling in opposite medical decisions similar intentions.

And some differences between the two systems can be stark, and not just in how we spell (o)esophagus. The starkest differences are in the nature and intensity of care, specifically when and who decides medical intervention should be withdrawn, in end-of-life (EOL). The recent case of baby Alfie Evans illustrates these transatlantic differences.

Ventilated without hope

Known to have marked developmental delay, Alfie presented to Alder Hey Hospital, Liverpool, at seven-month age with febrile seizures and pneumonia. Alfie had severe difficulty in breathing and was intubated and transferred to pediatric intensive care unit (PICU). It turned out that fever was not causing seizures – nor were they primary seizures, i.e. seizures for no good reason. His seizures were secondary to severe encephalopathy – severe brain dysfunction.

How severe was Alfie’s encephalopathy? MRI showed substantial areas of reduced diffusion in his brain. The existential struggle of neurons is in throwing sodium out and bringing potassium into the cells by the sodium-potassium pump against their gradients, i.e. against their will – politics at a cellular level is all fascism. When the neuron gives up, meaning the pump fails, sodium builds up in the cells. Then water rushes in, but as the cell swells with water, the diffusion of water slows. Restricted diffusion meant that vast territories of Alfie’s neurons had surrendered.

Failed neurons still express themselves electrically. Afie’s EEG showed purposeless electrical activity, essentially seizures. Though the analogy is not exact, Alfie’s neuronal activity was like ventricular fibrillation – the electrical activity existed for its own sake; it was extreme anarchy without a purpose.

Alfie had infantile spasms. First described by English surgeon, James West, infantile spasms are pernicious not just because they often imply an incurable encephalopathy, but because of their nature. West described these attacks as “…. a complete heaving of the head forward towards his knees, and then immediately relaxing into the upright position, something similar to the attacks of emprosthotonos.” Seen also in tetanus infection and strychnine poisoning, in emprosthotonos the head and feet come together with the back fully arched. It’s not a pretty sight. Infantile spasms are difficult to treat.

Alfie’s repeat MRIs showed that the encephalopathy had progressed. The thalamus, the headquarters of sensation, was barely extant. Not only had the cerebellum, the fine tuner of movements, been replaced by water but so had the basal ganglia, through which commands for gross movement travel. It’s not the volume of neurons per se which is important, but what the neurons are doing.  Alfie had too few neurons doing too little.

As radiologists recognize, diagnostic tests don’t stand on their own – clinical correlation is advised. Alfie’s clinical situation portended an even graver prognosis than his MRI suggested. He was in coma and depended on mechanical ventilation. Alfie’s muscle tone was too weak to even form contractures. Deep pressure above the eye – a richly innervated area – elicited no response. There was no response to loud noise. And, most portentous, his pupillary reflex was abnormal.

When light is shone in the eyes the pupils constrict. The optic nerve, via the command center in the mid brain, tells the oculomotor nerve – a doer, not thinker, nerve – to close the blinds. The absence of normal pupillary reflex, taken in context of Alfie’s MRI findings, confirmed that his midbrain was gutted.

Because of Alfie’s semi-vegetative state his physicians believed that palliation, not ventilation, was in his best interests. Alfie’s parents, devout Catholics, disagreed and sought the counsel of the Pope. Alfie was granted Italian citizenship. A military helicopter was ready to transfer Alfie to a hospital in Rome, but Alder Hey Hospital stopped the transfer. Finally, the courts were involved. The High Court sided with the hospital. The Court of Appeal sided with the High Court. After an aggressive legal battle, and after a year of being dependent on ventilation, Alfie’s ventilator was stopped. Five days later Alfie died.

Alfie’s case elicited strong responses from pro-lifers, libertarians and American conservatives, ranging from parody to disgust. Joe Walsh, with his tongue somewhere near his cheek, used Alfie’s example to underscore the importance of the Second Amendment – though how AR-15s titrate the dose of inotropes in the ICU was not explained by Walsh. Some likened stopping ventilation in Alfie to murder. Even more thoughtful observers were disturbed and saw over reach of medical paternalism, a triumph of the state over the individual, and a moral failing of the NHS.

The crux of the dispute is who has the last say in a child’s treatment decisions – parents or physicians. Many believe that in EOL the right exclusively belongs to parents, which Alder Hey violated by stopping Alfie’s transfer to Italy. However, the matter is not as ethically clear cut as it first appears.

Doctors versus Parents

Parent’s right to ignore physician’s management of their child is not absolute. For example, parents can’t stop antibiotics for acute bacterial meningitis just because they have an objection to antibiotics. But they can object to their child being immunized – even though immunization benefits their child. Medical paternalism isn’t absolute but there are zones in which it becomes absolute and zones in which it is ineffective.

Why can doctors treat a child against parent’s wishes for meningitis but not vaccinate a child against parent’s wishes? Intuitively we see the difference – meningitis has a high mortality untreated. Though, with labored reasoning, we can also create an indistinction. An unvaccinated child is also at risk of death from the infection the vaccine seeks to prevent – though the mortality risk is nowhere near that from untreated meningitis, it is not zero.

Thus risk, in and of itself, cannot be what permits medical paternalism in one but not the other. One may reason that it’s not risk per se but the degree of risk which distinguishes the two. This is an argument of degree. The trouble with arguments of degree, as scientific and logical as they sound, is that they inevitably lead to the question: where do we draw the line? By line I mean a threshold of risk – a numerical or even a descriptive threshold of mortality above which medical paternalism is permitted and below which it is not.

No such line in the sand exists though it need not exist for us to see that the risk of imminent death from meningitis vastly exceeds risk of death from an infection one doesn’t have but might have. And here is the important point: one need not have defined a precise threshold of risk over which doctors prevail over parents should a conflict arise, in order that medical paternalism prevails in the treatment of bacterial meningitis. The child is in danger – arguing where imaginary lines are drawn would be silly. Nor do we need to define “danger.” Some things are self-evident – obvious without explicit definitions.

There are situations where the diagnosis is less clear cut than acute bacterial meningitis, where doctors still prevail over parents when it comes to a child’s well-being. Take a child with fever, rigors, cough and weight loss with nodules on the chest radiograph, and the doctors make a presumptive diagnosis of military tuberculosis and ask that the child be admitted in hospital for treatment. The parents cannot transfer the child to Spain for a second opinion if that transfer interferes with the treatment and may harm the child. However, if a child has headaches and the physician decides against an MRI, believing that the headaches are tension headaches, the parents have every right to get the child checked by any physician anywhere in the world.

Let’s return to the case of parents objecting to their child being vaccinated. An unvaccinated child places other children at risk by potentially disrupting herd immunity. Vaccination is for both individual and greater good. Yet NHS doctors, doctors in socialized medicine, a system – let us remind ourselves – in which society pays for the individual, can’t vaccinate children against parent’s wishes even though vaccination increases net societal welfare by building herd immunity. Put it this way – medical paternalism can’t prevail over parents’ wishes to help other children. Doctors only prevail if a particular child’s welfare is in jeopardy. Far from being in service of utilitarianism, of greatest good for the greatest number, doctors in the NHS triumph over parents only when a specific child is in danger.

Medical Paternalism in End-of-Life

To recap, there are three points. First, neither parental wishes nor medical paternalism is absolute. Second, when doctors and parents have opposing views on medical management of a minor there is no explicit line in the sand which separates situations where doctors prevail from situations where parents prevail. Third, increasing net social welfare is not a reason for doctors to prevail over parents.

The question is should parents have the last say in end-of-life decisions about their child. Specifically, when parents wish to prolong the life of a terminally ill child with profound neurological compromise at all costs – by costs I don’t mean financial costs but medical intervention – but doctors believe palliation, not prolongation of life, is in the best interests of the child, who should prevail?

Palliative care is clearly different from the antibiotics-meningitis example in which the doctors prevail because antibiotics save the child’s life. At first it may seem odd, not just to a restless logician, that medical paternalism prevails over parental wishes both to extend a child’s longevity and not to try to extend it. Surely, there’s a distinction between starting treatment and stopping treatment.

The distinction between palliative care and antibiotics for meningitis is not a distinction of degree but a categorical distinction. Palliation seeks not so much to curtail life but to relieve it from suffering. If the appropriateness, or lack thereof, of medical paternalism in EOL decisions is to be explored, we must explore the role of doctors in palliative care.

The goal of medical care isn’t always to prolong life by any means necessary, is often just symptom relief, and sometimes to keep the terminally ill comfortable, to ensure that they’re treated with dignity. These goals aren’t always congruent, and sometimes oppositional.

There are fates worse than death. Keeping the cardiorespiratory system intact by aggressive modern medical techniques in persistent vegetative state may seem humane to some but does seem inhumane to many. End-of-life is at best an ethical gray zone – by that I mean you can understand both the stance of the family and the point of view of the doctors. As the patient, the rightful decision maker, by the very nature of their terminal and profound neurological compromise is unable to articulate their preferences, someone must make a decision.

The role of medicine in palliative care is not absolute – there is much to palliation which is metaphysical. But doctors do have an important role in determining prognosis, in ascertaining that prognosis is indeed hopeless, and establishing that palliation, whatever may comprise it, is appropriate.

The conclusion that Alfie’s neurological deficit was substantial, progressive and incurable was fundamentally a medical analysis, which Alfie’s physicians, world experts in pediatric neurology, made by their in-depth understanding of biology and careful assessment of Alfie. It would be humane including Alfie’s parents in the decision making, encouraging and indulging all the questions they have. It would be naive concluding they knew more about Alfie’s prognosis than his physicians.

Alfie’s father believed that Alfie was summoning him for help. He thought he saw Alfie yawn. It is humane respecting his beliefs. It is unwise abandoning medical judgment. When experts studied videos of Alfie’s movements they concluded that they were nothing more than seizures. Alfie’s father, a non-physician, a grieving father in understandable denial, could not possibly be expected to make the same analysis.

Some have asked how letting Alfie die can be in his best interests. The argument advanced is that stopping ventilation couldn’t possibly be in Alfie’s best interest because it hastened his death. Others have gone a step further and compared stopping ventilation in Alfie to euthanasia, or even murder.

I’m tempted to ignore the charge that stopping Alfie’s assisted ventilation is murder – but it’s worth thinking it through just to show how unfettered logic becomes fanatical. The rationale is that it’s murder stopping Alfie’s ventilation against his parent’s wishes but not murder if the parents consent to withdrawal of ventilatory support. Imagine if I said – it’s murder if you shoot a child but not murder if the parents ask you to shoot their child. You would think that I have lost the plot.

Was taking Alfie off the ventilator state-sponsored euthanasia, as former leader of UKIP, Nigel Farage, insinuated? Was this the same as a neurologically intact eighty-year-old man with untreatable pain from metastatic prostate cancer flying to Switzerland to receive a lethal dose of morphine? In our conflationary zeal we see similarities when we wish to – but the two situations are different. In the latter, a person capable of making their own decision enters a mutual agreement with a physician to end life. Are we unable to distinguish between stopping intensive care to reduce suffering in the terminally ill from administering a drug with the express purpose of ending life? Is intention irrelevant?

I can put it no better than the Catholic church which distinguishes between withdrawal of ventilatory support and euthanasia, and says eloquently in their catechisms, (2278): “here one wills not to cause death. One’s inability to impede death is merely accepted.”

Was Alfie Suffering?

How could it possibly be in Alfie’s best interest to die? This question is usually accompanied by another: who are doctors to decide that Alfie needed palliation?

The first question is a partial strawman. His doctors’ intention with palliative care wasn’t to end Alfie’s life but to give him dignity in the attenuated life he had left. This is not a distinction without a difference but a nuanced distinction which hinges on intent. Physicians must be judged, or at least judge each other, by intent, not just outcome. If a physician gives thrombolysis to a patient with acute stroke and the patient gets a brain hemorrhage and dies, the intention of the physician was to open the artery and restore function, not cause hemorrhage and end life. To ask how substituting life prolonging mechanisms with palliative care could possibly be in Alfie’s interest is to question the very essence of palliative care.

Let’s reframe the first question. In a person in a vegetative state is there something inherently inhumane about constantly changing artificial feeding and respiratory access, manipulating support lines, fighting infection, getting numerous x-rays and CT scans, and breaking ribs in attempts at cardiopulmonary resuscitation?  The question isn’t whose call it is to switch the ventilator off – that’s an important question, too – the question is whether there is indignity in prolonging life of someone in a vegetative state. Science can’t help you here – it’s your moral intuitions you have to call upon.

It is the patient, not the doctor, who determines their quality of life. However, if the patient can neither feel, that is they lack consciousness, nor articulate that they can feel or not – we do not know whether they prefer palliation over prolongation of life. The second question is a paradox. However, when we do not know we must assume – there is no getting away from assuming – but no normative ethics says that we must assume that a patient in a vegetative state would wish for life to be prolonged, rather than assume that they desire palliation, instead.

The retort is that if a person in a mall has a cardiac arrest would you not assume the person wishes to live and administer CPR? The nuance is in appreciating that we do not know the neurological prognosis in a person unknown to us, which is a different kettle of fish from Alfie’s situation – where the dismal neurological prognosis was without reasonable clinical doubt.

Putting aside pain and suffering, which have some objectivity to them, let’s consider indignity. Alfie could neither feel nor express whether he was experiencing indignity which is, admittedly, a more nebulous concept, but not that nebulous. For example, it is disrespectful being casual about the body of the deceased and there is dignity in giving the deceased a decent burial. Even Osama bin Laden’s body was treated with respect. We treat the body of the deceased with respect not because of the feelings of the deceased, who can’t feel, but for ourselves. It is we, not the deceased, who decide that there is indignity in treating their body with disrespect.

Similarly, the indignity, or lack thereof, in prolonging life in a patient in a vegetative state cannot be decided by the person in a vegetative state – this ought to be so obvious that you should berate me for saying it. Though it is still disputable who has the final say when ventilator should be switched off, doctor or the family, there should be little dispute that it can be the person in the vegetative state, unless that person has an advanced directive specifying their preferences ex ante.

Stopping the Airlift to Italy

After Alfie’s father, Thomas Evans, posted about Alfie’s condition on Facebook, Christine Broesamle, a pro-life activist in Italy got in touch with him. Broesamle moved to Liverpool and began counseling the Evans – who accepted her help in sheer desperation. Also helping the Evans was a law student from Christian Legal Center, Pavel Stroilov.

Broesamle had substantial influence. She had at her beck and call a network of non-NHS doctors who she called upon to assess Alfie. The doctors, pretending to be family friends of the Evans, assessed Alfie behind the back of Alder Hey physicians. Professional courtesy was thrown to the wind. Though it is unclear whether it was because of Broesamle’s influence, the Pope met Evans. The Pope is a busy chap and can’t possibly meet every parent in the world with a dying child – there are millions dying in Africa, hundreds from snake bite, thousands from treatable malaria. But somehow the Pope found the time to meet Thomas Evans.

Thus, the Evans were surrounded by enthusiastic pro-life Christians. There’s, of course, nothing wrong with that – faith has a role in easing the pain of EOL. However, the new friends of the Evans had their own axes to grind. They were interested in Alfie not because he had a treatable condition, but precisely because his condition was untreatable – i.e. he was at the end-of-life.

Neither Broesamle nor Stroilov had kind words to say about Alder Hey Hospital. Broesamle accused Alder Hey physicians of being determined to kill him. Stroilov was described by Justice Hayden, the judge who presided over the legal dispute, as a “fanatical and deluded young man” – particularly harsh words from a usually temperate British judge. After Alfie died, Stroilov egged Thomas Evans to sue Alfie’s physicians for conspiracy to murder in private courts. Thomas Evans, wiser than his advisors, decided against it.

As the media sensationalism began, the rift between the Evans and Alder Hey physicians widened. Alfie was to be air rescued to Bambino Gesu Hospital (BGH). The Alder Hey physicians stopped the transfer. There was uproar. Mobs gathered outside the hospital.

Even thoughtful observers can’t understand why Alfie’s transfer to Italy was stopped. The dispute isn’t that Alder Hey violated the parent’s right to a second opinion. BGH were not offering a second opinion – and I’m assuming that the Pope wasn’t going to re-attempt the Raising of Lazarus miracle on Alfie. BGH was offering long term ventilation and feeding by means of a tracheostomy and gastrostomy, respectively.

The dispute is this. When the Alder Hey physicians knew that Alfie’s condition was hopeless, what was the harm in allowing Alfie to be airlifted to Italy? They were not using the public purse – the transfer and care were to funded by private money. There seems at once little moral, ethical, medical or financial reason to stop the transfer. Was this an ego battle between Alder Hey Hospital and pro-lifers?

Things spiraled very quickly out of control.  The Italian government – who, once they granted Alfie Italian citizenship, threatened to hold the British government responsible for the homicide of an Italian citizen.

Were I Alfie’s neurologist I’d have allowed the transfer. I might have written a book, “Alfie and Me,” taken a selfie with Alfie and the helicopter and posted it on Twitter. I’d have invited the Pope to bless Alder Hey Hospital – and seen what would happen to the all-cause mortality. If a poor infant’s predicament was going to be made into an international circus show, I’d have milked it. But Alder Hey physicians aren’t as ostentatious as I am. And before we accuse them of being agents of the state, a particularly dishonest accusation coming from physicians, who rely heavily on the state for protectionism, it’s worth exploring their reasoning.

Their rationale cannot be strewn to one dimension. Alfie’s case was complex, and the sum of the parts shouldn’t be disrupted by attacking the individual parts. Alfie was in coma with no prospect of any motor or sensory function, with no capacity to express himself, whose only neuronal activity was seizures, which were resistant to treatment. Alfie’s neurological condition was not static, like cerebral palsy, but progressive. Though Alfie had too little thalamus to feel pain, they could not rule out that he was feeling pain – there’s a raging debate, not just of the philosophical nature, whether the brain is even necessary for consciousness.

They speculated, based on their strong clinical judgment, that there was a risk that the helicopter ride would have increased the frequency of Alfie’s intractable seizures. Indeed, the physicians in Italy made this assessment, too. This doesn’t mean that infants with epilepsy shouldn’t be air lifted. But Alfie’s situation was different, and any logic which counters the rationale of Alder Hey physicians must acknowledge Alfie’s unique case. It’s one thing flying an infant with status epilepticus when the purpose of transfer is treatment of the epilepsy, or another life-threatening condition. It’s another thing worsening the frequency of intractable seizures when the purpose of transfer isn’t cure but continuation of care. In the latter situation, it is imposing suffering – i.e. suffering from seizures – for no gain.

Alder Hey physicians were challenged –what’s the evidence the helicopter ride would have worsened Alfie’s seizures? “Show me the data” is a common refrain as it adds a patina of science but asking for data is ignoring the uniqueness of Alfie’s condition, ignoring the value of clinical judgment, of expertise in unique situations.

The irony is cute when the same physicians who laud physician expertise over journalists and economists, challenge the medical judgment of Alder Hey physicians. Why do they not extend the same professional courtesy they seek for themselves to Alfie’s physicians, who are experts in their own realm? I suspect it’s because of a lingering mistrust of NHS doctors. British doctors are believed to act for the state, society or greater good, rather than the patient. Mistrust of physicians is a transatlantic phenomenon. American physicians are thought to act for their financial interest rather than patient’s welfare. Mistrust of physicians is difficult to palliate because, as Othello discovered, once you start off with suspicion, it is difficult to be convinced otherwise.

Though it is hard seeing how Alfie’s physicians were wrong in believing that palliation, not prolongation of life, was in his best interest, the question remains: when family disagrees with doctors in EOL who should prevail? In the US, the family seems to prevail. I need not labor about the brutality of EOL in the US – and American physicians have spoken more lyrically on this topic than I ever could. Suffice to say that no normative ethics supports that the parents have the veto when the ventilator should be switched off in cases such as Alfie’s.

The Court

Britain is different but not that different. Even in Britain, doctors do not have a veto over parents in EOL decisions. Given the impasse between Alder Hey and Alfie’s parents the case went to the high court. The case was meticulously analyzed by Justice Hayden. He requested a broad range of medical opinion – from Great Ormond Street Hospital, from Rome, from Germany. The consensus supported the prognostic assessment of Alder Hey physicians.

Hayden praised Alfie’s father for his probing questions about the prognosis of Alfie but noted that he was understandably in denial about Alfie’s prognosis. Hayden was careful in not letting any histrionics enter his decision. For instance, he chided German physician, Dr. Haas, who in making the case that Alfie’s ventilator should not be switched off, alluded to his country’s legacy in treating disabled people. Hayden considered such allusions tendentious and inflammatory.

Through meticulous reasoning Hayden concluded that stopping ventilation was in Alfie’s best interest because his neurological impairment was advanced, progressive, incurable and, and this is the important addition, that there remained a possibility that Alfie was suffering.

Some see in his decision an over reach of the state. It is tempting invoking the state – but who is this nefarious entity we call the “state”? Elected members of parliament in Westminster, most of whom know little about terminal illness? Bureaucrats? Judges? The secret police? MI5? What did this nebulous, nefarious, entity gain from switching off Alfie’s ventilator?

A common sentiment is that the courts decided that Alfie’s life wasn’t worth living. In any contentious issue it’s a useful exercise re-framing the issue and seeing if you arrive at an alternative conclusion. That the courts were involved showed the limitations of medical paternalism. That Hayden solicited the opinion of pediatric neurologists showed the importance of medical expertise. That the experts agreed on Alfie’s prognosis wasn’t a medical conspiracy, but a moment of medical clarity. That Thomas Evans represented his case, and cross examined the experts, showed that extreme humanity is still possible in extreme circumstances. That Justice Hayden agreed with Alder Hey hospital showed that the hospital got it right.

Thus, far from the courts determining that Alfie’s life wasn’t worth living – by endorsing palliative care, they gave Alfie dignity, they gave his life its due worth by giving the possibility of his suffering considerable importance.

Was Alfie’s ventilator switched off because the NHS rations care?

One argument advanced was that if the issue was constrained resources, it was perfectly fine to switch Alfie’s ventilator off, so long as we all agree that it was about money. The argument, far from being exculpatory, makes the hospital seem reptilian, performing cost-benefit analyses on dying kids. Though resources are always constrained, even in the US, Alfie’s care was not subjected to the usual economic constraints in the NHS – he was in PICU for over a year. Not a dime was charged to his parents. Just imagine the medical bill if he was treated in the US.

The rationale of rationing is withholding expensive treatment which has small benefits because the benefits aren’t worth the costs – note, for rationing to even occur the intervention must have some, i.e. non-zero, benefit. By its very definition, you can’t ration an intervention which has zero benefit and may, in fact, have some harm.

Alder Hey physicians weren’t concerned about the costs of keeping Alfie alive. And costs were irrelevant precisely because Alfie’s condition was incurable. You can only do a cost-effectiveness analysis if there is effectiveness.

The slippery slope argument

A common argument made not just by pro-lifers but Burkean conservatives is the slippery slope argument, which goes like this. Once you decide that Alfie’s life is not worth living who is next? The kid with cerebral palsy? Trisomy 21? Autistic kid? Was Stephen Hawking’s life not worth it, either?

The slippery slope argument dominates public discourse these days. Many believe that Donald Trump’s election is a short step to National Socialism. And it’s not just Trump. When Obama was president, even thoughtful conservatives felt the outgrowth of government was a short step to fascism. In the slippery slope argument everyone templates their political prejudices to an imagined dystopia. It’s Orwell’s Room 101 – where you face your biggest fears.

The slippery slope rationale is first order thinking at its most primal. It is a type of Malthusian error – Malthus believed that the world would be so over populated that we’d be eating each other’s livers. His rationale assumed a linear progression of events, a sort of linear regression where everything else was held constant. It was a mark of a furtive, unchecked, imagination – aka, paranoia. Dystopians make great fiction. They are less useful as public policy.

Let’s examine the rationale because it’s worth introspecting. When history is assessed, it is assessed backwards – we see in Nazism and fascism culmination of several events which started off somewhat innocuously. This is historiography – where we see that short step which led to an evil regime. The error lies not in historiography, which is an analysis in hindsight, but in reverse historiography – which is a forward analysis – where we see in an event a short step to an evil. The trouble with reverse historiography is that many disparate events can potentially be a short step to whatever your most feared political regime happens to be.

Thus, in Alfie’s case we see a short step to the NHS deciding that kids with cerebral palsy will be deemed by the courts as “not worth living.” This is generalization writ large, a Kantian universalism, which is as disingenuous as it is wrong. It is ironic that the same people who laud individualism are so keen to generalize Alfie.

End-of-life is fertile grounds for slippery slope arguments, in part because it’s so difficult getting a grip on nuance. But EOL isn’t a spectrum; it comprises categories and each individual is their own category. You can’t compare Alfie’s predicament – a ventilator-dependent infant with progressive encephalopathy in coma, facing intractable seizures – with a conscious child with cerebral palsy. To conflate is to abandon judgment. For all the rugged individualism, nothing delivers individual nuance in medicine more than clinical acumen.

Physicians in End-of-Life

So long as life is prolonged by modern medical techniques, doctors will be involved in EOL decisions. End-of-life is an emotive area and clashes between family and physicians happen frequently. Spare a thought, though, for Alfie’s physicians who remain anonymous, who faced a mob outside the hospital, faced death threats, faced accusations of murder, faced vituperative attacks on social media. They are humans, too. Caught between doing the best for Alfie and relinquishing to populism they chose the former. You may disagree with their choice. But there’s little doubt that they were courageous physicians who stuck to their convictions. I, for one, give them a standing ovation.

  About the author:

Saurabh Jha is a contributing editor to THCB and can be reached @RogueRad

The Ethics of Keeping Alfie Alive published first on https://wittooth.tumblr.com/